Emperor's Bane

Chapter 1000 Tefons' Hypertension

Chapter 1000 Tefons' Hypertension (22)

"boom!"

The whiteboard was slammed onto the table, almost sparking as it struck the hard stone.

"Again."

Compared to his ambition in the face of the Primarch, Typhon now not only has a hoarse voice, but also an uncontrollable anger in his voice.

"Another team has been completely wiped out."

Iron lanterns hanging on the walls cast dappled, faint light, illuminating the checkered stone slabs taken from the Barbarus Mountains. A lone lamp flickered on a dim candlestick, and the stone carvings on the six walls each had a somber expression, echoing the rustling of power armor boots on the ground, all the way to the dome where dark green flags hung.

In the strategic conference room of the End, the company commanders and high-ranking officers of the Taran conquest fleet were summoned here by Typhon from various parts of the battlefield and the fleet. They sat around an irregularly shaped stone round table, some indifferent, some sitting upright. In front of them floated a semi-transparent, slowly rotating holographic image of a golden planet.

"An entire task force, a total of 164 fully armed soldiers, perished without a single survivor."

As the first company commander, Typhon's attention was not on the structural diagram in front of him. He walked around the stone round table with his hands behind his back, his anger blazing, slowly passing behind each of the participants.

His voice sounded like cutting stone with a rough, dull knife.

"From officers to pharmacists, from technical sergeants to heavy weapons teams, machine guns, artillery, state-of-the-art thermal imaging equipment and personal clairvoyance devices, armed transport ships specially reinforced to withstand artillery fire, and air support guaranteed to arrive within ten minutes: all that's missing is driving those tanks into the rainforest of Taran!"

"The results of it?"

"Ten minutes! Ten minutes! A team of over a hundred people couldn't even last ten minutes! On the contrary, three more helicopters sent to reinforce were shot down!"

"This is not the first time!"

Typhon's fist slammed against the wall, making a loud thud.

"Look how we've spent these past three days!"

"The pharmacists on the front lines have an 89.4% casualty rate!"

"Technical sergeants, casualty rate 86.2%!"

"Junior commanders... 169%!"

"That means the leadership of each frontline squad has already changed twice!"

"I appointed 118 junior officers before taking a break."

"After resting for several hours, only eleven people are left alive to report to me?"

"So what are our achievements?"

"How many fortresses have been captured?"

"How many patches of rainforest were burned?"

"Or did you kill one or two thousand Imperial Fists?"

Anger echoed in the room, but none of the dozen or so officers sitting around the stone table responded.

Their rough faces were filled with either the anger of defeat or indifference to the heavy casualties.

But apart from that, a few people still retained a glimmer of calm and wisdom: these people were not immersed in the emotions of victory or defeat, and their active minds were constantly thinking about the current situation.

As the only one standing, Typhon naturally saw these unique emotions. So, after his anger subsided slightly, he cleared his throat and pointed to the wisest one among them.

"Vox, the master of tackling tough challenges."

"The troops you commanded have achieved the most outstanding results in the past three days, while suffering the fewest casualties."

"Tell me about our current situation."

"Yes, sir, Company Commander."

In an inconspicuous corner, a broad and quiet Deathguard veteran stood up and bowed slightly to everyone. In his voice was a tranquility and composure rarely found among the Sons of Mortalion.

As a veteran of Barbarossa, Vox didn't have many insignia or personal badges. The insignia on his shoulder armor indicated that he was a legion fleet commander, and in this landing operation, he was only commanding a hastily assembled battle group, but no one would laugh at him for that.

While most of his brothers perished in the dense forests of Taran, Vox's forces not only suffered extremely low casualties and wiped out all enemy troops in his area of responsibility, but also captured a stronghold that could serve as a permanent fortress and repelled three large-scale counterattacks by the Taran defenders.

Especially in the final battle, the Imperial Fists who organized a counterattack suffered heavy losses and didn't even have time to take away the bodies of many of their comrades.

This dazzling record was enough to make the arrogant Typhon spot Vox's name in the crowd.

