Emperor's Bane

Chapter 989 The Cataclysm of Terra (Part 1)

Terran, also known as the Earth's Cleric, is the key to the human Empire's attempt to rule the entire galactic realm from the small corner of Holy Terra.

Although less than a century has passed since the first cornerstone was laid, this behemoth, composed of countless institutions and departments, has already effectively assumed the responsibilities of the central government of the entire human empire: and will visibly occupy the vast majority of the world beneath its feet to support its ever-expanding power and responsibilities.

Now, more than five billion employees and public servants operate on the land called Terratin, forming the core force that enables the Galactic Empire to function efficiently: the vast majority of these high-ranking individuals have not left the high walls of Terratin for decades, and the entire meaning of their remaining lives is solely dedicated to this place.

Among these dedicated individuals who work tirelessly day and night, the Imperial Ministry of the Interior is the largest and wields the most extravagant power.

This framework, supported by billions of clerks, secretaries, officials, and administrators, encompasses everything from expeditionary fleets to eleven taxes. It is the most secure hand of power for the shogun and a core component that allows the entire imperial government to continue operating.

It is no exaggeration to say that the survival of the Imperial Ministry of the Interior is more important than the lives of the 100,000 Imperial Fists on the front lines.

Especially in this era of uncertainty and renewed warfare, whether the Ministry of the Interior can maintain its former efficiency and support the Terran government in winning the war against the Wolf God is one of the most pressing concerns for the Highlord Council.

To ensure this, they don't mind giving the empire's best administrative officials some preferential treatment.

Rewards, honors, land, and more power.

One of the High Lords even personally stepped forward to encourage the tens of millions of bureaucrats who could receive his broadcasts, in front of the magnificent hall of the Ministry of the Interior.

After internal discussions and buck-passing, the responsibility ultimately fell on Chancellor of the Exchequer Ossian's shoulders.

"no way."

"After the catastrophe of Nicaea, I was one of the few senior high lords."

Helped off the transport plane, the Chancellor of the Exchequer wiped his sweaty forehead with a silk handkerchief, then turned to his confidant and spoke, half explaining and half complaining.

"The older generation of Minister of the Interior and his most capable assistants all died in Nicaea. The new Minister of the Interior was just an assistant during the Great Expedition and could not control his group of arrogant and fierce soldiers at all. The same situation occurred in the Ministry of Justice and the Archives. As for the others, they had nothing to do with the Ministry of the Interior."

"In the end, the Master of the Seal will have to trouble me."

Ossian muttered something, then pouted at another adjutant behind him, and immediately a document sealed with Skyhawk wax was presented to him.

"Is this the speech?"

As he tore off the wax seal, he pulled a magnifying glass from the folds of his ornate robe. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's aged yet sharp eyes scanned the documents before him, while he strode briskly across the marble floor of the Ministry of the Interior: someone would naturally clear all obstacles in his path.

"It's incredible."

At the very end of the procession, two still-young servants were talking in very low voices.

"I thought you were already very... old."

"Don't underestimate him."

Another, older man, retorted softly.

"He's just unwilling to undergo rejuvenation surgery: does he really think anyone can wield the empire's financial power for two hundred years with the permission of the emperor and the sultan?"

"He is the only person in the entire galaxy who can sort out all the Empire's material transportation and strategic reserves. Even the Minister of the Interior and the Charter Captain cannot do it: even the Sealholder must rely on his help, otherwise he would not be able to sort out these things."

"This lord has resigned many times, and each time the emperor personally tried to persuade him to stay."

"That's it..."

As they walked and read, after about ten minutes, the group, which had deliberately requested to keep a low profile, finally arrived at the door that had been prepared for them: they only needed to push open the door to see countless listeners who had been eagerly waiting.

"Alright, I've got it."

The Chancellor of the Exchequer handed over the thick stacks of papers—more than thirty in total—to his confidant.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

"There is one thing, sir."

His longest-serving confidant hesitated.

"We have set up a low-standard security measure on site as you requested: but if I may be so bold, isn't this a bit too dangerous?"

“After all, this is a completely open space, and we cannot monitor all the surrounding territory in real time.”

“If I were worried about that, I wouldn’t have refused the Imperial Fist that Lord Dorn sent me.”

The Chancellor of the Exchequer simply smiled when faced with this question.

"Right now, what the people of Terra lack most is confidence, especially the Ministry of the Interior. Many people there have access to highly confidential information, and they know that our situation on the front lines is not going well. These people are more worried than the common people. And if they see that even I, the High Lord, have to be heavily guarded before I dare to leave the palace, their anxiety about the war will be even more intense."

"Don't forget, we're less than ten kilometers from the walls of Terra Palace. If we're all timid and hesitant here, what kind of behavior is that?"

