Chapter 354: Chaos Plays Dirty
Cadia, Antares Landing Zone, Outer Edge of the Pavo Bastion Third Ring Wall
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
Waves of heat howled, kicking up fine carbon residue, swirling and moaning among the charred wreckage of armored vehicles.
The Dark Angels led their squads in a final sweep of the enemy. The roar of engines and the crisp sound of weapons tearing flesh rose and fell on the comms, resolute and swift.
Arthur remained guarding Drach'nyen, neither picking it up nor relaxing in the slightest, standing firm like a pillar holding back the sea.
Although the tide of battle had turned, there was not a trace of mirth on his face. His eyes were fixed on the sky, watching the caverns torn open by lances.
Azrael led Belial, who had completed his mission, closer, while Sammael continued high-intensity patrols around the bastion's perimeter.
Kay and Gareth stood guard at his side.
Their armor was long since dyed red with blood, which had also formed scabs sticking their hair to their foreheads.
Around the Lord of Knights, besides the Knights of the Round Table, there were members of the Pentagrammic Host temporarily transferred from various units. They watched the daemon sword stuck in a pile of minced meat with vigilant eyes.
These masters of the psychic arts, inheritors of ancient Terran sorcery, could not only sense the chaotic resonance churning within the blade but also clearly hear the whispers of this unique, indescribable entity.
Murmurs filled with confusion were transmitted into the cranial cavity of every psyker along the warp ripples.
The target was not the people present, but the Knight standing solemnly nearby.
But the Lord of Knights acted as if he heard nothing.
"..."
The members of the Host exchanged silent glances, psychic prescience weaving a net in their pupils. They scrutinized every blood-stained face present, trying to catch traces of wavering from the slightest muscle tremor.
Whoever raised this issue would die.
Whoever wanted to use this secret, whoever dared to use this secret to threaten the Prince's rule, the Dark Angels would take their life.
Arthur was used to this.
At least compared to before, now everything was weighed carefully. Possessing thunderous means while also having the confidence to accept the exposure of secrets, he finally had some of the calmness belonging to the First Legion, unlike a neurotic who exploded at the slightest provocation.
"Perturabo is dead."
Arthur noticed the movement on the ground battlefield. The Iron Warriors' line was collapsing at a speed visible to the naked eye.
This was not a retreat after defeat, but a collapse caused by some severe mental shock.
"Yes, the Iron Warriors are in chaos, busy salvaging the body. The Eternal Crusader rammed the Iron Blood directly to stop it from breaking out. I don't think it's getting away."
Ramesses, having watched the touching father-son moment between the Emperor and the twisted man, shook his head, feeling somewhat emotional.
Frankly speaking, treating Perturabo was one of the few times the Emperor showed high emotional intelligence. He praised the other for being iron within and without, and gave him the conversation he deserved.
"I see a world of peace, filled with great citadels and wondrous machines. We can talk of many things, and I will teach you great things. I sense your hunger for knowledge, and I believe you and I can discuss many nights face to face."
These were the Emperor's original words.
As for why it ended up like this.
The reason was simple. Perturabo wanted to be polite, wanted to gain more attention, but the Emperor took it literally.
And the result was obvious: Perturabo was not iron within and without as He thought.
His words sounded nice. During the war, he scolded Magnus: "Because no matter how beautiful the flower, I would not let an infant run to the cliff edge to pick it without stopping him, nor would I let you run near the Fourth Legion's minefield in this fortress without a map and proper training. We must discard this childish and ignorant idea to do the right thing. Now do you understand why we must do our best to save more people?"
Doesn't this look full of humanity?
Then, facing Olympia, which rebelled because its manpower was drained by his reckless expenditure of Iron Warriors in endless attrition, Perturabo commanded a group of children to kill their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers...
While demanding the Legion must obey him, executing those Iron Warriors who dared to resist him, he secretly hoped Iron Warriors would stand up against him. When Forrix really executed people, he was unhappy. During the Siege of Terra, he deliberately sent Forrix to his death. The whole person was like a psychopath.
Unhappy when obeyed, unhappy when disobeyed.
