Warhammer: I Don't Want to Become a Stinky Can!!!

Heller Pass, Hades's home.

The second night after their escape.

Hades sat on the ground, his left arm carefully wrapped in bandages. He held a small stick, staring blankly at the horse meat roasting over the fire in the center of the room.

Don't ask why there was a fire in the middle of the house. Just look at this small, half-collapsed earthen hut, now a semi-open-air mansion after half the wall by the door had crumbled!

After Hades escaped the pursuit range of the Pale Laughter, those bizarre creatures, furious at his escape, had smashed half the wall of his house.

The good news was that the roof over the kang (a heated bed) was still intact, so it was still somewhat livable.

At the moment, Calas Typhon sat on the other side of the fire, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the roasting horse meat.

Mortarion, meanwhile, stood at the doorway like a sentinel, holding a chopping knife.

This guy was convinced that his foster father would come after them to kill them all, so ever since they returned, Mortarion had basically been standing guard at the door.

Hades had tried to persuade him otherwise, but it was no use. Old Morty had been stubborn since childhood.

The villagers, having just survived an attack by the Pale Laughter, grew even more terrified when they saw Mortarion standing guard.

(Though, to be fair, his concern wasn't unfounded. If Hades hadn't read the script, he'd probably be just as vigilant as Mortarion right now.)

Hades glanced helplessly at Mortarion standing guard at the door, then returned to staring blankly into space.

Calas Typhon, being a hybrid of alien and human, had never been well-received by the villagers. He often wandered near various villages, just looking for a bite to eat.

Mortarion, on the other hand, was a naive young man who had just been "abducted" ().

In short, these two had nowhere to go.

Out of self-interest, Hades brought them to his home.

He poked the roasting meat with his stick. This side looked about done, so he flipped it over to cook the other side.

Back when they were speeding down the mountain in the truck, Hades had managed to wreck the vehicle near the valley, causing it to skid out of control.

If it hadn't been for Mortarion grabbing him, Typhon would have flown out of the truck bed.

Thanks, Mortarion.

"Damn it! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Typhon cursed, trembling as he climbed out of the truck after it finally came to a stop.

(It would be much later before Hades realized that this was due to his Pariah-like nature.)

After that, they walked back to the village, encountering some low-level monsters along the way. The monsters appeared, and then Mortarion effortlessly slaughtered them.

So satisfying.

Hades thought silently.

When they returned to the village, the cries of the villagers deeply affected the three of them. After the attack by the Pale Laughter, the slave hunters had come to scavenge the village—though they hadn't taken many people.

The villagers wept as they buried their dead, while those who had escaped wept tears of reunion.

Normally, Mortarion and his group, as the heroes who had helped them escape, should have been welcomed and adored by the villagers.

Instead, they were met with fear and rejection.

The villagers gathered in whispers, afraid that the mountain lords would come down for revenge. Some even suggested killing Mortarion and Typhon and sending their bodies back to the mountain lords.

Hades rolled his eyes internally. While the villagers' fear wasn't entirely unreasonable, their double standards were glaring. They only talked about killing Mortarion and Typhon, completely ignoring the fact that their own relatives had also escaped.

After all, everyone had escaped. Why only send back the ones you don't know?

And Mortarion, you're a Primarch! People are afraid of you, which makes you look kinda pathetic…

Hades thought silently, deciding to blame this on the superficial world.

In theory, no Primarch is ugly, but in reality, the twenty-one Primarchs had varying levels of charisma. Some, like Sanguinius and Fulgrim, had charm maxed out. A single smile from them could make strangers want to adopt them as babies and raise them like treasures.

Mortarion, on the other hand… well, let's just say his charm was inversely maxed out. Up close, Mortarion was actually quite handsome, like a marble statue. But his overall demeanor was terrifying—tall and thin like a stick, pale with sunken eyes, and a hoarse voice. At first glance, he looked like the Grim Reaper.

People's first reaction upon seeing Mortarion was to hide, not to swoon like they would with Sanguinius or Fulgrim.

So, in this situation, the villagers were quite unified in their decision to vote out the guy who looked like a monster.

Even though he was a hunter who had just gone on a killing spree, not a werewolf.

Ah, this superficial world.

Still, there were grateful villagers. Some of the families of those who had escaped brought them straw and food.

