"Do you ever feel like the air around you is getting sweltering, Pracx?"

"I can feel it, Dantiok, the instrument shows a high temperature signal ahead."

"It's the Heruds, they're rushing up again: they're still frighteningly numerous."

"yes, you can't kill it no matter how you kill it."

The blacksmith of war wasn't sure if there was fear in his feelings, but he knew it was certainly one of embarrassment: both from his concern for the current situation of the war and from the few explosive stocks he had left

Not only Danteoc himself, but also the warriors under the command of the War Blacksmith, the Imperial Fists around him, and the Dawnbreaker and their mortal auxiliaries stationed on the other front, have all fallen into this predicament.

They had to carefully calculate the explosive bombs in their hands, and even the artillery assistance in the rear has changed from the initial indiscriminate bombardment to the current accurate strike, and only the fleet fire support in low-earth orbit is still playing normally.

Frankly, Dantioc hadn't been in this situation for a long time, and he even felt a little uncomfortable: while he should have gotten used to this as an Iron Warrior, he was no longer a pure Iron Warrior.

Although the War Blacksmith is an Olympian, one of the first warriors to follow his genetic father, Perturabo, into the galaxy, Danteoc has served in the Far Eastern Frontier for more than sixty years in the service of the Human Empire, far beyond his years in the Iron Warriors' fleet.

Avalon's imprint is deeply etched in his soul, and he has become accustomed to abundant logistics reserves and powerful mortal auxiliaries allies, as well as to leaving worthless fortresses or rescuing people in danger at all costs: while he still retains the meticulous planning and coordination he has cultivated since his time as an Iron Warrior, in reality, he has not worried about logistics for a long time.

But not now: although the Lords of Avalon's dispatch is still timely and reliable, they are too far ahead of the curve, and they have long exceeded the effective supply range, and can only passively fall into the dilemma of running out of ammunition and medicine.

It was difficult to adapt quickly to this shift on the battlefield, especially since this war was anything but easy, and the only thing the war blacksmith was thankful for, as the Spider Empress had assured him: the Fist of the Empire teamed up with him was indeed an ally that he believed in with all his heart.

Then, without even needing a special introduction from the sons of Perturab, the warriors of Dorne were able to come and go as freely as they had been in the fortresses of the Fourth Legion, as if they had been built by their own hands.

And so, when they had to defend themselves against the Herud offensive, the Imperial Fist and the Iron Warriors fought side by side in the fortress: if they were separated, they could at best fend off an army of aliens twice their size, but when they were stationed together, that number would have risen by at least three to five times.

"The Father of My Genes, Master Perturabo's team, is the closest to His Excellency Dorne's team: although they chose two diametrically opposed landing sites at the beginning of the war, their ultimate strategic goal is the same as the battle line advances, so they are not far away now."

Although they barely had any superfluous conversations along the way, except for the necessary tactical discussions, which was a common feature of the Imperial Fist and the Iron Warriors, when they joined forces and led their respective teams to fight in this world for six hours, and jointly broke through more than thirty fortresses, defensive lines, and tactical objectives, it seemed that both the two company commanders and the officers and soldiers under their command had already run into a tacit understanding.

And when the battle turns to attack, the ferocious Iron Warriors can also make the flanks of the Imperial Fist no longer have to worry about the back, even if it is the fighters of Dantiok who rush to the front, they will be fully supported by the likes of Pracux, and even take the initiative to work behind.

"It's simple."

It's so fast: so fast that the war blacksmith is a little incredulous.

The war blacksmith didn't want to admit it, but the son of Dorne did earn the respect and trust of Danteok as quickly as he could, even more quickly than any Iron Warrior he knew: there seemed to be some kind of innate understanding between him and the warrior named Pollax.

"Are you sure he'll do that?"

The two gatekeepers had apparently fought side by side for a long time in the previous battle, for through the informable gate, the War Blacksmith could hear the voices outside: he heard the new recruit under his command, Salamasyi, enthusiastically searching for common ground with the Imperial Fist beside him.

Pollax's giant palm slammed into the sandbox, causing almost all of the pieces to fall to the ground, and Dantiok raised his hand to calm the Captain of the Emperor's Fist Company, and then the war blacksmith pointed another finger at the sandbox, a corner that they had all deliberately ignored.

