Warhammer: Empire Reboot

This mark is usually silent, like a piece of sealed code.

This code will only be activated when the Primarch himself is within a sufficiently close range.

The feeling of activation is indescribable.

The closest description is: Going home!!!

They are one of the most loyal chapters of the Imperium, and also one of the most burdened.

Now, the person who started all of this, the only one qualified to put an end to it all, has returned.

They emerged from behind the ruins, picked up any weapons they could get their hands on, and, facing the direction of the Lion King, began to advance.

"The First Legion!"

"The First Legion!"

"The First Legion!"

The name was like a spark falling into a dry pile of firewood.

They weren't calling for "dark angels," "sacrificers," or "repentants."

They were shouting for the First Legion!

The name from ten thousand years ago, the name before it was split up, the name before there were secrets, before there was shame, before there was the order to hunt down fallen angels!

"First Legion, Glory!!!"

That name surged from the throats of every unforgivable person, coalescing into a deafening roar.

The internal channel was completely drowned out by this sound.

On orbit, the Eternal Oath's communications station detected that the volume peak of the ground channel exceeded the equipment threshold.

Nakir's eyes reddened when he heard that name.

"First Legion, Glory..."

On the Bone Fortress, Belial knelt down on one knee.

When all the Deathwing members on the bridge saw the Grand Master kneel down, they also knelt down.

"We've waited ten thousand years, and Father has returned!"

"First Legion, Glory..."

On the ground, the Unforgivables have begun a frenzied counterattack.

A dark angel priest stood atop the highest point of the ruins, raised his scepter, and roared a single sentence across the entire battle line:

"First Legion! Let Father see how his sons fight!"

These words reduced the last shred of hesitation to ashes.

Along the entire front, every soldier carrying the genes of the First Legion advanced simultaneously.

They no longer hid behind cover, no longer counted ammunition, and no longer waited for support.

They are fighting against the father of genetics!

Perhaps this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

This is their moment of glory, fight!!!

The Chaos Front wavered in the face of this tidal wave.

Their demeanor changed.

With the same number of troops and the same equipment, the troops that were being crushed by Bellacoo just three minutes ago now look like a completely different army.

The Astartes Empire on the other side was at a disadvantage in terms of numbers, equipment, and casualties, so why did they suddenly charge forward like madmen?

On the track, Lawson's command continued to advance.

Swarm intelligence has integrated the remaining forces of the Unforgivables squadron into the unified fire control network.

The Dark Angels' warship fire control system is far less accurate than the Cornerstone Sequence, but with Lawson's data support, the utilization rate of firing windows has doubled.

"The Candle Dragon Legion fleet, circle around the sunless side of the planet and cut off the warp jump route of the Ominous Ark."

"The Luan Bird Battle Group's raptor formation enters the upper atmosphere to carry out precision strikes against ground-based chaotic heavy firepower positions."

"All boarding torpedoes, stand by! Once the Ominous Ark formation breaks down, these Arks will be ours!"

On the flagship of the Chaos Fleet, Blackheart Huron's face was gloomy.

He watched as signals from Imperial warships poured into the sensor screen, listening to the tactical slaves repeatedly report that the Imperial fleet was being reorganized.

Lawson, it's Lawson again.

That damned thief, that robber, that human monster who stole the Ghost of Destruction from him, blew up the Great Vortex Foundation, and forced the Red Pirate King into becoming Abaddon's vassal.

Huron hated him!

The mere thought of that name filled him with a burning hatred, like a red-hot iron churning inside his chest. It was the hatred that every time he heard the title "The Dark Hand of the Empire," it reminded him of what had been taken from him, what he had lost, and the extent to which he had fallen.

Huron also knew that Lawson was not someone to be trifled with.

In the chaotic forces of the Empire's dark side, anyone who clashed head-on with Lawson was either shattered or devoured by him; even Abaddon's Vengeful Spirit fell into his hands.

Therefore, given Huron's personality, he should have withdrawn.

He wasn't some mindless, mad dog like Khorne; he was the tyrant of the Maelstrom, the king of the Red Pirates, and an old fox who could survive to this day, constantly shifting between the Empire, Chaos, the Aliens, and traitors.

