The shells tossed up the dirt, and many of the dirt, which was as thick and moist as raindrops, flew up with the impact, and before it fell, it was carried up by the shock wave of the artillery fire, like a brown wave.

In the heavy, gold-poured trenches, hundreds of heavy guns fired rhythmically, and from side to side, soldiers were constantly reloading with ammunition.

Accurate shelling is the praise of the greatest artillery battalion of the Imperial Guard in this sector, and those enemies of the Empire will suffer for their stupidity, his body will be torn apart, he will turn into mud, he will become inhuman, and he will enjoy the pain and shame that the flesh cannot bear.

After that, what proves its existence will also dissipate, and he and his fellow citizens who have been bewitched by the gods will become fertilizer for the new farms of the Empire, and no one will pray, weep, or distress for them.

Lou. Eiffel, the old artilleryman of the Empire, looked at the fire outside the battle line, without a trace of distress, but refreshed, he often enjoyed the appearance of the enemy falling apart in his cannon fodder symphony, and on this western front, about 10 kilometers from the fortress, he was confident that most of the enemy would be blown apart before reaching the fortress.

The hot wind from the shells was warming his body and soothing his joints from the damp cold of his long trench experience, and he longed to apply gunpowder to his sick spots, so only the heat of the shelling could soothe him, especially in the current weather.

Smoke rose from the bombardment point thousands of kilometers away, and the thick smoke and the dark clouds of death swept across the gloomy sky, connecting into a suffocating scroll that could survive such an attack, not even a Space Marine, aided by an ancient technology like Words.

Under tens of thousands of firepower, heavy RAND raiders or armored transports were also overturned, and fragile mortals couldn't help but curl up in cold bodies just by roaring, efficient round bombardment and enough firepower, even if there were words and spirits to consume mortals, let them be used as materials one after another, avoiding artillery fire, the Star Marines also suffered a good blow and delayed their advance.

And the biggest consumption of such a bombardment is actually mortals, except for those poor insects who are the material of speech, and there are also those who are suffocated or left behind by the shock wave of the cannon and buried in the soil, they are regarded as garbage and shields by the space marines, so even if those people suffer, as long as there are people in front of them who sing the praises of the words that have been passed down from Terra to the present day, the Space Marines will not come to their rescue.

At this point, there was also a problem with the personnel who were originally more than enough. Praid overestimated those mortals, when one by one, his high-spirited companions died for various reasons, and the low morale could not sustain them to the front, the spirit had to be recited by the caster who volunteered to take the driver's seat, otherwise the effect would be greatly diminished.

But he was fed up with the so-called gentleness and tolerance given to mortals, and it was long enough, although according to his knowledge of the Imperial Guard, such shelling would last two to three days before it subsided, until they consumed most of the shells, because it was confirmed that the enemy existed.

In other words, they need to be sure of the presence of the enemy, that is, in the constant bombardment, stop for a moment to observe the enemy situation, and at the same time, the smoke and gunpowder, which are incomparably terrible for mortals, are just a simple fog for the Space Marines, and their helmets allow them to see the starting point of the shelling after the smoke.

It is not surprising that the RAND raiders and scimitar heavy tanks have already aimed at those positions, and they are seizing on this information gap to solve the enemy's most threatening artillery bombardment at one time, exchanging the lives of countless believers and mortals for the artillery bombardment array of the Imperial Guard, which is definitely profitable.

And as the artillery fire gradually loosened and decreased, the Space Marines who were so humiliated and suppressed were actually ready. Eiffel, like an old chef, judged the amount of artillery needed to destroy the enemy based on his own experience.

His calculations were accurate and valid, except that no one would have guessed that the enemy was more than just a well-trained Space Marine, and when his artillery fire stopped, he picked up his scope and saw a sharp white pillar of light, and he had stepped into battle with his officer father since childhood.

His favorite thing was the shattered appearance of his enemies, and this thought also came from his deep-seated fear, which he had witnessed as a child on the battlefield, when he had seen his father killed by enemy fire, and he had taken the arm of his fleshy loved one and dedicated his whole life to killing the enemy faster than anyone else.

