Chapter 580 98 Dark Expedition (Twenty-Three, Sevita's Green Classroom)

Chapter 580 98. Dark Expedition (Twenty-three, Sevatar's Green Classroom)

Yago Sevatarion squatted down and grabbed a handful of soil with his right hand. Dark brown, with a little scarlet.

He loosened his fingers, letting the soil slip through his fingers, and some small and sharp stones remained. Sevatar stared at them thoughtfully, and after a while, he let the gravel return to the ground.

He picked up the chain saw halberd that had been stuck in the ground before, wiped the wet soil on the tail with his left hand, and carried it on his shoulder without any psychological pressure.

Anyway, he didn't bring technical sergeants this time, and there were quite a few sons of Calth, but they didn't think they would say anything about his behavior.

Sevatar smiled unconsciously. This might be the first time in ten thousand years that he didn't have to explain to the technical sergeants what caused the soil on the weapon.

He led the team in a hurry and did not expect that this "visit" would turn into such a situation, but he could understand why the person who brought them here would make such an irrational decision.

Sevata knew very well that Caril Rohals, his instructor, had gone crazy.

His past moral paranoia was now becoming a shackle, around his neck, pulling him forward. He might be able to resist, but the price he paid must be very painful.

Sevata would rather he didn't resist.

He returned to Terra many times, and each time, the Master of the Seal would send his spies to pass on some valuable information to Sevata. Sometimes they were detailed, sometimes they were brief, sometimes they were names, and sometimes they were just a clue.

Sevata accepted them all, and he understood the importance of this: if the situation was not urgent to a certain extent, the Master of the Seal would not find him.

However, there was one time when the mute guards did not bring intelligence, but a handwritten letter. There was no signature on the letter, and there was no emblem to indicate the identity. The content of the letter was very simple, just a person talking about a dream that did not belong to him.

The person said that in the dream, he always felt that he was in a dark prison.

The person also said that he did not understand how the owner of the dream could hold on.

Yes, how did he survive? Sevatar thought.

He continued to walk forward, feeling the morning breeze of the nameless planet under his feet.

To be honest, the smell of the wind was terrible, but considering the specific situation of this battlefield, this was completely understandable. Orcs have always been smelly, their body odor is almost the same as biological and chemical attacks, and some of them even have smelly blood.

Sevatar had seen some of the laziest and most unkempt soldiers jump up in the gaps between battles to clean their bodies out of the trenches, and they looked as if they had suddenly developed mysophobia.

And now he was walking in a battlefield full of dead orcs. It was roughly estimated that they had been dead for about two days.

The spores they left behind have begun to affect the land. Except for the very edge, most of the battlefield has sprouted small green mushrooms.

After a while, the so-called Squigs and weak farts will follow closely, and then

Sevatar sighed, stopped, put on his helmet, and began to wait patiently.

About a few minutes later, a panting orc crawled out of a pile of corpses not far from him. It had obviously been waiting for a long time, and its body was covered in blood, but it was still very energetic.

It shouted at him.

"Aha! Look who I saw! A big black fool! You are unlucky to run into me! Give me the big blade in your hand that you can see at a glance that it can cut things, and I won't chop you off, how about it?!"

Low Gothic is poor and unpleasant, but it is still the common language of the Empire.

As always.

Very good.

Sevatar appeared in front of it like lightning, and at the same time, he swung his chainsaw halberd expressionlessly, and gently knocked away the short greenskin with teeth of his own kind.

It was not surprising for the orcs to do anything, even an orc who would hide in a pile of corpses to take the teeth of his dead companions and ambush passers-by was not surprising.

He walked leisurely towards the place where the thing fell, but suddenly stopped again and turned his head slightly. Several sharp bone arrows grazed his cheek by a millimeter.

He turned his head to look at the other side of the battlefield, and found that there were actually several other greenskins standing in the place where he had not yet set foot. They all had bows in their hands and were busy bending their bows and arrows again.

There are accomplices? And they know how to ambush?

Sevatar raised his eyebrows, pulled out the grenade gun on his waist with his backhand, and shot four times, bang, bang, bang, and smashed them all into pieces. After he finished this, he slowly put the gun back, turned around, and saw a stunned greenskin who had just climbed up.

To be honest, it was not easy to see this emotion from their faces.

"You, you--" The greenskin stuttered and pointed at him and shouted. "-- What the hell are you?!"

Sevatar stood there and looked at it, not saying anything, but not attacking, just staring at it.

The result was not beyond his expectations. After a few seconds, the orc ran away. He hung behind not far away, just like leading a lap in the training ground of the "nest", deliberately maintaining a medium speed.

Fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, Sevatar chased, or drove the orc to a woodland that looked like a garbage dump.

Leather armor, chain mail, plate armor and other armor are all available here, most of them are tattered and covered with blood, hanging casually on the trees. The same is true for weapons, which are varied, including short swords, long swords, great swords, spears, halberds and javelins.

In addition to being relatively primitive, this can be regarded as a very good weapon and equipment sales place. If more guns can be put on display and those armors can be turned into bulletproof armor, some thugs and gangs in the nest city will be very happy to come here to consume.

But they have no teeth to trade.

Sevita couldn't help but laugh at this fresh joke.

He walked into the forest quietly and watched the orc rushing towards a group of orcs. It was ridiculous, but he was sure that the noisy orcs were making a deal.

They gathered in front of several thick tree trunks that had been cut and placed horizontally, holding a handful of teeth in their hands, and their necks and bodies were also full of fangs from their own kind.

An orc who was a bit bigger than them stood in the middle of the tree trunk, bearing their roars and shouting, and then roared back even louder.