On their first night back in the village, Hades quickly laid out some straw to make a bed and cooked a simple porridge with the food they had been given.

After their life-and-death escape, all three of them were exhausted. Hades only managed a few bites of porridge before he was too tired to continue. Although the wound on his left arm had started to fester, he only gave it a rough bandaging before collapsing into bed and falling into a deep sleep.

With those two standing guard, he didn't have to worry about enemies.

That night was one of the few times Hades slept without a care in the world.

In his dream, he was still painting stinky little Warhammer miniatures, cursing how the prices had gone up again.

When he woke up, he found his left arm had been carefully re-bandaged, and Typhon was lying next to him, sleeping like a log.

He silently wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth. He definitely hadn't looked this embarrassing while sleeping… definitely not…

He tried to stretch but stopped halfway when his entire body ached, almost cramping up.

He slowly made his way to the door, where Mortarion stood like a tall, thin pole, staring into the distance at the mountains.

He was completely still, only blinking slowly when he noticed Hades approaching, subtly shifting his gaze toward him.

But aside from his eyes, Mortarion remained as motionless as a statue.

Hades muttered to himself internally. This guy was currently the strongest person he could possibly interact with. In fact, aside from the Emperor and the Chaos Gods, Hades might never encounter anyone stronger than Mortarion—

So he had to cling to this thigh!!! Big bro, take me with you!!!

If you suddenly traveled back in time and found yourself face-to-face with a rogue who needed your help—and you recognized him as Liu Bang before he became emperor—you'd definitely go all out to help him, as long as there was no deep-seated hatred.

Once he ascended to the throne and remembered your help, even a small favor from him could set you up for life as a minor feudal lord. Wouldn't that be great?

Sure, some might say this lacks backbone, that a real man should use his knowledge of the future to carve out his own destiny!

But Hades wanted to ask, bro, everyone dreams of becoming the world's richest man. Let's be realistic here—how about we aim for a civil servant position first?

We don't have the skills to take on the world, so why bother with such a daunting task?

Going solo is exhausting and dangerous, with the slightest misstep leading to a gruesome death. Why not just follow a big shot, cheer them on, and live a comfortable life? Wouldn't that be great?

Besides, he was in the Warhammer universe now, where humanity's fate was pretty much doomed.

Even the Emperor, the ultimate alpha among alphas, had to kneel. What could a small-time transmigrator like him possibly do to save this world?

Not getting crushed by this world would already be a victory!

And he didn't want to shout "Long live the Emperor" and become kindling for humanity. Humanity didn't need him, and the Imperium had been teetering on the brink of collapse for ten thousand years. It was still one of the largest factions in the galaxy, barely holding on.

Besides, he was a slacker in his previous life. Did changing worlds suddenly make him a go-getter?

In his old world, he had worked hard to become a high-level office worker, saving up for a small house and buying a few figurines, living a peaceful life.

Just as he was ready to coast through the rest of his life—

He inexplicably ended up in this world.

Ughhhhhhh!!! Damn it!!!

Ending up in Warhammer is one thing, but why Barbarus of all places? Terra, Mars, Macragge, Chogoris… any of those would've been better than Barbarus!

Hell, he could've even been a happy Ork!

His current situation was only slightly better than being a bottom-tier hive world dweller…

And… why did he have to run into Mortarion?! This guy was one of the most stubborn and self-absorbed Primarchs in 40k, with a personality so twisted it was nearly impossible to communicate with him.

Out of the twenty-one Primarchs, Konrad Curze, Mortarion, Perturabo, and Angron were the ones you'd least want to run into!

…

No, Hades, you can do this. Think about Mortarion before he met the Emperor. Back then, despite being a bit gloomy, he was relatively normal, even acting with genuine justice.

In fact, judging from Mortarion's resistance army days on Barbarus, he was a brave, resourceful, and charismatic leader.

So, where did it all go wrong?

…

Hades had already vented enough about this after arriving here.

In short, reality was harsh, and the solution was simple: improve his survival skills, build goodwill with Primarch Mortarion, and survive until the Emperor came to collect Mortarion. Then, he could become an Astartes and extend his lifespan.

As for what came after, that was a problem for future Hades.

For now, it was time to channel his inner office worker and butter up the boss!