Inside the solitary medical chamber aboard the Endurance, two Apothecaries were busy at work in front of the operating table.
The once-dimly lit room was now illuminated by harsh white light, casting a sterile glow over the surgical station. IV tubes hung at varying lengths from racks, while an array of instruments surrounded the space, beeping in steady, rhythmic intervals.
A towering figure sat silently in a chair before the operating table. Per the Apothecaries' request, Mortarion had removed his noxious censer, revealing a gaunt frame that appeared even more emaciated without the usual shroud of toxic fumes.
A servitor, built for the exclusive use of a Primarch, stood beside Mortarion.
"It's done, my lord."
One of the Apothecaries stepped forward, signaling that Hades would soon wake up.
Meanwhile, Apothecary Leo stared silently at Hades. According to his calculations, the anesthesia was about to wear off—
Hades' eyelids twitched. Then, he opened his eyes.
Leo greeted him with a kind smile.
"Yo, kid, you're awake."
Yes. He was the very same Apothecary who had been body-slammed.
Even now, Leo could still feel a lingering ache in his back. That kid really had some serious strength.
At the time, he had chased after Hades to make him return and rest—only for Hades to throw him over his back and bolt.
Ha.
And now, look where you've ended up again.
Of course, to help with Hades' recovery, Leo had been very thoughtful—he had injected a lower dose of painkillers and, while suturing, had accidentally brushed against a few non-essential nerves to stimulate muscle repair.
The first thing Hades saw upon waking was Leo's unsettlingly stiff smile. He inhaled sharply, bracing himself for a storm of blood and vengeance.
However, Leo simply stared daggers at him with a murderous gaze—before wordlessly stepping aside.
Seeing that Hades' condition had stabilized, the two Apothecaries moved to the equipment area behind a white curtain, giving the Primarch and Hades space to talk.
Hades understood why Leo hadn't gone after him just now.
He sat up and, sure enough, found himself staring at Mortarion in complete exasperation.
Mortarion, too, remained silent, head bowed. His enormous scythe, Silence, lay across his lap, the massive chain-blade resting lightly against the floor with a faint clink.
The silence dragged on so long that even the Apothecaries in the next room felt uncomfortable. Finally, Hades spoke.
"Let me see the Death Guard's battle data first. I was too focused on Galaspar's reports before—I haven't really reviewed the battle itself yet."
Mortarion let out a low grunt. He raised a hand, prompting the servitor beside him to pass over a data-slate.
Hades took the slate and began scrolling through the statistics—battle preparations, fleet numbers—
Hmm. Standard.
He flipped to the next page—
And the world went black.
This number. THIS NUMBER—YOU'RE TELLING ME THIS IS THE CASUALTY RATIO?
Hades nearly keeled over then and there.
A shrill alarm blared from the medical equipment. Mortarion flinched, immediately standing up, his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech.
The two Apothecaries rushed back in, launching into yet another round of emergency treatment.
It took a moment, but eventually, Hades recovered.
"Calm down. Your blood pressure spiked just now."
Leo shot Hades a warning glare before gathering his tools and leaving again.
"Alright."
Hades weakly responded, then turned back to Mortarion.
"I'm fine. Sit down."
But Mortarion remained standing. After a long, heavy silence, he finally mumbled,
"…So, we actually lost?"
Hades took a deep breath.
"No. This battle was a victory for the Death Guard."
A pyrrhic one.
If you ignored the absolutely ridiculous casualty rate, the Galaspar campaign could actually be considered a textbook operation—at least in terms of the initial breakthrough against the system's defenses.
A battle of the few against the many, where being even a step too slow meant death.
When a star system is densely fortified with defensive weaponry, aside from the conventional method of slowly sieging and grinding it down, a swift, decisive strike can also be a high-risk, high-reward alternative.
The advantage of this approach lies in concentrating one's forces to break through a critical weak point, striking directly at the enemy's command.
If successful, the overall casualties can actually be lower compared to a prolonged war of attrition.
But the downside is severe—if even a single move goes wrong, it means total annihilation.
A moment's hesitation, or even the slightest delay caused by the enemy, would allow the endless tide of defensive fleets to swarm the Death Guard's assault forces, slowly but inevitably devouring everything.
Mortarion's strategy was the very definition of a no-retreat, all-in gamble.