This might be a way of bargaining.

But all this collapsed on the spot after the orc shouted a long string of low Gothic in panic. They looked at each other, then scattered, returning to the forest like a green torrent, and soon ran back fully armed.

Their armor was very ridiculous, with plate armor nailed outside the leather armor, and a layer of chain mail on the plate armor, which looked bulky and stupid. Some even wrapped the blood-stained flag around their heads, and no one knew what the purpose was.

Most of them chose to hold a stolen sword in each hand, and then carry a replacement axe or javelin on their backs. Admittedly, this scene looked funny and ridiculous, but Sevatar's expression became serious.

Because he saw that some orcs were holding crossbows, it was obvious that they were evolving.

If he continued.

Sevata ended his observation.

He showed up neatly, rushed into them and started to kill. These orcs who were still in the Iron Age and didn't even have a primitive musket were not enough to threaten him.

Blood and flesh flew everywhere, and broken limbs and arms flew up with the roar of the chain saw halberd, like a dance. The engine of the chain saw halberd was the main rhythm of the dance accompaniment, and the roar and howl of the orcs were indispensable embellishments.

Sevata's footsteps were brisk, like a ghost passing through, turning all the living things in sight into broken flesh and blood in this green forest.

While he was killing, he even had time to think - as we all know, orcs can usually evolve in war, both physically and technologically.

As long as there is no wave of killing these creatures, they can suddenly emerge again in a very short time, and this batch is often stronger than their predecessors.

This is an evolution that cannot be explained. The ecology of orcs is complex and uncontrollable. Many scholars have tried to figure out why this race can be so pure and so terrible, but their final end is not very good.

All those who try to use orcs will be torn to pieces by these green beasts in a simple and stupid way. They are indeed stupid, but they are very pure.

They are born to fight.

Sevatar's killing ended after three minutes. The last surviving orc was caught by him in the woods and then cut into ten pieces neatly. This is not because he is bloodthirsty or sadistic, but because the vitality of these things is very tenacious.

For other races, fatal injuries can be completely recovered in one or two hours for orcs. Even if the head is cut off, it can be resurrected and fight again after simple suturing.

Of course, having said that, there are not many doctors with such skills among the greenskins. They have the position of doctor, but their doctors usually just use saws or hammers to abuse patients casually.

Whether the treatment is good or not is another matter, anyway, they have to use violence first.

In this case, there are not many orcs who can succeed in surgery. But Sevata didn't dare to gamble. The technology he used surpassed these orcs by several generations, but they were not a race that could be guessed by common sense.

As long as an orc who had seen him survived by chance, they would probably start thinking, and then

Sevata sighed, turned off the chainsaw halberd, and hurried back to the camp. If he had to choose an alien race that he least wanted to deal with, the orcs would definitely be the first.

Fighting these things is simply a torture. They are rarely afraid. Even if they run away, they will come back soon, and most orcs will only get more excited the more they fight

A voice sounded softly behind him.

"Your reconnaissance operation seems to be successful."

Sevata turned around and threw his weapon to a passing son of Calth, who took the weapon in surprise and excitement, and then strode away. Sevata took off his helmet, sneered and shook his head at the person who spoke.

"If you have anything to say, please say it quickly, Hunter. I'm not in a good mood right now."

The Hunter nodded calmly. From his cloudy white eyes, Sevatar could not see any emotion, and he hated this. Of course, he did not hate the Hunter, at most he was just a little dissatisfied with him.

According to his experience, all the dissatisfaction between brothers can be easily resolved in the duel cage.

"Have you used your prophecy talent recently?" The Hunter asked politely.

Sevata resisted the urge to punch him right now, and nodded with his neck stiffened, his tone starting to change: "No, what's wrong, great hunter?"

"Just want to let you know that I just completed a prophecy but the result was not very good."

Sevata took a deep breath.

In front of the civilians, auxiliary soldiers and Astartes, he stepped forward, put his right hand on the hunter's shoulder, then turned his feet and led the hunter to an empty corner quite naturally.

"Why can't you always finish your words at once?" Sevata asked very sincerely, his voice was very soft.

"I was about to say it, respected legion commander, but I was interrupted."

"What legion commander?"

"You."

"There is no such position as legion commander now, and even if there is, it will not be me."

"Then." The hunter smiled rarely. "Maybe we should call Captain Van Cleef out?"

Sevata stopped.

"Do you really want to be beaten?" He asked calmly.

"No." The hunter said lightly. "I just want you to know that although I speak slowly, I am not a person who likes to keep people in suspense, and you have been interrupting me."

"So, what you just said was a kind of revenge?"

The hunter shook his head: "I don't have the courage to take revenge on the great imperial hero Yago Sevitarion. I just want you to know that there is something wrong with the planet where we are temporarily parked."

Sevitar frowned and instantly threw all the extra emotions out of his mind. He stared at the hunter seriously, waiting for his next words, and the latter did not disappoint him.

In the next second, two dark blue lights suddenly lit up in the hunter's turbid eyes, flashing and fleeting, with an astonishing speed.

A lightning bolt suddenly jumped out of the palm of his right hand, which was naturally hanging down, and struck the sky at a speed beyond time. Sevitar looked up and saw a dark feather slowly falling.

He reached out and grabbed it. Under the sunlight, the surface of the feather reflected an extremely colorful light. Sevitar squinted his eyes, closed his right fist, and finely ground it into harmless powder.

The hunter nodded to him.

"It seems that you have understood." He said softly. "I think we should be prepared for a tough battle."

Sevatar nodded, agreeing with his opinion for the first time.