Emperor's Bane

Chapter 568 Who is the Barbarian?

"Night of the Wolf?"

"What a terrible name: it sounds like something hooligans would codename their lair."

"So, you're not going to participate?"

"Why not?"

Ahriman looked up, the air around him was thin and cold, making his words always accompanied by a layer of frost: But this had no effect on the Astartes warriors, they were even better adapted to this severe cold than the locals.

Especially the Space Wolves: these bastards feel like home.

"I have always been looking forward to having a fight with the best players among the Space Wolves, not the think tanks and cubs sent by them to learn psychic powers, but the real ones like the Wolf Lord or the Champion Swordsman. I want to see how wild and fearless the Space Wolves have boasted for decades. What is their real quality?"

"But Leman Russ will also be there. Are you going to fight the Wolves under his nose?"

"Wouldn't that be better?"

Qianzi just laughed out loud, he understood the other party's deeper meaning.

If a Primarch like Leman Russ were present, the Space Wolves in the arena would definitely exert more than 100% of their strength, and would even use any means necessary to win: but this is exactly the kind of opponent Ahriman needs now.

He was not afraid of strong enemies, and he did not think that there would be any strong enemies among the Space Wolves: If the Sixth Legion was really as martial as they claimed, then why was it that in these decades, among the descendants of Leman Russ, no one's name had ever resounded throughout the Great Crusade?

Not to mention being compared with peerless men like Abaddon, Radon, Akudona and Bayar, even the Sixth Legion cannot find a single figure who can rival rising stars like Sigismund, Kahn, Hector or Sevatar.

"You're not going, Hector?"

"Me? It depends on the situation."

Morgan's favorite hesitated for a moment before giving an ambiguous answer.

"You know, Ahriman, I don't really enjoy fighting."

"But they all want to fight you."

"Yeah, but I can understand why they would think that: because if the situation was reversed, I would think the same thing, and I would want to challenge guys like me, too."

After saying that, Hector gave a bitter smile, and his once childish face under his short silver hair now had the vicissitudes of a mature person: along with his face, his physique had also grown. Although the trend had been gradually slowing down in recent decades, Hector's altitude was still accumulating steadily, and he had refreshed people's records with the power of water dripping through stones.

By now, fully armed, he was twice as tall as Ahriman, becoming the most obvious example of the rich and colorful genetic mutations of the Dawnbreaker Legion: countless scholars had stated that Morgan's Legion possessed the most diverse genetic development possibilities of all the Astartes Legions, and the existence of Hector and others was their best proof.

But for Morgan's pride, the biggest distress is not this, but the inevitable learning exchanges of the Dawnbreaker Legion: every time newcomers from other legions visit the "Aurora", they are always shocked by the figure like Mount Hector, followed by challenge letters floating like snowflakes.

No one believes that a warrior with such a body would be a weakling, and the desire to defeat such a giant is a bloody instinct hidden deep in the heart of every warrior: just like those young hunters always fantasize about hunting a tiger or brown bear of their own.

At first, Hector would respond to this challenge with enthusiasm and optimism, until more challenge letters filled up his room, until he realized that compared to staying on the battleship, the battlefield was more like a "rest" for him: at least there were not so many one-on-one battles.

As a result, the company commander and his company began to take part in all combat missions whenever possible, and achievements and promotions followed: in less than twenty years, Hector had been promoted from the original commander of the 23rd Company to the commander of the 11th Company, and now he could call himself a big man standing at the top of the legion.

"But this doesn't change the fact that you still have to stay in the trenches with us."

Ahriman sneered and then focused on his own business. He was cleaning the bolter in his hand with a wide brush. The Dawnbreakers around him were doing the same thing: cleaning weapons, repairing armor, or caring for the wounded in previous battles to prepare for the next attack that was about to come.

"Have new tasks been assigned?"

"Not yet. We still have to wait and see what happens over there with the World Eaters."

After a few minutes, the two men who had completed their work stood up and walked towards the commanding heights of the fortress: they had captured the fortress from the locals 25 minutes ago and wiped out more than 30,000 resistance fighters inside without any casualties themselves. Ahriman's psychic power played a vital role during this period.

