My Life as A Death Guard

His life was a mournful lament of cowardice.

His foster father was reduced to torn flesh and blood amidst the roar of the Butcher’s Nails. His comrades turned to skeletons amidst the war songs of the slavers’ armies.

And he? He never had the chance to act.

He would have rather died fighting on this red desert than become a mere speck of dust in the vast cosmos.

But he ran.

It wasn’t his choice; he never had a choice.

Perhaps once, he held the power to choose, but the furious roar devoured everything—

Leaving behind only rage and sorrow.

<+>

“Nuceria.”

Khârn, Captain of the 8th Company, stood by the holoprojection of the planet. The blue glow of the display reflected off his polished power armor, smooth and solemn.

Following the 12th Legion Master’s orders, Khârn and his company were dispatched to patrol this region of space—

To find their Primarch.

This region contained few human-colonized worlds, and even fewer planets with advanced civilizations.

Nuceria was one of them.

Snow-covered towering mountains, lush green forests, tall walls adorned with silk banners, and bustling cities.

Here, technology and culture achieved a delicate balance. The productivity brought by advanced technology even sustained thriving gladiatorial entertainment on the planet.

Khârn had to admit, even after exploring countless planets during his campaigns with the Great Crusade, Nuceria’s landscape and civilization struck him as exceptionally beautiful.

If the War Hounds were to find their Genefather, Khârn hoped it would be on such a beautiful world.

Better this than crowded, noisy hive worlds; dim, oppressive agri-worlds; or barren, desolate death worlds. Their Primarch deserved a splendid homeworld.

Like Roboute Guilliman of the 13th Legion, with his magnificent Macragge, or Rogal Dorn of the 7th Legion, with the solemn Phalanx silently drifting through space.

Their lord ought to be a king on a resplendent planet, standing tall in his castle.

Khârn carefully observed the planetary scans, examining the towering fortresses.

Something deep in his blood and soul called to him: this was the place. There was no doubt.

Khârn thought so.

He was eager to contact the humans on this planet.

No, remember the Legion Master’s words: caution, Khârn. Be cautious.

If the War Hounds’ Primarch was truly here, he needed to leave a good impression on his father.

He had to show their Primarch that the War Hounds would be his most glorious battle axe.

“Send a formal request for contact with this planet,” Khârn ordered Sangr, turning to begin planning.

His brothers stood behind him, their hearts pounding. An unshakable premonition told them—

This was the place.

<+>

Nuceria, Noble Fortress

The meeting with the ruling class of the planet went surprisingly smoothly.

There was no resistance, nor sycophantic probing. Upon learning of the Imperium’s scale and military power, the planet’s rulers quickly opened their gates.

The ruling class of Nuceria even possessed a rare STC (Standard Template Construct).

The rulers proposed a deal: they would submit to the Imperium, hand over the STC, and pay the tithe. In return, the Imperium would not interfere in the planet’s social hierarchy and would ensure the ruling class retained their positions of power.

That was acceptable.

On most other planets, securing a rich, compliant world with an STC without shedding blood would have earned the Legion great honor from the Imperium.

But not now.

Khârn’s power armor gleamed from meticulous polishing, the badges of past glories intricately adorning its surface.

Behind him stood the 8th Company’s elite warriors, their armor just as polished and pristine.

Khârn grew impatient with the portly, balding man before him, whose obsequious cunning made the War Hounds uneasy.

Why wasn’t their Primarch ruling this planet?

Was their Primarch not here?

Or did their Primarch disdain the petty scheming of mortals and devote himself to his own pursuits?

As Khârn silently counted the sixteenth planet he had once conquered, the man finally stopped talking, gazing at him with a flattering smile.

Caution, Khârn. Be cautious.

Taking a deep breath, Khârn said in his most solemn tone,

“The 8th Company of the 12th Legion accepts Nuceria’s proposal.”

“After this, other Imperial departments will come to bring this planet under Imperial governance.”

The first to arrive would usually be the Taxation Department or the Mechanicum’s archaeologists, eager to claim STCs.

“Typically, further planetary matters would be handled by other departments.”

