Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Lawson never confronts intelligent people head-on.

Eighty-one shadow wheels regrouped in mid-air and then spread out in a fan shape, rushing towards the subordinate units scattered around the Pectus command platform.

Those ordinary Plague Space Marines were not protected by the seven corrosive barriers and the psionic field of the twelve wizards.

All they had were standard power armor and a plain ceramic shield.

It was the shadow's turn.

At the position of the First Battle Group, forty-three Plague Space Marines were deployed in skirmish lines, covering the flanks of the two Daemon Engines.

They heard the whistling sound of a supersonic object cutting through the air.

Then, silver's death came.

Twenty-seven shadow wheels cut into the skirmish line at a height of two meters close to the ground.

Forty-three Plague Space Marines were reduced to eleven in twenty seconds.

The two demon engines, now without infantry cover, exposed their bulky side armor.

The twelve shadow wheels simultaneously attacked the joint hydraulic lines of the same engine.

The high-speed rotating molecular blade severed six main hydraulic pipes in two seconds, the forelimbs of the demon engine lost power, and the entire machine crashed to the frozen ground.

Fectus stood on the command platform, watching his left wing being torn apart in fifteen seconds.

His sneer disappeared.

The same report came from the second combat group on the right flank: another fifty-four Shadow Wheels were carrying out the same massacre there.

“He doesn’t attack me,” Pyctus roared angrily. “He attacks my soldiers.”

Pectus's tortoise shell defense was for his own protection.

He has no way to protect all his subordinates at the same time.

All Lordson needs to do is kill his subordinates one by one, and the ranged fire support will gradually drop to zero, causing the Walker Tide to fall into chaos without the guidance of the Plague Space Marines.

In the end, no matter how well Pectus protected himself, he was still just a lone commander.

“You cunning bastard,” Pectus cursed.

On the northern ridgeline, Quintus saw everything happening on the southern battlefield through his enhanced eyepiece.

The silver figure darted back and forth in the air, leaving behind fragments of power armor as it passed each enemy position.

One after another, the demon engines in the distance crashed to the ground, as if their legs had been severed by an invisible scythe.

The enemy's long-range artillery fire is visibly decreasing.

The density of poison gas bombs dropped sharply from a dozen per minute to two or three per minute, and then stopped completely.

Quintus gripped the hilt of the chain sword on his breastplate with both hands.

Lawson simultaneously issued the order: "All troops, attack!"

Thirty thousand combat soldiers leaped out of the trenches at the same time.

That scene was unforgettable for Quintus.

Thirty thousand Thunder Warrior-level combat elites set foot on the frozen plains, advancing south at breakneck speed.

The front row is occupied by the 301st White Tiger Power Armor.

They formed a three-person tactical shield wall, with terracotta storm shields side by side and power swords and heavy explosive guns extending from the gaps in the shield wall.

Behind him were 30,000 Thunder Warrior-level assassins.

The wave of plague travelers collided with this torrent of steel.

The result was like boiling water being poured on an ice sculpture.

The rotting bodies in the horde of travelers were crushed the moment they came into contact with the suicide squad's charging line.

The White Tiger Armor's shield wall advanced steadily at a speed of three meters per second. When the shield surface struck the Walker's body, the bones were like withered branches in the face of the armor and hydraulic power.

Push, crush, step over—you don't even need to move your hands.

The assassins behind White Tiger Armor were responsible for clearing out any travelers who slipped through on either side of the shield wall.

A power sword swept across, severing three or four walkers' bodies at the waist.

With one kick, the rotting head flew seven or eight meters away.

Their strength has reached the level where they can tear through the joints of power armor with their bare hands. To deal with someone like the Walker who only scratches with his teeth and nails, they don't even need weapons.

But the real collision occurred in the middle section.

Eleven surviving Deathguard Plague Space Marines, remnants of the Third Battle Group ravaged by the Shadow Wheel, stood in front of the charging line.

