Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Lawson slowly raised his right hand.

It was then that Typhons noticed that he was holding a double-edged battle axe.

It is about 2.4 meters long.

Dark gold.

Its design is simple and unadorned, with almost no superfluous decorations.

Because Lawson had been holding it upside down behind his back, the Death Guard's oracles did not immediately flag its anomaly.

Just as the poisonous wind was about to touch Lawson's body, he casually swung his battle axe.

The movement was as light as shooing away a fly.

But when the axe blade slices through the air, the resulting wind pressure is like an invisible wall of refined gold.

The yellowish-green, rotting wind was split in two from the middle.

The toxic fog rolled back to both sides, forcefully dispersed across the wasteland by physical inertia. Several abandoned pipes along the way were corroded by the reverse toxic wind, their surfaces covered with dense bubbles.

Typhons froze.

He stared at the battle axe.

As a veteran who had experienced the Great Expedition and the Ten Thousand Year War, he had seen too many weapons of the powerful. Many weapons, even if their size and shape were changed, would not completely lose their aura.

The curve of the axe blade.

The dark gold texture is created by mixing hellish brass with irregular metals.

The feeling of being domineering and unreasonable when swinging, relying solely on kinetic energy to overwhelm everything.

A chilling familiarity crept up Typhon's spine.

He forcibly severed the subsequent spellcasting and withdrew his left hand.

"Your axe..."

Seeing his wary posture, Lawson's smile widened.

He raised his right hand, hoisted the battle axe onto his shoulder, as if showing an old colleague an old object.

"Good eye, you're a very filial son."

"After all, you guys were in the same trench back then."

Lawson tapped his shoulder armor lightly with the handle of his axe.

"You read that right."

"It is indeed the Ridgebreaker of Angron."

A suppressed commotion immediately arose among the Death Guard veterans below.

The alarm system inside Typhon's helmet went off.

Angron's weapons?

Even if Angron loses his reason, he will never lose his axe.

Moreover, the weapons of a Primarch usually maintain a huge size along with its warp form, so how could they possibly shrink to a size suitable for a mortal body?

unless……

The weapon's owner has completely lost control over its laws.

Typhons suddenly remembered the anomaly detected in the high orbit.

Ultra-high energy level gravitational collapse.

Massive mass erasure.

The absurdly hardened curtain of reality above Agrippina.

A conjecture so absurd it made even a veteran of the Great Expedition question his reason took shape in his mind.

"Why are the Spinebreakers of Angron in your hands?"

His voice lowered.

As Lawson watched Typhon finally begin to question his existence, his smile widened completely.

"why?"

He gripped the axe handle tightly.

The living metal wings on its back unfolded, and the thrusters emitted a low hum.

"Of course, I just tore him to pieces alive and then snatched it from his body."

As soon as those words were spoken, the Death Guard array briefly froze.

Typhons did not immediately refute.

Because he knew that if Lawson was just bluffing, he wouldn't be foolish enough to use a fake that a veteran could spot at a glance to provoke him.

That axe is real.

With the Spinebreakers here, Angron's fate is probably worse than "exile".

Lawson looked down at Typhons.

"Interested in this axe?"

He lowered his shoulders slightly and gripped the axe handle with both hands.

"Then let me show you properly."

The next instant, a sonic boom exploded across the wasteland.

Lawson disappeared from a height of thirty meters.

When he reappeared, he was already over Typhon's head.

With both hands gripping the shrunken "Spinebreaker," Angron unleashed the most brutal, direct, and suitable downward slash in his memory—the one most suitable for cleaving through heavy armor—to cleave down on Typhon's head, which was covered in pustules and rust.

Before the axe blade even reached him, the wind pressure had already created a crack in the ground.

Typhon's pupils contracted.

He finally realized that this guy had just killed the Khorne Demon Primarch.

Now, he wants to test the waters while the iron is hot.

P.S.: Sorry guys, I'm a little late today. 2.2 words. Please vote!

Chapter 173 Public Execution of the Scoundrel, the First Chosen One, Typhon

Two hours later.

Agrippina, surface of the 13th mining area.

The battle is over.

The Thirteenth Mining Area was originally a sunken open-pit mining site.

Hundreds of mining tracks crisscross the area, like old wounds embedded in the earth's surface.

Today, the mine tracks are twisted and broken by the blasting, the crane tower is stuck in the pile of rubble, and only half of the outer wall of the distant ore crushing plant remains, with a few dry and rotten tendrils hanging from the crack in the wall.

Gunshots could no longer be heard on the battlefield.

The Nurgle Legion brought by Typhons has been wiped out.

Hundreds of companies of Plague Walkers, Death Guard heavy infantry, gas mortar positions, and Corruption Demon Engines were all left behind in this mining area.

The rotting flesh and blood that had once been enough to bring down an imperial legion were now piled up into several mountains of corpses, sorted out by type.

The Keystone Order suicide soldiers are cleaning up the battlefield.

Each body was loaded into a tracked transport vehicle, and the convoy drove underground along the track shaft beneath the mine.

That's the entrance to the green-skinned farm.

Even a Death Guard blessed by the plague, once purified by the system and processed by Squiger's stomach acid, will eventually become protein on the plates of the common people in the hive.

This is Lawson's economics of war.

The enemy's beliefs, the enemy's body, the enemy's weapons, and even the enemy's corpses must all be extracted for value.

The pursuit in space orbit is also coming to an end.

Eleven capital warships deployed around Agrippina. After the core crews took over fire control, the fleet's firing rhythm became almost coldly steady.

More than a hundred Nurgle Plague warships attempted to escape.

Their hulls were covered in pustules and deformed flesh, and their outer armor cracked constantly like festering skin.

The railgun fired solid armor-piercing projectiles that penetrated the decaying outer shell and entered the deep reactor.

The flash of the explosion spread across Agrippina's outer space.

Ships were shattered one by one.

The debris formed a gray-green band of cloud in orbit.

T-series mechanical assassins piloted recovery ships into the wreckage zone.

Disassemble what can be disassembled.

Wash what can be washed.

Melt that can be melted.

Lawson wasn't obsessed with cleanliness and pollution; he only cared about one thing: whether things were still usable.

The central part of the thirteenth mining area.

Lawson dragged a chain as he walked forward.

The chain was made of inanimate metal and refined gold, and was as thick as an adult's thigh.

At the other end of the chain was a name that had once haunted the nightmares of countless imperial generals.

Typhons.