Chapter 330: The Enemy's Countermeasures
"Indeed, no one is foolish. Faced with an unprecedented situation, no one will blindly sacrifice themselves. They have their own interests and demands," Perturabo sighed.
He involuntarily thought of Dantioch, of Cazzacus, of Arnor—those Loyalists during the Heresy. What were their demands?
He looked again at the battle reports, at the mortals who, even when their flesh was fused with molten steel, still pulled the trigger to fire at the traitors. What was it all for?
He asked himself, his dark eyes filled with contemplation. The Lord of Iron, who had grown up bound by endless transactional interests, found it difficult to understand certain motivations.
"My arrival is not just to point out the holes, my lord."
Sensing Perturabo's dissatisfaction with their allies, Khârn spoke, the hydraulics of his power armor hissing in sync with his decisive tone.
"I will fill the holes. I will eradicate the problem. Because at this moment, my demands align with yours."
Problems are meant to be solved, not complained about.
As a qualified commander, he knew this well.
"In past campaigns, my forces dispatched slaving parties through minor rifts to raid eighty-eight Imperial worlds in other sectors. I have retained a large portion of the captured population, totaling twenty billion."
Khârn stated calmly. No one knew how he had commanded the World Eaters to achieve this, nor how he had kept those bloodthirsty hounds from devouring the fresh meat until now.
"I require two Ramilies-class Starforts and a battle group capable of keeping pace with the Conqueror. We will complete the ritual aboard the starforts in advance, then rely on the battle group's protection to break through the Dawnbreaker blockade. Regardless of the cost, we will drop the two starforts from orbit to strike the Antares Landing Zone in the southern hemisphere."
With his words, the holographic projection switched to the surface of Cadia, shrouded in war, with the southern region flashing an intense red light.
A landing zone was a complex of massive anti-gravity arrays and logistical centers, capable of transporting troops and resources on a large scale. Large war machines like Titans could be deployed intact directly through the landing zone, and in extreme cases, even battleships could be brought into low orbit for fire support.
Khârn's goal was not to occupy it. The reality of the void war had made it clear that Chaos could not provide stable air support, and Chaos could deploy ground forces more conveniently via warp portals.
He intended to destroy this landing zone.
Cadia relied on several landing zones to receive a steady stream of supplies. In short-term ground engagements, the gap between mortals and Astartes was being indefinitely narrowed by this near-infinite supply.
The Antares Landing Zone was far from the others. Capturing—or destroying—it would allow them, even without any Dark God investing power into the opened warp portal, to disrupt resource allocation among the surrounding bastions using the warp tides, enabling a relatively aggressive expansion on the eve of the main war.
"And then?"
Perturabo asked. "After the expansion, you will die. Arthur and Karna both possess more decisive initiative than my former brothers. Your forces can only make a small splash on the surface. For the rest, you can only pray for the generosity of those slave masters."
"That is enough, my lord."
Khârn's response was calm to the point of coldness. He raised a hand to close the constantly alarming tactical interface. The sudden dimming of the light in the chamber hid his face in shadow, leaving only his eyes glowing with a bloody light.
He looked directly at Perturabo.
"That is our demand. A battlefield glorious enough. A breakthrough torn open by us."
"Then Fulgrim will act. Doesn't he want to preserve his strength? Doesn't he want Lord Arthur? He is right across the gate, as long as Fulgrim is willing to take a step."
BOOM!
A violent explosion shook the entire ship. The hull tilted slightly in the shockwave. Amidst the screaming sirens, Khârn's voice remained clear.
Amidst the fear of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo commanded the Iron Blood, whose void shields were overloading, to retreat. The metal on the surface of the Iron Blood flowed to repair the damaged areas.
He turned to look out the viewport at the roiling warp turbulence. Vague outlines of colossal entities emerged from the twisted colors.
"And the Four Gods. Are they not still weighing the benefits? Lord Karna is right there."
Khârn's voice was hoarse. His body on the bridge of the Conqueror raised a hand to press his temple. Beneath his fingertips came the faint click-click of the Butcher's Nails, each soft sound like a dull knife slowly scraping across his nerves.
He knew well that the Primarchs were the greatest test he had to face, the true opponents in this mode of warfare.
They were the initiators of this war. They had orchestrated every offensive against Cadia so far, commanding troops to come here and give their all for this campaign.
Now, they should move from the rear to the front lines and join the offensive he had planned.