After all, no one knows if this ability has an effect on the Primordial.

Fingers poked at the sand table, where there was an unshakable gray chess piece, the unique symbol of the Iron Lord.

"I think you're missing something, brother, it's not just our company that can support Lord Dorne right now: in fact, we're not the closest team to Lord Dorne, look here."

"As you can see, Lord Dorne's team is followed by two companies that are used to carry out rearguard work, and they have another mission in their own right: as soon as they lose contact with the original forces, they will immediately release flares into the sky to notify all companies and the fleet in low Earth orbit."

"It's not a good location."

Plamax just nodded, his finger slowly drawing a circle on the sandbox around Dorne's team, and in addition to their combined forces, there were only two companies of Imperial Fist that could move quickly, but there were more than thirty ugly chess pieces symbolizing the Heruds.

The war blacksmith pressed the last of the stone nails for the blueprint work, and quickly addressed the Imperial Fist across from him: he pointed to where Dorn was stationed at the moment.

The war blacksmith was silent for a moment, he really couldn't make a guarantee in this regard.

In the face of this brotherhood that spread rapidly in silence, the two top commanders of the company, who were still a little wary and tempting of each other, fell into a delicate situation: Dantiok and Pracques initially had a certain desire to fight and lead their troops to overwhelm each other, but when they saw the various squads gradually mixed on the map, silence took over the entire temporary command room.

Placs coughed lightly.

Everyone in this combined force was vaguely aware of one thing: there seemed to be a natural connection between the Imperial Fists and the Iron Warriors, a brotherhood that did not come from blood, but was unusually strong.

The Iron Warriors were shocked by this, but they didn't know that the same consternation was circulating among the Seventh Legion: the warriors of Pracques carefully observed the Iron Warriors' strongholds, feeling that they were the best stronghold architects in the Seventh Legion, rather than an ally who had not cooperated until then.

“……”

But the chat between the new pair of friends made their immediate superiors even more awkward, and the War Blacksmith and the Imperial Fist Company Commander could only stare at the map in front of them, and in silence marked their previous battle locations, and the location of the possible enemy in front of them, as well as the only team that rushed ahead of them, the elite of the Seventh Legion, led by the original Twin of the Imperial Fist himself, and their positions were highlighted on the map.

Although the sons of Dorne are not always replying to his words, and often the Iron Warriors will only reply to one of the four or five sentences before the Imperial Fists warriors reply to one of them, they do have a conversation: because the sons of Dorne are really answering every question of the Iron Warrior with their own rules, slowly but seriously.

Poplacs' brow furrowed, although he was not worried that his genetic father would make a mistake due to emotional impulsiveness and other reasons, he also knew that Dorne was not a person who would easily choose to retreat: that is, the chances of him being surrounded by Heruds were not small, and the thought of the terrifying ability of those aliens to make Astarte warriors age to death just by getting close to them made the Emperor Fist Company Commander's heart rise with a wave of worry.

"It's not a good location."

"So, how can you be sure that your original will not be in a dangerous situation?"

"The two companies of the Imperial Fist are under great pressure, and we have no less enemies in front of us, and it is clear that the Heruds want to surround Lord Dorne, and it will take at least half an hour to launch a large-scale liberation operation: only the Emperor knows what will happen in this half hour."

"Flares?"

Originally, the two competing commanders didn't want to stay together, but they soon discovered that they would be extremely ineffective if they were to take command separately, so a makeshift command room was set up in the alien fortress that the Combine had previously captured, with a legionnaire stationed outside the door on the principle of fairness.

"If Master Perturabo can support Lord Dorne, he will be the most powerful and fastest force on the entire battlefield: at least two or three times more efficient than ours."

Whether it's the Imperial Fist under Pracx, who is more adept at assault combat, or the Iron Warriors under Dantiok, who are better at building defensive lines, they all find themselves in the dark that they have met the most suitable comrades.

Whether it was the same reticence and pragmatism, or the tactical habit of quickly building a defensive line after taking an enemy fortress, they looked at each other with a hint of consternation: a consternation that soon turned to acknowledgment and appreciation.

In front of Dantiok, Pracques did not hide the doubts in his heart.

