My Life as A Death Guard

After successfully killing the Xenos Overlord Lazar, Hades was uncharacteristically doing nothing—well, not exactly, he was actively healing his wounds while lying still.

Most of his injuries had stopped bleeding and scabbed over, except for a few deeper cuts that still had a greenish-yellow tinge and hadn’t healed yet. His arms and hands, which had suffered minor fractures from the immense force, were also recovering well.

Right after the battle, Hades was practically useless, with zero self-care ability. Mortarion had carried him down from Morava Mountain.

He was then dumped into a makeshift hospital within their territory, which was more like a large barn converted to house the wounded. Villagers trained in basic medical care volunteered to take shifts after finishing their farm work each day.

Naturally, Hades was placed in a small corner since everyone found him annoying.

Despite their instinctive dislike, the overly responsible medical personnel still treated Hades meticulously.

Herila, worried that Hades wouldn’t receive the care he needed, visited him several times, each time bringing homemade “snacks.”

Hades was also curious. On Barbarus, resources were scarce, and people typically only had wheat and white corn. Yet, Herila managed to make such unique and consistently awful-tasting food with such simple ingredients.

Once most of Hades’ wounds had healed, Herila took him to the small house she shared with her sister, and the two of them took turns caring for him.

Hades had almost recovered in the makeshift hospital, but the food at Herila’s house set him back a few days before he fully regained his senses.

As soon as his hands and arms were mostly healed, he fled the place.

Of course, before leaving, Hades cooked a meal for Herila’s family. He saw Herila’s sister almost cry tears of joy while eating…

‘Damn it Herila, stop torturing your sister…’

Returning to his remote little shack, Hades tidied up a bit and then sat at his workbench, lost in thought.

During his recovery, he had made some preliminary guesses, but due to blood loss and poisoning (later from the food), he hadn’t been able to piece together all the information.

The battle with Lazar had made him realize something.

Hades unconsciously stroked his chin. Perhaps he had always overlooked his unique constitution, attributing it merely to his poor character.

But what if he’s an untouchable?

The most compelling direct evidence was the sudden weakening of Lazar’s Psychic powers and the abrupt backlash when they disappeared during their fight.

If he was an untouchable, many things suddenly made sense—why people instinctively disliked him, especially the Psyker Typhon’s intense aversion, —why he always broke complex machinery upon contact.

The answer was simple: he was an untouchable.

But why hadn’t this trait manifested when he was younger? Did this constitution develop as he grew?

Hades closed his eyes and meticulously recalled the battle with Lazar, frame by frame, replaying it over and over…

The splattering blood, the crackling white flashes, the eerie glowing stone.

Then, he “saw” it!!!

The scenes in his memory began to distort rapidly like old faded photographs, centering around that eerie stone. Hades’ world was fading, collapsing—

He suddenly found himself back on the winding path up Morava Mountain, with Overlord Lazar twisting in fury at him. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He watched as everything around him darkened, turning black and white—

Apart from the crackling white Psychic light and the stone emitting a sinister green aura, there was another sudden flare of fire beneath the green stone.

Eventually, everything, including his senses, disappeared. Hades felt his rationality nailed down, leaving him unable to think, acting purely on instinct.

Hades felt like he was floating in the void, as if something enticing existed directly in front of him in this space.

He wanted to reach out and grab those existences, but found himself unable to move.

But those things… were so alluring. Hades felt like a hollow dark void, needing some of that light.

He struggled to grasp at them like a drowning man.

After an unknown amount of time, as Hades focused his will on the perceived light, his position changed—he felt himself transforming.

He felt himself extending forward, the lights seemed to tremble and scream—they were afraid, but without senses, how could he be sure they were real? Hades first smoothly engulfed the shining white light, then greedily directed himself towards the green glowing area.

However, as he approached, he realized that small pieces of rotten flesh and pus were floating around the stone.

He instinctively grumbled in dissatisfaction but didn’t dwell on it. He used the same method to engulf the green stone.

Yet, just as he completely swallowed these—