But it was this most outstanding victor who, when he finally stood before everyone and recounted the situation to his comrades-in-arms, made everyone present frown at his very first words.

The content was simply too jarring.

"Ladies and gentlemen, before we begin, I must tell you something that will not please any of us."

Vox's voice was a little hoarse, but his quiet nature made the hoarseness sound less rude.

"At least in Taran, the average quality of the Imperial Fist is far superior to that of our army."

"This is a proven fact."

"Wait, Vox."

Typhon raised his hand, interrupting him.

"You mean to say that the Imperial Fist, which has never gained an advantage over us, is stronger than our elite troops who have won victory after victory?"

Who told you that?

"It is the blood shed by our fighting brothers on the land of Taran that tells me this, Your Excellency Typhon."

Vox nodded to Typhon, who was speechless at the reply.

"You... continue."

"Ok."

Vox looked at everyone again.

"But as Lord Typhon just said, we all know one thing: in the past period of time, the Imperial Fist deployed in the Storm Starfield has never gained an advantage in the face of Lord Mortalian's army. They have lost almost all the fiefdoms that the Emperor granted to Lord Dorne, and thousands or tens of thousands have died in the void."

"This leads to a problem."

"Logically speaking, after several defeats, the remaining army should not be so elite."

"Even if we cannot deny that the Imperial Fist and the Black Templar possess a strong fighting spirit, and if they are still burning with the rage of revenge and willing to fight us hand to hand, I would not be surprised. But if these warriors, known for their recklessness and tenacity, can exhibit the same ruthlessness and unpredictability they display on the surface of Taran? Please forgive my skepticism about this phenomenon."

"You mean..."

An officer raised his hand.

"We've been fighting against neither the Imperial Fist nor the Black Templars these past few days?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Vox smiled at everyone.

"Let's not even talk about whether they are elite or not, or the issue of tactics."

“Let me just say this: Gentlemen, when have you ever seen the Imperial Fist hide in the shadows, using the canopy of trees that grow naturally rather than the stones they themselves have accumulated as fortresses?”

"When have you ever seen those Imperial Fists hide right under our noses, yet remain completely undetectable by thermal imaging cameras? Even if machine gun bullets sweep through their hiding places a thousand times, these guys can still walk out unscathed!"

"Excuse me for speaking frankly, everyone."

"This is not Imperial Fist at all: the Sons of Dorne could not do these things."

"But there is a legion that can do it."

"They not only have the ability to do it, but also the capacity and motivation to intervene in the battle for Taran."

"..."

Upon hearing this, everyone fell silent.

Those who have reached this position are not fools. In fact, several days ago, most of the Death Guard officers who had participated in the battle had already vaguely sensed something: but because the possible truth was too horrifying, in the end, no one was willing to bring it up.

Until Vox reached out his hand.

"If you still have any doubts, then please allow me to give a real case: My soldiers were fearless in a previous battle. They successfully killed and left behind the corpses of those [Imperial Fist]. Now these corpses are on the apothecary's operating table. We only need to perform an academic dissection of their internal organs to find out the truth."

"You should know that, because of the genetic seed, each legion's Astartes actually has some identifiable, subtle differences in its internal structure."

"By arranging a surgery, we can find out whether those who are hostile to us on Taran are truly from the Empire..."

"enough!"

Typhon interrupted Vox's eloquent speech.

However, unlike last time: if last time it was merely out of arrogance and a sense of absurdity.

This time, the company commander of the first company said this with a serious attitude that could silence anyone.

"The enemy of us is the fist of the empire."

“Those guys operating on Taran, they are undoubtedly the Fist of the Empire: and can only be the Fist of the Empire.”

Typhon looked at Vox, and then at everyone else.

Word by word.

"Remember, we have come to Taran to clear the enemy for the Primarch and the Warmaster."

"Instead of actively seeking out more enemies."

"Therefore, no matter who those people are, we should just treat them as the Fist of the Empire."

"what……"

Vox shook his head and sighed.

"You mean the Imperial Fist that can vanish into the shadows without a trace, Company Commander Typhon?"