"We must move closer to Lord Dorne's forces at once, and if the two companies that have left him behind are suppressed by the Heruds, we are the most likely of all the troops to come to their aid in time: even for the slightest possibility, we must take precautions."

A strange understanding was built up in this constant shift between attack and defense, and no single legion was the leader of the pair, and the warriors loyal to the two Fathers of Genes gradually mixed up in the size of the squad, which in a few hours became a complete combined force on the map: a spectacle in this well-walled battlefield.

The warriors silently accepted this undiscovered friendship: the Fist of the Empire had no ill will towards the Iron Warriors, and they soon began to appreciate the cooperative partners, and the Sallamas under the command of Dantiok were not the bitter sons of Perturabo, and they didn't even mind that the soldiers of the Seventh Legion always took the glory of [attacking first].

After capturing the enemy's defenses, Pollax and his warriors will turn to a state of entrenchment, putting up the most resolute resistance to buy enough time for the Iron Warriors to take over and repair the enemy's defenses.

"That's right, it's a flare on the outside, at least it can emit ......"

"Bang-"

Before he could finish speaking, an unprecedentedly violent cannon fire, perhaps from a distance of tens or hundreds of kilometers, pierced the wall and blew through the eardrums of the two commanders, and the thunder was followed by a strange sight in the distant sky: the red smoke was like a wall of clouds swept by the wind, and in the blink of an eye, it filled most of the sky, and through the window, it dyed the backs of the two warriors and most of the room a deep blood red.

"Blood-red glow ......"

“……”

“……”

For a moment, the entire command was eerily silent, and although the war blacksmith was facing away from the window, he didn't see what the blood-red source looked like, but just by the gradually distorted, frenzied, and anxious face of Pollax on the other side of the table, the son of Perturabo understood what was happening.

Just before the commander of the Emperor Fist Company rushed out of the door and roared to gather all the troops, Dantyok, who knew that he could not stop him, turned around and took out a long-dusted communication device from the package he was carrying.

Like he said before: now only one person can save it all.

That's ......

——————

"Master Peturabo."

"You've done another miracle."

The sound of praise rang in my ears. The ice-blue pupils captured all the destruction and death as far as the eye could see: nothing made the Iron Lord feel a visceral joy like the sum of the two, and he smiled as he glanced at the sycophants who had gathered around him.

He recognized it, it was the war blacksmith of the second battalion, Belosos, who had temporarily taken over the duties of Frix, and was one of the very few war blacksmiths who had been working for decades in one go.

"It's the simplest thing, it's the duty of every one of me."

"No big deal."

The primordial gave his heir a cold admonition, but he did not hide the smugness and smile on his countenance: Belosus retired, knowing that his genetic father was going to enjoy the moment's happiness alone, and that all happiness came from the devastating sight of the apocalypse at the front of the battle line.

The Iron Warriors watched silently.

The secret weapon that Perturabo had researched worked well, in fact, even better, because the few squads deployed at the forefront were also affected by this ruthless destroyer, and they were only slightly better off than the devastated Heruds, barely able to salvage.

As for all the aliens in the range of destruction, perhaps in the millions, it was not so lucky: Perturabo's weapon was not lethal to the naked eye, because it was a killer weapon for the physical rules themselves and the realm of the soul, and when it was dropped into the center of the fortress created by the Heruds, there was neither heaven and earth, nor fire, but only an invisible wave of destruction that could be perceived by all the psionics in this world, and swept through the land the size of dozens of nests in twenty seconds.

This wave was only one wave, and it only lasted for more than ten seconds, but in a short period of time, it completely changed the logic of the time force field of the Heruds themselves, so that they themselves could not avoid the corrosive ability of the years in themselves and their compatriots, coupled with the crowd tactical tradition of these aliens themselves, it is natural that in just a dozen seconds, the bloody slaughter results were better than the entire Imperial Expeditionary Force, and all the struggles in the past few months combined.

The Iron Lord even went so far as to design the bomb's volatile effect into a flat rectangle, so as to ensure that the bomb would only destroy the aliens in front of him, and not affect Dorne.

In this way, the countless Herud xenomorphs and entire nests were stuffed, and they were so proud of their abilities that they were so proud that the crowded filthy flesh turned into thick juice in an instant, until thousands of corpses were cut down in patches like ripe wheat, until the magnificent fortress, which merged with the entire mountain range and made orbital bombardment useless, could no longer pose even the slightest threat to Perturabo and his iron warriors.

The Lord of Olympia knew that after he had overcome this last obstacle, the Herudians would be exposed to the command center of the Kraken Abyss before his troops, and that he would win the final victory of the expedition with his own hands.

Now, just give the order.

Dorne, you're going to lose.

……

And he was going to do just that.

The Iron Lord sneered.

But just before he could utter the order, the scarlet glow radiated half of the sky, bringing an ominous omen, and although the Lord of Steel didn't know what it meant, he lowered his arm solemnly, for he noticed that it was Dorne's direction.

Dorne ......

What is that bastard up to?

Perturabo didn't have to wonder for long, for in less than a minute, Dantiok's communication had arrived: the war blacksmith had never taken advantage of such privileges before, but now, through this communicator of favor and trust, he had begun to go straight to his genetic father.

"Father, I think Lord Dorne may be in trouble: you see that blood-red glow, too? But the signal used within the Imperial Fist to call for help, Lord Dorn has encountered the real main force of the Heruds, and it is likely that his personal guard has been surrounded. ”

"I'm not surprised by that......"

The Iron Lord snorted.

"So, Dantiok, why did you send me this report?"

"Do you want to celebrate that I'm going to win this race? Or are you hoping that I will give up my pitiful victory and turn my head to support that Dorne? You know, I will soon hold the throne of the Herudians in my hands. ”

"But you're about to lose one of your blood brothers, my lord."

Dantiok's voice was neither humble nor arrogant, and his calmness and straightforwardness surprised even the Lord of Olympia: Perturabo had to admit that he had just wavered, for he did not believe that victory in a race would require the life of his brother as a guarantee.

He did want to win over Dorne, but it had to be a living Dorne.

If Dorne's side really ......

The Iron Lord licked his lips, and with some hesitation he looked ahead of the battle line, where the last fortress of the Heruds stood, and he didn't even need a telescope to see: what a tempting target, and if he could take it, he would be able to put an end to the Kraken Abyss with his own hands, to put an end to all the criticism and pressure that this expedition had brought him, and to put an end to the bombastic rhetoric that Dorn had confronted him.

He didn't notice that his voice was almost muttered, but it was so clear in the communicator that even Belossos was not far away.

"There, that fortress."

"It is so close to me: as long as I can take it, and I can win all the victories of this expedition, the whole Kraken Abyss and the glory of the war will be mine, and my legion of Iron Warriors."

"But if you choose it, you risk losing your brother, my lord."

The War Blacksmith didn't hesitate to say the next sentence, he wasn't sure if it was something he had already thought of, or if it was a sincere word that he blurted out in a hurry, but Dantioc was sure that he didn't regret saying it.

"Father, Lord Perturabo, is it true that in your eyes is an illusory victory, long held in your hands, more precious than the flesh and blood of your living brother: how many victories are there in the galaxy for you to earn, my lord, but how many brothers do you have in the galaxy?"

"Do you really want to use your brother's blood to establish your victory?"

“……”

Perturabo licked his lips, his voice sounding so weak.

"But that's Dorne, Dantiok, and as much as I hate to admit it, Dorne is a capable guy and he doesn't necessarily fail......"

"Then you are going to gamble with his life? My lord! ”

At this moment, the voice of the war blacksmith even overpowered his father.

"Even if there's only one possibility: what if something really happens to Dorne?"

“……”

Perturabo hesitated, his hesitation making the air tense and Dantioc's cold sweat flowing: he wasn't sure what else he could say to impress his father of genes, who had always liked to make up his mind.

He could only wait, wait, until time seemed as long as a century had passed.

Until he heard......

A sigh.

It was Perturabo's sigh.

——————

"Belossos."

The Iron Lord still spoke, I don't know why, his voice was very low, as if he was struggling with something inside, and it seemed like an out-of-tune faint voice that could only be squeezed out under extreme effort and tension.

"Let Frix come over and let him go to the front to take my place."

"I have to ......"

“……”

"I'll have to go myself."

“……”

"Go see what that bastard is up to!"

(End of chapter)