Warhammer 30: The Second Legion's Expedition

Chapter 49 Rescue and Unease

Paris's armor was filthy, his shoulder armor was riddled with bullet holes and damage, and there was a deep piercing through his chest. His head was dented along with his helmet, clearly indicating that the alien had inflicted a fatal injury on him.

"Remove his armor." After removing his armor, the Skwala pharmacist, dressed in white surgical scrubs, shouted to the people around him.

The machine servant who was about to take action was slapped away, and then several legion apothecaries came up.

Following the chief apothecary's instructions, the group swiftly and efficiently removed the armor from Paris's body, avoiding the wounds.

Just as Paris was being completely stripped naked, a leading technical sergeant stepped forward. While examining Paris, who was receiving emergency treatment, and calculating the possibility of saving him, he used his mechanical prosthetic arm to provide precise assistance to the rescue.

He asked Skwal, who was busy and occasionally frowning, "How's the situation?"

"Not bad," Skwal said succinctly.

"Why don't we stuff them with fearless ones?" The technical sergeant wouldn't listen. He suggested, "Flesh and blood are too weak."

Skwal raised his eyes and gave him a cold look: "I swear, if you dare to do that, the adults will not hesitate to skin you alive, Frankenstein."

"Then I will have the opportunity to squeeze myself into the armor." Frankenstein was vaguely looking forward to it.

"S*"

A vulgar phrase about the sacred earth escaped Skwal's lips.

Frankenstein smiled and gestured to the squad behind him carrying the Defiant Fearless to take him back.

At the same time, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's quite a pity."

It's fake. Frankenstein did want to undergo more extensive mechanical modifications, especially since he was deeply fascinated by the absolute rationality and mechanical beauty displayed by the Iron Ten when he worked with them.

However, fearlessness is merely a safeguard, a last resort in the event that Paris is completely beyond saving. Frankenstein doesn't want to offend a Primarch, or even his own Gene Father.

"Leave me alone." Skwalli didn't want to talk to Frankstein at all.

Paris lay on his hospital bed, his flesh stripped bare and exposed to his scalpel, his entire body connected to numerous medical instruments.

An oxygen mask was fastened over Paris's high, split nose and purplish, dry lips. Saline solution and hematopoietic cells continuously replenished the body with water and blood, allowing his almost paralyzed and protesting body to regain moisture and vitality.

Finally, Skwal looked at the Nasserm instrument and saw the green light flashing on it, which put his mind at ease.

He finally replaced the stubborn wounds on Paris's body with several pieces of synthetic skin, removed the needles and hissing tubing from Paris's body, and placed the hemostats, first aid bandages, and bone forceps on the tray.

He said coldly, "Hibernation pod."

Several Astartes carefully placed Paris into the hibernation pod.

Having done all this, Skwal clapped his hands, ready to banter with Frankenstein behind him.

The moment he turned his head, he saw Hector's tall figure.

He was standing in front of the young men carrying the Fearless, his Primarch's face filled with restrained rage.

Hector looked uncontrollably at the anthropomorphic helmet of the fearless figure several times, his eyes filled with undisguised panic and grief.

But the light of reason told Hector that his brother Paris was not there.

He restrained himself, and under the loving and admiring gazes of his descendants, he gave a dignified smile: "Go back."

"Bravo Hector!"

"Bravo Hector!"

A cheer erupted in the medical room, startling several wounded soldiers from their rest. They instinctively shouted in unison, but the exertion aggravated their injuries.

This drew angry rebukes from the pharmacists and less-than-perfect treatment from the servants.

Holmes stared coldly at Frankenstein, who entered with an indifferent gaze and made no attempt to flinch.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"You know this is necessary, and you have no reason to hold a grudge against me for it," Frankenstein said matter-of-factly. "Holmes, everyone knows that feigning death doesn't mean one won't die. If the wounds are too severe or deep, and the toxins spread, they will still die."

"They will fall into a deep sleep, so burdened by their bodies that they will never wake up again."

"To be buried in fearlessness will be their only option; is that not a blessing?"

"Only elders and wise men are worthy to be buried here. Paris is the brother of the Father of Genetics, and I have made way for him."

"You shouldn't blame me. If he wakes up, I think he'll thank me for freeing him from that frail, fleshy body."

Looking at Frankenstein, who had numerous prosthetics and was highly modified, Holmes's anger grew. He listened quietly as Frankenstein uttered everything in one breath, and finally said coldly, "You've gotten too close to those robots on Mars."

"Don't compare me to those guys whose memories are so jumbled up they need to edit and edit, Sherlock Holmes," Frankenstein said bluntly, his sneer barely concealed.

"My body is still at least fifty years old."

Hector could hear Holmes and Frankenstein talking, but his troubled mind prevented him from paying attention. He walked up to Skwal and looked down at the Legion's chief apothecary.

"My lord," Skwal bowed, striking his chest with his hand.

Hector nodded: "How is it?"

Skwal was no fool; he took the initiative to guide Hector to follow him toward Paris's hibernation pod.

"The situation is not so bad as to be beyond repair."

He rephrased it to avoid sounding frivolous.

As the two passed by rows of hibernation pods, Hector would pause briefly at each one, gazing intently at the different faces of his offspring inside, not neglecting them despite his anxiety for Paris.

The worst-case scenario did not occur; the sword of Damocles in Hector's heart had fallen to a point where Hector could grasp the blade, but the tip of the sword did not pierce him.

Hector stood in front of Paris's hibernation pod, looking at Paris inside.

Paris's pale face gradually regained a faint, almost imperceptible vitality, and his lips, which had been slightly purple and bloodless, began to plump up as they were soaked.

Paris's chest was covered in a constantly healing, self-contained synthetic skin that was almost indistinguishable from the surrounding tissue, while the most severely damaged area, the back of his head, remained undetectable.

Hector watched, a sense of sadness rising within him.

This was the first time he had ever seen Paris nearly die in front of him.

Am I really too weak? Hector couldn't help but wonder.

Although his thoughts were somewhat unfair to his brother Horus, Hector wondered if his brother's beloved son Cyyanus would be more rational than he was, rather than letting his emotions cloud his judgment if he were to die.

"king."