He was invincible and skilled, so much so that he forgot that war was dangerous and changeable, and that his skills were also powerless and pathetic in the face of many enemies and thousands of changes, and that when the light was gone, he was not as fragmented as he feared, but completely disappeared, and there was no longer a single molecule.

He was a real war maniac, and it was this terrible universe that made him like this, but the people he killed were not sins, but things that the empire had to do if it wanted to survive, so much so that he forgot that his original intention was to make soldiers, comrades-in-arms, not like his father.

There is no need to cross dangerous trenches, no need to run through crazy artillery fields, no need to worry about living today and dying tomorrow. Eiffel, who had done an excellent job in his life, was worthy of praise, and praised the emperor loyally again and again with his skill and the death of his enemies.

And his complex life, the entire 95 years, has been condensed into one sentence. "Lu. Colonel Eiffel is dead! ”

That's right, this is the sentence, on the complex and chaotic front, this sentence is all a person, his orderlies and personal guards stretched out their hands, trying to find part of their master's body in the place where the volcano was plowed, but they could only return empty-handed, and there was not even anything to bury.

Death came suddenly, and the heavy artillery of the Rand raiders would follow, and the heavy artillery fire streaked across the sky, smashing on one by one earth-shaking cannons, and the artillery regiment at the core of the Imperial Guard lost more than half in an instant, even if there was enough cover and projectiles, after the volcanic cannon of the scimitar tank tore through the thick walls, relying on its huge bullet holes, those people were caught off guard.

Gun again? But the old colonel died, no one could monopolize power, no one could command correctly, no one could inherit his strength and specialness, the battle line was in disarray, and the Scimitar heavy tanks bombarded one at a time, tearing open the gaps in the trenches, and then the artillery fire rushed in.

The Imperial Guard soldiers who witnessed all this enlightenment in the front-line trenches could not resist, they were only mortals, they had no firepower, no weapons, and when they pressed each other according to the fire of close to a kilometer, their weapons could not take care of any enemy.

The lieutenant colonel of the infantry regiment witnessed everything, and he grinned with hatred, but he could only powerlessly turn on the radio and ask the signal corps to report to the rear and request support, and the next Space Marine counterattack lasted for a short time, about half an hour.

They were more lethal than the Imperial Guard, fast and accurate, and the heavy vehicles turned the entire artillery trench into a hell on earth with great speed, and the scattered limbs and remains, and the craters on the ground had greatly expanded the place, and now the place was more than three times larger than it had been at the beginning.

However, the trenches were placed in the escape zone in advance, and dozens of earth-shaking cannons and more Liontail Scorpion missile vehicles and petrified lizard self-propelled guns relied on their one-piece mobile design to evacuate, leaving the Imperial Guard with a heavy firepower base.

And for the Space Marines, the Red Pirates, this time it was a complete victory, Oneeus. Praid laughed wildly on his mount at this point, and though the mortals had been consumed in the war, their armor array had torn apart the battle line.

The tracks of the heavy vehicles were very fast to step through the soft earth, the crimson things were approaching, and in the trenches, the infantry barely stood in place, they were burdened with the responsibility of keeping the empire alive, and they shot here, so to speak, out of fear and anger.

It's just that they have seen the convoy that looks intact after hours of bombardment moving forward at breakneck speed, and now the only choice before them is to become a martyr and a coward backward, but they die from the attack of the Space Marines, or the difference between dying from the machine guns of the Empire and the explosive bombs of the company staff.

There is no option in this, it is better to shoot than to be spurned by others, death has become inevitable, if they can kill a renegade Space Marine, then his family and his soul will also be gifted, in front of the Golden Throne, he will be qualified to kiss the soil under the emperor's feet.

Such an opportunity is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, they have dealt with many enemies, they are not cowards, they have defeated many enemies, they are not weak, when the enemy approaches the trenches, the anti-tank squad fires, but before the weapons are fired, the enemy array erupts into a burst of fire, and those people fall to the ground.

