20demayo Page 196
Page 196
"Target: Ironblood. We need to force them to make a deal with us."
Chapter 230 Sprint! Sprint!
At the edge of the Milky Way, floats a steel cathedral, a magnificent and beautiful structure. But it is not a statue built for peace, but for war.
For ten thousand years, it has traversed the stars, bringing destruction and salvation. Humanity's enemies have long known they should fear it, just as those it protects have. War is an inseparable companion to this ship, as night follows day.
It was known as the "Eternal Expedition," a colossal battle barge, the most powerful of its kind, stretching for over ten kilometers, its keel laid during that great era. The Eternal Expedition's sides and forward-propelling spine were adorned with death machines; its hangar was the lair of war angels, ready to unleash a torrential downpour of humanity's champions upon the ignorant world. Long ago, its kind had vanished, or ceased to participate in the Emperor's expeditions, instead offering a feeble defense against the all-consuming forces of darkness. But the Eternal Expedition continued to fight, perpetuating that shattered dream.
The ship, aged and weakened by time, now has empty corridors and rooms compared to its heyday, but its heart remains strong, its reactor still pulsating hot. It still sails into abandoned or forgotten cosmos with blood and fury, battling aliens, heretics, and warp creatures, bringing their territories under the Emperor's control.
The Black Templars, the Knights of Dorne, are the ruthless guardians of Dorne. Of all the firstborn, they consider themselves the true chosen ones of the Emperor. They, and only they, have seen through the stories and myths behind them as Space Marines, and recognized the divinity behind their creators.
What they found ironic was that the other Astartes did not accept this truth, a truth so easily seen by the lower-class humans they were born to protect.
The Black Templars have never given up their expeditions, and they never will, until they have defeated all other forces and heretical human civilizations, or perish in the expeditions.
Soaked in blood, strengthened by the failure of ancient dreams, the spirit of the Eternal Expedition appears ancient and malevolent through the long years of war. If it possessed thought, it would not care for honor or ideals of worship, but would only be focused on advancing to the next battle, charging to the front lines. One wonders what its masters, with their conflicting emotions, would think of this.
But you must know, ships are silent, and even if the Black Temple understands the nature of ship spirits, they won't reveal it. Astartes is jealous of their secret.
We know that the Black Templar's goals and its volatile nature align with the temperament of the Eternal Expedition's enraged machine spirits. They are, after all, essentially the same: both were forged for a war that failed over a century ago, both corroded by time, yet both resilient. That is enough.
The Eternal Expedition lies in orbit around a toxic world, bathed in the light of an evil star, on the edge of its blazing glow. Every part of its massive superstructure creaks under the weight of suppressed tension. It yearns, in its primal way, to break free from the pull of gravity, to charge forward, ever onward, ever onward!
But it cannot. Its spirit is powerful, but it lacks willpower and the strength to act.
In the cold cabin, Grimaldus pondered a war he could not immediately join. He awaited his father's command, while the Eternal Expedition awaited his command; both were waiting.
They waited anxiously.
At that very moment, as the Thinkers' Array suddenly sounded, Grimaldus's eyes lit up. He took a deep breath, knowing that the time allotted for the plan had arrived.
"Notify the fleet."
The senior monk spoke authoritatively and issued the order.
"Target: Subspace rift behind enemy lines."
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The Mountain Array, this magnificent masterpiece of the human empire that has endured through the ages, is like a moving steel mountain, crushing all obstacles in its path across the boundless void.
It was enveloped in a dense aura of void shield light, as if draped in a holy and resilient psionic barrier. The enemy's firepower—blinding lasers, heavy macro cannon projectiles, and those bizarre attacks composed of warp blasphemous forces—struck the energy barrier like a torrential rain, stirring up violent ripples.
Each powerful impact caused the massive ship to resonate with a dull thud, like the growl of an ancient beast, yet its forward momentum remained undiminished, each step leaving an imprint of power in the void.
A steel warrior frigate, corrupted by chaos, like a flea frantically attacking a dragon, driven by twisted beliefs, aimed its specially crafted adamantium ram at the very center of the Mountain Array's massive hull, vainly attempting to miraculously paralyze it with its minuscule tonnage. It charged forward with a desperate gamble, its engines spewing filthy flames that left long contrails in the void.
However, its courage or madness was nothing more than a colossal miscalculation. The commander of the Iron Warrior's ship underestimated both the Mountain Formation's immense power and its determination to destroy everything.
Before the frigate could even get close to its target, a pure blue beam of deathly light suddenly shot out from the center of the Mountain Array. This beam was precise and swift, like a divine punitive spear. It pierced through the frigate's hastily deployed void shield without hindrance, cutting through the core of its fragile hull structure like a hot knife through butter.
"Boom!!!"
