Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 887 Everyone has their own expertise, but Mortarian
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"Is this the Pale King?!"

Lamizane couldn't help but exclaim in admiration, "To actually see immortals guarding this level!"

"Because this happens to be his area of ​​expertise; he wouldn't be able to see mental omens like those of purely mechanical or biological beings."

Peturabo said.

"The soul of a human immortal was so conspicuous in the eyes of the Pale King at this moment—to put it another way, it was like a black hole in a vast galaxy of soul fireflies."

"Is that so?" Ramizan raised one eyebrow, looking with amusement at the white dove that was anxiously shifting its claws on the perch.

"If he could see the 'Lord of Humanity' now, what would his eyes see?"

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The people of Morocco were clearly not unaware of the impending crisis.

The three hundred Ultramarines stationed in Moro had already received reports from the Star Speakers about the Great Rebellion, the Betrayer, and the battles in Kos and other places, as well as the Sons of Horus Allied Fleet, which was heading here after stopping in the world of Dwyl.

Nearly a hundred reclusive Blood Angels also received the notification, but now they only wish to atone for their previous sudden and unreasonable out-of-control killings.

On orbit, Admiral Britton Simper was full of confidence. His flagship was the Avenger-class cruiser USS Guardian, which, in addition to its 140,000 crew members and a large number of artillery and weapon systems, also housed a squad of Ultramarines.

The admiral's plan was simple yet effective. He planned to lure the rebel fleet with decoy ships, while he would lead the Imperial Navy to hide behind the planet, using orbital and ground batteries as anvils and his own fleet as the hammer to completely crush the invading enemy.

As for the ground army units, they had already gathered together for a combat meeting.

The meeting was held in the tiered, classical arena-style conference hall of the Hall of Flames, Dawn Castle, which was built by the First Legion around the spaceship the Emperor had first arrived on.

However, the war council clearly did not go particularly well. When Ultramarines Commander Castor O'Cadet wanted to continue listening to logistical and deployment reports, Raven Tivann—the second son of the recently deceased Cyprian Tivann, Governor Moro—who had been waiting impatiently, angrily stood up from his seat and demanded that they "abandon these damned matters that should be handled by my scribes, quartermasters, and squires, and turn their attention to the more important things at hand."

More important things? Of course, it refers to Raven Tiwan's own coronation ceremony, and the order and position of his charge and attack with his knightly family.

The new imperial commander, who had accomplished a series of “feats” such as assassinating his own brother, marrying his own sister, and killing his own father, was eager to seize his next trophy: the life of the Wolf God.

Ultimately, under his strong insistence and in the name of "the Emperor's request for your assistance in guarding Moro," the others, including O'Cade, had to shift their attention and the content of the meeting in the direction that Raven Tiwan wanted to see.

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"I can only say that my memory of this battle, or rather, my current understanding of the intelligence, is stuck at a level that I really dislike. No more, no less, it's clear that Fogrem controls the limits of intelligence sharing with the precision of his sword."

Dr. Mortalian tossed the data panel aside.

“What do you mean?” Leman Russ was wiping his sword, while Pallas pretended not to hear the Iron Hand’s incessant curses and provocations, making final adjustments to his life support system—they still hadn’t fitted him with hands and feet, but at least the Iron Hand veteran pilot was now invincible.

"The Battle of the Molo and the campaign to strike the orbital rings are none of our business."

The Pale King said, “That’s good. I have ordered the End to continue sending messages to the Soul of Vengeance and the Pride of the Emperor that I am slowly but steadily recovering. At this rate, the point at which I am ready to fight is when the airborne operation will begin. Horus will have no complaints about that.”

“It’s such a shame that those ships and skilled sailors were destroyed by Horus like that.” Pallas said with regret, while the steel hand he was adjusting gave him an incredulous look. “So many—the Imperial Navy! With half of those ships, the Wandering Port Fleet could roam freely throughout the entire subsector.”

