My Life as A Death Guard (Warhammer 30K Male MC)

Barbarus, Southern Swamp, Diderot Mountains.

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Xenos Overlord Desley stood by his workbench, deep in thought. 

His conversion experiment had just abruptly failed.

On the workbench, the seemingly haphazardly cut low level corpse pieces were quietly arranged in a specific order, coarsely sewn together with thick black thread. 

Some yellowish-black pus slowly oozed from the wounds.

Yes, Overlord Desley was in the process of creating a high-level puppet. Generally speaking, whether low-level or high-level, puppets were pieced together from the corpses of the strong low level beings. 

The only difference lay in the level of psychic sorcery applied to them.

Creating high-level puppets consumed a lot of psychic energy. 

At Desley's level, making one high-level puppet would leave him weak for a while.

But if it were Barbarus' true master, the high Overlord Necare, that guy could raise his hand and instantly create a dozen high-level puppets.

Although Desley could also raise his hand to create a dozen low-level puppets, the gap between low-level and high-level puppets was insurmountable.

These mass-produced low-level puppets were only capable of fighting, unlike the high-level puppets, which could organize tactics, use simple psychic powers, and command lower-level puppets.

Moreover, the combat power of a high-level puppet was several times that of a low-level one.

However, up to this point, Overlord Desley had adhered to the principle of "strength in numbers," valuing quantity over quality. 

As long as he had enough low-level puppets, he believed he could overwhelm any high-level puppet.

Indeed, the southern lords favored the simple-to-create puppets. 

Some also tamed other creatures, but only those with ample territory had the luxury of alternatives beyond puppets.

Desley, for instance, had previously used sheer numbers to overwhelm several nearby small overlords and subsequently raised numerous filthy hounds.

But now, none of it worked anymore.

Desley gritted his teeth in frustration. 

Since the arrival of the northern Death Guard and that scythe-wielding creature roaming at night, harvesting the low level beings had become increasingly difficult.

At first, they thought nighttime village raids would merely become more complicated.

Initially, this was the case. 

The Death Guard, led by Typhon, actively organized night defenses in various villages.

However, they overlooked the figure wandering the toxic mist just like them.

What was going on?! That guy was clearly just a low level being, not a psychic hybrid like Calas Typhon. 

He was just a tall, sturdy low level being! How was he slaughtering those small overlords?

No overlords knew, for those involved were already dead.

That guy, wielding a scythe, silently emerged from the toxic mist and beheaded the Xenos Overlords who ventured down to hunt.

Desley felt somewhat relieved that he never descended to hunt himself, but his slaver teams suffered heavy losses, nearly a hundred puppets perishing in a few hunts.

—No, it couldn't be. If he went down, he'd surely kill that damned bastard.

That lowly low level being!!!

Despite his words, Xenos Overlord Desley had since remained quietly within his territory.

Reports of Xenos Overlords being killed within their territories kept coming in.

To say he wasn’t worried would be a lie.

But the path to hunt the low level beings below was blocked. 

Any slaver team sent down faced the same fate of being slaughtered.

Without materials to make puppets, Desley couldn't continue his strategy of overwhelming numbers.

So, Overlord Desley had no choice but to attempt creating high-level puppets.

However, his first attempt had just failed.

It felt as if Desley had suddenly been cut off from his connection to the heavens.

Desley stood by his workbench, deep in thought, while the other experimental apparatuses in the room hummed with activity. 

The roar of the steam engine and the creak of mechanical arms filled the room.

A figure slowly emerged from the shadows at the doorway, their face obscured by a gas mask, making it impossible to discern their true identity.

The shadowy figure was about three meters away from Desley, who was still standing by his workbench, unaware and facing away from the door.

Desley believed that if there was an attack, his puppets and filthy hounds would have already started to stir.

However, he miscalculated—

In an instant, it felt as though someone had suddenly and tightly gripped his throat. 

His vision went black, as if the connection between his soul and body had been severed!

The figure at the door suddenly leapt forward, blade aimed straight for Desley's face!

Desley instinctively raised a hand to block while using his other hand to cast his most familiar explosive sorcery.

"Ah!!!!"

The hand attempting to cast sorcery instantly exploded, while the scythe altered its trajectory, bypassing the block to hook into his innards.

The curved blade of the scythe skillfully avoided obstacles, the tip slicing through Desley's massive, bloated body as if it were tofu.

The blade dug deeper, pulling out a string of crimson organs that dangled like ripe grapes, falling to the floor with the slash.

"You!"

Desley stared deathly at this intruder. In his final moment of life, he saw the figure clearly.

Unlike other low level beings, this one was tall and robust, clad in deep black leather armor, with a gas mask and hood. 

Underneath were a pair of abyssal black eyes that seemed to devour everything, devoid of any soul!

A cursed wraith!

Those emotionless black eyes gazed at him as the blade swung again.

Blade up, head down.

‘Today is a good day~~’

Hades thought cheerfully, another successful assassination, another clueless victim.

Although the Xenos Overlord seemed to be dead, Hades, to be sure, gave its body a few more slashes.

Then, he glanced in disgust at the workbench. 

The pieces of corpses were chaotically arranged, with corpse oil seeping all over.

Damn.

Hades ignored the corpse pieces for now. 

With the overlord dead, the puppets should have felt the shift in psychic energy and started to scatter.

Hades quickly followed his planned escape route, running upwards. He soon reached the top of the fortress.

Several puppets were frantically running around the castle top, and Hades quickly granted them mercy.

Then he looked towards the edge, where several cannons stood prominently.

Unlike the imagined medieval cannons, these weapons were electronically modified—“They look like medieval cannons," "They operate like medieval cannons," "The shells they fire are like those from medieval cannons, just more powerful," but "They are not medieval cannons."

Hades ran over, peering out through the observation port. 

The first wave of fleeing puppets was nearing the minefield he had set.

Hades adjusted the cannon, aiming it at the shed housing Desley's filthy hounds. 

Several hounds had already broken their chains and were running out, agitated.

No problem.

Hades ignited the cannon and quickly ran five meters away.

If he stayed in place, Hades bet the cannon would either misfire or explode.

One by one, the cannons fired, and Hades repeated the process, blasting the hound shed first, then turning to the puppet horde.

—In the distance, the mines started to explode.

The scattered puppets lost all will to escape. 

These corpse creations, given life through sorcery, only had desires to kill and torment.

Amid the countless thunderous, brilliant explosions, Hades leaped from the fortress, scythe in hand, harvesting.

Once, he had watched Mortarion mercilessly reap the puppets.

And now, it was his turn to unleash the bloom of slaughter!