A deafening roar erupted in the silent space. The Iron Warrior's escort ship instantly transformed into a massive fireball of molten metal, energy fragments, and flesh. Countless pieces of debris shot out in all directions like apocalyptic fireworks. The firelight briefly illuminated the darkness, revealing the mangled corpses caught in the rubble—poor mortals from the Empire, abducted during the invasion and forced to serve this enemy vessel. Their bodies had mutated in the warp, and their minds had been twisted along with them.
And now, death, which symbolizes peace, has befallen them.
The extreme cold and suffocation of the void killed them swiftly and directly, like the best executioner, turning them into cold void dust.
Against the backdrop of fire and wreckage, Roger Dorn's voice, as steady as a rock, pierced through the clamor of the bridge, precisely issuing his orders:
"The port batteries rotate 90° and converge on the enemy's No. 1 battleship. Lance Battery Group, target the cruiser ahead, open fire. Glorious Era Battle Group, advance to Sector 495 to fill the gap."
"The escort fleet, including the Augustus, Creon, and the Sorrowful, immediately moved close to our stern to attract and absorb the enemy's main battleship fire, creating space for subsequent fleet and fire suppression."
"Understood, sir!"
The responses rose and fell, conveying a resolute sense of execution. Commands were coldly and efficiently executed, projected, and calculated through the adjutant's enhancers and data servants.
Roger Dorn himself stood on the command platform, his sharp gaze like a state-of-the-art scanning array, constantly switching between the predicted data and the real-time battle situation displayed on the holographic star map.
He constantly fine-tuned the entire fleet's movements through the deluge of data and the complexities of communications.
However, he clearly sensed the sluggishness of the Imperial fleet's movements—the ships responded as slowly and heavily as giant logs submerged in the deep, a sluggishness stemming from the disastrous consequences of millennia of decline, from the overall deterioration of the Empire's functions. Fortunately, he had foreseen this decline in advance, and his plans remained unshaken.
Under Roger Dorn's command, the Mountain Array and the fleet surrounding it formed a tightening iron net, methodically encircling and tearing apart a fleet of steel warriors.
Wave after wave of bombers swarmed towards the enemy ships whose shapes had been warped by the warp, tearing at their void shields and blasting through their thick armor; fierce anti-aircraft guns wove a dense net of fire, relentlessly sweeping through the decks and engines; while Thunder fighters, like nimble falcons, darted through the void, destroying the demonic engines powered by dark technology one by one.
Finally, a precise heavy torpedo, like a kiss of death, struck the core mothership of the enemy fleet—a massive battleship—detonating its core reactor. The earth-shattering explosion created a brief mini-star, utterly destroying the ship and its escorts.
Roger Dorn's initial objective was achieved—located at the rear of the battlefield, the Ironblood, the true core ship of the Iron Warriors, began to move, leading a fleet of hundreds of warships that had arrived one after another, and charged toward the Mountain Formation.
"Maintain formation and advance steadily. Execute four more standard fire sweeps to clear any remaining enemy ships within ten minutes."
Roger Dorn continued to give orders, directing the fleet to clear out the remaining ships of the enemy fleet that had just been destroyed. However, at that moment, the situation changed dramatically.
"Sir! New enemy situation! Two enemy warship groups are approaching at high speed! They are numerous and all are battleships! Bearing: eight o'clock below!"
The communications officer exclaimed, clearly startled by the sudden appearance of the enemy.
“Mark it.”
Roger Dorn's voice remained calm and steady, showing no panic at the appearance of the enemy. He calmly gathered intelligence, preparing for new analysis and issuing fleet orders.
"Yes!"
The holographic projection was instantly filled with crimson dots of light, and two large groups of red markers representing the opposing fleets moved at high speed. Cunningly, they did not charge directly at the mountain-like Mountain Array, but instead coiled and snaked around its massive body like deadly serpents, precisely unleashing dense and deadly firepower on the relatively vulnerable Imperial escort ships and battle groups surrounding the Mountain Array, attempting to sever the flagship's wings and isolate it.
"Sir! A high-energy ship signal has appeared ahead! ...Oh my god! It's...it's the Ironblood! It's Peturabo! He's come in person!"
"This is a trap!"
Grand Marshal Helbrecht practically spat out those words through clenched teeth. His exceptional tactical intuition, honed through years of commanding the Black Templar Expeditionary Fleet, allowed him to instantly discern Perturabo's treacherous plan—to divide, encircle, and isolate the heart of the Empire's flagship. Overwhelmed with anxiety, he slammed his fist against the railing of the command platform, producing a dull, metallic clang.
"Stay calm, Helbrecht."
Roger Dorn's voice was like a stabilizing force, his icy gaze piercing through the holographic projection, instantly understanding the Iron Lord Perturabo's intentions. The enemy intended to turn the Mountain Array, this priceless treasure of the Empire, into a desolate island of despair floating in the center of the void battlefield.
