没人能活下来 No One Lives

浪混着冰块冲击着荒凉的海岸，鲜红的血水从赫卡里姆屠刀之下的尸体中潺潺流出。待宰的凡人们正在惊恐地向海岸撤退。黑雨将他们浸湿，暴风云在海岛之心的哀恸下不断翻腾。他听到他们在互相呼喊着什么，似乎是某种他听不懂的战术暗语，不过意思很明显；他们认为自己还有希望活着回到船上。的确，他们懂得一些战术。他们的动作整齐划一，盾牌阵环环相扣。但他们毕竟是凡人，他们带着肉腥味的恐惧让赫卡里姆如淋甘露。

Icy waves crashed on the bleak shore, red with the blood of the men Hecarim had already butchered. The mortals he had yet to kill were retreating over the beach in terror. Black rain doused them and stormclouds boiled in from the mourning heart of the island. He heard them shouting to one another. The words were a guttural battle-cant he did not recognize, but the meaning was clear; they actually thought they might live to reach their ship. True, they had some skill. They moved as one, wooden shields interlocked. But they were mortal and Hecarim savored the meat-stink of their fear.

他围绕着他们环行，踏着破碎的残骸、白沙泛起的暗影迷雾将他的行踪掩盖。他的铁蹄踩踏着黑岩，迸发出火星，回荡起雷霆般的声响，每一声都在蚕食着他们的勇气。他透过头盔面甲的缝隙注视着这群凡人，他们可怜的魂魄透过肉体闪烁着微弱的灵光。魂魄对他的厌恶，就像他对魂魄的渴望一样强烈。

He circled them, threading crumbling ruins and unseen in the shadowed mist rising from the ashen sand. The echoing thunder of his hooves struck sparks from black rocks. It gnawed at their courage. He watched the mortals through the slitted visor of his helm. The weak light of their wretched spirits was flickering corposant in their flesh. It repulsed him even as he craved it.

“没人能活下来，”他说。

“No-one lives,” he said.

他的声音闷在自己的头盔中，就像吊死鬼的临终哀嚎。这种声音让他们毛骨悚然，就像一把钝刀在刮擦他们的神经。他畅饮着他们的恐惧，微笑地看着一个人丢下了自己的盾牌，绝望地跑向海边的船。

His voice was muffled by the dread iron of his helm, like the corpse-rasp of a hanged man. The sound scraped along their nerves like rusted blades. He drank in their terror and grinned as one man threw down his shield and ran for the ship in desperation.

他大吼一声，从杂草丛生的废墟中一跃而出，将手中的倒钩战戟略微放低，感受到古老而又熟悉的冲锋之势。一段回忆在它脑海中闪现，他率领着一支银色的骑兵团一马当先，无上荣光。回忆褪去，那个人已经到达了黑暗的碎浪浅滩，回头张望着。

He bellowed as he galloped from the weed-choked ruins, lowering his hooked glaive and feeling the old thrill of the charge. A memory flickered, riding at the head of a silver host. Winning glory and honor. The memory faded as the man reached the dark surf of cold breakers and looked over his shoulder.

“求你了！不要！”他呼喊道。

“Please! No!” he cried.

赫卡里姆这一击犹如万钧雷霆，直接把他从锁骨劈到了下腹。他长戟的黑刃在鲜血的沐浴下发出了一下脉动。这个凡人脆弱的灵魂想要飞向自由，饥饿的黑雾不会放过任何灵魂。赫卡里姆看着他的灵魂被扭曲黑化，成为了他生前模样的黑暗倒影。

Hecarim split him from collarbone to pelvis in one thunderous blow.

赫卡里姆从岛屿的魔力中汲取力量，血染的海滩泛起一阵骚动，一群身披闪亮铠甲的黑暗骑士从海水中浮起。他们通体的古代铠甲透着诡异的寒光，他们手中的黑剑闪着暗影的锋芒。赫卡里姆觉得自己应该认识这些骑兵。他们曾是他的部下，而且现在依然听命于他，但他却没有关于他们的记忆。他回过身转向沙滩上的凡人们。他冲出了黑雾，让这些凡人们首次清楚地看到他的真身，并在他们的恐惧中陶醉狂欢。

His ebon-bladed glaive pulsed as it bathed in blood. The fragile wisp of the man’s spirit sought to fly free, but the mist’s hunger would not be cheated. Hecarim watched as the soul was twisted into a dark reflection of the man’s life.

他魁梧的身躯是人和马的恐怖融合体，刀枪不入的铁甲组成的无坚不摧的怪兽。他身上的黑色板甲刻着一些文字，但具体的意思他只能模糊地记起。面甲的背后，包裹着熊熊燃烧的灵火，其中的灵魂早已冰冷死寂，同时又恶毒鲜活。

Hecarim drew the power of the island to him and the bloody surf churned with motion as a host of dark knights wreathed in shimmering light rose from the water. Sealed within archaic plates of ghostly iron, they drew black swords that glimmered with dark radiance. He should know these men. They had served him once and served him still, but he had no memory of them. He turned back towards the mortals on the beach. He parted the mists, revelling in their terror as they saw him clearly for the first time.

叉状闪电撕裂了天空，赫卡里姆抬起前蹄，高高站起。他稍稍放低染血的长戟，带领身后的骑士一起冲锋，身后扬起大块浸血的沙土和骨屑。凡人们惊呼着举起盾牌，但幽灵骑士们的冲锋势不可挡。赫卡里姆一骑当先冲在头前，长戟左劈右砍，每一击都取人性命。幽灵骑士团践踏着面前的一切，伴着轰鸣的铁蹄肆意杀戮，横冲直撞。凡人们血肉横飞，碎骨断筋，灵魂从残破的躯体中飘散而出，立刻被破败王者的残酷魔法囚禁于不生不死的状态中。

His colossal form was a nightmarish hybrid of man and horse, a chimeric juggernaut of brazen iron. The plates of his body were dark and stamped with etchings whose meanings he only vaguely recalled. Bale-fire smouldered behind his visor, the spirit within cold and dead yet hatefully vital.

死者的灵魂环绕着赫卡里姆，因为是他赐予了他们死亡。而赫卡里姆则沉浸在战斗带来的狂喜之中。他无视身边嚎哭的怨魂。他没有兴趣奴役它们。这种微不足道的残酷行为就交给魂锁典狱长好了。

Hecarim reared as forking traceries of lightning split the sky. He lowered his glaive and led his knights in the charge, throwing up giant clumps of blood-sodden sand and bone fragments as he went. The mortals screamed and brought up their shields, but the ghost-knights charge was unstoppable. Hecarim struck first as was his right as their master, and the thunderous impact splintered the shieldwall wide open. Men were trampled to bloody gruel beneath his iron-shod bulk. His glaive struck out left and right, killing with every strike. The ghost knights crushed all before them, slaughtering the living in a fury of thrashing hooves, stabbing lances and chopping blades. Bones cracked and blood sprayed as mortal spirits fled broken bodies, already trapped between life and death by the fell magic of the Ruined King.

赫卡里姆关心的只有杀戮。

The spirits of the dead circled Hecarim, beholden to him as their killer and he revelled in the surging joy of battle. He ignored the wailing spirits. He had no interest in enslaving them. Leave such petty cruelties to the Chain Warden.

All Hecarim cared for was killing.