"……Yes."

Typhon nodded.

Vox fell silent, then gave a wry smile.

"Even if we can agree with that, how are we supposed to explain it to our subordinates and auxiliary troops?"

"That's your problem."

Typhon waved his hand.

"Remember what I said: This topic ends here."

"..."

Vox remained silent for a long time.

"Alright, Company Commander."

Finally, he nodded.

However, compared to before, although his voice was still hoarse and quiet, a perceptive person could tell that the original eagerness had disappeared.

His voice began to fill with helplessness.

"In that case, I don't have any good ideas."

Vox shook his head at the crowd.

"As everyone knows, the Death Guard's tactics have long revolved around heavy infantry, biological warfare, and relentless advances. We have upheld these treasures since the Great Expedition, and to this day, every company has mastered them to perfection."

"But we have to admit that our proud heavy infantry tactics are not effective when facing a world like Taran, which is full of dense forests."

“Originally, we could have used poison gas or controlled viral bombs to transform the surface of Taran into whatever we wanted, just as the members of the Mechanicus cult shaped agricultural worlds. But now, in order to avoid frightening other worlds in the Storm Sector, we can no longer use the methods we are familiar with on Taran.”

"It's not just about public opinion."

Typhon shook his head.

"According to the Warmaster's promise, the entire Storm Starfield will be Lord Mortalian's territory: Taran is no exception."

"In the battle against Sigismund, we have destroyed too many lands that should have been ours to rule. Whether for reasons of self-interest or for the mindset of those subjects who are about to submit to Lord Morthary, we cannot commit any more killings: the Primarch desires a Taran who is willing to submit to him."

"This hope is a heavy burden for us."

Vox chuckled, but everyone could see Typhon's expression twist at his laughter.

"Don't you have any better ideas, Vox?"

"There's always an idea."

Vox looked at the holographic projection in front of him.

“We need to disrupt the current arrangements and pull out the elites from each company, letting the new recruits take charge of the more peripheral combat missions. Only the elite combat groups can go deep into the rainforest to fight the defenders.”

"We need to support local forces and win over the locals of Taran with preferential policies and aid. Ideally, we should win over a few cities to our side so that we can have a stable base on the ground: at least we shouldn't be fighting both the Imperial Fist and Taran at the same time."

"At the same time, we need to make full use of our absolute advantage in the military and supplies, relying on our overwhelming air power and overwhelming force to pave the way, frequently setting up stable strongholds in the dense forest that can support each other, gradually dividing and reducing the defenders' range of activities into small pieces, and then systematically wiping them out."

“Besides these, there are many other similar methods.”

"but……"

Vox suddenly paused.

He shook his head and sighed.

"To sum it up in one sentence, folks."

"Given our superior manpower and resources, we can eventually level the forests of Taran if we are willing to continue the war. But the problem is that doing so would not only look bad on the surface, but our casualties would be unimaginable to anyone: unless we are willing to take a really smart approach."

A smart solution?
For some reason, this word made Typhon's eyelids twitch.

"What does it mean?"

“It’s very simple, sir.”

Vox extended a hand to Typhon.

"The methods I just described could indeed allow us to win the Battle of Taran at a heavy cost: but all of this is based on our opponents, and only the Imperial Fists on Taran. In fact, we all know that our opponents are far more than just them."

"In these three days, those hiding in the shadows have been incredibly arrogant. They have shown us with their actions that there are even stronger supporters behind Sigismund and his Black Templar. They will do everything in their power to support the resistance of the Imperial Fist. They have a stronger army and more resources than we do."

"In their presence, all our advantages that we are so proud of are untenable."

"in other words."

"Given the current situation, it is almost impossible for us to capture Taran."

"Unless, the Primarch who is hiding behind Sigismund chooses to abandon support for the Fist of the Empire."

"Or: unless we can find reinforcements that are as powerful as the Primarch."

"..."

Typhon's eyebrows slowly rose.

He looked at Vox with some fear.

