Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 1075, page 9 of 1074: 'The Only Way to Resolve Disputes'

"I need food supplies, clothing, and war supplies. In short, I need all the military and civilian supplies you can get your hands on. In terms of quantity, it needs to be enough for 500 million people for a year."

Upon hearing this, the Imperial Duke in the holographic image, who always wore a slightly mocking smile, fell silent for the first time.

Duke Charles de Lannes stopped fiddling with his cigar, leaned forward slightly, and a genuine surprise flashed in his aged eyes, which then transformed into a deeper meaning.

"Enough to feed 500 million people for a year," he repeated. "Are you trying to start a world war?"

Instead of giving a direct answer, he made a joke.

“Then what I’m asking for is far too little,” Horatio replied with a smile, going along with his words.

The old duke chuckled.

He turned around and looked at a control panel next to him that was constantly displaying a waterfall of green information: "Perfect timing. There are still a few ships of rations that the Twin Terra Group acquired on the tracks... I can hold them back temporarily and requisition them, and then have the Charter fleet deliver them later. These ships have just arrived in Sintira, and the State Religion and the Ministry of Military Affairs don't know about this yet."

"The Military Affairs Department?" Horatio astutely seized upon a detail. "What is the Military Affairs Department planning to do at this critical juncture?"

"It seems that you naval personnel are still unaware of the rules for handling disputes on land."

The Duke's tone was full of bureaucratic arrogance. "Indeed, the complicated rules in the void are ultimately just a matter of what your Imperial Navy says. But on land, it's a different story."

Duke Charles de Lannes leaned back comfortably in the high-backed armchair and puffed on his cigar again.
"According to the Imperial Internal Affairs and Armed Conflict Resolution Method, when an armed conflict occurs in an Imperial world and both sides are 'loyalists' of the God Emperor, the Ministry of the Interior will assign the Ministry of Military Affairs to delineate 'conflict blockade zones' to keep the entire war within a controllable range."

He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, which swirled within the holographic image.

"The conflict will be resolved through a 'controlled civil war' within the blockade zone. This is also known as a 'holy duel.' As for who is right in the end... that depends on who has the bigger fist."

"How big is the normal area of ​​the lockdown zone?" Horatio's heart sank.

"I don't know. Sometimes it's an entire continent, sometimes it's a nest city and its surrounding area. It depends on the number of troops mobilized by both sides, the width of the battlefield, and the 'value' of that world."

The Duke flicked his cigarette ash. "From what I've heard, the State Church is pressuring the Ministry of the Interior to designate the entire core continent as a war zone. They claim to have an army of 'hundreds of millions,' but whether that's just boasting, only the State Church itself knows."

"How quickly can the supplies be delivered?"

"Your supplies will arrive whenever the first batch of Astral Army reinforcements arrive to blockade the war zone."

The Duke's smile grew proud: "My son, Jean, has received his orders. The Ministry of Military Affairs has ordered several units of the Republican Guard and the Noble Army to proceed to Polaberia to assist the Sintira Noble Army stationed there in conducting a war zone blockade."

"Maintaining the blockade zone and preventing the indiscriminate escalation of the war is the mission of the Astronautical Army. They also need to completely lock down the entire war zone outside of their designated areas."

They have so many mouths to feed, so the Asgardian Army will naturally take half of the first batch of supplies delivered. You, take the other half.

"As for the rest, once we have a second batch of transport capacity, I'll open a separate route for you to send them over. That's the situation right now; both escort and transport capacity are very tight. I also need to coordinate escort efforts with the Calicus fleet."

He added gleefully, "The Calicus fleet has been through a lot lately, they're practically bald from all the trouble."

The battle on the front line of the siege is still ongoing, and a fire has broken out in the rear. A portion of the fleet also needs to be sent out to capture the traitors who escaped from the Eye of Fear.

They now have to break one boat down into three for use.

"I will coordinate with the Calithis fleet regarding the escort," Horatio immediately agreed.

“I’m not worried about what’s going on inside the navy. But I must remind you, young man,” the old duke’s tone suddenly turned serious, a hint of regret flashing in his cloudy old eyes, “that now is your best chance to stay out of it. If you’re not willing to leave, you might not be able to leave later.”

Time is precious. I do not recommend wasting your prime years on endless infighting and disputes.

Don't end up like me... that would be a laughingstock.

“Establishing a career is just as important as achieving great deeds.” Horatio stood ramrod straight, as if facing an inspection. “Without a solid rear, the endless war will eventually dull the spearhead of our ambitions. The war in Minerva almost drained the fleet of its blood, and the continuous wars to come will require even more fresh blood to replenish it.”

"I must take Polaberia no matter what, to make it a vital recruitment and training base for the Imperial Navy."