More than half of the Death Guard's fleet was committed to the battle, along with a quarter of the entire Legion's manpower.
As the supreme commander, Mortarion himself was in the vanguard of the assault force.
Hades nearly had a heart attack just reading that.
If this had been a battle upon which the very survival of the Legion depended, then Hades might have praised the strategy—it was, in many ways, an optimal solution when operating with only a single Legion's worth of forces.
But this wasn't that kind of battle!
This was the Legion debut battle!
The very first battle!
Mortarion didn't even need to attack this system!
The original Imperial Army assessments were correct—this star system was simply not suitable for a single Legion assault.
The safest approach would have been a three-Legion encirclement strategy, slowly wearing down the enemy.
This method, without question, would have resulted in a brutal meat grinder of a battle, with significantly higher casualties overall—but because multiple Legions would share the burden, no single Legion would suffer disproportionately.
Mortarion's approach, by contrast, relied on "fewer" casualties (though still an unacceptably high number for a single Legion) and a gamble that his forces wouldn't be wiped out entirely.
Clearly, he won that gamble. The Death Guard emerged victorious.
But from a broader, strategic perspective, this entire campaign was a loss.
The purpose of war is to secure greater benefits for one's own side.
When the means become the end, even victory is hollow.
Hades looked at Mortarion with a complicated expression.
Suddenly, he recalled something from their time on Barbarus—Mortarion had never paid much attention to post-war recovery, economic stability, or civilian welfare.
It was only because the Death Guard's conquests were swift enough, and because the absence of the xenos overlords had unshackled Barbarus's population and productivity, that the planet actually entered a period of unexpected prosperity under Mortarion's rule.
At most, Mortarion would check the number of troops in training—but on Barbarus, there was never a shortage of volunteers flocking to join the army.
His reason for waging war back then had been simple: liberate humanity from the tyrannical rule of monsters.
Clearly, the Primarch still thought that way.
Thus, the Galaspar campaign happened.
But a Legion cannot survive on ideology alone—it is a vast and complex organization with enormous logistical and economic needs.
Faith and means—both are indispensable.
In the early stages, smaller and more niche organizations, such as the resistance on Barbarus, could rely on rapid incremental growth to cover up their tactical shortcomings. But at the scale of a grand legion, everything must be meticulously calculated.
After all, reinforcing the ranks of the Adeptus Astartes and replenishing fleets is far more complicated than merely increasing the population.
Speaking of which, aside from Roboute Guilliman, Horus, and Ferrus Manus, it seems like most other Primarchs have a rather negligent attitude toward managing their legions?
Hades felt a deep sense of powerlessness weighing upon him. He decided to educate this young and inexperienced Primarch on the cost of war.
"Mortarion, why did you choose to attack Galaspar?"
Mortarion blinked.
"The people here lived under a tyrant's rule, just like we did on Barbarus. So I vowed to liberate them."
"...But I later realized that wasn't entirely true."
Mortarion continued speaking slowly. He dragged a chair over, sat down, and went on.
After meeting with two of his brothers, the Primarch had been deep in thought.
"Hades, do you know what the Emperor told me when I first met him?"
"?"
Hades genuinely didn't know.
"He said that I would be the scythe that cuts down tyranny across the galaxy."
"He told me that countless human civilizations were still suffering under oppression, and that I was the liberator he had created."
"That's why I chose to accept the legion he gave me."
Hades fell silent. A realization suddenly dawned on him—
Not all Primarchs willingly worked for the Emperor's Great Crusade from the very beginning.
Leaving aside those who were captivated by the Emperor's charisma, for the others, the Emperor had made promises.
Some sought glory, and the Emperor promised them glory.
Some sought favor, and the Emperor promised them favor.
Some sought peace, and the Emperor promised them peace.
And for Mortarion, the Emperor had promised liberation.
But clearly, the things the Emperor promised were either too abstract or merely temporary commitments.
Once a Primarch truly took command of a legion and was bound to the Imperial war machine, there was no turning back.
Of course, the Primarchs could still use their legions to try to fulfill their own ideologies and the promises made to them. In fact, that's exactly what each of them was doing.
As long as they carried out the Imperium's plans and didn't cross any red lines, the Emperor wouldn't interfere.
So, in a way, take Roboute Guilliman for example—his focus on infrastructure and development wasn't just about efficiency; it was because his beliefs aligned with the needs of building a strong legion.