What terrified him even more was that this obvious hint rekindled a glimmer of hope in the eyes of the company commander and officers present, those whose spirits had been dampened by Taran's defeat.

Clearly, they were also aware of what Vox was talking about.

Moreover, they also secretly supported Vox's approach.

No...no...that won't do.

Typhon took a deep breath.

"Vox, you don't mean to say..."

"That's right, the company commander."

Vox nodded.

"We should ask the Primarch for help and have Lord Mortarion lead the main force of the Legion to personally conquer Taran."

"Or, let's just give up here."

"impossible!"

Without a moment to think, Typhon almost instinctively roared and rejected the proposal.

What a joke!
How much effort did he expend? How long did he wait? How many times did he pray in secret? Only now did he finally gain the freedom to break free from the shackles of Mortarion, to lead an army on his own, and to carve out his own territory.

How much time has passed? How many people have died? Are you really going to send him back to Mortarion to admit defeat?

Let that bastard from Barbarossa smugly help him up, pat him on the shoulder, and then, with the disgusting air of a friend, offer him "help"?
No... absolutely not.

Typhon took a few deep breaths before realizing that everyone was looking at him strangely, including Vox.

Clearly, none of them understood why Vox's proposal had provoked such a strong reaction from Typhon.

The company commander simply blinked.

"Vox".

He tried to make his voice sound more composed.

“What are you thinking? We’ve only encountered a minor setback on Taran soil, which doesn’t even amount to real bloodshed in a war.”

"Three days, just three short days! Can't we even endure three days of suffering? Are we going to turn to the Primarch, who has placed such high hopes on us, for help?"

“I understand this will be a difficult decision, Your Excellency.”

Vox seemed unsurprised by Typhon's statement.

In his eyes, this was simply Typhon's unwillingness to bear the reputation of incompetence. After all, seeking help from the Primarch was everyone's will, but the infamy of being unable to withstand the pressure of only three days on Taran was something that Typhon, as the Supreme Commander, had to bear: it was understandable that he did not want to be infamous in the Legion for eternity.

"But please be clear-headed, sir."

Vox even bent down slightly.

"We are still helpless against those Imperial Fists. Even if our fearless warriors can kill them all on the land of Taran, the Primarch behind Sigismund can send more people. They will continue to assassinate our technical officers, junior commanders, and important Legion members. In the long run, such losses are not something we can afford."

"In three days, we have lost hundreds of technical soldiers and pharmacists."

"How many such highly skilled individuals are there in the entire legion that are worth squandering?"

Vox's voice echoed in the conference room, and everyone present responded with silence: but this silence was what Typhon feared most. The fact that they didn't stand up to condemn Vox's humiliating suggestion meant that they partly agreed with him: rather than continuing to expend elite soldiers on Taran's soil in a hopeless struggle against the Primarch standing behind Sigismund, it was better to cut their losses and turn to their Primarch for help.

after all……

This time, the opponent is a Primarch.

Losing to a Primarch and an entire Astartes Legion going all out is not so shameful.

“Even Lord Mortarion wouldn’t condemn us for this; he understands the logic behind it.”

Vox continued.

Of course, he also noticed that the company commander's expression wasn't too good: Vox felt that this was due to the inherent sense of honor among Astartes warriors.

This is normal.

After all, although Vox verbally suggested retreating, he also felt incredibly humiliated by it.

Three days, they only lasted three days!

When did the resilient Death Guard become so weak?

But... there's nothing we can do about it.

They can't go too far, can they?

Vox sighed.

Earnest and sincere advice.

"Company Commander, we all know that it was not easy for you to get such an opportunity from the Primarch."

"Lord Mortalian is not one to readily relinquish his power and trust. I was among the first Barbarus warriors to follow him, and I know that since Lord Mortalian joined the Great Crusade, few in the Legion have been able to leave him to take command of their own territory. Yet he has now chosen to entrust such power to you, and we all know how much trust and hope that entails."

“We also know that you don’t want to let him down.”

"For your loyalty, and for your friendship."

"..."

Typhon stood with his hands behind his back, not uttering a word, but his lips trembled slightly.

"but."