Holding the scythe of plague and the rusted power sword, they stood like reefs in the tide of travelers.

The White Tiger Armor crashed into it.

The shield of the first White Tiger Death Knight clashed head-on with the Plague Scythe of the Death Guard.

The sound of metal clashing was like thunder.

The power of the Death Guard is indeed terrifying.

Millennia of decay transformed their muscle fibers into a peculiar substance somewhere between muscle and fungal hyphae, with a density far exceeding that of normal Astartes.

The force of a single scythe strike is enough to split a Warwalker armored vehicle in two.

As the White Tiger assassin steadied himself, his two teammates on either side simultaneously thrust their power swords out from the gaps in the shield wall.

The dynamic field emitted a hissing, burning sound the moment it came into contact with the decaying flesh.

The Death Guardian's right arm was still swinging the Plague Scythe, but his left leg had lost its support, and his whole body was leaning to the right.

The shield of the third White Tiger assassin slammed into his helmet.

The 180-kilogram ceramic storm shield, combined with the impact force of the power armor's hydraulic system at full power output.

The Death Guard's helmet dented, and his cervical spine emitted a series of dull thuds from inside the armor.

He collapsed.

The three White Tiger assassins stepped over his corpse and continued forward.

The same scene was playing out repeatedly along the entire front line.

Eleven Death Guards faced over a hundred three-man tactical teams.

The quantity gap is too large, and the quality is also crushed.

All eleven Death Guards fell.

Quintus's heart pounded as he watched.

He had never seen the Brotherhood slaughter Plague Space Marines with such efficiency.

The thirteen Ultra Warriors behind him also saw it.

"Damn it. What did these people eat to grow up like this?"

Quintus drew his chain sword.

As Dorn, the Fist of the Empire, once said: "If you're still crouching in the trenches while your allies are charging, you don't deserve to wear this armor."

"Ultraman Fifth Company!"

Quintus's voice boomed, "These brothers are strong, but we're not cowards either, charge with me!"

The thirteen Ultramarines rolled out of the trench almost simultaneously, their blue power armor standing out against the dim light of the day.

They formed a wedge formation, with Quintus at the tip.

When the eight hundred Astronauts saw Astartes charging, their eyes turned red, and they gripped their weapons, ready to follow.

Quintus didn't even turn his head, and roared, "You guys stay in the trenches! This isn't your battlefield! Hold your positions and wait for orders!"

A sergeant from the Astronautical Army opened his mouth.

He watched those blue and silver figures grow farther and farther away, disappearing into the gray-green dust of the traveler's tide.

Southern battlefield.

Lawson landed.

The living metal wings folded behind him, and the soles of the Tiger King Armor's boots slammed heavily into the frozen ground, creating a shallow crater.

Er Gou was on his left, and San Gou was on his right.

The two Iron Cavalry-type Terminator armored vehicles resembled two moving steel walls, their shoulder-mounted deflector force field shields humming and vibrating.

Fectus's command platform was just one kilometer ahead.

Lawson's Shadow Wheel had already cleared out most of the skirmishers and demon engines on the perimeter.

But Fectus's core defensive perimeter remains intact.

The main force of the White Tiger team has caught up.

Three hundred and one White Tiger assassins automatically deployed into an assault formation behind Lawson.

"Follow me and we'll crush them."

"Ergou, Sangou, you two are in charge of the Terminator. Each of you carry three, I'll take on the extra one."

"Damn, boss, I'll carry four." Er Gou's voice was full of recklessness.

Without a word, Lawson drew his master-level power sword and strode forward.

For a body of Thunder Warrior caliber, a distance of one kilometer can be covered in less than twenty seconds at full speed.

Pectus saw the silver torrent rushing towards him.

"Wizard, force field at full power."

He ordered, "Terminator, prepare for close combat."

He jumped down from the command platform himself.

He wasn't the kind of general who hid behind the scenes and commanded from 10,000 years ago.

The company commander of the Death Guard, if he's going to die, he'll die at the very front.