"not to mention……"

The Chancellor of the Exchequer beckoned, and his confidant brought his ear close to his lips.

“I have served the Emperor for far too long.”

"It has been far too long: I have enjoyed all the glory and power, I have given everything to the great Lord of Mankind, my family behind me has long since lost any possibility of further advancement, and the successor to my position and power has already been decided."

“I always make sure to finish all my business before leaving the palace.”

"In this way, even if an accident occurs, my death will not have any additional effects. This is the consensus of the entire High Lords Council: there will never be another Nicaea."

“But I am already very tired: the responsibilities this power has given me have long outweighed the benefits.”

"Although I will never forget the oath I swore to the Emperor."

"but……"

The aged voice paused for a moment.

“If the Emperor is willing to grant me release, I will gladly accept his grace.”

"So, I am not afraid of what you are worried about."

After saying this, the Chancellor of the Exchequer patted his trusted confidant on the shoulder and then ordered someone to open the door.

When the bronze doors creaked open, the light that rushed in made him squint.

Even faster came the outcry of hundreds of thousands of people.

Ossian was already used to this. He climbed the high platform that had been prepared for him, facing the open square filled with elites who had gathered from all over the Ministry of the Interior. Various broadcasting instruments were displayed in front of him, and the fully armed Lucifer Black Guards were just a few meters away.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"The Emperor's people!"

"Listen to me!"

Public speaking has never been his forte, but the Chancellor of the Exchequer will still give it his all.

"We are living in a time of crisis."

"An era that calls for loyalty, dedication and solidarity among all of us."

"It is also an era that yearns for our strength, our courage and our determination."

He knew that his voice would be transmitted through dozens of loudspeakers to a vast underground network, ensuring that even the listeners at the very edge of the square, and the staff who were not present and were still suffering in their seats, could hear his hoarse voice from the hissing broadcast.

He also knew that most of these people would not be moved by his speech and would ridicule his incompetence and depravity as a leader: but what harm would it do to talk about it for three days and three nights if even one person with a sincere heart was able to stand firm on it?

"I know, perhaps for many people."

"Never in all these long years has there been a moment as desperate as now."

"The peace forged by the sacrifice of countless nobles has been trampled upon at will by ambitious men. The legions we once took pride in are now our enemies. The banners of the rebellious ministers have covered the lands of the north and east. His followers are numerous and his power is growing. He is ambitious and always eyeing our rich territory."

The more than thirty pages of the speech manuscript, which contained a magnificent article of more than 50,000 words, were now deeply engraved in the High Lord's mind as if they were his physical memory. Although he only had time to browse through it once, Ossian still appeared completely at ease in front of millions of eyes. He did not even forget the details of every turn and pause.

This photographic memory is merely a basic skill for becoming a high lord of the empire.

He could even dedicate most of his energy to carefully observing everything before him and memorizing it.

Those millions of faces of all shapes and sizes.

Numbness, joy, awe, boredom.

Calm, restless, composed, panicked.

It's as if every emotion in the world is imprisoned in this open-air square, which is neither too big nor too small.

Following these faces, he saw the shadows of mountains rising and falling like peaks at the edge of his vision: the square was a depression in the area outside the palace walls, surrounded by towering Ferris wheels that seemed to reach into the clouds and were bustling with people. Thousands of steps could accommodate millions of people coming and going, and even the end of the world could not stop these core gears from turning.

At that moment, the Chancellor of the Exchequer understood why his entourage always brought up security: even with the most capable men in the palace, he could not completely seal off the hundreds of thousands of square meters of plaza, or the commanding heights that were more numerous than distant stars.

If there is even one oversight, his life is already on a countdown.

The High Lord paused for a moment.

But then, all the hesitation and silence gave way to a carefree laugh.

He simply spread his arms, took a few steps forward, and kept his voice loud under the tense gazes of the guards around him.

"But please listen to me."

"Fellow citizens, fellow countrymen, brothers who shed their blood for the Great Expedition and basked in the glory of the Emperor."

"All those who are not blinded by ambition and lies."

"Please listen to me!"

The voice was so loud, like rolling thunder roaring across the square, that even the guards and servants below the stage turned their gazes in surprise: some of them realized that what the High Lord was saying was not from the originally prepared speech.

But no one stopped him.

When he clenched his fist and swung it heavily into the air, the entire square fell silent.

"Don't give up, don't be afraid."

"Don't let them devour your soul."

"Weakness and compromise are never the cure; only courage is the true nobility in this galaxy."

"Suffering cannot break us."

"Hatred cannot break us down."

"One day, we will defeat them, just as the flames of the Great Expedition will burn again."

"All ambitious people, their empires will eventually be devoured by their own desires, and everything they have taken from us will be taken back by our own hands!"