"I can't remember how many people we killed in the sixteen hours since we landed."

When they reached a higher place, the bodies of the dead resistance fighters had not been removed yet. Their broken limbs were scattered among the crushed fortifications and burning flags, telling of their previous struggle to not give up an inch of land: because these resistance fighters were all human beings, these bodies also gave people a very bad association.

"I can't remember clearly. I just remember that I killed at least two thousand people."

Ahriman bent down and personally moved away half of the corpse that was blocking the way. His hands were covered in blood. The bloodless faces of these people made his heart tighten: these people had elegant figures, delicate skeletons, and although their faces had sharp edges, they still showed obvious human characteristics and the highly civilized society they lived in.

"In a world like this, why on earth would we resist the flag of the Empire?"

Qianzi sighed.

"It always feels to me like we're engaging in ruthless slaughter on an Imperial world."

"Me too."

Hector nodded, his face not showing the joy brought by the war, but focusing on the land in the distance that had not yet been conquered: this war had been going on for sixteen hours, but it would obviously not drag on for another sixteen hours.

"Look there, Ahriman."

Dawnbreaker stretched out his finger and pointed to a wine-red mountain range at the end of the field of vision. That was the ultimate goal of this battle: the resistance fighters had built more than 300 permanent fortresses on their land, while the Empire's legions had demolished more than 200 of them and had already controlled all residential and industrial areas in this world. The resistance fighters' efforts were doomed to be in vain.

But they refused to surrender.

“Our motherland should not die.”

Hector thought of the only words the supreme commander of the fortress said to him before his death when he captured the fortress. This made him feel even gloomier. His eyes swept over the pale mountains that were still burning. That was the main battlefield where the primarchs were.

"Look over there, Ahriman. That's Fort No. 224. Davout and his 12th Company are responsible for capturing that place and ensuring the stability of the Legion's flank. They are the closest friendly force to us. If we are to launch an attack on the main peak next, we must ensure effective communication with them."

"give it to me."

Qianzi nodded arrogantly.

"No matter what methods these resistance fighters will come up with to stop us, I will predict them before them: just like when we captured this fortress before, they have no secrets in front of my ability."

"I have no doubt about it."

Hector did not refute, because the fortress under his feet was the evidence of Ahriman: this Thousand Son might love games in the arena, but he has always been the most outstanding master of psychic power, especially in prophecy, where he is outstanding and no one can compete with him. Even Conrad could not shake Ahriman's authority in the field of short-term prophecy.

Because Ahriman was originally a member of the Black Raven School in the Thousand Sons Legion, and the core competitiveness of this school is psychic prophecy. However, Hector heard that the Black Raven School has not had a good time recently, because the prophetic abilities of almost all Thousand Sons have gradually declined over the years: under Magnus's command today, it is the Fire Phoenix School that can control fire that is in its heyday. But Hector does not think that Ahriman's prophetic ability has weakened: perhaps it is because he is not sensitive in this regard; or perhaps Ahriman's environment in the Dawnbreaker is different from that of his blood relatives; or perhaps the private courses that the Spider Queen opened for Ahriman before, as well as the psychic gadgets she gave him, really have some unknown uses.

After all, even Morgan himself isn't entirely sure of their usefulness, right?
"Tsk..."

Hector had no time to think about these things, his gaze quickly shifted to the battlefield belonging to the Primarchs. Relying on this commanding heights, he could see all the situations at a glance, including the heroic figures of the three sons of the Emperor, and the tens of thousands of Astartes warriors around them.

He could see the main force of the World Eaters Legion and the twenty or so fortresses they had just captured: these warriors clad in blue and white armor had regrouped under the banner of their Primarch. Because the other two blood relatives had already joined the battlefield early, Angron did not abide by his usual thirty-one-hour principle this time, but stepped into the endless blood and fire at the very beginning of the war.

This made the senior officers of the 12th Legion particularly frantic.