“But as Khârn, Captain of the 8th Company of the 12th Legion, we seek your assistance on behalf of the Legion.”

Hearing that these towering warriors had a request, the portly man was overjoyed and eagerly asked, “May I know what the esteemed guests request? We will do our utmost to help.”

As long as he forged good relations with these Imperial emissaries, his position as ruler of Nuceria would be unshakable!

Smiling sincerely, he addressed the giants before him, “We… are looking for someone on Nuceria.”

“He will be the master of our Legion.”

Looking for someone?

“Could you describe the person you’re searching for?”

The warrior opposite him hesitated before slowly replying,

“Extremely tall and outstanding among the crowd.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

The warrior fell silent again.

The man immediately began mentally cataloging whether any notable individuals among the noble families he knew fit the description.

“Understood. I’ll begin the search immediately.”

Seeing Khârn unwilling to elaborate, he took the opportunity to promise enthusiastically, hiding the turmoil beneath his smile.

Khârn, on the other hand, was far from as calm as he appeared.

Generally speaking, when it comes to someone standing out among the crowd, if their Primarch truly resides on this planet, the locals should have already responded.

Could it be that their Primarch really isn’t here?

But the bloodline connection told him—Khârn had already arrived at the place they were meant to be.

Could it be that their Primarch was entirely different from the others?

Khârn didn’t dare to say much about it. For instance, the person he was searching for descended from the heavens. In a considerable number of Primarch recoveries, this part of the story was often concealed or distorted by the locals, so he refrained from mentioning it.

He also didn’t dare to claim that their Primarch was perfect or handsome, because Khârn knew that some Primarchs weren’t.

He began to feel frustration.

Khârn looked at the 3,007th noble scion attempting to argue their nobility to him. The sweat mixed with powder on their heavily made-up face was unsightly.

These parasites trying to leech off the Legion.

He wished he could just grab his bolt pistol and shoot this powder-faced fop right there.

“It’s not him. Next.”

“Ah, my lord, perhaps I truly am the one you are searching for. Since I was a child, I have felt my family was unworthy of me—”

Dragged away forcefully, the noble scion continued to struggle and ramble.

He began to feel anger. The irritation of being mocked.

What exactly was he doing? Wasting precious Great Crusade time on this childish charade?

Khârn had neither the time nor the patience to linger here any longer. The Primarch of the 12th Legion was certainly not on this planet.

Perhaps the earlier sense of connection was just a delusion, even though it was still gnawing at Khârn’s sanity.

It was time to leave.

Leaving a few Battle-Brothers of the War Hounds to oversee matters, Khârn planned to take the rest of the Eighth Company to another planet to continue the search.

However, Jennizovich, well-versed in navigating noble circles, immediately detected Khârn’s dissatisfaction.

This wouldn’t do—he had made bold promises to other families, and he had to seize this opportunity!

“Um, my lord, are you planning to leave?”

Khârn nodded silently.

Jennizovich wasn’t the kind of brainless, spoiled noble who didn’t think things through. He knew he couldn’t directly block the commander in such a situation.

“I apologize for failing to help you find the person you’re looking for, but as a member of Nuceria’s foremost family, I, Jennizovich, swear to continue assisting you in the search.”

“Fine.”

Khârn was somewhat pleased with this noble who didn’t resort to pestering.

“Then, my lord, before you leave, would you like to visit the gladiatorial arena? Our family runs the largest one on Nuceria.”

The gladiatorial arena?

From his previous inquiries, Khârn knew that Nuceria’s nobles enjoyed throwing slaves into the arena for deadly combat.

These nobles, who relished watching others fight to the death, were themselves pampered and powdered dandies.

Hmm, perhaps a visit to the arena might reveal someone suitable to recruit for the 12th Legion.

As warriors who favored melee combat, the War Hounds naturally had a penchant for close-quarters fighting.

Khârn opened a comms channel to consult the opinions of his fellow officers.

Finally, Khârn said, “Alright, before we leave, let’s take a look at the arena.”

<+>

Nuceria’s Premier Gladiatorial Arena.

The massive cylindrical walls of the arena soared into the sky, their sandy-yellow surface stained with the blood of countless battles, exuding a faint metallic scent.

