Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 720 (21) I’ve got you, you little…

When Sigismund revealed his face, wearing a golden champion's crown made of living metal, three pairs of twenty-foot-long wings, and holding a black sword surrounded by white and gold light, he floated in the air like a shining meteor, breaking the sound barrier and rushing down the marble steps of the monastery fortress.

No loyal servant of the Empire would doubt that he could successfully fulfill his mission.

Except for those on the front lines of the battle, the sisters of the Crimson Teardrop now gathered together excitedly, holding hands and singing poems praising the God-Emperor and the Living Saint in their loudest voices. Even those penitents who were doing penance underground and whipping themselves were allowed to be brought up to see the glory of the two living saints' battle that spanned ten thousand years.

But even with such mental preparation, when Desorian and his warriors began to move according to the predetermined route sent back by Sigismund, they still felt a touch of emotion because of the miracle they saw, which was almost impossible to produce among Space Marines, especially the Imperial Fists.

——The emotion that is closest to fear.

The Astartes' transformation surgery procedures have always tried their best to castrate the human emotions of these qualified persons that would be detrimental to combat, both physically and mentally, so that the angels of death they eventually become will not be afraid to fight against powerful forces, and will keep moving forward even when they know that they are doomed to sacrifice.

But this does not conflict with the fact that any sentient creature will feel fear when faced with this "overwhelming force that cannot be overcome by any tiny possibility or miracle" up close and personal.

Just like many people can control their fear when watching people dropping cyclone bombs from the Inquisitor ship in high orbit, but this may not be the case when looking up at the bright spots falling from the sky on a planet where an extermination order has been issued. These are two completely different things.

Pavas walked over to Captain Desorian and watched as the other Imperial Fists warriors dispersed, stepped over the corpses of the enemies and the ashes left after the Unliving were burned, and went to gather up the frightened Sedrikan officers and soldiers behind the bunkers and fortifications.

Most of these brave mortals now sat where they were, sitting on ammunition boxes in their trenches or simply on the muddy ground.

Some people had wide eyes, some had expressions of relief at surviving the disaster, and many people trembled and kissed their Sky Eagle emblem necklaces or murmured prayers after their adrenaline levels subsided.

But more people turned their eyes away quickly in fear after seeing their bright yellow power armor with green edges, and did not even dare to look into their goggles or eyes.

Pavas noticed that they were particularly afraid of the Imperial Fists Astartes who wielded power swords and chainswords—not out of fear, but out of an extreme level of caution toward a certain power.

"It's a pity that I can't see what happened here with my own eyes." He said to Desorian who was looking at the battlefield in deep thought, "I'm really curious about how Lord Sigismund did it... His power armor didn't look like it could have such speed and strength before... And in such a cramped size, how did he make his body withstand the huge load brought by his speed while still being able to... swing the sword so accurately and quickly?"

Their eyes followed Pavas' question to the body of a Khorne Berserker lying on the ground next to them.

The ancient blue and white power armor had long been mottled and blurred, painted by layer upon layer of blood from old to new into an ominous dark red close to dark brown. The damaged armor, the skull at his waist and the bloodstained chainsaw axe in his hand all told of the owner's brutality and cruelty in his life.

But he was lying here now, as peaceful, calm and lifeless as the thousands of corpses scattered here - no, maybe even more - Pavas's rising eyepiece count made his two hearts pound uncontrollably - dark red power armor, bloody weapons, and the cultists' flesh and tattered armor engraved with blasphemous symbols and marks were scattered all over the ground.

All the enemies within sight seemed to have died at the same moment. There was no doubt that when they saw Sigismund, the wings of death had already loomed over their heads.

The only proof that they had not died from some kind of magic or ritual was that all the bodies had a fatal wound in the throat - a single blow, clean and sharp, that separated the head from the body but left a piece of flesh unsevered.

Pavas didn't know why, nor did he look up traditions like the Imperial Fists or the Black Templars from his memory, but the effect of this wound was very good and obvious. Any enemy hit was unable to launch their counterattack or breathe a second breath.

"When you were studying on Mars, was that all the curiosity the technical priests taught you?"

Desorian glanced at him and instructed the other teams to form a guard formation and continue to advance the defensive position according to the coordinates.

"Aren't you curious? I remember that you have always been wary of Saint Celestine. But it is obviously inappropriate for us to rashly inquire about the relevant internal information of the nuns. Now that we have our own living saint, of course I am curious."

"You said it too, this is our own living saint." Desorian glanced at his closest old friend and adjutant, "His personal deeds are one of the ultimate goals we can pursue as Astartes. That's enough, our living saint." He repeated, "Pew and the Captains' Council will be very happy to hear this news."

Lorian was a little further away, commanding more teams to move towards the cleared area.

The report he sent back showed that Sigismund's previous request for them to completely withdraw all defensive forces to the main nest monastery was completely correct - of course, the premise is that you have such a living saint sword master in your army who can eliminate all the gathered enemies almost at the same time.

Since the ultimate goal of all Chaos enemies attacking Cedrakar is the beacon in the main hive monastery, they will eventually begin to fiercely attack the monastery's armor and void shields, like marching ants surrounding a big tree trying to pick the fresh meat at the top.

Desorian's original defense plan was larger in scope and more traditional and reliable - using the main hive's sturdy armor and the firepower of tens of thousands of defensive turrets, a typical main city wall and fortress fortresses were formed on the outer drilling platforms and outlying islands to encircle the enemy in an inner ring area. However, the main problem with this type of operation is that the difference in manpower cannot be too great, otherwise it is easy to create some loopholes between the various outer fortress points that allow the enemy to slip through.

——Sure enough, this approach is prone to loopholes.

Sigismund, who had already descended into the underwater tunnel at the bottom of the main nest and put away all his exaggerated special effects, thought so as he floated forward silently in the darkness.

At least this group of petty thieves had no reports of being spotted during the first eight battles traced back, but there was no doubt that they had a big problem.

In the depths of his icy blue eyepieces, thirteen figures were reflected - twelve warriors wearing ancient power armor and one mortal.

(End of this chapter)