Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 927 (08.926): The Riders' Battle

"They're here!!!" Poniatovsky raised his saber high, its gleaming blade reflecting a cold, bloodthirsty light in the dim light of Minova. "Those brutal butchers!"

"Pay back your blood debt, you bloodthirsty beasts!"

Horatio noticed that in the speeding Pegasus tank next to him, the gunner was muttering to himself through cracked bulletproof glass, gritting his teeth.

Horatio could clearly see his bloodshot eyes fixed on the churning sand ahead, his knuckles white from excessive force, as he slowly turned the turret's control lever in an almost spasmodic manner.

It wasn't just simple anger, but a deep-seated hatred that had been building up for too long and was almost burning away the soul.

Horatio understood instantly.

Due to some tragedy he was unaware of, buried deep in the dust of history, these soldiers with strangely long ears seemed to harbor an irreconcilable, deep-seated hatred for the green-skinned aliens.

And this hatred is now being forged into the sharpest and deadliest weapon in their hands.

"Waaaaaaagh!!!"

With another frenzied roar, the first green four-wheel drive vehicle, cobbled together from scrap metal and malicious intent, burst out of the dusty curtain.

Immediately afterwards, one after another, fast tanks decorated with skulls and spikes roared down from the top of the dunes, their heavy chassis slamming heavily onto the sand with a piercing metallic clang and twisting sound.

They surged in like a filthy wave of rust, fuel, and pure violence.

"Flexible defense! Cover the main force!"

As Battalion Commander Poniatovsky gave the order to charge, a mounted bugler sounded a loud bugle call, the penetrating sound echoing across the battlefield.

Almost the instant the bugle sounded, three squadrons of dragoons galloped forward, their synchronized hoofbeats forming a thunderous roar, the dust they kicked up forming a moving wall that fiercely met the green tide.

Dragoons were essentially motorized dismounted infantry, with their warhorses serving as their means of rapid maneuverability.

But at this moment, they transformed into true knights of vengeance. Instead of foolishly charging the enemy lines head-on like traditional cavalry, they galloped forward in an elegant yet deadly arc, reaching the flank of the greenskin ranks and, at near-parallel positions, precisely cutting off their charge with their firepower.

On the violently jolted back of their horses, they skillfully raised their guns and aimed, unleashing precise firepower at the green-skinned soldiers who were recklessly firing from their vehicles.

Their tactics resembled those of seizing the T-junction in naval warfare.

The entire line of dragoons aimed their fire at the spearheads of the greenskin charging column to maximize firepower while minimizing their own exposure area.

Crimson laser beams instantly ripped through the dim battlefield, mixed with the muffled whistling of explosive bolts fired from the combination explosive guns in the hands of the sergeants.

One after another, the ferocious beasts driving the chariots were accurately hit, screaming as they fell from their fancy modified vehicles, only to be bloodily crushed by the wide, spiked tires of the following vehicles, turning into a pool of indistinct flesh and blood.

The "Pegasus" four-wheeled chariots fought alongside cavalry, firing as they sped along.

Advanced vertical stabilizers give these vehicles the ability to fire accurately at speeds of up to 70 kilometers per hour.

A go-kart leading the charge was hit directly by a laser beam, turning its rear end, which was spewing black smoke, into a fuel tank.

In an instant, the entire go-kart turned into a violently exploding fireball. The charred chassis was pushed into the air by the enormous impact, spun around, and fell back down, turning into a pile of burning scrap metal.

However, the Greenskins turned a blind eye to the deaths of their comrades.

They laughed wildly and shouted as they charged straight through the thick smoke and flames, fearlessly continuing their advance.

"Men, crush those shrimps!" the greens howled, manipulating the crude yet deadly heavy machine guns on their vehicles, and unleashing a frenzied barrage of fire at the dragoon lines, tracer bullets tracing chaotic paths through the air.

Several cavalrymen who were too close were knocked down along with their horses by the loose barrage of bullets. They either rolled on the ground with their warhorses and were trampled by the iron hooves that followed.

Or they might be struck by a large-caliber bullet, bursting into a cloud of blood mist, falling from their horse, their bodies dragged away by the still-running warhorse.

When the Greenskins' attack spearhead gets close, the Dragoons will immediately create distance and avoid their onslaught.

Relying on their agile maneuverability and superior long-range firepower, they continued to tear at and kill the Greenskins' manpower from the flanks, like hungry wolves circling around a herd of cattle.

But the green-skinned creatures had no intention of playing hide-and-seek with these long-eared shrimps; they just wanted to smash their enemies into a pulp and then steal the scrap!
"Waaaaagh!!!!"

A primal desire for aggression ignited the Greenskins' fighting instincts like a raging fire.

A high-speed, deadly rally race erupted on this dust-filled wasteland.
-
Inside Horatio's tank, he calmly operated the twin-mounted heavy explosive muskets mounted on the vehicle.