This was Nuceria’s largest gladiatorial arena, where countless men and women in extravagant attire now filled the stands, cheering wildly.

A host stood on a stage, using Nuceria’s unique floating electric megaphones that flitted around the massive arena, amplifying his sharp and witty commentary.

“Look, our undefeated Child of the Mountain has once again vanquished a ferocious beast!”

“What a shame—this beast had never been defeated before. Its count of devoured slaves finally stops here—”

“Four hundred and thirty-nine. Yes, I even bet earlier that it would reach four hundred and forty, ha!”

However, the arrival of a slave-hunting militia interrupted the host’s self-deprecating humor.

A knight clad in armor bearing the insignia of a noble house whispered something to the host—

Then, the host’s voice, now high-pitched with excitement, resounded through the arena:

“Good news, my friends!”

“The great lord from the Imperium of Mankind will soon grace the Premier Gladiatorial Arena with his presence!”

“By decree of Lord Jennizovich of the Proloff family, today’s event will feature a battle between the strongest warrior and the fiercest beast in the arena!”

“Everyone here today is in for a treat! This will be a gladiatorial fight to be remembered in Nuceria’s history! Let us cheer!”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy, whistles and cheers echoing throughout the arena.

“Child of the Mountain! Child of the Mountain!”

A thunderous rhythm of applause reverberated through the stands.

Jennizovich, wearing a fawning smile, appeared, leading the entourage through the noble family’s exclusive pathway into the arena, escorting them to the grand viewing platform at the center.

The platform itself was adorned with intricate carvings and reinforced glass walls, showcasing the Proloff family’s immense wealth.

Blinding sunlight streamed through the massive glass panel, illuminating half the room.

Khârn absentmindedly responded to the flattery of the nobles before taking a seat casually.

Behind him, the elite warriors accompanying him were soon surrounded by scantily clad noblewomen, leaving them momentarily distracted.

Khârn sighed. A farce—not worth lingering for.

Khârn wasn’t skilled in planetary diplomacy; such tasks were typically handled by the Luna Wolves or the Ultramarines.

Just one match, then they would leave. A gesture of goodwill toward this eager noble.

Of course, Khârn was well aware of Jennizovich’s ulterior motives.

Finally brushing off the clingy noble behind him, Khârn sighed again and turned his gaze toward the pit below the arena—

And immediately stood up.

Khârn froze.

Blood surged within him.

Sensing Khârn’s unusual behavior, the other warriors roughly pushed aside the women around them and redirected their attention—

They froze as well.

It was as if their hearts had stopped beating.

“My lord? What’s the matter, my lord?”

The nobles’ sycophantic voices still echoed, but they sounded distorted, like a warped recording, fading into oblivion in Khârn’s ears.

Standing on the highest platform amidst the extravagance of gold and jewels, Khârn’s gaze was locked on the slave gladiator in the pit below.

There he stood, amidst the blood-stained dirt of the arena.

He stood by the massive corpse of a beast, the roar of the butcher’s nails ringing through the pit. Blood dripped from his bared fangs as he glared furiously at the slave masters above.

Khârn’s mind went blank.

A deafening silence.

It felt like an eternity passed before Khârn’s trembling, faint voice broke through the comms channel.

Cautious, Khârn, cautious.

But his mind was blank, his thoughts sluggish, as if caught in a broken loop.

“Seal this planet’s external communications immediately. Deploy orbital strikes against its major anti-air defenses. Summon the 12th Legion’s flagship main fleet immediately.”

“Highest priority orders—mobilize the entire Legion.”

“…Issue Exterminatus protocols.”

Khârn murmured as if in a trance.

The comms channel cut off with a static crackle. Acting on instinct, his words spilled out, but Khârn still felt his blood freeze.

One word, long yearned for, stuck in his throat, unable to be uttered.

Gripping the chainaxe’s teeth, the sound of fracturing power armor echoed as blood trickled down. It grounded him, anchoring his existence.

“Father.”

He whispered.

Blood dripped down.

<+>

Tn: Kharn the Not Betrayer is now angry