Chapter 2: Being Weak Is A Sin

Barbarus, Nighttime, Hailer Pass

Hades clutched his crossbow, pressing his back against the dirt wall, aiming intently at the doorway, his body taut and motionless.

From outside came the sound of soft, rustling laughter, and the wooden door creaked as if scratched by nails. Yellow-green toxic gas seeped incessantly through the cracks.

Hades stared at the door.

A long, eerily pale finger slowly slid through the top of the door crack, smeared with blackish-purple mucus.

It moved slowly downward, reaching the latch. The moment the mucus touched the iron latch, rust spread rapidly, turning the once semi-new latch into a rusted relic.

Hades anticipated the movement, raising his crossbow. He only had one chance.

The laughter grew louder, brushing past Hades' ears.

The finger gave a flick, slicing through the latch like it was tofu, which then fell to the ground with a dull thud, ending its service.

A massive, grotesque face pressed against the top of the door, with a half-face-sized pale eye peeking inside, searching for its toy.

In a split second, as the creature poked its head in, Hades fired his crossbow, the bolt speeding straight towards the creature's absurdly large eye!

Without hesitation, Hades grabbed his dagger, holding the crossbow in one hand and the dagger in the other, charging towards the door. These creatures, known as Pale Laughers, had bodies like long-legged spiders. Even if they blocked the door, Hades could run underneath them!

Hades had a plan: once outside, he would run to the cornfield. These creatures weren't like the overlords' slave-catching squads but were low-intelligence beings that wandered the toxic fog in groups, attacking villages solely to feed.

Ordinary Pale Laughers wouldn't leave their pack, and they moved slowly, which meant as long as Hades could outrun their sight and their hunting circle, he had a chance to survive!

The grotesque face didn't seem to register Hades' resistance, and the bolt pierced straight into the creature's eye.

"Hiss hahahaha ahhhhh!!!"

Crimson blood sprayed from the eye as the creature's legs thrashed wildly in pain, the grin on its face growing even more twisted.

Hades bolted through its legs, using his dagger to fend off the flailing limbs, but his left arm took a hard hit, sending blood splattering.

Outside, Hades saw four or five more Pale Laughers roaming the village, lifting dead bodies high above their heads. He recognized one of his childhood friends, Hadira, her organs spilled over a Laugher's face, her limbs still twitching.

Hades felt his teeth pierce his lower lip, blood trickling out as anger and frustration gripped him. His mind raced—

The gap in strength was too vast; he had to flee.

Without hesitation, adrenaline sharpened his senses, and he sprinted towards the white cornfield outside the village, his heart pounding, wind roaring past his ears.

A Pale Laugher chased him closely, its insect-like legs scraping the soft ground with a scraping sound.

Hades could feel its fury, the creature screaming behind him.

—Almost there!

Hades leaped into the towering cornfield, the leaves cutting painfully across his face. He ran for his life, the toxic fog churning around him—he was heading towards thicker gas, but he had no other choice!

When you are weak, you have no choice but to run!

...

Hades didn't know how long he had been running. He kept running and running, the sounds behind him gradually diminishing. The hoarse cries faded into the distance until all he could hear was the wind and the rustling of corn leaves.

—The creature went back—

These pack creatures never venture too far on their own. In Barbarus' food chain, they are also mid-to-lower tier.

He had bet correctly.

When Hades finally reached the edge of the cornfield at the village's outskirts, he stopped running.

The adrenaline rush subsided, leaving Hades with a throbbing chest. He couldn't tell if the pain was from his heart pounding or from inhaling too much toxic gas—or maybe both.

His legs were trembling, his left arm bleeding profusely. The wound, under the effect of the gas, was beginning to fester.

Hades first looked around, ensuring no monsters were nearby.

He tried to tear his clothing for bandages. In Barbarus, bleeding is extremely dangerous; it makes you easier prey and allows the gas to enter your body through the wounds.

This is why Hades decided to bandage himself before finding a place to spend the night. Wandering around while bleeding was not a good choice.

After several attempts, he found his hands almost frozen in place, still gripping the dagger and crossbow tightly.

He had to wait a little longer, trying hard to regain control of his hands. Finally, feeling returned, and he cut a piece of cloth from the hem of his long-sleeved shirt to bandage his left arm.

No herbs—damn it, he had forgotten to bring them.

He shook his left arm, blood soaking the torn sleeve. There was still a scent of blood, but the bleeding had stopped.

There was no way to clean the wound and wash away the blood. In Barbarus, accessible water sources are contaminated, and drinkable water needs to be filtered in advance.

Hades realized he had been careless. He could have brought a water bottle and herbs, but the sudden attack had left him grabbing only his weapons and gas mask.

He's still too careless.

The coming hours would be difficult for Hades.

He gritted his teeth, feeling pain in every part of his body. The little porridge he had for dinner was far from enough for the exertion he had just undergone, leaving his limbs weak and his mind dizzy.

In his current state, even a venomous toad could take him down.

He reloaded his crossbow, tucked it back into his clothes, and, holding his knife, stumbled through the cornfield. He knew of a recently dug shallow grave nearby, where the wagon carrying the deceased was parked, and he could find some cover there.

However, Barbarus never showed mercy to the weak.

Noises arose from afar, prompting Hades to dive deeper into the cornfield. He half-crawled, pressing his wound tightly to prevent the smell of blood from escaping.

As time passed, the noises became clearer.

Footsteps, wails, the distinctive roar of steam-powered vehicles, and the clanking of tank treads.

Damn!!! Damn, damn, damn!!!

It was the slaver squad of a high-ranking Overlord!!!

Was he really going to die here today?!

The puppets enchanted by the overlords, though devoid of reason, could easily detect the scent of blood in the gas. Hades knew he couldn't avoid being discovered.

In an instant, a massive, toxin-soaked net dropped precisely onto Hades' head.

He didn't struggle; he knew he couldn't escape from such a net. His only desperate choice was to stay still and conserve his energy.

He was dragged out of the cornfield and roughly thrown into an overcrowded cargo truck.

Numbly, he looked around at the men, women, and children, all crying in despair.

There was no hope, not a sliver of a chance against the overwhelming power in this world filled with absolute malice.

This was the world of Warhammer; being weak was always a sin.

He couldn't save anyone; he couldn't even save himself.

Despair and exhaustion gripped Hades, and he fainted.

Today, Hades cried like a sprite with a stubbed toe.

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Just a bit of misery to spice things up. The protagonist's chicken-like fate will last for a few more chapters since he's still young and it's a grimdark world.

I'll try to balance the misery with some invincible moments later on.

Afterward, when he becomes a Death Guard Astartes, the protagonist will have his moments of triumph.