Hector observed the battle process of the World Eaters for a while, but soon turned his eyes away in boredom: the attack of the 12th Legion was efficient and concise, but there was no artistry to speak of. Except for a slight bias towards assault operations and vanguard tactics, other aspects were completely unremarkable.

Hekate even felt that they were fighting according to the [War Manual] issued by Holy Terra to each Astartes Legion: no legion would do this, but the World Eaters' combat results were indeed fruitful. With the same number of people, their efficiency was even slightly higher than that of the Dawnbreakers.

Simple, monotonous or even rigid, this was the biggest impression that the descendants of Angron gave Hector: they chose the most appropriate plan from a set of standard combat procedures, and if one didn't work, they would immediately switch to the next one, just like experienced workers on an assembly line.

Before the battle, there was always a brief and standard attempt to persuade the enemy to surrender. If that failed, the standard trio of artillery support, heavy fire suppression and wave-like attacks by countless vanguard squads would follow. Dozens of Warhound-class Titans of the Cinder Wolf Pack Legion rushed as fast as their allies. The only one who could guide these lunatics was Angron, who rushed even faster.

The World Eaters showed no mercy in the war. Any resistance would be met with all sorts of means, from sneak attacks to micro-thermobaric bombs. They ignored the wailing in the flames, and their blue and white armor would inevitably be dyed scarlet after battle. Coupled with their expressionless faces, they showed a different kind of horror.

But the sons of Angron were not any more cruel: as long as the opponents raised the white flag and threw down their weapons, they would not bother to pay attention to those who surrendered voluntarily. They would just drive all the surrenderers to one side and hand them over to the guarding of the mortal troops who followed behind them. The main force of the legion would continue to closely follow the Primarch who was charging continuously.

Hector watched them capture three fortresses using exactly the same means, like a group of programmed robots. He could not feel any blood, glory or impulse from these World Eaters. If he had to say what they were pursuing, it was the desperate pursuit of high efficiency.

But it must be admitted that the progress of the World Eaters was indeed very encouraging. After suffering less than 3,000 casualties, the legion of more than 80,000 people completely crushed the front line of defense. What they left behind were ruins all over the ground, and a large number of surrendered soldiers, their eyes full of confusion and fear for the future: this result was slightly worse than that of the Dawnbreakers, but much better than that of the Space Wolves.

After making a comparison in his mind, Hector looked at his legion with pride: the destruction caused by Morgan's psychic pressure attracted everyone's attention like a beacon. It was an impact that penetrated half of the canyon. At least six heavily guarded fortresses and hundreds of thousands of defenders disappeared. The traces of destruction were enough to allow three War Dog-class Titans to move forward side by side, or to accommodate an entire army.

The armies of the Dawnbreakers poured in from then on, and their progress was even faster than that of the World Eaters.

It's not that they are better at fighting, but under the deterrence of such great power. The Second Legion has successfully forced the defenders of the two fortresses to surrender, forcing them to surrender their positions completely. Therefore, the Dawnbreakers can go around the enemy's rear and cooperate with the World Eaters Legion. When the Titans of the Warmongers Legion arrive, it will be time to launch a joint general attack.

Such an offensive was nothing more than a casual act of the Lord of Avalon. Morgan's main energy was used to suppress the hostile psychics in the entire world: in the sixteen-hour battle, she made this world famous for its psychic power completely unable to exert its own strength, while the psychic activities of the Empire in this regard reached its peak under her protection.

Those psychic masters who were powerful enough to pose a threat were ruthlessly killed by thunder and gravity within fifteen minutes of the start of the war. The rest were also cut off from all connections in the warp and could only be torn to pieces by the Empire's psykers in vain.

They also tried to gather together to fight against this silver-haired scourge, but the result of doing so was only that the wails of thousands of the best psykers pierced directly through the warp, echoing in the real universe for a long time, and instead caused the morale of countless resistance fighters to completely collapse, and they raised their weapons against the Dawnbreaker Legion.

But these things had nothing to do with Hector. His company was assigned to the other side of the battlefield to cover the flank and maintain contact with the third legion: compared with the World Eaters and Dawnbreakers, the 11th Company was now closer to the Space Wolves.