Direct confrontation has never been his style. He is good at scheming, ambushing, surrounding and annihilating, and sneaking attacks. He stabs the enemy in the back when he is most triumphant, disappears when others think he is going to fight to the death, and then takes a piece of the enemy's flesh from the most unlikely place.

Therefore, he was already prepared to give the order.

Adjust the formation, create distance, and avoid direct confrontation with Lawson.

Vashtor's plan must continue, the ground anchorage of Belakor must be delayed, and the attention of the Imperial fleet must be diverted.

As long as he doesn't let his anger cloud his judgment, the battle still has a chance to proceed according to Chaos's original plan.

Then he saw the ship.

Within the Imperial fleet formation, a colossal warship ten kilometers long was slowly emerging from the array. Its massive hull pressed out from between the frigates and cruisers, resembling a steel behemoth emerging from behind a pack of beasts.

Before the sensor screen could even display its new identification code, Huron's breathing had already stopped.

He recognized it.

Even though it was covered in Imperial paint, even though the markings on the ship's hull were scraped off, even though those familiar blood-red patterns, the Chaos Altar, and the Red Pirate emblem were all gone, he still recognized it.

He recognized everything clearly: the curvature of the bow, the layout of the gun emplacements on the sides, the undulations of the keel armor, the outline of the engine array, and even a section of armor belt that had been cracked by an Imperial torpedo and later reinforced by his own orders.

too familiar.

So familiar with it that it doesn't need confirmation from the machine spirit, reminders from the adjutant, or answers from any tactical identification program.

That's the Ghost of Destruction!!!

His Ghost of Destruction!!!

For Abaddon, the Soul of Vengeance was Horus's legacy, the ancient banner of the Black Legion, a symbol. But even if Abaddon lost the Soul of Vengeance, he would still be a master of war, still have the Black Legion, and still have the Chaos Gods watching him.

But the Ghost of Destruction was different for Huron.

That was his throne, his palace, his lair, the Red Pirate Royal Court that he had painstakingly built with blood, plunder, and victory after crawling out of the ashes of the Badab War.

He sat on that ship for over a thousand years, issued countless orders to plunder from that ship, and the deck of that ship was stained with the blood of his enemies and his own.

The Soul of Vengeance is the myth inherited by Abaddon.

The Ghost of Destruction was a fate Huron himself brought about.

That was half of his life, his glory, his scars, his fangs and backbone as the King of the Red Pirates.

But now, it has been brought out by someone.

Like an old buddy that once belonged to him, skinned, its blood washed away, the red pirate emblem removed from its claws, chained by the Empire, and then slowly walked to his opposite side in front of everyone.

Huron made out the paint scheme on both sides of the ship.

Imperial double-headed eagle, gray-white base.

The entire Ghost of Destruction seemed to have been cleansed from the depths of its soul; the former pirate royal court had been forcibly transformed into an imperial war machine.

Huron's eye began to twitch.

This is blasphemy.

Then he saw the name newly engraved on the bow of the ship.

USS Huron.

All the sounds have faded away.

The sounds of gunfire, alarms, reports from slave laborers, and the breathing of adjutants were all as if they were separated by a thick layer of glass.

Huron only saw his name, engraved on his ship.

But that's not glory.

It's like someone dragging a king's most beloved queen out of her palace, draping her in the flag of an enemy country, chaining her, and leading her into the throne room so that all the ministers, enemies, and traitors can see her.

Finally, the king's name was carved on her body.

Tell everyone...

Your queen is now in my hands, now at my disposal.

He knew, of course, that it was bait.

Lawson did it on purpose. That human modified the Ghost of Destruction like this, renamed it the Huron, and then sent it out of formation at this time, just to reopen his wounds and make him angry.

Just because you can see it doesn't mean you can hold back.

If Lawson had only seized his base, Huron could have tolerated it. If Lawson had only destroyed his fleet, Huron could have tolerated it. If Lawson had only killed his subordinates, ruined his plans, and taken his resources, Huron could have kept this debt to himself and waited for ten years, a hundred years, or even until the galaxy burned out, before finding an opportunity to take revenge on Lawson with interest.

Klossen shouldn't have brought the Ghost of Destruction back to show him.

His name should not have been engraved on the bow of the ship.

In that instant, all the reason in Huron's chest seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and then crushed bit by bit.

The adjutant noticed that Huron's breathing had changed.