"Do not fear the War General's wrath!"

"Do not waver in your loyalty."

"Dedicated to your duties and steadfast in your commitment, your burning faith is the blood you shed for the Emperor."

Even the smallest sacrifice will be firmly remembered by him!

Even the most worthless resistance will be bathed in the eternal glory of victory!

"Perhaps victory will not come in our sight."

"But as long as there is a breath left."

"We must have the courage and honor to defend all the beautiful things we cherish in our hearts."

He raised his head.

I saw everyone clearly on the last try.

The faces of the masses, those unique yet unfamiliar expressions and features, those people suffocating under the shadow of war, the magnificent buildings brutally dismantled by the army of the Empire, and the fortified fortresses strong enough to surround the entire palace. Everything, all of it.

People's love and hate, past merits and demerits.

The distant tower echoed with the tolling of sunset bells.

A blinding light shone from the horizon at the corner of the cloudy eye.

……

No, that's not sunlight.

He looked over thoughtfully.

So that's really how it is...

No wonder he's been so anxious lately.

When Gao Lingzhu saw that the light was not sunlight, but the blinding glare from the scope of a sniper rifle, his first reaction was amazement at how close it was to him.

He was so close that he could feel it.

Apart from that, there was neither fear nor retreat.

On the contrary, as his guards, who had also sensed the flash, rushed toward him, as the front-row spectators, realizing the danger, fled their positions in panic, and as the assassin in the shadows whispered his countdown to death, the Chancellor of the Exchequer simply gripped the megaphone in front of him, his lips trembling with physical fear.

But his voice had never been so firm.

He looked at everyone, especially at the flash of light aimed at his head.

Despite the great distance, he could still imagine what the scene would be like.

A silent, newly awakened Astartes.

He hid in a secluded corner, with three security personnel bleeding profusely at his feet. They still held unactivated communicators in their hands, while the assassin held a specially made sniper rifle, the black barrel reflecting the blue scales of his power armor.

He was right there, ready to kill him at any moment.

But as the High Lord's lips trembled, as he tried to utter his last words...

The assassin chose to wait.

This politeness allowed him to look with a smile at the distant, radiant sun.

"please remember."

He said.

"Only loyalty lasts forever."

After saying that, he closed his speech and listened quietly.

Listen to the guards' footsteps, listen to the murmurs of mortals.

Listen to the last wind on Terra: it smells just as bad as when the Emperor found him.

Hearing Alpha in the shadows, he raised his gun.

Then, pull the trigger.

------

"boom!"

"Hold the line!"

Sergeant Bodyan of the 145th Company of the Imperial Fist is trapped in the corridor he walks through every day.

Trapped with him was the entire squad, who were huddled behind statues, greenery, and decorative defensive positions on both sides of the corridor, struggling against the opponents who were descending from the sky at the end of the corridor.

As for why there are defensive positions in the passageways?
Don't question Imperial Fist's taste in interior design.

However, these defensive positions, which were defined as decorations, were inherently inadequate, and at least during Sergeant Bodyan's eighty-year service, he never remembered them ever being used: until his entire squad was firmly pinned down there by enemy fire.

They had already lost the corner, had to abandon the statue of Primarch Dorne, and two defensive positions that had been converted into flower beds were shattered. They were retreating step by step under the enemy's fierce offensive: perhaps in another ten minutes, they would have to abandon the next corner, and then all that would be left for them was a flat plain.

Such a devastating defeat and the sacrifice of six comrades made the sergeant understand the situation: the attackers were definitely Astartes warriors, but not any of the forces under Warmaster Horus, but the Silent Assassins belonging to the Alpha Legion. Moreover, judging from the number of the attackers and the few words exchanged on the walkie-talkie, the scale of this invasion was far larger than they had imagined.

It wasn't a disturbance involving dozens or hundreds of people.

The Alpha Legion mobilized at least several thousand men: even in the context of a large-scale expedition where troops were deployed indiscriminately, such a scale would definitely constitute a formal war.

But these are not the most confusing aspects.

"For Dorne!"

A roar pulled Sergeant Bodyan back to reality. He peeked out and saw an unfamiliar fellow fighter leaping out of his hiding place, his blade aimed straight at the Alpha warrior at the front.

The Alpha warrior was exceptionally tall, a giant even by Astartes standards. His hands were soaked in blood; he had killed more Imperial Fists than all the other Alphas combined.

Although the sergeant did not recognize the man, the ornate patterns on his epaulets revealed that this ambushing Imperial Fist was undoubtedly a skilled swordsman in the legion, and his performance perfectly matched that description: his impeccable swordsmanship not only forced back several Alpha warriors but also firmly pinned the Alpha giant to the spot.

