Chapter 211: In Front of the Apothecarion
It was deathly quiet here, save for the faint sound of the river in the distance—its acidic waters lapping softly against the shore, kicking up little beaded droplets.
The woman was still sobbing quietly. She sat on the ground, swaying gently, wiping her tears over and over as fear and elation mingled in her heart.
Hades took a deep breath. He crouched down, trying to look her in the eye. She flinched instinctively but didn't shy away in the end.
"You said you wanted us to take you with us," Hades said calmly.
"And then what?"
The gray-haired woman stared blankly at Hades. He could clearly see her gray eyes—clouded, but still carrying a glimmer of clarity. They looked like marbles with impurities swirled inside.
Hades silently waited for her reply. She seemed to realize that her silence might anger this high lord, and hastily opened her mouth—her voice weak and trembling.
"My lord, I used to be a digger. I was responsible for salvaging useful things from the wastewater. I can—"
The digger spoke quickly and quietly. She understood what this lord wanted—to prove her value.
She had always been a digger. That was all she knew how to do.
"Then you could continue doing that here. There's no need to come with us."
Hades interrupted her.
"Do you understand what this selection is for?"
"I do, my lord. Your legion is recruiting warriors. I didn't mean to break the rules. I just wanted to see you. I didn't…"
The digger grew frightened. She trembled, trying to explain her "violation." Hades sighed inwardly. That wasn't what he meant.
"Actually…"
Hades spoke more sternly now.
"The Death Guard isn't just recruiting Astartes here. We are also conscripting a mortal auxiliary army."
The digger visibly shuddered. Her trembling grew worse. Her ashen hair looked like a tuft of weeds clinging desperately to life in a storm.
"My lord… thank you… thank you…"
She slowly removed her hands from her face. Her hands were deformed—covered in calluses and corroded scars. She stared at them for a moment, and then something fierce flashed in her gray, dull eyes.
"My lord, I was the first to throw myself at Overseer Fens. I was the first. You might not remember me, but I was the first."
"I smashed that disgusting head of his with a sharp rock, and then I tore at his flesh with my nails."
….What was she talking about?
Almost as if to answer Hades' confusion, Garro's voice came through the private channel in his helmet:
[The Primarch did not execute all the overseers. Mortarion left one of the Order Lords alive. Then, he gathered the people of the primary hive and released that overseer in front of them.]
Hades drew in a sharp breath.
[And then... it became a massacre.]
[Yes, Commander.]
Mortarion had used his simple, brutal method to teach these people the meaning of resistance.
The final sinner had run, stumbling, from the foot of the gallows. The silent crowd parted for him. But once the first attacker struck—biting, clawing, tearing—the crowd ignited like dry brush in a wildfire.
Those who once were meek as lambs erupted with unthinkable rage. Each person used their own hands to shred their "enemy"—that lofty figure—tearing with their fingers, biting with their teeth, spitting on him.
Hades could imagine the Lord of Death standing high above it all, watching this act of rebellion with satisfaction.
Mortarion's first act on Galaspar—so far, his only act—was liberation… and teaching them how to liberate themselves.
Hades blinked. He looked at the digger woman, who was still immersed in the memory of tearing apart her overseer. A gleam of fanatical devotion shimmered in her eyes.
"We can take you with us."
"But, you'll pick up a gun and struggle on battlefields that are hell on earth. You'll be blown into pieces by artillery, crushed into pulp by tanks, or incinerated into vapor by searing plasma heat."
"I'm willing, my lord, I'm willing. I've already been living in hell."
Hades fell silent.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to say something like "you're fighting in a war of liberation," because he knew that wasn't true.
"My lord, take me with you. I don't want to live here anymore. 'Liberation'—I'm willing to devote myself to you and your legion. My life belongs to you and your army."
The word "liberation" she used was in Barbarusian.
Hades sighed.
"I can take you with me—but it wasn't my decision. If you want to thank someone for the liberation of Galaspar, it should be someone else."
'Mortarion… when we all tried to stop you from liberating Galaspar, was this the vision you were picturing?'
'Were you really thinking about the people up here?'
War, sometimes, is simple—a matter of numbers, calculations, analytics. Both sides scramble to gather data about the other and conceal their own. The one with better math wins.
But sometimes it's messy, twisted—clouded with emotions and ideals that defy definition, roaring with every shot fired.
Hades wasn't sure which aspect was more important.
The digger woman paused, stunned. She stared at Hades in confusion, like a worshipper realizing they had prayed to the wrong god.
