Chapter 150: Everyone Did It |
'This post-war reconstruction will probably be very troublesome. I wonder if the Black Templars will be able to spare the time to rebuild.'
Aglaia stood beside a Stormbird. The data-slate in her hands shimmered with a faint light as her fingertips slid rapidly across the screen, recording the mission report.
Her gaze occasionally swept her surroundings. The stormtroopers bearing the insignia of the Inquisition stood solemnly nearby.
Their numbers were sparse, serving a symbolic purpose far greater than any practical use.
A gentle breeze swept past, lifting the cape over her shoulder to reveal the empty holster at her waist.
Normally, Inquisitors always liked to keep some Adeptus Astartes, Sisters of Battle, or stormtroopers by their side to flaunt their connections and authority, intimidating anyone who might try to challenge the Inquisition.
But now, the situation was completely different.
More of the Inquisition's forces had been dispatched to the frontlines. Although the Combat Power of the stormtroopers was commendable, rather than keeping them around for meaningless intimidation, it was better to send them to the front to earn some military merits and scrounge up some equipment.
As for the so-called authority of the Inquisition...
That concept had long since been thrown completely out the window.
It was a joke. Right now, the Expeditionary Fleet had a minimum of twenty thousand Adeptus Astartes, and who knew how many more were hidden away. Over the past two years of travel, the Schola Progenium facilities and the children of the military Nobles on every Planet along the way had been picked clean. Heaven only knew how many New Recruits they had amassed.
Who was intimidating whom here?
"Question: What is the origin of the relic Grand General Cannon used in this operation?"
The Inquisitor's voice sounded cold and abrupt.
Lohr, who had been trying to pretend he was invisible, narrowed his eyes slightly. A barely perceptible gleam of cold light flashed through his gaze as his fingers unconsciously stroked the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"It was excavated from the ruins of this Planet."
Arthur's voice rang out, accompanied by the roar of artillery fire.
He was continuously bombarding the designated area according to Romulus's orders. His tone was flat, as if he were stating the most ordinary fact in the world.
"Understood."
Aglaia nodded, her expression indifferent, and recorded this information exactly as stated into her mission report.
Her movements were smooth and natural, as if everything was perfectly reasonable.
This gave Lohr pause, entirely derailing his preparations to administer some loyalty to this Inquisitor.
He tilted his head slightly, a trace of doubt and confusion flashing through his eyes.
'Wait, are you actually writing that down word for word?'
"Question: After this operation, how will this forbidden weapon be handled?"
"The forbidden weapon is severely damaged, and the Machine Spirit has been evaluated by the Archmagos as teetering on the brink of death. After fulfilling its final firing duties, the Expeditionary Fleet will melt it down and reforge it into an immortal monument for the people of this Planet to remember."
Over an operational console kept pristine and gleaming by the Iron Warriors, Arthur fluidly issued firing commands.
The Machine Spirit cheered and roared, sending another lethal, piercing shockwave crashing into the fortress.
"Understood."
The Inquisitor jotted it down once more.
'Good heavens.'
'One actually dares to say it, and the other actually dares to write it.'
Although the Expeditionary Fleet's blatant disregard for the Codex Astartes was already out in the open, and various ancient engines of war and wargear were being deployed endlessly, this did not mean the matter required no oversight.
When it came to utilizing non-Codex-compliant tactics and weaponry, doing it secretively versus having it officially audited by an Inquisitor made a world of difference. The latter approach ultimately allowed the High Lords of Terra to rest much easier.
Fundamentally, this was not a rebellion against the Imperium. Every faction maintained a level of restraint regarding the situation, merely testing each other cautiously along an invisible boundary.
Terra simply hoped that the Expeditionary Fleet would not spread any rumors detrimental to the throneworld. As long as appearances were maintained and the matter settled peacefully, the High Lords wouldn't say a word, provided this group stayed out of the Segmentum Solar in the future.
The Ancient Warriors wanted to establish their authority through the crusade, figuring out a way to survive in this era.
The various Space Marine Chapters hoped to learn from the experiences of these ancient Elders.
Among them, Chapters that had long despised the restrictions of the Codex were using this opportunity to break through those limits. They absorbed the technology and gene-seed gifted by the Elders. Having tasted the sweet benefits of mechanized joint advances, they even requested production lines and began learning to assemble Mortal auxiliary forces.
The Schola Progenium facilities on every Imperial Planet along their path had been practically drained dry by the Expeditionary Fleet.
The chance to undergo Adeptus Astartes ascension and the honor of a crusade sweeping across a large swath of the Galaxy made these Progena, who had already prepared themselves to sacrifice everything for the Imperium, flock to the banner in droves.
Countless individuals even gave up the chance to join the Adeptus Arbites or become a Commissar, all to participate as a tempestus scion just for this opportunity.
And she was able to report all of this truthfully.
The Expeditionary Fleet was merely operating under the banner of reinforcing Macragge while quietly expanding its own power, conveniently leaving enough kickbacks behind to placate the various Imperial factions watching their backs.
Regardless of whether it was the Fabricator-General, the representatives of the Rogue Trader Dynasties, or the Ecclesiarch, they all granted considerable approval to the crusade's results.
At the same time, this made an Inquisitor's job exceptionally easy.
Aglaia was deeply grateful for the understanding shown by the esteemed lords. Therefore, she could pretend not to see certain things. She firmly believed that even if someone else had been assigned here, they wouldn't have been able to intervene either. In fact, sticking their nose in would only increase their odds of suffering a sudden, tragic warp-transit accident.
The High Lords had commended her countless times just for managing to send back high-quality, regular intelligence reports.
The Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum had even privately thanked her for stepping up to preserve the Imperium's precious strength, telling her to contact him directly if she ever encountered any troublesome enemies of The Emperor in the future.
Ever since dealing with the Archmagos's wave of fabricated reports, which resulted in her mentally banging her head against The Golden Throne in panic for quite a while, Aglaia felt that her career as an Inquisitor was steadily improving.
There were also her internal performance metrics within the Source Tracing Conclave. A massive group of Ancient Warriors allowed her to interview them at will, giving her a monopoly on first-hand information...
If things kept going like this, she just needed to stick it out for another decade or two, and she could retire with dignity.
"My lords, I shall take my leave."
Aglaia thought optimistically. She packed away the report and offered Arthur a formal salute of farewell.
"Understood."
Arthur nodded slightly, seemingly entirely unconcerned with the Inquisitor's departure.
She immediately turned around and boarded the Stormbird.
Next, Aglaia needed to head to the frontlines to record the progress of the war between the various factions and monitor them for any potential signs of Chaos corruption.
Sitting inside the cabin, she tilted her head slightly and gazed out through the thick, bulletproof glass window. The Stormbird's engines emitted a deep rumble, sounding like the low growl of a behemoth.
Although the surface strike capabilities of such ancient craft were slightly inferior to contemporary Imperial flyers, the void shields they came equipped with provided an irreplaceable sense of security.
Within her line of sight, directly beneath her, the fanatical Sisters of the Order of the Bloody Rose were assembling.
Their numbers were extraordinarily massive, reaching a staggering three thousand, nearly the size of a small Astra Militarum infantry regiment. The figures of the Sisters stood out vividly beneath the sunlight. Rose insignias were embedded in their power armor, their hands gripped their weapons tightly, and their expressions were a mix of solemnity and pure fanaticism.
Meanwhile, behind the frontlines, the Sisters of the Sacred Rose were conducting post-disaster relief alongside the Progeny of the Angel. Medical supplies were continuously being transported as the Sisters weaved through the rubble, delivering impartial aid to the refugees.
They all shared one thing in common: their numbers were absolutely absurd.
Aglaia tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping across the interior of the cabin.
Her newly conscripted adjutant stood ramrod straight to the side, looking neither left nor right. Instead, his eyes were locked onto a rusted clasp on a stormtrooper's harness, as if it were a masterpiece worthy of intense academic study.
The corners of Aglaia's mouth ticked upward, revealing a highly suggestive smile.
'Yep, I did it too, and so did those Ecclesiarchy Sisters.'
'Everyone did it.'
She had accepted more than a few bribes from the Archmagos. Recently, the Archmagos had even been hinting at whether she wanted the support of an entire Space Marine Chapter. It went without saying that he was probably scheming to leverage the Inquisition's connections for some new ploy.
Naturally, Aglaia had agreed.
The manpower arrived instantly, leaving any actual problems to be solved later. She knew perfectly well how to weigh the pros and cons.
As for the difficulty of solving those problems...
'Why don't you take a look at my Adeptus Mechanicus escort fleet, a fully armed, Codex-compliant Primaris Space Marine Chapter, ten thousand tempestus scions, and several Heavy Armored Units, and then repeat the question?'
'The Source Tracing Conclave would be more than happy to give you a chance to rephrase your words.'
'Ah, I wonder which lucky soul will get to inherit my legacy in the future.'
The Inquisitor mused, entirely Gleeful.
—
"Cease bombardment."
Romulus's voice crackled over the private vox-channel.
Without a moment of hesitation, Arthur slid his fingers rapidly across the control panel, switching the system back to pre-launch mode.
With its Machine Spirit utterly elated, the Tiamat Grand General Cannon had fired a total of twenty-six times. Coupled with the concussion missiles raining down alongside it, large sections of the fortress's main structure had already collapsed.
Smoke and dust filled the air, with wreckage scattered everywhere.
The rain carried the scent of scorched earth, mixed with the acrid stench of molten metal.
"What about the Titan?"
Rameses still felt a lingering thirst for action. His gaze pierced through his Tactical Visor, staring out into the distance at the colossal figure standing amidst the ruins. The Titan's silhouette flickered in and out of the thick smoke, looking like a slumbering behemoth.
'The General Cannon could probably one-shot a Titan too.'
"Send the Deathwing."
Arthur's voice was calm, as if he had meticulously planned everything in advance.
A Titan, especially one from a Chaos Undivided faction like the Iron Warriors, possessed immense salvage value for the Imperium, much like their warships.
Haul it back, perform a thorough purification on its Machine Spirit, assign a fresh crew, and it could be thrown straight back into service without even needing to be melted down and reforged.
There were also a few Deathwing veterans among the Fallen Angels. Over this period, Rameses had gradually recruited some reliable Dark Angels Thunderforged to lead them, barely managing to scrape together a functional anti-Titan unit.
"Speaking of which, I really find it quite strange. Back in the day, the Deathwing was widely equipped with Cataphractii plate, not Tartaros, right? How exactly are they able to execute miraculous anti-Titan tactics like teleport-boarding a Titan?"
Rameses asked pointedly, a trace of mockery woven into his tone.
His gaze swept over a certain Pentagrammaton Librarian accompanying the squad. The Librarian's face was ashen, his fingers reflexively clutching the hilt of his power sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
If Rameses hadn't privately "educated" him beforehand, letting him know exactly how absurdly powerful this Thousand Sons psyker was, the Librarian would have already ignited the psyker's brain matter on the spot.
"Don't ask. If you must know, it's just sheer martial mastery."
Romulus's voice drifted through the vox, carrying a hint of a helpless chuckle.
"And, absolutely no sorcery of The Warp is involved."
Arthur chimed in. He then flourished his power sword, the blade carving a silver arc through the air, and vanished from the spot alongside Rameses without leaving even the slightest trace of an energy fluctuation behind.
The subsequent cleanup operation for the Grand General Cannon could be left entirely to Lohr. The Fallen Angels would handle everything flawlessly, exactly as it was written in the report, leaving no flaws behind.
The abandoned members of the Ironwing looked at one another, exchanging complex glances.
They realized that the relationship between the four bosses of the Wings of Dawn was truly far from ordinary.
To think they could casually drag out such a highly sensitive topic as a joke at a moment's notice, acting entirely unbothered by it.
The Ironwing legionaries withdrew their gazes and began notifying their comrades to move in for the cleanup operation, simultaneously beginning to doubt themselves.
'Were they just being overly sensitive?' —
[Warning: Main fortress structure destroyed. Central defense ring breached. Defensive capabilities compromised.]
The cold, mechanical voice echoed throughout the command center. Piercing alarms accompanied by flashing red cogitator-lumens painted the entire room in a thick layer of suffocating tension.
[Warning: Anomalous life signs detected. Initial assessment: Imperial Fists. Outer perimeter defense teams have engaged in skirmish combat. Casualty ratio is 1 to 88. Requesting new orders.]
"New orders? New orders! The enemy has already breached the fortress, and they're still rigidly executing a static defense! What happened to their mobile warfare training? Can they not fight a damn war without explicit orders?!"
Iydris's voice exploded like a crack of thunder. He slammed his fist down hard against the command console, the impact violently shaking the monitors.
His eyes kept darting toward the Huscarls displayed on the surveillance feeds. Even though they had painted over their armor with successor Chapter liveries, their familiar tactical maneuvers and combat styles allowed him to recognize their true identities at a single glance.
'You were the one who explicitly forbade any unit from acting without authorization.'
The surrounding commanders kept their heads bowed, silently grumbling in their hearts, though none dared to voice their objections. Within the hierarchy of the Iron Warriors, the very act of questioning was deemed a failure. Even if the result was doomed to be a mistake, orders had to be executed flawlessly.
"Dispatch the Mortal guard detachments. Have them pinpoint the enemy's positions and force the defensive lines to converge. We need to formulate a new battle plan."
Iydris barked out the orders rapidly, a hint of anxiety seeping into his tone. His fingers swiped frantically across the tactical hololith map, desperate to find even the slightest opening for a counterattack.
His staff officers quickly mobilized, a flurry of confirmations crackling over the vox-channels.
"What about the Titan Legion?"
Iydris snapped his head up, his gaze slicing across the room like a jagged blade.
"The Legion has gone silent, but there have been no reports of mass casualties or catastrophic damage."
A staff officer quickly responded, a trace of hesitation in his voice.
"...?"
Iydris's brain short-circuited for a split second. He furrowed his brow tightly, as if struggling to process the information.
The inability to effectively adapt to sudden emergencies was a common flaw among the Iron Warriors. After all, iron was not allowed to think unnecessary thoughts, this dogma had long since been etched deeply into their very gene-seed by Perturabo himself.
Even Iydris, who had commanded troops for many years, unconsciously felt entirely at a loss when all of his meticulously laid plans were blasted to smithereens by the sudden onslaught of the General Cannon.
"And the enemy's offensive?"
Iydris gave up trying to figure it out entirely and pivoted to a new question.
"They are advancing along the pathways carved out by the Grand General Cannon, relying on heavy firepower to obliterate our concealed routes and compress the maneuverability of our garrison forces."
The staff officer's voice dripped with helpless despair.
"Damn it, how did they figure out our supply routes?!"
Iydris cursed under his breath, clenching his fists again until his knuckles paled. He stared unblinkingly at the tactical map, trying to find a weak point, but the situation before him was a tangled mess, leaving him completely paralyzed.
A deathly silence fell over the command center. Only the blaring klaxons and the static hiss of the vox-channels hung in the air, seeming to urge Iydris to make a decision.
"Let me think."
Iydris muttered under his breath, his brow heavily creased. His thoughts churned rapidly in his mind, slicing open his past memories like a sharp blade to search for any fragment that could break this deadlock.
Unlike the other Iron Warriors, he knew how to reflect. He knew how to absorb the bitter lessons of defeat.
Countless battlefield scenes flashed through his mind like a silent tempest. Finally, his memories locked onto the Battle of the Schadenhold, a conflict from ten millennia ago.
That time, he had been the attacker, viciously leading a legion of Iron Warriors to swarm into a fortress that had been pulverized by a Titan Legion.
However, within the complex, subterranean labyrinth, he had been utterly defeated by Dantioch.
He had lost his limbs, and he had lost the favor of his Primarch.
"Dantioch."
The name drove into his mind like a vicious spike. Iydris ground his teeth audibly.
During the period right after the Legion first fled into The Warp, Perturabo had uncharacteristically chosen to converse with the Trident and his Warsmiths.
