Romulus then handed the report to Dantioch, his tone carrying a hint of profound aning.
"The enemy commander is Idriss Clunder. An old acquaintance of yours."
"?"
Dantioch quickly took the report, his eyes scanning over the data-slate.
It really was him.
Idriss was the very man who, during the great rebellion, had failed to persuade Dantioch to surrender. Enraged by the rejection, Idriss had laid siege to him, only for Dantioch to wipe out thousands of his Adeptus Astartes and an Emperor Titan in return.
Thanks to his extraordinary talent for political maneuvering, Idriss had luckily avoided Perturabo's decimation after that failed persuasion. He was rely beaten to a pulp, his limbs replaced with steel, and then dispatched by his own Primarch to test the two Grand General Cannons they had just swindled from the Lion.
The man was incredibly cunning. To minimize combat risks, he used the allied Emperor's Children as the test targets. To reduce the risk of being decimated, he made his engineering captain take the fall for reporting the experintal results and the brand-new combat doctrines.
It was hard to imagine that in a Legion overwheld by such an irresistible, stubborn twistedness, there existed soone so remarkably slick.
"It has been ten thousand years."
A look of reminiscence inevitably crept into Dantioch's eyes.
Ti flowed erratically in the realms of Chaos, and Abaddon had a multitude of Long War veterans under his command. As resurrected Elders, they were more or less ntally prepared to run into old acquaintances.
At the sa ti, Dantioch could not help but clench his fists.
These damned furnace dregs.
He had died rather early. After overloading the Pharos beacon, he succumbed to old age and grievous wounds before his dear friend's reinforcents could arrive. His understanding of Chaos had been limited to viewing it rely as a unique type of power from the Warp.
Before his consciousness faded into oblivion, he had even worried about whether Lord Perturabo was faring well among the traitors. After all, Lord Perturabo had always suffered in the Imperium, perpetually burdened with the dirtiest and most exhausting tasks.
He had also worried about his battle-brothers, hoping that Lord Perturabo's temper would llow out a bit.
But now, Dantioch realized he had played the fool.
Did this bunch of Iron Warriors even need his concern?!
For the sake of power, they easily trampled over human nature and ethics, resorting to absolutely any extre just to replenish their ranks.
They prided themselves on fighting the rotting Corpse Emperor's Imperium, yet they still relied on the power of the Chaos Gods. They arrogantly believed themselves to be the masters, not puppets manipulated by Chaos, convinced that those destructive forces were rely tools to be enslaved and commanded.
No, seriously, brother—
What a coincidence; whether it was ten thousand years ago or today, every single Warmaster thought exactly the sa way.
Because their soul composition was rather unique, practically counting as Daemons of the Empe—no, as heroic spirits of the Emperor, the Thunderforged warriors could absorb knowledge of the Warp without any obstacles.
After receiving a detailed education from Rases, their understanding of Chaos was arguably far more profound than ninety-nine percent of the traitors who had actually fallen to it.
Regardless of the reason, the mont they turned to Chaos, this lot beca synonymous with the Newborn, completely unworthy of even a shred of sympathy.
"The main force of this Iron Warriors warband is currently engaging a mixed Eldar force on the surface of Optus. The local Planetary Defense Force has gone silent."
Romulus looked at the solemn Dantioch.
"Once the Eternal Crusader arrives, you will lead the main assault."
"Understood."
Dantioch ticulously operated the simulated tactical hololith.
This battle was bound to be a settling of old scores.
"Arthur, co with ."
Seeing that he was no longer needed here, Rases tugged at Arthur.
"I will lock onto the coordinates, and you will initiate the teleportation. The enemy Eldar Farseers are highly skilled; I have tried teleporting several tis but could not break through."
Rases rubbed his hands together, looking incredibly impatient.
These Farseers were nothing like the Eldar corsairs the Expeditionary Fleet had casually crushed earlier. They definitely had so deadly tricks taught by the Old Ones or the Eldar Pantheon.
No wonder there were records of Farseers daring to openly clash with a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, and even managing to run Tzeentch's chosen in circles. If it were not for the looming, oppressive threat of their twisted progenitor Slaanesh, the other three Chaos Gods probably would not have had any good thods for dealing with these Xenos either.
"Understood."
Arthur nodded, receiving the coordinate data that Rases had predicted using his psychic powers.
Eldar starships were renowned for their blistering speeds. Boarding them could not be done via visual targeting like with Imperial vessels, or else they risked teleporting straight into the cold void of space.
He focused intently on the information regarding the Eldar warship flashing through his mind. Then, at the exact mont shown in his prophecy, he swung his Blade.
Slash!
Blood sprayed.
The surroundings suddenly beca extraordinarily quiet. The clicking sounds of Cogitators operating and the vibrations of engines humming against the deck all vanished without a trace.
Arthur and Rases appeared in a tranquil corridor. Before them lay an Eldar sentinel, cleaved perfectly from head to toe.
Her Spirit Stone was dim, completely devoid of anything inside.
Clearly, this fortunate soul had been granted eternal rest.