"Come. I'll take you to him."
When she heard this, the digger lit up, nodding furiously like a chick pecking at grain.
Hades stood up.
[Apothecary, administer treatment.]
First things first—she needed medical attention. If her wounds were left untreated, she would likely die soon.
Hades stared at her festering, pus-dripping stump and pondered.
'Did she intentionally injure herself to trade health for speed?'
After all, other candidates would hesitate to risk permanent damage due to the health requirements.
While the Apothecary treated her, the digger hesitantly spoke again. She had apparently realized that despite Hades' stern tone, he was actually quite approachable.
"...My lord, when you take me to see the other lord… is there… anything I should be aware of?"
Hades looked into the distance. He could already see the silhouettes of the second wave of applicants approaching the edge of his vision.
"You don't need to worry about anything. You've done well."
"May the Lord of Death admire your resilience."
The trial selection went smoothly. The rest of the recruitment events also proceeded in turn—but with one major change:
The requirement for "healthy, age-appropriate males" was lifted. Anyone could now participate.
Those who didn't meet the Astartes selection criteria would be assigned to the Death Guard's mortal auxiliary army. The legion also promised these recruits higher ranks and access to some education.
Future administrative personnel of Galaspar would be selected from among these auxiliary troops.
As for those who didn't want to go through the trial but still wished to join the auxiliary forces—they could wait for a dedicated recruitment round later. However, they would start at the lowest ranks.
Hades now had other matters to attend to.
It was, in all honesty, probably a selfish impulse. But he was doing it anyway.
Mortarion still hadn't emerged. Hades took a deep breath, canceled his communication request—and started knocking.
Banging might have been a better word.
The digger cowered behind Hades, her newly attached prosthetic leg gleaming with dark metallic sheen. The somber, oppressive air aboard the Endurance had clearly frightened her.
Hades refused to admit she had been frightened by his knocking.
"What exactly are you doing?"
The door swung open abruptly. Mortarion stormed out, clearly annoyed. The Primarch had faint dark circles under his eyes, and Hades was certain he could smell the kind of stench that only came from a villainous cartoon wizard burning his brew.
Mortarion had been working in the apothecarion a lot lately. Considering that he had developed several serums specifically tailored to Galaspar's environment, Hades decided not to question whether Mortarion was slacking off.
Although, with a Primarch's capabilities, those concoctions probably didn't take him long.
Mortarion still refused to let Hades into the apothecarion. In fact, Hades was at the very top of the "banned from entry" list. Mortarion's reason? He was afraid Hades would go in and start eating things.
Hades maintained a gracious smile.
'Mortarion, if you can't come up with an explanation, you don't have to try… but your fists are about to meet my face.'
"You're not overseeing recruitment on Galaspar?"
Mortarion gave Hades a disapproving glance.
Hades could barely keep his composure.
'Look at our ranks before you talk to me like that.'
But given that there was a civilian woman behind him, Hades decided to let Mortarion off the hook this time.
"The recruitment is going smoothly."
"I came across a civilian. I think… you might want to meet her."
Mortarion frowned in clear irritation.
"Hades, I know you have a wild imagination, and I try to understand it. But that's not an excuse to interrupt my work."
"If you've got nothing better to do, I'd be happy to assign you more tasks."
Hades responded with noble silence.
He stepped aside, revealing the digger woman hiding behind him.
Under the gaze of the two towering giants, the gray-haired woman shrank like a terrified little mouse.
Being thoughtful, Hades stepped back a few paces, trying to reduce the oppressive impact their presence might have on her.
"Say what you need to say, ma'am. The Lord of Death will understand you."
Hades added kindly.
The digger trembled. Mortarion's natural aura of pressure was intense—enough to make even Astartes flinch, let alone a mortal standing directly before him.
Her knees bent slightly as she struggled not to kneel.
"...My lord."
The woman's voice came out hoarse and cracked. She feebly extended her hand as if trying to grasp the edge of Mortarion's gray cloak, but in the end, grabbed nothing.
Mortarion frowned and looked down at the mortal woman, unsure of her intent.
If it turned out to be something trivial, he was more than ready to dump more responsibilities on Hades.
"...Thank you for bringing liberation to Galaspar."
Hades saw it clearly—Mortarion froze completely the moment she uttered those words. As still as an ancient corpse left to dry for a thousand years.
The digger didn't notice Mortarion's reaction. She bowed her head and began to sob.