Vox then changed the subject.

"We must also realize that the current situation is far beyond our control. We are facing a powerful adversary we have never imagined. Our fleet has no chance of winning against a Primarch's Legion. Although surrendering is indeed shameful, it is not wrong in terms of preserving the Legion's strength."

"Moreover, that was a Primarch."

"When we are faced with a Primarch, what other option do we have besides finding another Primarch?"

"Only the original organism can fight the original organism."

"And no one else can do it: neither can we."

"You too."

“There is nothing shameful about it, Your Excellency Typhon.”

"Even the most foolish Death Guard wouldn't be so arrogant as to think he could stand shoulder to shoulder with Lord Mortalian."

"..."

These words made Typhon's lips twitch violently, and his whole face looked somewhat distorted.

Where no one could see, bulging blue veins, twisting like worms, flared up from his forehead.

And Vox's voice still lingered: "When Typhon wanted to kill him, that fucking, damned voice lingered there."

"He will always be better than us, and he will always be able to solve the things that we cannot: this is a fact, and an irrefutable truth in this world."

"and……"

Vox continued.

"In the previous battle, we lost high-ranking officers, including two company commanders. Such casualties will reach the Primarch's ears sooner or later."

"It's better to be honest than to hide it."

“We all know that Lord Mortarion will certainly not blame you. He is not only your father, but also the friend who trusts you the most in the world. It is a blessing to have such a powerful friend: he will eventually realize that our situation is not good, and he will certainly not refuse to help us now.”

"He can definitely help you; with his unparalleled strength, he can help us get out of this predicament."

"This is both out of a father's compassion and out of the precious friendship between you and him."

"..."

Typhon remained silent.

But Vox could sense that the platoon leader's body was trembling slightly: perhaps he was having a fierce internal struggle.

To take things a step further, Vox raised his head and met Typhon's gaze directly.

His voice was loud and sincere.

"so."

"Let us appeal to the Primarch, Your Excellency."

……

Typhon remained silent for a long time.

It went on for so long that everyone thought he was convincing himself to accept Vox's offer.

But they will soon be disappointed.

"Do not."

After a moment of silence, Typhon shook his head.

“Your suggestion is correct, Vox.”

"But I cannot accept that we should admit defeat on the third day after the start of the war."

He addressed it verbally to everyone.

I cannot accept that I should bow down to Mortarian again and beg for his help.

He said to himself in his heart.

But Typhon knew very well that his reasoning wouldn't convince anyone present: they weren't looking at him with friendly eyes.

He had to come up with a solution.

One way to maintain his freedom.

Whatever the cost.

So he slowly walked to the table.

"Bros."

Typhon addressed everyone.

"Even if it's for our own honor, for the honor of the company that each of us represents."

"We cannot give up: at least not before we have given it our all."

He then looked at Vox.

"Master of Overcoming Challenges"

"I admit, you are indeed visionary."

"But if I don't even dare to try, and instead retreat from Taran like a stray dog: I would never do that."

"Even if we were to admit defeat in the war, even if we were to seek help from the Primarch, it should only be after we have exhausted all our strength on this land, tried every possible method, and drained every last drop of blood and sweat, yet still failed to defeat the formidable enemy before us."

"Only in that way can we live up to Lord Mortalian's expectations and hopes for us."

"..."

Such high-sounding words were so eloquent that even someone as intelligent as Vox couldn't find a way to refute them.

He could only follow Typhon's line of thought and ask the question.

"So, what are your thoughts..."

"Launch another attack."

Typhon slammed his fist on the table.

"If that doesn't work, then we'll discuss retreating."

“But before that, I only hope to direct all our anger onto the land of Taran.”

"Use all available troops and fleets."

"Take every possible tactic."

"Don't worry about any sacrifices."

"And do not shy away from any means."

"I mean..."

Typhon slowly looked around at everyone.

"We want to bring this war back to the Death Guard's territory."

"!"

A low murmur of unease fell over the conference room.

The officers, who had been somewhat listless, suddenly became enthusiastic.