It really is easier said than done. Looking at what he actually did reveals how heavy the baggage was.
"Old Ro did a public service."
Ramesses nodded sincerely.
"..."
Arthur remained silent.
"Worried about Karna?"
"Yes. Karna's intuition is usually not wrong."
"No need to guess, it's Khorne."
Ramesses cursed.
If anyone in this universe was a sore loser, it was Khorne.
Angron respawning in realspace every eight days after being banished; forcibly extending the health bars of Greater Daemons even after they were banished; forcibly corrupting opponents when his subordinates couldn't win.
In short, playing dirty.
And Khorne had the capital to play dirty.
"I don't have specific news here, but keep Excalibur charged."
Ramesses shook his head.
The eight strongest Bloodthirsters were currently in the Blood Wastes, so he couldn't sneak in easily.
"Mm."
Arthur nodded.
He gripped the hilt tightly, feeling that the time before victory was truly unbearable.
In space, the Dawnbreaker Fleet and the returning Black Templars fleet began to encircle and suppress the Iron Warriors fleet deep within their formation.
In the sky, fighter wings composed of Valkyries shifted from defensive bombing to offensive, gradually penetrating enemy-occupied areas, conducting concentrated bombing on enemy strongholds while continuously providing battlefield intelligence for follow-up troops.
On the ground, forces mainly composed of Astra Militarum and Astartes, under the unified command of the Dark Angels' Pyrewing, launched core area clearing operations, lowering defense levels and assembling offensive forces to prepare for a full-scale counterattack.
The hardest moment seemed to have passed.
Even logistics personnel in the rear of the battlefield felt the sudden relief of pressure, and the collective enthusiasm passed down by the improvement of the battle situation, gradually infecting everyone.
But no one dared to cheer.
The higher the rank, the more experienced the commanders, the more focused they were at this moment.
Commissar Alexei calmly comforted his soldiers, gathering them around Blackstone structures in an orderly manner, while dispatching Astartes squads with higher warp resistance to perform reconnaissance missions. He maintained a serious posture, leaning over to stare at the tactical map.
Lord Castellan Creed sat in his mountain-like command leviathan, reviewing battle reports from all sides with a solemn expression. High-intensity thinking caused beads of sweat to seep from his forehead constantly.
Everyone tensed their nerves, closely watching the superficially calm battlefield.
Veterans who had experienced the great war ten thousand years ago were particularly nervous.
They had won countless victories for humanity, but the fruit that should have been sweet was eventually almost lost under the manipulation of the Evil Gods, rotting and stinking.
Their opponents were pervasive, without bottom lines, without fairness.
And they could only resist with courage and defend their honor with sacrifice.
However, the results were often unsatisfactory.
In the Horus Heresy, Tzeentch bewitched Magnus to destroy the Webway project, burying countless scientists.
Humanity's chance to master the best FTL technology in the galaxy was completely lost. The Emperor was trapped on the Golden Throne, half the Primarchs betrayed, and Chaos won a complete victory.
In the War for Armageddon, the Space Wolves and Grey Knights fought alongside the Armageddon Steel Legion.
The Grey Knights 3rd Brotherhood was almost wiped out, paying over eighty percent sacrifice to successfully banish Angron. Subsequently, the Imperial side fell into civil war due to various reasons. The Chaos corruption targeting the participating Astra Militarum was difficult to eradicate, and the Blood God harvested countless skulls from the war.
Victory in battle, losses bitter; defeat in battle, losses despairing.
Chaos had always been winning.
And humans died when they were killed.
As opponents, those malicious faces of Chaos remained almost unchanged for ten thousand years, while humanity, even the Astartes known for longevity, changed generation after generation.
It seemed that life in the material universe was born to be tortured by the gods of the Sea of Souls, born to be food.
Ten thousand years.
A sad and oppressive emotion emanated from the bodies of these people, still upright after countless ravages.
Almost subconsciously, they looked to their sides, at the holographic screens, at the written files in their hands.
In the sky, on the ground, people were using every means possible to capture the existence that brought them victory in this war.
With hope and expectation in their eyes.
No one had witnessed what a true victory should look like for ten thousand years.
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