But those endless phrases, "If only Dantioch were here," "Dantioch would never be like you," "Dantioch..." had stabbed into his heart ruthlessly like a barrage of cruel daggers, filling him with unparalleled humiliation and rage.
"My lord!"
An urgent shout wrenched him back from his memories.
Iydris raised his head, his gaze glacial as he swept his eyes over the staff officer.
"What now?! Don't you dare tell me that you worthless trash have already let them breach the inner defense ring!"
The officer lowered his head and sighed internally. His voice carried a dry, helpless tone: "Yes, my lord."
"The Sons of Dorn are conducting targeted purges of the outer perimeters, relying on numerical superiority to feint and stretch our defensive lines. Scattered assault squads are piercing the perimeter to gather battlefield intel, and multiple contingents have already smashed through the B23 zone using heavy fire-support vehicles."
"How can they be advancing so quickly?!"
Iydris smashed his fist into the console. The metallic clang echoed loudly in the cavernous room. His voice oozed with utter disbelief and furious indignation, looking as if he wanted to swallow the staff officer whole.
The officer forcibly swallowed his own rising anger and continued,
"They have precisely calculated the maximum differential between their artillery shattering a wall and the threshold for friendly fire. The very instant the bunkers collapse, their assault teams are already inside."
Iydris's pupils contracted slightly, a sharp sense of déjà vu flashing across his mind.
His thoughts stalled out completely, before a horrifying realization hit him—
These were undeniably his own tactics.
These were the very tactics he had developed during his early field tests with the Grand General Cannon, using the Emperor's Children as unwilling guinea pigs, all in the desperate hope of earning a reward from his Primarch!
"They are... firing my cannon, and then using my tactics to assault my fortress?!"
Iydris's eyes remained fixed on the hololithic displays projecting the unfolding battles across the stronghold. As he stared at his torn-apart defense lines, a wave of unprecedented humiliation surged through his chest.
Learning from a rival's battlefield experience was common enough; victory and defeat often hinged on who could execute a strategy more flawlessly.
Yet at this very moment, all Iydris felt was a suffocating rage burning behind his eyes, threatening to consume him entirely.
Because they were genuinely tearing right through him!
"The frontline commanders desperately need new orders."
The officer's voice rang out again, interrupting Iydris's impending eruption of fury and dragging him back from the brink of a blind rampage with cold, hard reality.
The staff officer was infuriated as well, but he couldn't think of any viable countermeasure. He knew how to mount a masterful defense from a static fortification, and he was highly capable of orchestrating an excellent siege against enemy strongholds...
But all of that required the prerequisite that his own fortress could actually function as intended!
'Trash!'
Iydris cursed internally. Not only at his subordinates, but at himself as well.
How could he completely lose his tactical bearing the moment the battlefield layout was violently scrambled?
Iydris sorely missed the days when Lord Perturabo still commanded them directly.
Back then, they only needed to execute orders without question; they never had to face such bafflingly complex situations on their own.
"Abandon the outer perimeter. Retract the defense ring entirely and pull back into the lower subterranean corridors."
Iydris shouted his orders, his voice tinged with finality.
He immediately began gathering his wargear, locking the portable command node into his vambrace while double-checking the weapons at his waist.
"We're repositioning along with them. I will command them personally."
His voice was deep and resolute, an icy glint flashing in his eyes. Iydris replayed the strategies Dantioch had once deployed against him, digging through the bitterness to sift out the tactical details and brainstorm a proper counter-offensive.
The myriad countermeasures Dantioch had laid to cripple him began to run like simulations in his mind, finding practical applications before rapidly coalescing into a mature tactical doctrine.
'I will butcher all of you.'
Iydris muttered furiously in his heart, continuously optimizing the finer details of his battle plan.
He firmly believed that, bearing witness beneath his Primarch's watchful gaze, he would completely annihilate this force of the Sons of Dorn.
Then, his gaze fell onto the portable command node strapped to his arm, and his brow furrowed fiercely.
"What do you mean 'all lower subterranean choke points are already secured by the Sons of Dorn'?!"
Dripping with pure, unadulterated disbelief, another roar of questioning echoed through the still-trembling command center.