Emperor's Bane

Chapter 124 Victory
victory.

Only, victory.

When he took over the authority belonging to the Legion in the endless deep forest of Caliban, in the magnificent fortress of the Knights, he was told, and he knew it.

All the empire needs, is victory.

Other than that, nothing really matters.

Sacrifice is not important.

The price is not important.

process is not important.

Even the victory itself is not important.

The Empire, just needs, wins.

……

The scarlet light pierced through the miasma and world of tens of millions of light years, and mercilessly illuminated the solemn face of the Caliban lion.

Every scarlet is a collapsing fleet.

Every ray of light is a world that is falling.

Every place flickering and flickering is a legion, a hundred companies, a thousand armors, ten thousand angels, a million or ten million warriors, roaring silently in the cycle of loyalty and death , Struggling frantically, doing everything possible to kill the opponent, or flee.

Johnson raised his head and looked at the constantly flickering star map in front of him: Thousands of scarlets were scattered all over the Milky Way. At every moment and every second, they never stopped, just like Caliban once in the middle of the night. , the thousands of stars he saw hanging in the sky: only this time, they were no longer pure dreams, but the dazzling light of blood.

In front of him, there are projections of the star field north of the holy Terra and the maelstrom, half of the territory of the empire, and half of the human galaxy.

At this time, everything, in front of his eyes, was riddled with holes and collapsed.

How many are there...

One thousand, ten thousand, one hundred thousand, one million...

Much more than that.

……

The Empire, just needs, wins.

Empire, needless to say, triumphs.

……

From the Eye of Terror to the Maelstrom.

From Medusa to Prospero.

Every world is burning, every land is in dispute, like an endless curtain of iron and blood, brutally cutting off the entire galaxy in half, and behind this curtain full of blood and fire, there are a million Worlds and galaxies that turned to hell in groans and howls.

Every hour, a new war report clogs up all communication networks.

Fail, fail!fail! !
Every minute, more messages and cries for help passed through thousands of stars and piled up at his feet.

Fall, fall!fall! !
Every second, there is a new scarlet flickering in the star map, also flickering in his pupils, and also flickering in the unnamed galaxy or world far away in the sky, which means a lost confrontation, a helpless A rout, a noble act of loyalty, or a downright mean one.

Crash, crash!collapse! !
"boom!"

The fine steel gauntlet slammed heavily on the table with the star map display, and the cracks and sounds wandered around the room, but they did not attract any attention or pause.

The Legion has become numb.

There is only the electronic torrent of continuous information reporting and processing, only the sound of wings returning and departing, only tens of thousands of fresh lives are becoming steel, parts, and a pure battle amidst infinite numbers and sad wailing. The perfect cog for the Mill of Flesh.

No one was surprised.

Nobody cares.

The war continues.

No one can stop it.

------

Because winning means nothing.

Because in this galaxy, only war, hatred and death will last forever, and only ignorance, gunpowder and revenge will be respected.

Victory means nothing.

Winning is everything.

The legion is bleeding, the battle line is collapsing, thousands of stars have turned into burning purgatory in abandonment and anger, the billowing wolf smoke makes hundreds of millions of throats roar with fear, the fleet is turned into fly ash in the light of stars, The fort fell to the ground in the flames of siege, and every minute of every hour of every day, worlds were being abandoned, battle lines were being breached, and legions were being killed.

But even so, it is still a victory.

The Empire can only [Victory].

Can only accept victory.

Can only pursue victory.

Only... to win.

No matter what.

And all they can do.

Only persevere.

Only silence.

Only move forward.

only……

------

"Ready to fight!"

I don't know whose roar exploded on the public communication platform, tormenting the eardrums of every unfortunate person who is still alive. This violent cry is like a sudden cry in a thunderstorm night. Afterwards, he was submerged in endless waves of roars and orders.

Just like this battle: chaos, disorder, vastness, madness...

despair.

Looking around, everywhere is burning, everywhere is screaming, and there is a torrent of iron filings and blood flowing everywhere, just like the rush during the flood season wantonly swallowing the low-lying land after the bloody battle.

Looking around, this is not an evenly matched battle, it can hardly even be called a contest. Hundreds of death angels and a hundred times as many mortals are scattered in this place with few defenses. They are not From the same unit, they had never known each other even before, and after that, they would never know that they fought alongside each other.

Looking around, the silver, purple, iron gray, black and blue lights are like lighthouses in the endless darkness, emitting a few reassuring rays of light. These powerful angels of death are surrounded by various mortal assistants. The army formed the only line of defense eager to contain the alien frenzy.

Among them, some are survivors after the collapse of the battle line, and retreated to this unnamed world with the only remaining organization; Coincidentally, they came to this burning battlefield; others were confused escapees, their fleet had just barely broken out from the long warp storm, and before they had time to know the situation of the real universe, they were involved in this ruthless world. In the bloody fight.

And Hector, that's it.

The Nova of the Second Legion was panting and running, holding the weird green blade that had just been repaired tightly, advancing at a high speed amidst endless gunpowder smoke and howling, the silver figure swept across countless hills and ruins, like The bright star piercing the long night is like a clipper sailing through the roaring sea.

Countless hideous howls were trying to delay his steps, trying to take his life and hope: most of them were miserable ragged slaves, armies of cannon fodder driven by stronger masters, and in their endless stream In the waves of the turmoil, hidden are those truly terrifying opponents.

His brain is running at a high speed, his muscles are constantly expanding and expanding, and his two hearts are constantly pumping, as if swallowing the thunder and lightning in the summer, making disturbing violent noises.