Hades suddenly realized—so Mortarion actually understood what he was getting at, but was now threatening to abandon responsibility?
Mortarion had already noticed the discrepancy between the Emperor's original words and the tasks the Imperium now expected him to perform.
In the end, it all came down to differing perspectives.
Hades naturally wanted to strengthen the Death Guard to prepare for the bloody battles ahead.
But Mortarion prioritized fulfilling his original vow—to overthrow all tyranny—over the development of his legion.
Hades thought carefully, then spoke solemnly.
"Mortarion, now that the legion has completed its mission, the tyranny of Galaspar has been overthrown—what do you plan to do next?"
Mortarion fell silent.
He had never thought about that before.
When Mortarion first set eyes on Galaspar, he envisioned the execution of the tyrant. He saw the collapse of the despot's order under the assault of the Death Guard.
But he had never considered how a new order should take shape after the slaughter and destruction.
On Barbarus, people simply followed him, and order naturally formed.
Hades was speechless as well. Despite constantly proclaiming himself a liberator, Mortarion truly had no interest in anything beyond that.
"...I thought the Imperium would send someone to take over the reconstruction," Mortarion said.
Hades responded,
"Given the current scale of the Imperium and the chaos in frontline administration, it's clear that they have no choice but to break that promise."
Mortarion nodded.
"Except for the tax department," he muttered under his breath.
Hades pressed on, "Mortarion, why do you want to overthrow tyranny?"
Mortarion fell into another round of silence.
"Oppression is wrong. The oppressed have no freedom, no control over their own lives."
That was the first lesson Mortarion learned under the oppression of Necare.
"But in a world of complete disorder and chaos, people also struggle to obtain true freedom and control over their own lives," Hades countered.
"That's why we can't stop at just toppling tyranny. To achieve what you truly want, we must rebuild."
"And rebuilding requires more manpower. It requires more Death Guard."
"We can't afford to lose so many warriors in a single battle, because there are still countless civilizations left to liberate."
"..."
"You're right," Mortarion mumbled listlessly.
"Maybe... maybe I've been too fixated on liberation itself."
"You cannot replace one tyranny with another." Vulkan's words echoed in Mortarion's mind.
"Liberation itself is not a bad thing," Hades said with a grin.
He had finally pulled the Primarch back to reason!
Time to strike while the iron was hot—
"Now's the perfect time to integrate Galaspar as a Death Guard recruitment world. I checked the official documents, and based on post-war conditions, it qualifies for the Imperium's tax exemption. We should submit the exemption request first and discuss reconstruction later."
Mortarion slowly opened a communication channel.
"Garro, submit Galaspar's tax exemption request to the Imperium."
Before the other end could respond, Mortarion swiftly cut the channel.
Hades, sitting across from him, was screaming internally. This kind of leadership—just handing down tasks without discussion—was a nightmare for any overworked subordinate!
You can't treat your people like this!
"Alright, I did as you suggested," Mortarion said, returning to his usual composed state now that he had sorted his thoughts.
"Galaspar will become the next recruitment world for the Death Guard."
"Now, let's talk about why you missed the Galaspar campaign."
"Your Tech-Adept assistant already explained it once, but I don't mind hearing it again."
?!
<+>
"—So that's how it happened," Hades explained, forced to recount the events under the suffocating glare of the Mortarion.
"Eldar."
Mortarion repeated the name of that accursed race, rolling it over in his mouth.
Fine. He would remember them.
With many other matters still demanding Mortarion's attention, Hades briefly outlined his ideas for Galaspar's reconstruction.
Then, suddenly recalling something, Hades asked about Death Guard recruitment.
Little did he know that this casual question would, in a way, end up saving the entire Death Guard.
"Oh, I sent Calas back for recruitment. He volunteered for the task."
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
Forget Galaspar—Barbarus was about to be usurped!
This was Luther's script all over again!
"Return to Barbarus," Hades said, utterly drained.
"Immediately. Right now. This instant."
After Mortarion departed, the two Apothecaries who were hidden behind a white cloth silently exchanged glances, understanding the unspoken thought in each other's eyes.
From that entire conversation...
Why did it feel like Hades was the one making all the decisions?
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 160: Bargaining[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/my-life-as-death-126282689[3]
https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/my-life-as-death-126282689
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/my-life-as-death-126282689
[4] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl