radicalducati Page 178
Page 178
Without a doubt, they were two angels of death, or to use a more formal term, Astartes.
However, no matter how you look at it, these two people's attire has nothing to do with the word "loyalty".
First, there's their power armor, which is composed of purple, gold, and bone white. On their shoulder armor, a Holy Grail symbol is so blurred that it's hard to see clearly. Neither of them is wearing a helmet, and their exposed facial skin is pale, almost bloodless, and faintly reveals a sense of weakness.
But these two seemingly incredibly weak people had just fought their way through the orcs on the ship and arrived here to stop me from committing suicide.
Link swallowed hard. He knew that some Death Angels would betray the Emperor's teachings and become shameful traitors. These traitors' activities were not fixed, and their numbers were not like those of a warband, meaning...
Could these two really be traitors?
Link felt like he was about to faint. If he was really facing a traitor, then his life was completely over.
After all, if you fall into the hands of orcs, they will at least give you a quick death. But if you fall into the hands of a traitor, and if the other party is even slightly monstrous, then what awaits you is unimaginable torture.
No, it's not entirely unimaginable. In the bars of the trading port, Link had heard those old hands talk about the various cults located in the bottom nest. One of them, which worshipped the Prince of Pleasure, was particularly perverse. The variety of their practices was so numerous that just listening to them made one feel indescribable pain and discomfort.
The Emperor's hook! Please, don't let me encounter such a traitor, otherwise, I'd rather choose suicide...
Link was lost in thought when the person standing in front of him spoke.
"We received your distress signal. Your ship is called First Arrow, right?"
Hearing the other party's words, although the tone was cold, Link's keen sense as a wandering merchant still made him notice something different.
There is something to discuss.
Link quickly stood up, gave the two a salute, and nodded heavily.
"My lords, this ship is indeed the First Arrow. I am its captain, and my name is Farax Link. I wonder if you have heard of the Farax family? Our family is located in the Misty Star Sector..."
“Alright, shut up.” One of the two Astartes spoke impatiently. He looked at Link without hesitation. “Your ship has been requisitioned. The orcs on board have been dealt with. Now, gather your remaining crew, start the ship, and head towards these coordinates.”
A piece of paper was thrown over, and Link quickly caught it. He looked at the coordinates on the paper, blinked, and then reached out and rubbed it to make sure he wasn't mistaken.
"Sir...sir..."
"what happened?"
"These coordinates... are they Amigidoton?"
"What's wrong? Isn't it possible?"
"There's a war going on there..."
"That's the place we're going to."
The two Astartes exchanged a glance, and smiles immediately appeared on their faces.
“Let me tell you, we are the Astartes of the Soul Drinkers Chapter. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve heard of this chapter or not, but now, in the name of the Emperor and Dorne.”
The voices became solemn, and the two Astartes looked at Link and spoke seriously.
"Follow me to Amighadoun."
Leave
I stayed up all night last night, and this morning at 8 AM I tried to grab the national subsidy coupons. They were incredibly popular, remained so for a few minutes, and then were completely sold out...
I'm so angry, I can't write anything today...
I apologize to all my readers for taking leave so frequently late at night. I will not be taking any more leave for the second half of this month...
Chapter 209 Dorne and His Offspring (Part 3)
Green-skinned orcs.
Roger Dorn recalls everything about them, everything about this terrifying alien.
If Roger Dorn had come to any conclusions about the Empire's current situation after returning to power, he would have drawn two conclusions: one bad and one good.
The bad conclusion is that after ten thousand years, the human empire not only failed to develop, but actually became worse.
A bloated administrative system, a fragmented military force, seemingly unified but not unified ideology, along with an ignorant religion and a people suffering from hunger and cold.
A pathetic empire, a pathetic humanity.
Roger Dorn realized that the current empire, without a strong and effective leader in a war, would not even be able to unite two warbands with certain ideological conflicts to fight against a common enemy.
Take Amegidon, for example. If it weren't for the appearance of Roger Dorn himself, at the initial war council, there would have been two completely different voices within the Astartes Chapter and the Astronautical Army, with one side's voice being ridiculously wrong.
If this happened during the Great Expedition era ten thousand years ago, unless the commander was insane, such a problem would be virtually impossible.
What is this called?
The entire empire's strength has decreased by more than a hundredfold, while mine remains unchanged?
A subtle expression flickered across Roger Dorn's usually impassive face, but as a man of unwavering resolve, he managed to maintain his composure.
Fortunately, it was me standing here. If it were Guilliman, he might be alone by now.
However, although the empire has become very bad, there is still some good news.
That is, the Empire's enemies have also weakened over the past ten thousand years. Perhaps not as much as the Empire, but they have still declined significantly. Otherwise, facing the peak Orc Empire, various Eldar, Necromancers, Tyranids, and the Chaos army, the Empire would have been completely overwhelmed by the pressure of fighting on multiple fronts long ago.
Rog Dorn let out a long breath. The battle in the void had entered a white-hot stage. Humans and orcs had committed all their reserve fleets to the battle. Not only regular warships, but even armed transport ships and modified junk ships were being deployed to the battlefield.
However, Roger Dorn had not yet chosen to bring the Black Templars into the battle. He looked at the various data and points of light displayed on the holographic projection in front of him, letting time slowly pass.
"Report! Steel Fist is heavily damaged. Captain requests retreat."
"No, let him stay at his post."
"Report! The Flame Angels request boarding permission. They have approached one of the Greenskin's battleships and wish to board it for combat."
"Permission granted. Deploy three surrounding frigates and a group of fighter jets to provide necessary cover for the boarding maneuver."
"Report! Thunder Squadron requests to return to base."
"Permission granted. Notify the nearest battleship to rejoin the battle immediately after replenishing its ammunition."
.........
The battle continued, and one of the Empire's ships was completely destroyed in the void. However, Roger Dorn's face remained expressionless. His orders were swift and ruthless, and every step was as steady as a rock, ensuring that when his own warship was destroyed, it would take away at least three enemy warships of the same size.
But it's still not enough.
The orcish fleet was simply too enormous; its sheer size seemed capable of obscuring the light of a star as it sailed. Even in Rog Dorn's recollection, in terms of sheer numbers, the entire Empire had fewer than a hundred fleets larger than this during the Great Crusade.
That's why Dorn hesitated to deploy the Black Templars in the battle. The Eternal Crusade is a sharp blade, and once it's used, it must be able to pierce the enemy's heart.
Where is it?
Rog Dorn observed calmly, searching for the orc known as the Bonebreaker. In the past few days, he had learned about the orc's legendary past and clearly understood that if he let him go unchecked, the Empire would have an incredibly terrifying enemy in the future.
Therefore, I must kill the opponent completely here, in the void of Amigidoton.
Behind the orc fleet, inside a massive battleship, the Bonecrusher stood on the bridge, looking out at the void where countless fireworks flickered, a ferocious smile on his face.
These shrimp's fleets are indeed extraordinary; the person commanding them must be that incompetent WAAAGH guy.
The Bonebreaker was surrounded by its personal guard, these orc boys who were even larger than most leaders. They were of diverse races, with the main force being the scarred, intimidating scarred boys. Each of these orc boys was capable of leading a small orc group; they were respected and feared veterans among the orcs.
Besides these scarred kids, there were dozens of heavily armored bosses, their bodies completely encased in thick armored exoskeletons. These armors, custom-made by Tech Master using a large number of teeth, were enough to rival even the Terminator. They were all armed to the teeth, possessing massive automatic cannons and swift heavy melee weapons.
However, these orcs were not the entirety of the royal guard. Among them were several orcs with lightning-like iron plates stuck in their bodies and carrying antenna-like objects on their backs—they were the Sorcerer Boys, psionicists among the orcs, holding a status similar to shamans in the orc tribes, and also powerful users of magic.
Surrounded by these powerful orcs, the Bonebreaker exuded an unparalleled sense of dominance and oppression.
The legendary orc's body had grown even larger under the baptism of WAAAGH energy, making it look like a legendary orc that only appeared in the legends passed down among orcs. Although its armor was still full of the style of orc industrial wasteland, it was no longer rudimentary, but instead revealed a kind of rugged beauty.
At this moment, the Bone Crusher was even larger and more imposing than a typical killing jar.
"Set off."
He spoke to the young man piloting the ship.
"Let's... WAAAGH!!!"
－－－－－－－－－－－
Grimaldos took a deep breath, looked up at the sky.
The sky was ablaze, not just with the warships, but also with the burning of "meteors" streaking across the atmosphere. Halsridge's hive city's anti-aircraft fire was operating at full capacity. Most of these falling "meteors" were destroyed by anti-aircraft missiles, lasers, and anti-aircraft machine guns during their descent, turning into plumes of smoke. However, some managed to land successfully, creating large craters and stirring up dust. A few seconds later, a chorus of orcish shouts echoed through the dust.
Those were orcish drop pods, incredibly primitive, but also incredibly useful. The orcs' unreasonable psionic field provided them with protection, preventing them from being crushed into a pile of mincemeat by the acceleration force.
This is how the battle begins.
"The Blood of Dorne..."
Grimaldus whispered that, as a commander, walking on the front lines of the battlefield was not exactly a wise choice, but the priest also knew that his brothers needed him, and the mortal soldiers who stood with him needed him, in the face of the orcs' inevitable ferocity and overwhelming onslaught.
Halesridge needs him.
Raising his scepter, he activated its disintegration field, and crackling blue lightning exploded in the air. The priest charged forward like a whirlwind, flanked by the Astartes forces led by the Black Templars. These death angels of the God-Emperor clashed with the orcs who had appeared in the hive using "drop pods," advancing relentlessly without any resistance.
Gramadus swung his power hammer, easily crushing the head of a roaring orc. Brain matter mixed with blood splattered onto the power armor that the hermit had been carefully maintaining.
"How dare you set foot in human territory?! How dare you aliens spread your evil beneath the glory of the God-Emperor?!"
The priest's voice was incredibly authoritative. Using the amplification device on his helmet, his proclamation was crystal clear even amidst the deafening battle cries. As the warriors of Astartes and the Iron Legion listened to these proclamations, their faces burned with even greater fervor and fighting spirit. Fearless, they continued to unleash devastating attacks on the orcish ranks.
Grimadus swung his power mace once more, knocking back an approaching orc. The sparking field around the weapon's head flickered as it collided with opposing kinetic energy, amplifying the already inhuman blow to a frenzied level of power.
The green-skinned orc was dead. Its skull had been blown off, and it flew twenty meters away before crashing to the ground, becoming a completely dead corpse.
Another orc tried to run. It turned around, hunched over like an ape, trying to get away from this obviously dangerous little shrimp.
But Grimadus was faster. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the man. His hand and the muscles of his arm worked together to dig his gauntlet-covered fingers deep into the green-skinned orc's neck, leaving five gruesome bloody holes.
With a powerful swish, Gramadus sent the orc flying, sending him crashing into his companion. An Astartes, clad in grey power armor and draped in white wolf pelts, let out an excited shout. He leaped into the air, unleashing a downward slash with his power axe, cleaving both orcs in two.
One of the orcs muttered some broken Gothic words, full of curses and insults, but before it could say more, a large hand grabbed its neck.
Grimaldus gripped the creature's neck tightly, his grip tightening until the creature's eyes bulged and its tongue protruded from its mouth.
"How dare you insult the pure language of our people..."
He slammed the orc against the wall, the force of which caused its head to explode. The bloody scene terrified the surrounding orcs. The priest looked at the nearest orc; its blood-stained skull helmet made it look less like an angel and more like a demon crawling out of hell.
"How dare you desecrate the mother tongue of our people?!"
Fueled by rage, the orcs were relentlessly killed, their corpses piling up on the ground of the hive, filling the air with the stench of blood.