I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 130 Using Troops Like Mud
Krona's giant axe whipped up a blood-red whirlwind, each swing like splashing crimson paint onto a green canvas. The alien's wails and the sound of bones shattering were his most familiar battlefield symphony.

But he didn't focus all his attention on the exhilarating slaughter of the aliens. After all, he was a commander, the lord of a space wolf pack, and could not possibly be as crude and savage as the rumors suggested.

What he was truly worried about were the Deathbringer paratroopers who had joined them on the same Valkyrie assault. Theoretically, paratroopers were the elite of the elite, but given the Deathbringer Legion's horrifying tactics, it was hard not to wonder how many veterans could actually survive.

Therefore, while Crona was never worried about the morale of these men going to their deaths, he was very concerned about their tactical and technical skills. Their fighting spirit was undeniably strong, but what if… all they had was fighting spirit?
When Croner witnessed the pilot's almost insanely skillful flying, half of his worries dissipated. And when the paratroopers, wearing full-mask suits, jumped out of the plane with them, the other half of his worries vanished completely.

These soldiers, facing certain death, possessed an astonishingly high level of skill and tactics. Their flight paths were unpredictable and elusive, often requiring large-scale fire to hit them, and their laser guns always managed to strike the orcs' eyes or necks at the most difficult angles.

They were intimately familiar with the chaotic tactics of the orcs, always able to anticipate their attempts at a group charge and scatter them mid-flight with precise grenades. Their movements were concise, efficient, and deadly, perfectly complementing the savage charge of the space wolves and firmly protecting the flanks of the Astartes.

This is clearly a group of true veterans who have been through many battles.

However, Crona's curiosity was piqued—how did the Death Legion manage to forge such elite soldiers despite such a high casualty rate? They were practically treating soldiers as expendable resources, using them like dirt, yet each of these soldiers looked like a veteran who had fought at least a dozen tough battles.

Just then, another artificial sun rose in front of them, and an even larger mushroom cloud rolled into the sky.

Another violent shockwave struck, but Croner continued his charge forward as if unimpeded, his power armor emitting a few barely audible clicks. The nuclear explosion also brought him another problem.

Thanks to their advanced power armor and superhuman physique, this level of nuclear radiation was nothing more than a breeze to the Space Marines.

But for the paratroopers who fought alongside them, it was an irreversible lethal dose. Their armor and breathing masks could filter out poisonous gases and smoke, but they could not stop the ubiquitous, intense radiation from corroding their flesh and blood.

In other words, this group of highly skilled paratroopers, who are practically elite among ordinary people, are also facing an inevitable death.

Crona thought to himself, "The only ones who would be so indifferent to life are probably those notorious punitive legions."
No, that's not right. Those burdened with sin wouldn't so readily accept their fate. They were all desperately trying to save their lives, struggling between atonement and survival; otherwise, they wouldn't have needed the rear guards to "encourage" them with heavy machine guns.

Under the relentless bombardment of nuclear missiles and the precise and efficient cover provided by the suicide paratroopers, the Space Wolves advanced at an astonishing speed. The normally ferocious and savage Orks were as fragile as paper before this commando team composed of superhuman warriors and suicide soldiers, utterly powerless to stop them in the slightest.

Soon, they broke through to the leader of the Ork tribe. It was an exceptionally large green-skinned creature, its body covered in various metal scraps and enemy skulls. It roared and raised its massive power claws, attempting to struggle, but Krona cleanly severed its weapon-wielding arm and a leg with two swift axe blows.

The green-skinned leader crashed to the ground, roaring in resentment, "You bunch of shrimps, don't be so arrogant! Even if you defeat me..." Before he could finish speaking, Crona's third axe fell, cleanly and decisively chopping off its enormous head.

"Hey, boss, aren't you going to listen to what it has to say?" A wolf guard nearby, brandishing his chainsaw sword as he sliced ​​several greenskins trying to protect their leader into pieces, asked doubtfully, "What if it's useful intelligence?"

Krona flicked the green blood off the axe blade and said indifferently, "That's just nonsense, it's meaningless."

Herbert chimed in, "It's basically saying things like, 'You're just the weakest one in so-and-so's team, and you still have to face so-and-so, so-and-so, and so-and-so. Even if you manage to beat them all, you still can't defeat our boss.' I've been a judge for so long, and I've heard that kind of talk at least eighty or a hundred times."

Herbert paused, shot an orc through the head with his explosive pistol, and continued, "Anyway, the greenskins don't understand concealment or strategic deception, at least these barbarian orks don't yet. Our Valkyries can easily scout from the sky, look at their gathering places and troop distribution, and roughly guess how many war leaders are left and where they are located. Listening to this nonsense is pointless."

"Heh, so you actually went to the battlefield." Crona glanced at him, a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Even if you have a prejudice against the Inquisitors, this prejudice is far too severe,” Herbert replied expressionlessly, as another bolt of psionic lightning turned a small group of green-skinned people into charred remains.

That being said, Herbert could clearly sense that since he had joined the Space Wolves on the front lines, their attitude towards him had indeed improved considerably. At least, for the time being, he no longer had to worry about being suddenly cleaved in two by a chainsaw sword swung from behind at some unexpected moment.

This is also part of the reason why Herbert did not choose to stay in the hive to conduct investigations when these space wolves left the hive and went to the front lines to fight.

His decision was based on three well-thought-out considerations.

First and foremost, victory in the war against the aliens is the Emperor's ultimate goal, and his sacred and inescapable duty as Inquisitor. Whatever secrets the Legion of the Dead may conceal, purging the aliens from the Emperor's lands is always the top priority. He cannot be absent from this holy war.

Secondly, this is a matter of pure survival. He must find a way to build a good relationship with these space wolves, or at least get them to acknowledge that he's not just a bureaucrat who only hides in the back and issues orders. Otherwise, these wild sons of Fenris will sooner or later find an excuse to have him torn apart by aliens in some "accident," or simply use a chainsaw sword to "purify" this eyesore of a mortal. Fighting alongside them is the fastest, and only, way to build trust.

Finally, after that brief period of observation, Herbert concluded that there were no major anomalies on the surface in Hive City. There were no signs of Chaos Corruption, no shadow of the Genestealer Cult, and no whispers of warp rifts. Perhaps the thoughts of the Dead were strange, but since they were beneficial to the Imperium and didn't contain any obviously heretical content like "The Emperor has four hands," let them be.

It's nothing more than a form of death worship.

(End of this chapter)