"The environnt here is on a completely different level."
Rases stroked the seamless, integrated wall structure of the Eldar ship. Feeling the serene atmosphere, he felt as if he had just transferred from a clunky old steam train to a high-speed maglev.
It was said that these Eldar starships and their various equipnt were all directly grown from wraithbone, shaped and guided by their internal Bonesingers.
"Where is the target?"
Arthur observed their surroundings. They were currently deep within the interior of this Eldar starship, unable to see anything outside.
The veins deeply embedded within the wraithbone structure around them began to pulse with a strange light. This likely signaled that their intrusion had been discovered.
"Let see."
Rases subconsciously wanted to single out an Eldar to read their mind, only to rember that the only one nearby had just been butchered by Arthur.
Sighing helplessly, he tapped into a Daemon instead and warned,
"When we encounter Farseer-type enemies later, do not hack them to death imdiately. I still have a use for them."
"Understood."
Arthur nodded and began moving rapidly through the ship, following Rases's guidance.
Bang—
Nearing the outer viewport area, a squad led by a Striking Scorpion Exarch burst from an intersection. Marching defensively behind their formation was a bipedal war machine.
A Wraithguard—a wraithbone construct driven by a Spirit Stone. Its battlefield role was practically identical to that of an Adeptus Astartes Dreadnought.
Why were there Dark Eldar here too?
Flicking this question up to Romulus so he could worry about it, Arthur charged forward against a hail of splinter weapons. He slamd his Shield forward, pinning a Dark Eldar against the wall, before the blade hidden behind the bulwark swiftly severed the Xenos's head.
Then, like a phantom blur, he wove straight through the barrage of the Striking Scorpions' shuriken catapults, pouncing on the Wraithguard like an agile predator.
While he dodged effortlessly, it was Rases who suffered the consequences.
"..."
Rases raised a void shield. The mont the incoming attacks were absorbed into the Warp, he pulled them right back out one by one, sending them flawlessly into the foreheads of their original owners.
Clang!
The sturdy shield blocked the enemy's heavy cleave, exchanging two simple blows at speeds nearly impossible for the naked eye to track.
During one of the collisions, Arthur loosened his grip. His black sword was deflected, flying out to embed itself directly into a Striking Scorpion's skull. With his now-free arm, he seized the Wraithguard by its head.
Whir—
The servo-motors throughout his armor spun at maximum capacity, using sheer brute strength to wrestle the massive Wraithguard to the ground.
Dragging the Wraithguard along to prevent it from ever recovering its shattered balance, Arthur spun around and wrenched his blade free. His shield's force field constantly micro-adjusted, deflecting the storm of incoming fire from all sides.
As a Ranger attempted a flanking maneuver, Arthur extended his arm. The Inferno Pistol concealed behind his shield instantly erased the Xenos's upper half from the physical universe.
Then, Arthur thrust his blade violently downward, shattering the Wraithguard's Spirit Stone. Like a wisp of phantom fog, he darted away once more.
By the ti the rest of the squad turned around, a raging torrent of psychic energy from behind swallowed them whole.
"Perfect."
Rases gazed at the corpses strewn across the floor; their Spirit Stones were all completely hollowed out.
Slaanesh-aligned spells were truly convenient. Extracting Eldar souls was a guaranteed success every single ti.
"You damned monkeys!"
A spear-wielding Eldar Farseer rushed over. Spotting the floor littered with corpses and dimd Spirit Stones, he let out an anguished roar.
He had arrived in great haste, accompanied only by a sparse scattering of warlocks and Howling Banshees. Logically speaking, engaging the enemy at this mont was highly irrational.
However, that did not hinder his confidence.
The Eldar were born with astonishing reflexes and resilient bodies. Although they were primarily psychic units, these Farseers were much like the Librarians of the Adeptus Astartes—their physical forms were far from frail, actually becoming even stronger with the aid of psychic power.
Crack—
The knight completely ignored the supposed Psychic Shield. His steel-vise of a hand clamped directly around the Eldar Farseer's throat.
In a re instant, the Farseer felt his innate connection to the Warp completely severed. Every spell he had prepared in his mind was rendered entirely useless.
'???'
'Wait, is this even fair?'
Thud!
During that brief mont of shock, the Farseer was slamd brutally against the wall. His species' exceptional sensory perception brought him a staggering amount of agony.
"Damned monkeys! And your accursed sorcery! Your ancestors should have been driven to absolute extinction back when they were still swimming in the mud!"
Realizing instantly that he had fallen into the trap of his own arrogance, the Farseer could only resort to screaming the most vicious insults in High Gothic.
"The fleet of our magnificent kin has arrived. The only fate awaiting you is utter annihilation!"
Before the Farseer could react, Arthur, who could not be bothered to listen to his ramblings, swiftly tossed him backward.
As for the Howling Banshees.
Their Psychic Screams, which perpetually gnawed at the minds of their enemies, misfired completely on the spot.
"Why worry about all this pointless nonsense?"
A hand firmly caught the Farseer by the head.
"Co on, follow inside."
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