[Next battle is launching — the Angron Campaign can begin immediately.]
[12th Legion VS Greenskins]
[Mission Reward: Ancient Ones' Remnant Technology: Eldar Divine God-Forging Technique.]
[This technology is a prerequisite for the Webway. Without it, the Webway cannot be constructed.]
"Interesting!"
In truth, the moment the board's image froze on that scene of the Ork fleet's arrival, Caleb had already guessed what the next mission would be.
And there was an old acquaintance waiting there — the Green Giant!
The current Ork horde was enormous in scale, having effectively dominated the entire sub-sector, smashing apart every Imperial force in the region along with any other xenos factions that got in their way.
Through constant warfare, the Green Giant had also unlocked a considerable number of Ork technologies.
Caleb even spotted something inside the star system — a Battle Moon was under construction. Clearly, this was Hulk's handiwork.
"My lord, something is approaching!"
The machine spirit of the Conqueror had already detected the Ork presence, and a Tech-Marine had relayed the warning to the Primarch.
Angron, as she appeared now, seemed somewhat vacant — but that didn't matter much. Just because Angron herself was a bit dim didn't mean everyone else had to be.
"Are those Ork greenskins?"
"My memories are a bit hazy, but I think I've crossed blades with these guys before — back when I was enslaved by the Cruciators!"
"Ordinary Orks are nothing special. You just have to kill their boss and it's done!"
The twin-tailed girl Angron ground her small fangs and answered carelessly.
She'd gotten used to life without the Butcher's Nails by now — old habits died hard, and she couldn't quite shake them all. As for tactics, she had a vague sense of them — but when it came to actual strategy, she was content to leave that to the people below her.
In this regard, Angron's approach was somewhat similar to Khârn's — though she wasn't completely hands-off. At the very least, her special abilities allowed her to coordinate her allies.
Inside the war council chamber, the company captains had all assembled and taken their positions, ready to plan the defense.
This engagement wouldn't just be a fleet battle — in all likelihood, there would be boarding actions as well.
Not them boarding the Orks, mind you. More likely defending against Orks boarding them.
"The gene-father is right — however, the enemy Ork warboss is typically extremely cunning."
"Killing the enemy boss won't be simple."
"Unless we can spot him directly in the chaos of battle."
"Otherwise, we might never even get a chance for a direct challenge."
"Mm — you're right!" Even though Angron felt her mind had been running a bit slow lately, some basic instincts remained. Most of her memories were from her time as a Daemon Primarch, but she still understood: taking down Orks truly meant going straight for the warboss.
As it stood, the Conqueror's warriors were few. Beyond some mortal auxiliary troops and a single Chapter's worth of strength, there wasn't much else to field. If the enemy really did board the Conqueror in force — they might genuinely get overwhelmed.
[Everyone's thoughts: If only we could call out their boss for a one-on-one duel!]
[A direct challenge might save a lot of lives!]
The council was only about a dozen people, mostly company captains, so they had a reasonable grasp of tactics. And yet — as is common among people — there was a small streak of idealism, a shared hope for the simplest possible solution.
Angron slammed her fist on the table, then jumped up onto it and addressed the room: "You're all right! Why not just call them on comms and challenge their boss to single combat?"
"That way fewer people die. I refuse to believe any Ork can beat me!"
The small Angron brandished her battle-axe, brimming with fighting spirit.
She had no love for senseless slaughter anymore — but if her fighting could protect more lives, she was more than willing. That was how she had always thought, even back in the slave pits. Now that she had finally returned to her true self, she intended to live by it.
"Uh... what?" The captains were stunned. Something about their Primarch's brain seemed... not quite right.
Was this plan too simple? A three-year-old could see through it. How could it possibly work?
Angron crossed her arms with righteous conviction: "I know what you're all thinking — but how do you know it won't work unless you try?"
"I have a feeling — a deep, certain feeling — that no one can deceive me. If someone makes a promise to me, they will keep it. Not even the greatest of arch-daemons could lie to my face."
The corner of Angron's mouth curled up. Her small sharp fangs caught the light in the council chamber.
She thumped her palm against her chest — a dull, drum-like thud — as if telling her warriors: even in a girl's body, her strength had never left.
Faced with their Primarch's insistence, the captains relented. They could only let her try.
The Conqueror's machine spirit established contact with the Ork fleet's communications.
Hulk, who was fully intending to join this battle, was also curious about the enemy commander.
"Patch the comm channel through to me!"
Hulk's massive hand jabbed a finger, and soon a screen cobbled together from scrap metal and spare parts was placed before him. Wires and tubes hung exposed everywhere — and yet somehow the thing worked. Don't ask why Ork technology functions. As long as Orks think it works, it does.
The screen flickered, and a young face with small fangs appeared — twin braids of blood-red hair spilling past the edge of the screen.
"Hey. Are you the boss of those Orks?"
"Huh? Why's it some kind of mutant?"
"I want to fight you one-on-one! Do you accept or not?"
"If you don't, you're a coward — well? You in or not?"
[Everyone: ————]
Every captain who had been quietly fretting fell silent.
Their Primarch was perhaps a bit... simple.
Just a straight-up duel? What if the enemy had set a trap? Wasn't this walking right into it?
And sending Angron personally into harm's way — what if the Orks pulled some Gork-and-Mork trick? That could be the end of everything.
Many of them doubted the Orks would even accept.
But on the other side of the screen, Hulk — who liked things simple and direct — nodded and agreed.
"Interesting little lady. Are you the strongest among your little humans?"
"I'll accept your challenge — but you come to our ships to fight!"
"Bring your finest squad. I'll bring my best boys. How's that?"
The captains immediately lost heart.
This was obviously a trap. The cunning, treacherous Orks were clearly up to no good.
"Deal!"
"...Huh?"
Several World Eater company captains leapt to their feet. They had to talk their mother out of this. It was sheer madness.
"Good — we fight in the asteroid belt of this system!"
"I want to see what you're made of!"
The channel cut off. The room stared silently at their Primarch, waiting.
If she was really planning to charge over there alone with no plan, they would stop her. If this was some deeper scheme, they needed to know what it was.
[Angron's thoughts: Good — it's settled then. I'm going for a duel!]
[As long as I beat that big fellow, it'll all be simple. Fewer people die. Fewer of my children die. That's wonderful!]
[Everyone: ————]
Hearing the Primarch's innermost thoughts, the captains felt a strange, unbidden ache in their chests.
What a merciful, loving mother she was.
They were called War Hounds — but that didn't mean these World Eaters, freed from the Butcher's Nails, were without feeling.
"Gene-Father, this seems unwise!"
"Those cunning, treacherous Orks surely have a plan!"
"Going over there yourself for a duel is walking straight into their hands!"
"If something happens to you, our Legion is finished!"
As the captains prepared to argue further, matters were unfolding in much the same way on the Ork side.
When word spread that their boss intended to accept a personal challenge from these sneaky little shrimps, the surprisingly shrewd Bonechompa also stepped forward in protest:
"I don't think this is wise, Boss. Going straight at these little shrimps is too dangerous!"
"What if they play dirty?"
"What if you win and they refuse to honor the deal, Boss?"
Bonechompa had assumed this was all some delaying tactic on the boss's part.
He hadn't expected the boss — fist-weapons gleaming — to be genuinely planning to walk out there alone.
From Hulk's perspective, an Ork of his caliber fighting an entire enemy squad was child's play. All the enemy had to do was provoke him, say something that made him angry — and the angrier he got, the faster they'd lose.
Hulk glared at Bonechompa in irritation, then drove his fist straight down onto the top of his head.
The crash of metal rang out. Bonechompa's skull rang like a bell.
A single punch — and Bonechompa felt all will to resist evaporate.
"Who's the boss here — you or me?!"
"If your boys weren't such useless runts, I wouldn't even bother recruiting those little shrimps!"
"Quit your whining!"
Hulk hauled the half-kneeling Bonechompa upright by the scruff of his neck, then reined in his temper and spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"I think she can't lie to me. Gork and Mork as my witnesses — all schemes and plots crumble before absolute strength!"
"Just get the ships into the asteroid belt!"
"When I win, I want those little shrimps as my new boys!"
[Adventure Check Succeeded — both parties will honor the agreement and proceed to battle.]
[Per Ork custom, regardless of whether Angron or Hulk wins, the Host will receive a combined force composed of the 12th Legion and Ork Warlord Green Giant's warband.]
[Hulk Wins: You will receive Angron's Defeat CG. Humiliated, Angron will convert to the worship of Gork and Mork. Additionally — the Player will transmigrate as a Grot and must survive for one month.]
[Angron Wins: You will be able to lightly alter Gork-and-Mork's fundamental nature. Through battle or the spread of belief, the original sub-warp entities will be changed.]
"Well..."
Caleb stared at the two options, completely speechless.
Transmigrate as a Grot? That was no better than being a bottom-tier drone in the Hive. Actually — at least Hive drones had some slim chance at a lucky break. A Grot? Born as cannon fodder with no prospects whatsoever. Not even a dog's life.
And besides — what were Angron's current stats? What were Hulk's?
The little Angron, even charging in and swinging away at full force, might not be able to pierce the enemy's defenses.
And Hulk's whole deal was the angrier he gets, the stronger he gets. Picking a fight with him was basically signing your own death warrant.
Even bringing in the little lion cub right now would probably just end in a frantic teleport retreat — to say nothing of what the former Sunday-boss Angron would face.
That said — if Angron did win, the rewards were substantial.
With any luck, the Orks' core traits of cunning and brutality might be rewritten into something like benevolence and righteousness.
Which would mean... potentially a horde of Orks chasing down alien species across the galaxy, Analects of Confucius in hand.
Fascinating thought — though Caleb had no idea how "light alteration" actually worked in practice. These crafty greenskins might well twist Confucius into something unrecognizable.
He didn't dwell on it.
For now, the most pressing matter was boosting Angron's combat capability.
He stared at his pieces on the board, uncertain which to send.
Sending Angron in with an elite squad for a straight duel was certain defeat — because Hulk's whole mechanic was exponential rage-scaling. The fight itself would only make him stronger.
Unless there was some way to achieve victory without fighting at all...
"Ah!"
"Why not ask the amazing Doraemon?!"
Caleb suddenly remembered — he still had the blue cat as a cheat code! With that walking trump card, he could handle practically anything with his eyes closed!
And Doraemon had an Emotion Control Gun — perfectly suited to regulating Hulk's rage.
If Angron wielded that divine artifact, a single shot would leave Hulk completely deflated and helpless.
So it was that aboard the Conqueror, just as Angron was deciding what equipment to bring for her duel with the strange green giant — a chubby little blue cat squeezed out of a circular dimensional portal.
In his hands was the weapon that would turn the tide.
Clearly, all arrangements had been made before his arrival.
"What's this thing? Some kind of red lollipop?"
"It moves? What even is this?"
Doraemon had come out backside-first, wriggling slowly through the portal.
And so Angron — having absolutely no idea that Doraemon's tail was his power switch — walked right over.
She reached out her small hand and grabbed the round, stubby tail.
"W-Wait — no, stop—!"
By the time Doraemon realized what was happening and tried to intervene, it was too late.
Angron's hand gave a single tug.
Doraemon: [POWER OFF]
The round head hit the floor with a heavy thud — and then a golden hand appeared from nowhere, whisking Doraemon away entirely.
As though some higher power had simply... recalled him.
And just like that, the cheat code Caleb had just deployed was immediately unplugged.
Caleb stared at the hand holding Doraemon. He was, for a moment, completely speechless.
[Caleb : Angron you absolute idiot — WHAT, I gave you a cheat code and you just SWITCHED IT OFF?!]
[Are you a pig-brain?!]
[Don't think I won't come down there and deal with you personally!!]
The thunderous mental transmission made Angron's ears ring — or rather, it wasn't really ringing. It felt more like her skull was about to explode. As though someone were screaming directly inside her head. Even some of the nearby warriors who were busy preparing equipment were faintly affected.
"Gene-Father!"
"I'm fine!" Angron waved them off.
Caleb's voice channel was unusual — even now that Angron possessed psychic resonance abilities, the other World Eater warriors couldn't make out what had been said.
Angron picked up the toy-gun-like weapon that had fallen to the floor and turned it over in her hands, baffled.
Was this thing even legitimate?
Was this supposed to be the trump card?
It looked like a child's plaything.