"This is impossible..."
Inside the command center, Huron's breathing was noticeably heavy.
On the holographic sand table, points of light representing friend and foe clashed violently amidst the ruins, factory clusters, and transportation hubs on the outskirts of the industrial hive world, "Dominica."
Every second, new loss reports flashed across the tactical interface. Behind those cold numbers lay the expenditure of "currency" that originally belonged to the Emperor.
"Life is the Emperor's currency; spend it well."
Huron had heard this long-standing Imperial proverb countless times. He had always considered himself the best practitioner of its wisdom, but now, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
Have I truly done my best?
At this moment, Lufgt Huron—Lord of Badab and self-proclaimed Warmaster of the Maelstrom Zone—felt a long-forgotten chill of pressure creeping up his spine.
The command of the traitor across from him was like a precision machine: cold, ruthless, and untiring. There were no fanatical charges typical of traditional Chaos warbands, nor was there the command disconnect usually caused by internal traitor squabbles.
The Iron Warriors' advance was like a hydraulic forge hammer—slow, but utterly unstoppable.
Every volley of fire was calculated for maximum efficiency, covering the weakest points of the Astral Claws and Tyrant's Legion defensive nodes. Every flanking maneuver by an assault squad struck precisely at the joints of his support lines, segmenting and isolating his troops before crushing them with superior numbers.
Huron had attempted to counterattack, organizing several sharp flank strikes and even committing his precious Terminator squads.
But the enemy always seemed to anticipate his intent. Pre-set minefields, interlocking fields of fire, and perfectly timed reserve counter-pushes... every one of his attempts felt like crashing into a wall of steel, resulting in futile casualties without budging the enemy an inch.
Iron Within, Iron Without...
For some reason, the war cry of those heretical rebels suddenly echoed in his mind. Huron shook his head.
He naturally had no way of knowing that the person he was clashing with across the void was one of the most famous "Tridents" under the Primarch Perturabo—the former First Captain, Forrix the "Breaker." Even ten thousand years later, Forrix's command abilities remained among the top tier in the entire galaxy.
While Huron's command talent was undeniable and he was a powerhouse in his own right, there was still a significant gap when facing a hero from the Great Crusade era who had participated in the grandest wars of the Imperium.
Just as Huron was mobilizing his final reserves, preparing for a potentially catastrophic decisive battle, the tide of war underwent a bizarre transformation.
On the holographic sand table, the aggressive wave of the offensive—which had been on the verge of completing the encirclement of the hive region—stagnated without warning. Immediately following this, enemy forces at several key nodes began an orderly withdrawal.
"What is happening?" Huron's brow furrowed.
When things are abnormal, there is a "demon" at work. He did not rashly commit his entire army; instead, he dispatched several elite squads for probing attacks.
The result was unexpected. The advance was exceptionally smooth. Positions that were expected to offer iron-clad resistance turned into scattered, disorganized skirmishes. The probe quickly turned into a rapid advance, and large areas that had just been lost were swiftly retaken. The speed of it left even Huron feeling somewhat uneasy.
Just as his suspicions grew and he hesitated over whether to launch a full-scale counter-offensive, a signal patched into the command center's main communication channel.
Light coalesced, and a lifelike holographic image appeared before Huron. It was the Custodian Tribune, Ra Endymion.
"Chapter Master Huron."
Endymion's voice was calm and steady, cutting through the background noise of the command center to reach everyone's ears clearly. "The enemy Chaos Lord and their core command nodes have been eliminated. Now, it is time for you to begin mopping up the remnants."
What?!
Huron's pupils constricted sharply. For a moment, he even suspected he had misheard.
Dead silence filled the command center. Every officer and Space Marine stopped what they were doing, their eyes fixed on the golden image.
A decapitation strike? Success? How long had it been?!
From the crash of the enemy battle barge to the outbreak of ground combat, until this moment... it had been a few hours at most. While he had been enduring the suffocating pressure of the Iron Warriors on the front lines, those two Custodians—who had vanished after giving him a brief nod—had already penetrated deep behind enemy lines and delivered a fatal blow to the enemy's high command?
This efficiency... was simply absurd!
Huron had known that Custodes were participating in the operation, and the Tribune had informed him as a matter of courtesy. But in his heart, he had always viewed them as, at most, a powerful wildcard that might create chaos at key locations. He had never imagined—nor could he have conceived—that a force of fewer than a hundred Custodians could achieve such a monumental feat in so short a time!
Beside him, Chapter Champion Corien Sumatris was also stunned, his expression beneath his helmet complex and difficult to read. He involuntarily recalled the "Honor Duel" from not long ago, where he had barely managed to hold his own under the hand of the legendary Custodian Tribune. At the time, he felt that being defeated so quickly was a disgrace, but looking at it now... had the opponent even revealed a fraction of his true strength?
Of course, they couldn't be entirely blamed for their misjudgment. The Custodes had not stepped out of the Imperial Palace in large numbers for ten thousand years. To a "young" Chapter Master like Huron (though he had lived for centuries), their true combat capabilities and operational style were more the stuff of legends and fragmented records.
"Thus, we have done what we needed to do. The rest is in your hands."
Endymion gave a polite nod.
The Custodian squad had to hurry back to Adam's side with the now-unconscious Warsmith and the contract related to a Warp god. They had no time to continue slaughtering traitors. After all, the longer they delayed, the more likely complications would arise; a Warp god was still watching this place, and if they didn't leave soon, there was no telling what kind of trouble might brew!
The transmission cut out. The face of the Custodian vanished from the headquarters.
Simultaneously, Huron recovered from his shock. As the Tyrant of Badab, his massive astonishment quickly transformed into a flame of ecstasy that burned fiercely in his eyes.
"Orders to all units!" Huron's voice boomed like thunder through the command center, filled with unprecedented excitement and killing intent. "The enemy command system is paralyzed! All-out offensive! Crush them!"
There was no longer a need for hesitation or restraint. The Iron Warrior warband was no longer a perfect war machine; they were now merely a pack of prey that had suddenly lost its brain and central nervous system!
The scales of war had, in this instant, violently tipped.