The air deep within the sub-hive passage rapidly cooled.
The dense buzzing of flies drowned out the bombardment of bolters.
A thick, dark green toxic fog surged from the depths of the drainage pipe.
Out of the toxic fog squeezed more than a dozen massive monsters wielding rusted double-barreled greatswords.
Plaguebearers.
The elite among Nurgle’s demonic hierarchy.
They grew only a single huge cyclopean eye, with their abdominal cavities completely open, exposing rotting entrails, and were surrounded by swarms of toxic flies capable of instantly killing mortals.
A Plaguebearer locked onto Roya, who was charging at the very front.
It let out a piercing screech, raised the greatsword dripping with black venom, and slashed fiercely down towards Roya’s head.
Roya switched out a square shield from his inventory at lightning speed and raised his hand to block.
“Clang!” The rusted greatsword smashed against the surface of the shield crafted from planks and iron ingots.
Sparks flew in all directions.
The Plague Law failed to corrode even the edges of this seemingly crude block shield.
A hint of human-like astonishment flashed through the Plaguebearer’s single eye.
Roya did not give it a second second to think.
The muscles in his right arm bulged, and the iron sword thrust out straightforwardly, accurately sinking into that huge single eye.
“Bang.” The Plaguebearer’s body shuddered violently, bursting with red light all over.
The opponent didn’t even make a counterattacking move before its massive body directly turned into white smoke and completely dissipated.
Roya stepped through the white mist without a single pause in his footsteps.
Left slash.
The iron sword smashed off the sword-wielding arm of the second Plaguebearer.
Right sweep.
The blade severed the knee joint of the third Plaguebearer.
Under the system’s damage determination, as long as it hits, whether you are a mortal or a high-tier demon, health is deducted uniformly according to the health bar.
In the blink of an eye, the four blocking Plaguebearers were completely eradicated by Roya alone.
The remaining demons were surrounded by several Terminators who rushed up shortly after, crushed into a pile of minced meat by power fists.
The right flank of the battlefield.
The contemptor dreadnought—Elder Darrell, was swinging its huge right arm Power Klaw, clamping down hard on a Plaguebearer attempting a sneak attack.
The hydraulic system roared, and the demon’s body was crushed in half at the waist.
Dark green, foul-smelling slime dripped down the dark gray ceramite armor.
Elder Darrell released the Power Klaw, letting the wreckage fall to the ground.
He did not continue pushing forward, his massive chassis standing still in place.
The optical viewfinder rotated, and two crimson visual beams pierced through the green fog, locking tightly onto Roya at the very front of the formation.
Roya was grabbing the neck of a fat Walking Corpse barehanded.
With an explosion of pure physical strength, Roya threw the heavy monster weighing several hundred jin out with one hand, directly collapsing a row of metal load-bearing pillars.
Elder Darrell’s cogitator core was operating at high speed.
Inside this brand-new mecha, he didn’t need to be distracted by resisting the pain of neural burning.
His thinking reached unprecedented clarity.
An idea that subverted his cognition for many years was forming in his mind, and becoming increasingly clear.
A dozen meters away.
The Librarian staff in Calculis’s hand flickered with a deep blue glow.
A bolt of psychic lightning struck out fiercely, burning a dozen approaching Walking Corpses to ashes.
He withdrew his staff and turned his head to find that Elder Darrell had stopped in place, completely halting his attack actions.
Calculis hurried to the side of the Dreadnought and looked up to ask: “Elder, has your chassis malfunctioned?” The external array vocoder of the Dreadnought emitted a low electronic voice, carrying a tremor suppressed to the extreme: “Calculis.
Look carefully at that lord’s combat style.” Calculis looked over following the light beam.
“The lord’s martial might is peerless.
His swordsmanship has no stances, crushing everything purely through absolute strength and speed.” Calculis replied.
“Is it merely martial might?” Elder Darrell’s voice was even lower, “That white liquid he pulled out can directly erase the plague laws established by Chaos.
The contemptor dreadnought he hammered out with an iron pickaxe is flawless, ignoring the Adeptus Mechanicus’s ten-thousand-year iron law of needing to awaken the machine spirit.
He fights on the battlefield with a body of flesh and blood, without fatigue, without scars.
That kind of power far exceeds the limits of the Astartes.” Calculis gripped his staff tightly, his tone firm: “The lord is the Emperor’s chosen, he represents the Emperor’s will.” “You have campaigned for so many years as well, have you ever seen or heard of a chosen of this level?” Elder Darrell’s mechanical electronic voice carried a trace of uncontrollable fanaticism.
“A perfect physical body that surpasses mortals.
Creation abilities that defy all laws of the universe.” “Even the food he casually takes out can cause the gene-seed to mature in an instant.
Calculis, you piece all these traits together.
In the history of the Empire, only one category of existence completely fits all these characteristics.” Elder Darrell said slowly.
Calculis’s breathing instantly stagnated within his power armor’s life-support system.
A vocabulary closely sealed by the Empire and enshrined at the pinnacle of myth smashed forcefully into his brain.
“Elder, this is absolutely impossible.” Calculis’s voice trembled violently, “You couldn’t possibly mean…
could not possibly mean…” Elder Darrell nodded at this moment.
“But this is impossible, the Emperor only created eighteen Primarchs!” (The Ecclesiarchy propagates only nine, but the Primarch statues over on Terra number eighteen) Calculis’s voice even carried a hint of a tremor.
“The storms of the Warp can cover up all truths.” “Perhaps due to some accident, Lord Roya only returned to the Empire ten thousand years later.” “Lord Roya might not even know his own identity!” After an analysis, Elder Darrell felt more and more that he had discovered the truth.
Calculis was completely stunned.
He recalled the moment he was transformed into a “Villager”.
That absolute obedience and fanaticism originating from the depths of the soul, could it really be true?
“Being able to casually create ancient holy relics,” Calculis muttered to himself, looking blankly at Roya swinging his sword ahead, “being able to provide infinite supplies out of thin air.
Even freely resolving the developmental defects of the gene-seed.
This great power that completely crushes reality’s laws…
apart from that Emperor sitting high upon the Golden Throne, only His biological bloodline can achieve it.” Calculis swallowed hard.
The complexion beneath his mask flushed red from extreme shock.
“Elder,” Calculis stammered, “could it be…
could Lord Roya truly be a lost Primarch of the Emperor?!”