This massacre was nothing short of art. Sharp blades sliced ​​through the weak points of the armor again and again, and the flowing blood was enough to turn anyone pale. Even the giant seemed to sway. But just as Bodean was full of anticipation and preparing to call on the rest of his squad to launch a counterattack, a sudden change occurred!

The Alpha Giant, which seemed to be retreating steadily under the perfect swordsmanship, suddenly raised an arm, not to attack, but to directly smash into the blade, using its thick flesh to firmly pin it down.

Just as the swordsman of the Imperial Fist pulled his blade from his hand, the giant made his move.

He opened his other hand, swung it with all his might in mid-air, roaring like the wind, and slammed it heavily onto the helmet of the Imperial Fist. The sound of metal and bone shattering together could be heard clearly even from a hundred meters away. Large amounts of blood were sprayed in mid-air, and the Imperial Fist swordsman's originally agile body suddenly slumped.

But the giants did not stop.

He immediately grabbed the hand holding the sword in the Imperial Fist and pulled it off easily. Then, he ignored the sword stuck in his arm and grabbed the almost defenseless Imperial Fist, clenched his fist, and slammed it hard into the chest.

"boom!"

Armor shattered, bones cracked, and a massive fist pierced right through the Imperial Fist's torso: the Son of Dorne's other arm was still trying to grab the gun at his waist, making a final stand against the enemy before him, but after he was slammed against the wall on the other side, this tenacious soul finally breathed his last.

Damn it...it's happening again...

The sergeant could hear his heart pounding with tension, and perhaps fear.

What he couldn't understand most during this attack were the giants in the Alpha Legion.

Their strength, their physique, and their cold-blooded ruthlessness were completely unlike anything the Astartes possessed.

Such a pure numerical crushing was something only Morgan's Dawnbreakers could achieve in Bodean's memory: their warriors were always stronger than those of other legions, but never to such an exaggerated degree.

No, we can't hold on like this.

They will be killed one by one.

With a sorrowful glance at his dead brother, the sergeant directed the others to continue holding their ground while dialing the communicator in his hand, which had been used countless times.

"Company commander."

His voice was even hoarser than I had imagined.

"Squad C needs backup."

"Without sufficient support, we cannot hold Corridor Three."

"Heaven knows where these monsters came from?"

"..."

"We already know that."

After a burst of chaotic electronic noise, the company commander's voice appeared along with the background sounds of gunfire: his voice was as hoarse as a sergeant's.

"They appeared suddenly on the deck, the same deck where the Primarch greeted the Warmaster during the Terra Crisis."

"I don't know when the teleportation array was set up."

"As for support... don't even think about it."

"Reinforcements on Terra will take at least another ten minutes."

"Grass……"

The sergeant ducked and dodged a flying shrapnel.

"What about the 17th Company?"

"Aren't they the reserve team? Send some men over."

"They've all gone to Corridor One."

The company commander roared from the other end.

"There are more Alphas there than rabbits, and those giant, ruthless monsters are everywhere."

"God knows what that thing is."

"We've already sent three companies in, but the front line is still retreating toward the main control room."

"Do you know what this means?"

"Once they get into the main control room, they can smash the entire Mountain Array towards Tai... zzzz..."

The meaningless electronic noise drowned out what followed, but the sergeant had no time to complain.

What was even more jarring to his ears was the roar from ahead.

The Sons of Dorne peeked out from behind the cover and witnessed a scene that resembled hell: the Alpha Giant, wearing tattered armor and wielding the dead bodies of two Imperial Fists, was charging ahead, followed by three whole squads of Alpha soldiers, relentlessly unleashing their fire upon the Sons of Dorne.

The Imperial Fists' frantic counterattack with explosives and firepower was enough to penetrate power armor, but they all failed in the face of the giant's unbelievable physical thickness. He roared and simply lifted the Imperial Fists' corpse and the several-meter-high bunker together, slamming them heavily forward.

"Dodge!"

Someone let out a wail, and a dizzying pain overwhelmed the next few seconds until the whole earth began to tremble: the monster had rushed across the corridor, its shadow long enough to obscure the ranks of the Sons of Dorne.

The sergeant drew his blade.

He knew his defenses had crumbled.

So what should he do now?
Retreat, detour, or something else...

No, the Son of Dorne will only have one answer.

"Draw the knife!"

The roar of the Imperial Fist drowned out all other noises on the battlefield.

"follow me!"

Wielding his sharp blade, he charged ahead, followed by the resolute footsteps of all his surviving comrades, who joined him in the charge against the invincible monster.

Just as the battle was about to erupt, Dorne's son raised his gun expressionlessly.

The last bullet was fired forward.

------

This chapter is the first half.

There will be another one in an hour or two.

(End of this chapter)