"It should have been possible, right? I heard the paperwork is all in order now. It's just that our brother is being too cautious."

Lehman Russ grumbled, “And the other one’s fear of insufficient firepower and food is, in my opinion, far too severe. The sector has several agricultural and hive worlds, and conscripting troops and procuring food on the spot after sending out troops is more than enough. I really don’t understand why they need to prepare so much.”

“First of all, we split up when we landed,” Mortarian pondered. “I’m not entirely sure what Forgrim himself did, but I’m pretty sure the Emperor’s Son didn’t land. Only Forgrim himself infiltrated the planet, and his actions are related to the problems with the Serpent Cult and the Moro mortal nobles’ knight mech squadron.”

"Should we get involved?"

“That’s not the point for now.” Mortalian recalled, summarizing what he remembered into his laptop. “Horus must have chosen a very inconspicuous and strategically insignificant location as his landing point, without informing me or Forgrim at the time.”

"So, where did you log in?"

"My legion and I were assigned to launch a surprise landing using airdrop pods at a mainland port east of Lupekaria, the capital of Moro."

What's there?

“That is indeed a strategically important city,” Dr. Mortalian replied. “Ophir, an industrial city for promethium processing, refining, and storage. If we intend to conduct large-scale vehicle and…”

Suddenly, he muttered a curse under his breath, "I remember now!"

"what?"

“And this variable…” He quickly began entering a series of new data.

"Horus's legion carried at least twenty-six Titans of various sizes, more than a dozen armored regiments, and in addition to a large number of Land and Rhino, there were also many Shadowblades, Poison Blades, Macados, Storm Hammers and other heavy vehicles. That's why he ordered me to lead the Death Guard to seize the refinery tower factory and fuel depot in Ophir, so as to cut off the local heavy vehicle and knight fuel supply, as well as supply their own follow-up ground vehicle forces!"

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"Aaaaaaah! The first version of Shadow Sword! Aaaaaah! The first version of Emperor Poison Blade!"

Someone who was looking at the crystal ball started fidgeting and exclaiming, "I want it!"

“…Let’s try to get the Empire to allocate a batch for your collection,” Peturabo BC said calmly. “Freshly made is clean and hygienic.”

“The current version is 40K! The versions are different!” Ramizan said righteously.

"The mechanical engineering department still strictly adheres to STC's production standards for these kinds of things, to be fair." Pigeon saw an opportunity and seized the moment to interject, "I can contact Makado and have them move your order forward by a century!"

"...That feels like it could lead to Bo Ren dying because of me. Besides, if I'm not mistaken, Horus's vehicles have corruption issues and can't be used, but there are many such precious vehicles on Moro, some even being meticulously crafted versions from the Great Expedition!!" "...You actually just want the special name version, right?" The sheepdog's forehead fur wrinkled.

"It's quite normal to capture one, two, three, or four enemy vehicles intact during the battle!"

“Indeed,” said the Lord of the Ravens. “But first of all, we can’t tell Mortarion what you want.”

Lamizain slowly shifted his gaze to the pigeon whose claws were beginning to pry open.

"Gulp—I can't yet—"

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"So it seems his basic idea is that Vograim is going to instigate the pre-planted spies from within, he's responsible for the frontal attack and drawing attention, while you're going to launch the landing assault, capture the plant, and keep the promethium factory operational to ensure logistics. It's quite organized," Ruth said.

"And, I just studied the map. Ophir is more than 9,000 kilometers away from Lupekaria as the crow flies. The area between the two is almost entirely covered by extremely dense primeval forests, with steep ridges and vertical valleys running across the gap. This terrain is almost a complete hindrance to the advance of Astartes forces and armored units. Your heavy troops can easily argue that it will take you a long time to clear a path. Then we can simply lay low in Ophir, wait for Horus to finish off the local garrison, and then return to orbit. Wouldn't it be easy to launch a surprise airdrop from behind?"

