My Life as A Death Guard

Mortarion wouldn’t directly demand Typhon relinquish command.

He wasn’t a despot like his adoptive father, Necare.

He gave his subordinates enough space to grow and win their own glory.

Besides, he and Typhon were friends.

Thus, Mortarion continued to let Typhon lead the southern campaign while he sought out those small villages, often overlooked due to their location.

Just like at the beginning, Mortarion killed the monsters attacking the villages and then entered these small settlements to persuade the inhabitants.

As he thought about this, Mortarion unconsciously frowned.

Abandoning these peripheral villages to capture or consolidate larger human strongholds was indeed an efficient strategy.

Typhon was smart, but it shouldn’t be this way.

Every potential fighter should not be overlooked.

So Mortarion came, roaming from village to village—

——the young man in the mist knelt down, trembling and struggling in the muddy ground, his limbs convulsing, seemingly still trying to crawl forward.

A strong child.

The young man had never looked back, never considered retreat.

Mortarion thought as he quickly strode forward, taking out a woolen mask soaked in herbal liquor.

He approached and carefully lifted the young man from the filthy ground, pressing the woolen mask over his nose and mouth.

He looked at him, gazing at a determined fighter.

“If you don’t look back, it will continue to be this painful,” Mortarion said softly.

“The path ahead is very painful. Are you strong enough?”

The young man struggled to breathe, anger and frustration overwhelming him, his breaths becoming dangerously rapid—

“Make me strong enough.”

After painfully squeezing out these words, the young man finally passed out, fully entrusting himself to Mortarion, who had appeared in his life less than two hours ago.

Mortarion expertly carried the young man back along the path they had come.

There was no need to worry about this young man due to the mask that is filtering out the toxic gas, he would recover quickly.

Sometimes, the resilient people of Barbarus just needed a little clean air.

The thick, layered fog continually tugged at Mortarion’s cloak, futilely attempting to hold this reaper in place.

Mortarion ignored the fog and walked on without hesitation.

But as he reached a clearing where the mist thinned, Mortarion stopped, staring ahead—

From the dense mist emerged a figure.

It was his old friend, Hades.