But to be precise, the heavy bomb tore his body open in an instant, and the aftermath of the bullet casing alone tore the rest of the team members, looking like a shell falling on it, one person suddenly exploded, and the other three people were torn apart instantly.

"The tank group has fallen! O Emperor! The guards shouted, but such words were repeated throughout the battle line, and mortals were born with such a trench against the space marines, a great obstacle.

The dangers of heavy vehicles, whether hot melt or anti-tank grenades, were easily handled by the Space Marine tactical squad next to the crew, while the slightly more stubborn mortal veterans planned to insert the bayonet blades into the joints of the Space Marines with the bayonet blades distributed above.

The infantry group was planned, one man with a molten grenade to attract attention, and the brother in ambush went to assassinate, and their plan was fine, after the bayonet blade was embedded in the Space Marine's joint, the brother with the hot melt bomb would probably die, but he would be given a chance to kill the Space Marine.

Veterans divided the work in groups of five, the captain holding the vital bomb, the others lying in ambush in the tarps of the trenches, and the tracks of the heavy vehicles, the sound of the Rand Marauders' hulls slowly moving by, squeezed their souls.

The sound was getting closer and closer, watching the nearby comrades fall one by one, being blown to pieces by the bombs, heartache and helplessness gathered......

He felt his soul tormented, but when the tires of the Heavy Rand Marauders passed over his head, he realized that the opportunity had come, his only revenge, his only chance, his only possibility.

He took a deep breath, pulled the molten bomb away, and shouted in his own loudest voice. "For the Emperor!"

He stood up and charged at the enemy, and the Space Marines on the side of the crew were caught off guard, but even so, the soldier quickly pulled out his explosive pistol, and with a headshot, the veteran captain's entire head instantly turned into blood and dissipated, and his body knelt on the ground like a feeble puppet.

His hot molten bomb exploded, and the violent light and cacophony affected the Space Marine's judgment, so that he didn't notice that four mortals charged with bayonets.

The Space Marine's gaze at the mortal in front of him was a little inexplicable, he admired the courage of this man, and he didn't understand the use of such a suicide attack, until he felt a pain in his shoulder, blood flowing from his limbs, and bayonets jamming his joints, but he had no fear, and watched as the soldiers took out the hot bombs, looking like they were going to die with him.

When that resentful, hateful, disgusting gaze looked at him, the Space Marine's laughter, and the steel ring on his head expressed his identity, he shouted. "Oneeus. Praid, my brother, the mortals here have a bit of backbone, and they're about the same as the White Shield I've killed! ”

"Look, these four have courage, but." He shouted suddenly, the strong sound wave was visible to the naked eye, the bayonet did imprison his body, but in essence, the Star Marine's whole body was full of weapons, and the strong sound wave pierced the soldier's eardrums, but those brave people still pulled out their weapons and pulled away the bomb, but blood flowed out of the eardrums, and the body was hesitated by the sound waves, and the next moment, the bayonet was broken by great force.

The champion forced himself back to his senses at the risk of a torn wound, a large amount of blood running down his joints, and he slapped the hot melt bombs that flew as they landed on the wilderness, flashing with fierce light.

Instead of killing the mortals, he spoke. "Well done, Astarte can't make me so embarrassed, the four of you, and the one who died, are all powerful, and I will repay you."

He raised his chainsaw sword and sawed off the heads before the mortals could come to their senses, slashing them in two.

Then he caught the skull before it hit the ground, scrubbed his armor with the blood that had been spilled, and then picked up the planks that were everywhere in the trenches of the Imperial Guard, and sharpened the dagger into a sharp spearhead.

"Blood sacrifice to the god of blood...... "The champion reads, and Oneeus. Praid watched the man complete the ritual, he didn't believe in the gods, but he spoke anyway. "So that their souls will return to the Lord of Wrath?"

The champion replied. "Inevitably, it's much better than them returning to the Corpse Emperor."

(End of chapter)