He was breathing, he was running, he was thinking, his body functions were running faster and faster, under an increasingly uncontrollable overload, and he was continuously producing what are called [tension] and [ Anxiety].

And the more tense his body was, the clearer his mind became, and the genes in his blood that originated from the mother of genes sheltered his mind at this time: every soldier belonging to the Second Legion has this This advantage allows them to maintain an abnormally calm mind that is the same as usual, or even better than usual, in an environment of extreme physical tension.

He charged forward, waving the long sword in his hand continuously, like a violent hurricane flattening the jungle on the island, Hector walked in the storm of death and destruction, surrounded by bright green silence Every time the Dance of Destruction is swung, it will set off a wave of blood in the huge waves of alien slaves.

Whenever such a killing song is played by the Nova of the Second Legion, the primitive instinct will echo in the hearts of the alien slaves, and in the next few seconds, they will fall into a kind of instinctive confusion and retreat , and this period of time is considered a long time for any Astartes, enough for Hector to continue rampaging in the endless sea of ​​slaves to create a bloody passage, leading to the distant light.

But such a wonderful time will not last long, because just after the shortest hesitation, accompanied by Master Ran Dan's scolding and more excitation currents, the courage gathered by fear and pain will disappear Urging them to pounce on the fighting Astartes warriors again until they drowned him, and those slaves who still had cunning and thoughts quietly walked around behind Hector, intending to throw him down into the endless waves.

But Morgan's heir never needs to worry about all this: he is not fighting alone. Although he has been drifting for a long time in the inexplicable warp, fortunately, his most precious wealth has not been lost.

"Watch out to the left! Hector!"

Salieri's short reminder came along with his psychic blade, and the psyker, who had just started out, was now standing by Hector's left hand, the chainsaw waving, psychic flashes, and the psychic flashes from his mouth. Every word he uttered could cause more damage to the alien than every swing he yelled. He kept chanting, yelling, and fireballs and lightning shot out from his fingertips continuously. , never stopped, and the price for this was that his complexion was as pale as a dying person.

On the other side, on the right hand side of Hector, it is the [huge] Ajax who is back to back with Salieri. Unlike ordinary people's usual impressions, the tall Ajax is not a man who focuses on close combat. The warrior who mainly fights, on the contrary, his strong body makes him a rare character in the Legion who can move and fight with heavy weapons. Now, he is holding a heavy bolt gun while trying to Moving quickly, while crazily pouring tongues of fire, through the thick armor, Hector could clearly hear the sound of bones colliding constantly resounding from Ajax's two arms.

In addition, the one who fell at the end of the team was the ancient warrior Kairon, the commander of Hector, Salieri and Ajax, a veteran warrior who fought with a power sword and a plasma pistol. He stood at the end of the team, constantly Cleaning up those opponents who rushed up again, his fighting method seemed so ordinary that no one noticed that he was actually the one who killed the most aliens.

The team is advancing, killing, and desperately eager to tear apart the blocking and siege of the wave of aliens. With the roar of chainsaws and the sound of explosive bombs, countless aliens are being ruthlessly harvested, slaughtered, and cleaned. Wherever they went, there was a river of boiling blood. Wherever they pointed, they would turn into ashes of bone and flesh, scattered in the scarlet sky.

"Hector!"

During the fight, another anxious call came, and the son of Morgan was too lazy to distinguish whether it was from Salieri or His Excellency Kairon. He just raised his head and changed his perspective: even without the anxiety of that voice Reminder, he could already feel the rapidly approaching figure.

Randan's warrior, or Randan's overlord: for Hector now, there is no greater difference between the two.

Hector could see the figure approaching at high speed: the tall body, the hideous face and the profane weapon, he had seen enough in the past few years, and he had killed enough .

He pretended not to notice this approaching opponent, brandished his blade, and continued to reap the lives of those cannon fodder, even though the Ran Dan warrior carefully observed his every move, let it seize the opportunity and began to hide behind the noisy slaves In the waves, it approached Hector's neck at high speed.

Frankly speaking, its speed is indeed very fast, and the waving of the blade is so vicious and just right. It is difficult for even an Astartes to capture every moment. If it was Hector three or five years ago, it would be very difficult. It is possible to suffer under its hands and even pay the price.

But alas, three or five years of war can completely change anyone.

The moment before it swung the knife, Hector turned around extremely quickly. He keenly grasped the moment when the opponent opened and closed. The emperor's fang chosen by Morgan did not hesitate to use the ultimate A counterattack that can play its own strengths:

Hit.

He slammed into it fiercely, and in the next moment he heard the sound of his opponent's bones shattering. The powerful impact penetrated the thick armor of Ran Dan's alien. Like a tree, it fell to the ground, splashing countless dust.

Hector didn't give his opponent a second chance, he rushed up, the bright green light danced, causing the ugly head to fly high, and tumbled to nowhere, and then, He pulled out the incendiary gun on his waist, pulled the trigger, and completely burned the alien's chest: just like every fighter who fought Ran Dan was required to do.

And at the moment when all this was done, he couldn't help feeling in his heart that compared to those terrifying killers he met in the past, the current Ran Dan's alien shape has changed.

He has changed too.

But now there is no time for him to continue to sigh. With the fall of the master, the wave of those cannon fodder slaves finally receded slowly like cowardly rats, and Hector and his team did not continue to entangle: they still have more important things. task, a task more important than their lives.

They must retreat, retreat to a safe place, and they, or one of them, must report to the Empire what they have just seen.

That terrifying monster, that weird alien shape, those chilling signs...

What they had just seen was so terrible, so terrible that it could turn the darkness of this war and shake the entire galaxy, and they had to get the news back.

Whatever the cost.

(End of this chapter)