“I once shared your ambitions,” the Duke said, ceasing his persuasion. “But now, I don’t care about your thoughts; I only care about the interests of the Lanna family.”

"Let's wait and see, young man. Show me how you're going to turn Polaberia upside down."

The Duke ended the communication with a cold laugh.

Horatio sat in his armchair in silence for a long time.

He immediately began to rapidly calculate the economic costs. He now had to use the food and supplies that Poniatowski had withheld to hold out until Major General Jean Lannes and his troops arrived in Polabé.
Under the shadow of war, all factions in Sintira are conducting their own general mobilization.

The rallying point for the Holy War in Sintira's Nest City. "For the God-Emperor! For the Holy Grail!"

The motley crew of jihadists knelt in unison on the dirty, cold, and chaotic haunted square, the air thick with the pungent smell of cheap incense, sweat, and sewage.

Thousands of monks from the Order of St. Drusus walked through the procession, excitedly sprinkling cold holy water on these volunteers who had volunteered for the holy war.

They are a surging torrent.

Their weapons were a motley crew, and they carried everything they could get their hands on—custom-made precision laser guns, standard military weapons issued to their units, rusty automatic guns, sharpened steel pipes, giant wrenches studded with nails, and some even carried weathered automatic cannons dug out of the ruins.

Besides the devout followers from the Star Guardians, Imperial Navy, Planetary Defense Forces, armed militia, and others, who were already filled with intense anger, some participants were gang scum, outlaws, and mutants from the bottom rungs of Hive City.

But the state religion doesn't care whether these people are devout believers or what their motives are.

Those who can defeat the enemies of the Holy War are "those favored by the God-Emperor".

These scumbags, too, have been given a chance to escape the capital, go to a new world to "legally" rob and plunder, and seek to defy fate.

The throne room of Sintira, the official residence of the Dortmund family.

In stark contrast to the filth and fanaticism of the lower classes in the capital, the military aristocratic mansions exuded a perpetual, cold, and orderly tranquility.

Captain Dortlp, the cuirassier captain, stood silently in front of the full-length mirror, his broad shoulders motionless.

His attendants were fastening his brand-new, gleaming breastplate, and he solemnly placed a brand-new, custom-made helmet with a towering red horsehair on his head.

Another servant handed him his sword, which he drew from its sheath. The blade flashed a silver light and emitted a clear, low hum.

He carefully examined the flowing energy luster and exquisite patterns on the sword, and meticulously wiped away the few remaining charred bloodstains from the last battle with a silk scarf.

The bloodstains had carbonized under the scorching of the energy field, and he had to use force to wipe them away.

After finishing, he clicked it back into its sheath.

"Damn it!" he finally couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "I can't go to the Whirlwind Guard line again! When will I ever be able to get a knighthood like my ancestors?!"

He looked with frustration and anxiety at the paintings hanging on the family wall—a total of 21 portraits, from his ancestors during the Anjou Expedition to his father.

The ancestors, clad in armor, stood solemnly, their gazes seemingly piercing through the canvas, coldly scrutinizing him.

Each person in the portrait wears the highest honor sought by the Sintira nobility—the Order of the Golden Fleece—on their chest.

Not all Sintira nobles are spoiled brats.

Just like there are always a small number of people in the military who join the army simply because they have an innate yearning for military life and chivalrous legends.

Many ancient families originating from the Holy Terra, especially those with 'de' in their names, have upheld family traditions for thousands of years, which they enjoy immensely, as if each family member was born for war and smoke.

"Child, where are you going now?"

The cavalry captain's mother, a well-maintained noblewoman, emerged from the shadows of the corridor.

Her voice trembled with unease.

Seeing her son, still wounded, donning his full armor and striding outside, her eyes filled with anxiety: "It's dangerous outside. Those lunatics from the State Church are leading their rabble, marching and gathering everywhere. You were just injured not long ago..."

"Polaberia".

The young cavalry captain replied in an almost resentful tone:
“This time it’s just as you wished, Mom. I’m just going to carry out a boring, tedious, and purely spectacle-filled blockade mission. Just think of it as a vacation in the countryside.”

Upon hearing that her son wasn't going on a high-risk mission to fight aliens, the lady visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

But she quickly stepped forward, her pale hand grasping the hem of her son's cold breastplate, and whispered her instructions:
"Don't be like your father. He didn't care about anything, just charged forward headlong, and ended up getting his chest pierced by a head-sized orc spherical cannonball. You saw the hole in his armor, and I'm very worried..."

"Stop talking, Mother." The cavalry captain frowned and rudely interrupted her.

He disliked hearing these superstitious pronouncements before setting out on a campaign.

"I told you, I was just going to watch other people fight."

"...Have a safe journey, my child." The noblewoman released her hand, took a step back, and said softly, "I hope this journey won't be too long. May the Divine Emperor bless you."

(End of this chapter)