Should they return to their areas of expertise?
That's easy to handle!
Everyone knows what the so-called "Death Guard's area of expertise" actually refers to.

and……

They also had to admit that if they followed the Death Guard's old methods, then the Battle of Taran was not without a chance of victory.

The Fist of the Empire may indeed be skilled in assassination, but when it comes to surviving in the poisonous fog, they are far from it!
Realizing this, the Death Guard officers sitting on either side of the round table looked at each other and saw the rekindled flames of war in each other's eyes.

Ultimately, it all comes down to the same point.

If victory is achieved, no one wants to slink back to the Legion and beg the Primarch for help.

A three-day defeat?

Do not make jokes.

Rather than bearing this humiliation, it's better to let your men launch another offensive.

As long as they are given hope of victory, these seemingly wavering officers become the most radical advocates of war.

"You're kidding, Typhon."

Only Vox's voice was filled with disbelief.

“Just a few minutes ago, we were discussing why we cannot release chemical weapons onto Taran.”

"It's not a chemical weapon."

Typhon waved his hand.

"Remember what I said about how the Cult of Mechanics shaped the agricultural world?"

"Controllable viral bombs, as well as other chemical agents that can be cleaned up by subsequent means."

"Strictly speaking, they are civilian in nature and cannot even be considered legitimate acts of warfare."

Vox's eyes widened.

"you……"

"Everyone."

Typhon didn't listen anymore. He looked at everyone again, then placed both hands on the table, leaned forward, and exuded even more pressure.

"Do you really want to return to the Legion as losers after just three days of setbacks?"

"Do you really want to betray the Primarch's trust?"

"Do you really want to lose to the Imperial Fist, whose true identities we all know?"

"What makes them think they can win? They hide in the woods like rats, assassinating our soldiers, but they don't dare to fight us fair and square!"

"Now, we can change that."

The fist slammed on the table, making a loud thud.

"We are not waging a chemical war."

"We don't intend to harm civilians."

"We simply want to use reasonable means to modify the unreasonable terrain on Taran so that this war can be carried out in a more level environment."

"What we need is not poison gas, nor viral bombs that can kill people."

"What we need..."

Typhon paused here, until everyone, including Vox, looked at him.

Then, he smiled smugly.

"It's just a herbicide."

"It's just... defoliant."

……

"You're playing word games, Typhon."

After a long while, only Vox dared to voice his dissent in the room.

To this, the previously short-tempered company commander surprisingly chose to smile.

"This is indeed a word game."

He turned to face Vox, but his finger was pointing at every officer present.

"Let's take another look at our brothers, the masters of tackling tough challenges."

"tell me."

"Between the Primarch's trust, the honor of your battle brothers, and so-called word games, which would you choose?"

Typhon stared intently at Vox.

He knew that even this intelligent and silent philosopher could not refute him.

Vox might be able to conceive of the necessary conditions to oppose Typhon, but he is certainly not qualified to articulate them.

Yes, the Primarch's hope, the Legion's honor.

In the world of Astartes, these are absolutely unshakeable, naturally politically correct principles.

Even if Vox could oppose them, would he really have the guts to do so?
Typhon saw through this.

He was confident and fearless.

He was satisfied and unsurprised to see Vox finally lower his head, choosing to yield to the forces that the Astartes could not contend with.

"But please also note one thing, sir."

Finally, Vox offered a word of advice.

“Chemical agents like these cannot possibly go unaffected by the civilian population of Taran, and we must still consider the potential harm these effects could cause to the Primarch’s reputation.”

“I will naturally consider it.”

Typhon nodded nonchalantly.

"But thank you for reminding me."

“I realized we could do what you said: tier the entire rainforest.”

"Do only a small part at a time."

"We will not move on to the next area until we have cleared one area completely."

"Use this familiar, steady, and brutal method of advance to destroy all resistance from the Imperial Fist on Taran."

"And as for whether those chemical reagents will cause an inevitable tragedy during this period."

"I believe our experienced combat brothers know how to clean up this residue."

"..."

Vox shuddered.

And Typhon is smiling.