However, Hector was unwilling to look at the position of the 6th Legion, as it would make his soul feel sick: if the World Eaters were still willing to accept surrender and the Dawnbreakers would actively force the enemy to surrender, then in the Space Wolves' dictionary, the word "surrender" might not even exist.

Leman Russ and his troops landed on the surface from another direction. They destroyed the enemy's second command center and were now walking a bloody path to join the other two legions: behind the wolves' heavy breathing was an act of genocide.

Hector could see that three-year-old children and eighty-year-old men fell equally under the axes of the Space Wolves. Both the resisting fortresses and the non-resisting towns were destroyed by the Sixth Legion, and all the residents were torn to pieces: Leman Russ did not restrain his wolves at all, and allowed them to throw torches into residential areas and ancient libraries that had been passed down for thousands of years. Countless buildings that survived the Age of Strife were kicked into the garbage dump under the iron hoofs of the Emperor's Wolves.

The wolves would not accept surrender, nor would they attempt any attempt to persuade them to surrender. Instead, they would treat all enemies in front of them equally and carry out a thorough and genocidal massacre: the descendants of Leman Russ were clearly adept at this, as their progress was not much slower than that of their blood relatives.

And when Hector saw with his own eyes that a large number of resistance fighters abandoned the fortress in fear of the wolves' impending bloody breath, turned around and ran towards the position just taken by the Dawnbreakers, and raised their hands from afar, the huge sense of absurdity made him stop watching, and he made up his mind to intervene in this battle and raise Morgan's flag to stop the madness of the wolves.

He had no intention of confronting the wolves, but if the fortresses and towns in front of him were first captured by the Dawnbreaker army, then even the madmen under Leman Russ would not rush in and kill indiscriminately: this idea was quickly nodded by Ahriman, and they quickly walked to the commanding heights and got a company that had already rested.

"We're lucky."

Hector managed a smile.

"Before we set off, the support troops sent from above have also arrived."

"Support troops?"

Ahriman looked up and saw dozens of Stormbirds approaching rapidly. When he saw the paint on the wings clearly, the face of the Thousand Son showed joy and he involuntarily walked forward to greet them.

"Are these those psionic troops?"

"That's right. The psychic special forces in the Mortal Auxiliary Army are the elite among the elites. Every one of them is selected from the Guards. They are added to our front line as Astartes-level combat forces to support our next offensive operations."

"I have no doubt about it."

Ahriman nodded, and he looked with satisfaction as hundreds of mortal psykers walked down from the Stormbirds in neat rows. Their resolute expressions and the scars on their faces proved that compared to psykers, they were warriors first, warriors who obeyed orders.

All of these soldiers wore heavy combat boots and winter coats to ensure they could fight in sub-zero temperatures. Ahriman could see the emblems of swords and flowers on their silver helmets, symbolizing that they were the elite force Morgan relied on: the sword represented invincible offensive and glory, and the Morganite rose pattern was the beautiful wish of the people of the Far Eastern frontier for their queen.

"A perfect army."

Ahriman's eyes swept over them, especially over the guns in their hands: they were the psychic standard firearms that he and Yesugei had jointly researched and launched, and they seemed to be being experimentally promoted among Avalon's mortal troops.

At the outermost edge of this group of mortal psykers, the Thousand Sons finally found the technical officer in charge of this matter: so, when the Dawnbreakers and their mortal legions set out, Ahriman took the opportunity to step forward and shook hands with the technical officer in a friendly manner.

"We have just come down, are we going to be thrown into the battle?"

the mortal officer asked: out of simple curiosity rather than timidity.

"It depends, but I hope to see the actual combat effect of this firearm."

Ahriman smiled.

"If you don't mind, you can sign my name on this experimental report, sir. These guns are the result of my hard work. I am willing to be responsible for their actual performance on the battlefield."

"As you wish, sir."

The technical officer nodded and handed over the document in his pocket.

"Then I wish us happy cooperation."

Qianzi took it and took the opportunity to glance over the names already written on the form.

"Mr. Olperson: I will remember your name and your help."

(End of this chapter)