The wolf king offered a simple but seemingly feasible solution.

“I can also serve as a vanguard,” Pallas said. “It’s just a pity that I don’t have any offspring who can fight alongside me as the Hidden Blade in the decapitation battle.”

“Wrong.” The Pale King slowly shook his head. “The reason Horus allowed me to land in such a distant place and was so sure that the Death Guards could arrive in time was because the defenses in western Lupecaria were very weak—aside from seven knights from a small family and two armored squadrons, there were hardly any guards inside the wall known as the ‘Great Wall of Civilization’.”

"So you underestimated your opponent?"

"After all, it is more than 9,000 kilometers of forests, mountains and valleys. No one has ever set out on the road or drawn a map of the route. It is obviously considered impossible for large legions and mechanized legions to pass through this forest."

"Then why did Horus assign this task to you, and why didn't you refuse or get angry at the time?"

The Pale King's face was somber.

"This is another problem that's been on my mind."

"what?"

"Horus's order is for me to begin releasing the Life Eater Virus into all areas of Moro except Lupecaria."

A few seconds of silence filled the room, broken only by the hissing sound of the heavy, tense pistons of the steel hand's mechanical respirator adjusting.

“If I remember correctly, that thing was part of the Extinction Order bomb, right?” Pallas said finally.

"Correct."

"He's insane! Isn't that thing supposed to sweep across the entire planet within minutes, turning any living thing into a pulp and then incinerating it into inorganic matter?!"

“Not really,” Mortarian replied. “At least on Istavan, it has been proven that with proper shelter or protection, some people can survive viral bomb attacks and then fight back. Didn’t you see some survivors in Peturabo’s Primarch Guard?”

A brief silence fell over the room once again.

The mechanical respirator of the steel hand seemed to be operating at a more tense and rapid pace.

“Indeed,” Pallas said slowly. “Because the days of fighting and building together were so wonderful, I almost forgot… they were all there.”

He looked nostalgic and sighed softly, "It hasn't been that long, and life there is already like a dream... What we do here shouldn't affect them, right? After all, this place is so far away from Istvan and the main battlefields."

"Their lifelines have now been cut and reconnected, so there's no need to worry too much about the people you know being affected too much by our current actions."

The Pale King reached out to push up his glasses as usual, then reluctantly put his hand down.

"Besides, it's impossible for Gavial Loken and the others to suddenly appear here out of nowhere. Let's talk about the Life Eater virus."

"You don't really intend to deploy it as the warlord ordered, do you?" Pallas asked.

“I definitely have to do it. At least pretend to do it for those spies,” Dr. Mortalian pointed out. “The Death Guard is far from monolithic, which is one of the biggest problems I’ve always known but kept burying my head in the sand.”

“My God, this is terrible. You can actually say you’re burying your head in the sand,” the Wolf King muttered. “It’s like seeing a smooth-talking Rogdorn.”

Pallas's face showed a strange expression, which he quickly concealed.

"But that's a virus. How can you 'pretend' to release it? It's unaware and will only spread freely according to its own instincts."

“Wrong,” Mortalian said. “This is my area of ​​expertise.”

"Ok?"

"The only problem now is..." The Pale King, the Primarch of the Death Guard, the man who could stop the grotesque cries of the Garden Nurgles and inflict unprecedented torture on the Father, stood up.

“I need to calculate the exact numbers and formulas needed to accurately represent the sacrifice that is worthy of the “unjustified massacre of seven innocent and ignorant sons” in a short period of time, as well as the precise materials required. Pallas, you’d better help me too.”

"Why are you calculating this? Wait, didn't you just say something...?"

"Of course, I'll use my numerology and biology skills to force the 'life-eating virus' to take on flesh and obey my commands."

Dr. Mortalian said matter-of-factly.

"This falls within my area of ​​expertise."

(End of this chapter)