"You freed us… you destroyed the Order. Thank you… thank you…"
"Before this, no one ever spoke for us. We were just bugs they could squash at will. My friend was executed three days before your arrival just because the toilet paper produced in her factory zone wasn't soft enough."
"She just… died like that. One sentence from the Order member, and she's executed. I wanted to fight back… but I couldn't. I just couldn't…"
"My lord, thank you for avenging us. You are divine retribution sent from heaven. Thank you… I'm willing to give you everything."
"I can take up arms. I will kill whomever you command. Let me be your rusty knife. Please… take me in. I don't want to go back."
She tried to kneel, to reverently kiss the feet of the god who stood before her—but she hadn't been allowed to kneel, so she simply trembled there, struggling to hold herself upright.
Mortarion looked down at the digger in silence for a long time.
Unpleasant memories caught up with him.
He had been called naïve.
He had been accused of recklessness.
He had been condemned as cruel.
Perhaps he had made mistakes, but they had flayed him with their accusations.
Those warmongers with their abacuses, those selfish schemers with only gain in mind.
After all he had endured—just as he was about to bury those memories in the recesses of his mind—a witness appeared to affirm his original intent.
Mortarion lowered his gaze and crouched down.
"What is your name?"
"The Order gave me a number.."
"That number is gone. I will not hear it."
The gray-haired woman was still sobbing.
"Others call me Digger."
"Do you choose to bear that name?"
She trembled, but shook her head resolutely.
"It is not worthy of the service I seek."
"It is not," said Mortarion. "You, however, are. And so, I shall name you Cinis, and I accept your service."
Cinis broke into sobs again. She covered her face and cried in earnest. After everything she had been through, she was broken—but still able to begin a new life.
Mortarion silently stared at her. He could still hear the scolding voices of Ferrus and Vulkan in his mind.
"So, brother, is this what you wanted us to see?"
'Yes, this is what I want you to see,' Mortarion thought with a touch of bitter irony. But he didn't say it aloud.
After destruction comes rebirth. The true beginning for Galaspar had yet to arrive—but Mortarion believed it would. The Death Guard had already planted the seeds. They would sprout.
Receiving a message from Hades, the Lord of Death softened his voice as much as he could.
"Do you wish to stay on Galaspar and help rebuild? Or would you rather follow the legion to war?"
"I wish to follow you, my lord."
Mortarion nodded, slowly.
"Understood. I appoint you as the overseer of the 1st Company of the Death Guard's mortal auxiliaries. You must grow quickly, and bring death to our enemies."
"One day, you will bring liberation to others."
"Until then, live—live with resilience."
"Yes, my lord."
Mortarion stood up, his armor groaning with a dull, oppressive sound.
"You need rest now, Cinis."
They watched in silence as a servitor led the limping woman away. Only when the pair became a distant blur in the hallway did Mortarion speak again.
"Did I do wrong? Did I do right?"
Hades, unusually, said nothing at first. Mortarion realized even he had been struck silent.
Finally, Hades spoke, his voice low:
"From her perspective… you did right."
"But if we want to change more than that—do we have enough time?"
"At the very least, we can leave behind a directive and a plan, and entrust it to the Mechanicus and the administrators here."
That would be enough.
The Lord of Death quietly stared in the direction Cinis had gone. She was resilient. Mortarion admired that.
But she worshipped him like a god. Was that simply another form of enslavement? He wasn't sure.
At least… at least now she knew the weight of rebellion.
The coming wars would teach her the rest.
Given how the Order had suppressed and stupefied the people, this level of awareness was already a rare miracle. He couldn't ask for more.
"I'm in a good mood right now," Mortarion said after a while.
"I'm happy for those who awaken on their own."
"She proved I wasn't alone on this path."
Hades didn't comment. He made no judgment on idealistic folly or practical selfishness.
"Since leaving Barbarus… maybe this is the last dream I'll have."
Mortarion murmured, then turned and went back into the apothecarion—pausing just long enough to toss a dried clump of herbal residue at Hades through the door.
"It's poisonous, but you won't die. Don't waste it."
"This was the ruined batch you made me spoil by interrupting."
Mortarion shut the door again. Hades sighed—and took a bite of the scorched residue.
Then immediately doubled over, gagging violently.
"Ghhaaah—it really is poisonous!"
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Author Note:
Some of the conversations between Mortarion and Cinis were directly taken from "The Pale King". Yes, that's how they talked in the original book, but Mortarion didn't squat down.
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