The attackers could not match the defenders of Cadia in manpower, not even with the Iron Lord in command. The difference in troop quality was vast, and even the Iron Lord's exquisite command could not cover the gap.
The current stalemate was unsettling. Khârn feared a meaningless effort, feared dying in mediocrity, feared being unable to reclaim the Legion's honor.
Khârn cast these thoughts aside.
Clearly, they were on the brink of defeat. But if they could pin down the enemy leaders and use massive amounts of souls and the enemy leaders themselves to tempt the watching Fulgrim and the Four Gods to intervene, they might win a respite.
The Regent of the World Eaters did not care about paying a price.
Times had changed, but those whose brains had been marinated in Chaos clearly hadn't caught up.
Perturabo fell silent for a moment.
He never expected that one day his most reliable ally would be a World Eater.
Khârn waited quietly, also lamenting the unpredictability of fate.
He had actually made a Primarch lower himself to listen to his suggestion.
Of course, the theory was good, but practice was another matter.
"I will give you another sixty billion."
Perturabo took a deep breath. After a brief mental simulation, he approved Khârn's decision.
This was unfair to the World Eaters; they were likely to become disposable cannon fodder.
But as Khârn said, this was the Legion's demand. Only if the World Eaters moved first would the other hunters see hope and be willing to act, allowing Perturabo to achieve his goal.
It just so happened that Khârn could command the World Eaters now.
"I will begin preparations immediately."
Khârn struck his chest in salute, then disconnected from the傀儡.
Perturabo took a deep breath, his gaze lingering for a moment on the image of Karna, who was using his advantages to shuttle between the surface and the sky.
His hesitation to launch a decapitation strike against Romulus was also due to fear of this brother.
Watching the Angel with burning phantom wings flip the cockpit of a Warhound Titan, then ascend into low orbit to board a Strike Cruiser and conduct counter-boarding operations, Perturabo's eyelid twitched.
Not an opponent.
Simply not an opponent.
There was no shame in admitting he couldn't match some brothers in martial prowess. Perturabo had been thinking about how to deal with the tricky existences of Karna and Arthur.
If Khârn's actions and sacrifices could stir the Blood God's greed again, pinning him to the ground, Perturabo could launch his next move in space.
Rumble~
Another prolonged tremor ran through the hull, and the soulless puppet fell to the ground.
The Iron Blood had been hit again.
Perturabo raised his head, breaking away from his brief calculations.
The Warsmiths were hurriedly adjusting the deployment of the escort fleet. In the center, Forrix had removed his helmet and was sweating profusely as he took over the redundant command data.
He was puzzled.
The enemy's tactics were too varied. One moment they had the ferocity of the Imperial Fists, the next they shifted to the tight defense of the Iron Warriors.
And when responding to his counterattacks, the enemy could often anticipate his decisions in a short time, as if several Warsmiths like Forrix were opposing him.
"..."
Frowning, with a certain numbness, the Iron Lord once again threw all his energy into the naval battle.
"A pity."
On the Dawnlight, Barabas Dantioch watched the enemy formation tighten again, sighed lightly, and began to order the assault fleet to withdraw.
"Perturabo actually installed viewports. Otherwise, that hit to the hangar bay might have thrown him into the void again."
Beside him, Alexis Polux, the first Chapter Master of the Crimson Fists, teased. As a commander who had once bested Perturabo in void warfare, he led the fleet as the Chief of Naval Command.
"He is improving too. We cannot underestimate him," Dantioch reminded him, continuing to focus on the battlefield's movements and constantly providing suggestions to Polux along with his colleagues.
In this busy command center, people came and went.
Several officials, accompanied by soldiers, walked through the room, dragging carts of paper documents like cargo. They were startled when they noticed the silver giants with black and yellow hazard stripes on their pauldrons.
Those were clearly the colors used by their opponents!
Iron Warriors.
Why were they here?!
Their nameplates bore names.
Cazzacus, Arnor, Narek, Orrick...
"That is..."
Someone whispered a question.
"Shh!"
Someone signaled for silence.
They brushed past these giants who were conversing in low voices, walking shoulder to shoulder up the stairs to a higher level.
There, a cobalt-blue giant stood looking down at the battlefield.
He wore no helmet, his expression calm and determined.
"An attack targeting the Antares Landing Zone?"
Romulus rested his arms on the edge of the holographic projector, receiving the information sent back by Ramesses, narrowing his eyes as he pondered his strategy.
The Regent confidently left the naval command to his trustworthy staff.
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