His technologically advanced battle armor, meticulously crafted by the Lati Workshop of the Cult of Mechanics, instantly identified and linked to the vehicle's machine spirit through its built-in micro-logic engine. Just like the simplest wireless link, the predicted trajectory of the heavy explosive bolts was precisely displayed on the visor of his helmet.

The heavy-explosive bolter automatically fired as his gaze moved, each short burst tearing a green-skinned man to shreds from his modified pickup truck.

His steel prosthetic arm extended several slender tree-like protrusions, which connected to the turret's built-in observation and aiming system plug-in as if they were alive.

At that moment, the tank gunner was astonished to find that the crosshair on the aiming screen seemed to be controlled by an invisible hand and started moving on its own.

*Pfft!*

A laser beam shot out uncontrollably, striking precisely the cab of an armored pickup truck, which was haphazardly welded together from thick ceramic steel, instantly piercing through the modified armor that the green-skinned man had "thought of."

A large, red-hot hole with melted edges has appeared on the ceramic steel "window" of the modified pickup truck.

The armored vehicle instantly went out of control and crashed into a second pickup truck that was trying to overtake it. The two armed pickup trucks tumbled and flew off in the violent collision, smashing the green-clad passengers on them into green meat patties.

However, firearms combat is not the only form of warfare in this brutal universe.

Regardless of race, none have ever abandoned the more direct and violent tactics of cold weapon warfare.

"Men, get them! Slash them to death!!!" An even louder roar came from behind, as a group of green-skinned motorcycles sped up on modified motorcycles.

Their rugged tires were clearly taken from various wheeled vehicles of the Asgardian Army, and you couldn't find many with the same front and rear wheel rims.

Despite having completely different tire and wheel sizes, the green-skinned motorcycles somehow managed to run thanks to their bizarre modification skills.

These motorcycles were traveling at extremely high speeds, and the thick smoke and dust they spewed from their tails obscured the entire route, making it impossible to tell just how large the convoy was.

"WAAAAAAGH!!!" This group of ferocious beasts rode or even stood on motorcycles in all sorts of contorted postures, wielding "big slashes" of different styles and stained with blood.

The dragoons were caught up.

A green-skinned creature opened its blood-red maw, its crimson eyes burning with a thirst for blood.

It wildly brandished a wide-bladed machete over a meter long with one hand, while twisting the throttle with the other, playing the "violent motorcycle" that was unique to green-skinned riders.

Upon seeing this, a dragoon immediately drew his saber to prepare for battle. Just as he assumed a standard cavalry fighting stance, the green-skinned man slammed his motorcycle into his horse!

The chainsaw blades, welded to the side of the motorcycle and constantly tumbling, instantly severed the horse's leg.

The rider let out a short scream, fell from his dying horse, rolled heavily on the sand, and was then run over by the motorcycle that followed, leaving only a blurry bloodstain.

"Hehehe!" Greenskin let out a cunning and cruel laugh as it looked up at its next target—a man dressed in a magnificent hussar uniform and wearing a square military cap.

It took a liking to the gleaming, beautifully designed "powered long slasher" in his hand.

With a roar of "Waaaaagh," the rough foot slammed on the accelerator, and the motorcycle roared as it hurtled toward the man.

Even when a warhorse reaches its maximum speed, it cannot match the explosive power of a motorcycle.

The green-skinned man quickly caught up with the man who was bending down to reduce wind resistance and galloping alongside him. Then, he grinned, revealing a ferocious smile with his mouth full of fangs.

When the green-skinned soldiers caught up with him, the dragoon battalion commander's face remained calm, only showing a gnashing, almost overflowing hatred.

Just as the cunning greenhorn was about to repeat his old trick, using the blades rolling on the motorcycle hub to smash into the warhorse, the battalion commander's hand, hidden beneath his flowing cavalry jacket, moved with lightning speed.

He drew a finely crafted officer's revolver pistol from the Imperial Navy and aimed it steadily at the green-skinned man's large head.

As a skilled cavalryman, he didn't need to use one hand to twist the throttle.

Instead, he adopted a dual-wielding strategy, holding a gun in one hand and a sword in the other. This combat flexibility actually made up for his disadvantage in speed.

"Go to hell, you beast," he cursed in an icy tone.

boom!
With a sharp, resounding bang that echoed through the sky, the muzzle of the bolt pistol spewed flames as it fired a miniature rocket at its nearby target.

Snapped!
The green-skinned creature's head exploded like a ripe fruit, leaving only its torso, still gushing blood from its cavity, briefly riding the increasingly turbulent, dilapidated motorcycle. The headless beast swayed and swung one last, futile slash before disappearing along with its mechanical mount into the roaring, clamoring traffic.

(End of this chapter)