"Immediately provide detailed data on all enemy attacking fleets and project it onto the 4-a star chart platform."
"Roger Dorn commanded."
"Yes!"
The data stream surged again, and a new star map was rapidly unfolded. It contained the data that Rog Gordon needed, and even warriors accustomed to seeing the overwhelming odds gasp at the sight of those numbers.
Helbrecht was filled with anxiety. As an experienced space tactician, his plan was crystal clear: before the encirclement was closed, he should immediately concentrate all his firepower and break through to the weakest point of the enemy's defenses. This was the only way to avoid total annihilation.
"grown ups……"
"I know."
The moment Roger Dorn's voice appeared, the Grand Marshal's heart calmed down instantly, as if even the collapse of the sky could no longer make him feel panicked.
"give it to me."
Roger Dorn's choice was the complete opposite of Helbrecht's inner thoughts. True to his title "Stone," the Primarch of the Imperial Fist issued a chilling order—the Mountain Array must remain firmly in place.
Its densely deployed, terrifying turrets instantly amplified their firepower, creating a dense zone of absolute death. Enemy forces attempting to approach and launch ricocheting torpedoes, or to use escort ships for suicide ramming attacks, regardless of size, were shredded to pieces in the torrential rain of fire, forging a forbidden zone of metal and flame in the void.
"Ironblood Ship distance: 1,000 kilometers!"
The communications officer began providing real-time updates on the Ironblood's distance.
"Eight hundred kilometers!"
"Six hundred kilometers!"
"Four hundred kilometers! Sir! The enemy ship has entered the maximum effective range of its boarding torpedoes!"
It's now.
At this critical moment, Roger Dorn looked up sharply and saw the massive gun array on the bow of the Ironblood begin to flash with destructive charging light. Without the slightest hesitation, and ignoring any possible dissuasion from Helbrecht, he issued the blood-chilling command in a resolute voice that reverberated throughout the entire bridge.
"All energy! Power up the Void Shield and the main engine! Charge in!"
With this command, the once silent sacred mountain, the Mountain Array, abruptly awoke, its massive body unleashing its pent-up power in a furious burst of exhaust flames from its engines.
Like a devastating meteor launched by a catapult, it relentlessly abandoned fleet coordination and tactical evasion, forsaking all room for maneuver, carrying with it an unparalleled momentum capable of crushing stars.
It roared and charged headlong into the flagship of the steel warrior that exuded an aura of hatred—Peturabo's battleship "Ironblood"!
Leave
School has started, and I have to take make-up exams soon. I also have a lot of classes this semester, so I'll probably need to take some time off.
Chapter 231 Usurper
storm.
When Rogue Dorn was still a child, before he inherited the Legion and became part of that great expedition and the Empire, on his home planet, that icy and snowy world, he often saw storms spreading from the horizon, seemingly capable of swallowing up the entire world.
As a Primarch, the moment Roger Dorn saw a storm, his mind was filled with everything about it, including its causes, intensity, duration, possible final destination, and all other knowledge and information related to storms.
Knowledge can dispel a person's fear, and it can also dispel the awe one feels towards things. But every time Roger Dorn saw the storm approaching him, seeing the natural disaster that he could actually withstand with his own body, he remained in awe, just like an ordinary person. Yes, he wasn't afraid, after all, the basic elements of fear didn't apply to him, but he was still awestruck, awestruck by the power of nature, awestruck by its ferocity, and even more awestruck by the resilience and tenacity of things that still existed under this ferocity.
Perhaps it was this experience, coupled with Roger Dorn's later life, that shaped the image he projected to most people—a stubborn, unyielding rock, an upright man, a tenacious man, and a reliable man.
It's like a large rock that, despite being battered and bruised on the outside, remains solid and unmoved on the inside, even after being hit by a storm.
However, a person's character is always complex. The aforementioned traits constitute a large part of Roger Dorn, but not his entirety.
So, besides being tenacious, stubborn, and reliable, what other personality traits does he possess that are known only to a few?
That was a kind of raging fury, like a storm.
Ten thousand years ago, in the skies above Terra, when Rogue Dorn wielded the Fang of Storms, his brother, Alpharis, personally faced the unleashed fury of the rock.
Now, ten thousand years later, in the void of Amegiddund, another brother of Rogue Dorn, and the archenemy of his offspring, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, is about to face it once more.
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Mountain Phalanx.
This ancient name has many meanings, but the most straightforward one is that it describes his body as being as large as a mountain.
In fact, this description is incomprehensible to many people. After all, as the largest warship ever built by mankind, the size of the Mountain Array is essentially equivalent to that of a near-Earth satellite, so using the so-called "mountain" to describe it is indeed very inappropriate.
However, just as Roger Dorn is not actually a stone, but has a personality and traits like a stone, the Mountain Array is not really a mountain, but rather like a mountain, possessing a power that inspires awe and an insurmountable barrier.