The effect of the 'miracle' was even more significant than Nyx had anticipated. This single act caused the doubts of those Reaper members who had been skeptical of him to vanish instantly. Their trust was now complete, and they began to praise Nyx's magnificence.
But Nyx alone knew that this was merely a stopgap measure. Healing the accumulated wounds of every Reaper member had nearly exhausted his recently restored strength. The ration tins he had pulled from his pocket dimension would last the team at most half a year — and this was assuming the Reapers' numbers did not expand.
Nyx knew that as Mortarion's rebellion against his adoptive father grew, the Reapers' ranks would swell considerably. What awaited them ahead was inevitable pain and hunger.
It was still a morning of toxic mist and gloom. This was Nyx's second day on Barbarus. After a full night's rest, his strength had recovered only slightly — the backlash from channelling the Emperor's psychic energy and Khorne's blessing to combat the damage inflicted by Gork and Mork was far more stubborn than anticipated, and extremely difficult to recuperate.
There was good news, however: Nyx's body was now more receptive to the residual psychic energy of the Emperor. With this power and his own foundation, he had purged all traces of Khorne's blessing from his system.
After a night of breathing exercises and integration, using the psychic residue left by the Emperor, Nyx had successfully 'evolved' his appearance: from yellow‑skinned to a robust 'golden boy' with wheat‑coloured skin.
Yes. Nyx had no intention of reverting to his original form. He was determined to play his role to the fullest until the true Emperor arrived.
This was definitely not because of some — 'if you're going to chase the thrill, go all the way' — mentality.
Early in the morning, a restrained knock sounded at the door of the room where Nyx was staying. This room had originally belonged to Mortarion, but with Nyx's arrival, he had insisted on yielding it to his 'father'.
Nyx opened the door. Mortarion stood outside, his brow heavy with many furrows. The supplies Nyx had brought had greatly alleviated the camp's shortages, lightening the heavy burden on Mortarion's shoulders.
"Good morning, Father."
Mortarion's voice was somewhat heavier than before. "This is your breakfast."
He extended a thick bowl filled with soft food. Nyx immediately recognised it as an enhanced version of the ration tins distributed last night — strictly meeting (or even exceeding) the nutritional standards of the Imperial Guard, a qualitative leap in satiety, nutrition, and taste. Apart from its humble appearance, it could be called perfect.
"Good morning, Mortarion."
Nyx took the bowl. At this moment, he had shed his conspicuous 'yellow‑skinned' guise and regained a towering figure approaching the human form, though his face remained shrouded in a misty halo, indistinct. This change startled Mortarion slightly, but he quickly reacted; a flicker of understanding and deeper reverence passed through his eyes.
This is Father's human aspect... It is indeed mightier and more commanding than I had imagined!
"Father, has your strength recovered?"
Mortarion asked, concern evident in his voice.
"A little..."
Nyx took a mouthful of the food that should rightfully have been his, and replied: "You seem to be in good spirits, Mortarion."
"Yes... Yes, Father."
Mortarion nodded, unable to suppress his excitement. "With your 'blessing' and supply support, most of the Reaper members have recovered their health and can participate in combat training."
...Most of them are already in combat training?
Hearing this, Nyx paused mid‑bite. In his eyes, even after his own healing, the physiques of these native Barbarans — aside from the few who had specially adapted to the environment or possessed diluted xenos blood — were still far from the level of true warriors.
In his view, a more suitable task for these hollowed‑out civilians, at present, might be reconstruction work and establishing production infrastructure.
With this in mind, he quickly finished his breakfast and said to Mortarion: "Take me to the training ground. I want to see."
"Yes, Father."
Together, they arrived at an open training ground on the camp's edge. Before they even drew close, a gust of air mixed with the stench of sweat and faint rust met Nyx's face. Crude killing cries, the dull thuds of bodies colliding with hard objects, and the cold reprimands of instructors constantly filled the air.
The clearing was roughly divided into several zones. In the largest, hundreds of recruits were undergoing physical training far beyond their limits.
Carrying wooden barrels filled with gravel, they ran and squatted repeatedly in the mud, splashing filthy water with every step. All their faces were flushed or pale from exertion; sweat had already soaked through their ragged clothing.
Nearby, some thrust spears or desperately hacked at dense straw targets bound with vines, using rusted machetes. Even as they sweated like rain, no one stopped.
The most striking, however, was the specialised training station in the corner of the ground, dedicated entirely to combating xenos.
There stood several target dummies with grotesque silhouettes, barely cobbled together from deadwood, animal bones, and scrap metal — crude imitations of the xenos' general forms. Recruits took turns stepping forward, practicing attacks under the strict guidance of their instructor, Calas Typhon.
"Eyes! Joints! Armpits!"
Typhon's voice was hoarse and piercing. He would occasionally strike a recruit's calf or elbow with the long pole in his hand to correct their posture.
"You're not fighting men! These are monsters! Their carapaces are hard as rock! Find the gaps! Find the weaknesses! Use skill, not brute force!"
The recruits wielded specialised spears, repeatedly drilling the 'thrust‑twist‑drag' motion — simulating tearing the distinctive hide of a xenos or hooking a limb.
Others practiced 'dodging' xenos charges. A companion would swing a heavy pendulum from different angles; the trainee had to block and deflect the force at a precise angle using a shield of worn‑out wooden planks, then immediately roll aside and thrust a short blade into the 'vital point' behind the pendulum.
The unsuccessful were often thrown to the ground, leaving fresh bruises on their bodies, but could only grit their teeth, rise, and get back in line.
In Nyx's eyes, these drills were useful, but not very effective. The xenos were still far too strong for these recruits. This was what was called 'asymmetric training' — Nyx estimated that the xenos were 'a ten', and these recruits needed to find a 'company' to even the odds.
The toll of the training was evident. Many recruits collapsed from exhaustion, unable to endure; most began to stagger, vomit, or even lose consciousness. They were immediately dragged aside, revived with cold water, and after a brief respite, sent back into the queue.
"They hate these xenos,"
Mortarion observed quietly, murmuring to Nyx. "That hatred, combined with their survival instinct, is their primary driving force now. Typhon... channels that emotion into killing techniques very effectively."
"Hm... It's clear that without hatred and the will to live, most of them wouldn't last."
Nyx silently observed the entire training ground. After a moment, he spoke casually: "The intensity standards for these drills were set by you yourself and gradually scaled down, weren't they?"
His gaze turned to Mortarion, as though it could pierce through his resolute exterior and glimpse the hidden goodwill within.
"But this burden is still too heavy for them."
"They should not be treated as expendables. Even if they survive this training and face the xenos, their survival rate remains minimal."
"I know, Father..."
Mortarion did not deny this.
"But it's the best method I can devise at present. We have neither time nor choice."
"You've seen the potential of these people, Mortarion, but you haven't learned how to use it."
"Humanity once conquered the galaxy without relying on sturdy flesh and blood. That was the wisdom and imagination rooted deep in the soul."
"It is unwise to fight head‑on against xenos who possess absolute physical superiority. We need to compensate for our lack of strength with technology."
"...Technology?"
This word seemed distant and foreign in Barbarus's brutal, near‑stone‑age war for survival.
"Yes. Technology."
The corners of Nyx's mouth curved into a faint smile — a smile that promised infinite possibilities.
Time for your brother to experience his remarkable wisdom!
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