Ur Pesson opened his eyes and saw the burning sky.

The stench of sulfur rushed into his nostrils, and he felt himself shaking, or the ground shaking, or someone shouting around him.

After a while, the world in front of him finally stopped blurring. Something that should have been remembered, and his own name, came to mind.

His eyes widened, and he immediately raised his right hand and grabbed it to his chest. The heavy weight of his hand made him breathe a sigh of relief, but the next scream made his hair stand on end.

He remembered where he was.

Ur Pesson rolled over and rolled up his. He was aching all over his body, especially in his chest. Despite the confusion in his brain, Orr made a solid assumption.

The explosion and the subsequent fall brought him back to life probably once, or twice, and the pain was naturally the effect of gravity on the gem.

He looked down at his blood-stained black uniform, and suddenly realized the blind spot of this speculation - the explosion should have burned all his clothes dry, he could be resurrected, but his clothes obviously couldn't

So, what is this situation?

His thoughts didn't last long, and a hot heat in his chest brought Orpesson back to his senses, and he glanced around, instinctively urging him to act again. So, his body moved before he could come to his senses.

Orr began to run wildly. The stench of war crept cruelly into his nostrils from the hot wind that swept across his face, and began to remind him more and more dangerously of where he was at the moment, and what he was doing.

And he didn't have time to pay attention to these things now, and the first thing to do was to find a weapon, and from the trench covered with thick ashes, he got a combat shotgun in good condition from a soldier who had been dead for a long time.

He's a heavy guy, but he's also a good guy. He crouched in the trench and pulled out its drum to take a look, and the shotgun was full of it.

This caused Orr to look up again at the deceased man who had generously gifted him equipment, whose exploding chest cavity and dull expression revealed his way of death—inadvertently killed by a stray bullet.

The most common and cheapest way to die on the battlefield. After the invention of the doctrine of machine guns and fire superiority, such a method of death became commonplace among infantrymen.

Orr observed a moment of silence for him, and then marched through the trench with his gun in hand.

At this moment, there weren't many voices he could hear, but each one was very intense. They mixed up and became an intolerably violent noise.

Savage shouts, crazy laughter, falling shells, gunfire whistling. All of this echoed in Ur Pesson's ears, and they made his head ache again, and his temples pounded in unison with the beating of his heart.

So familiar, so terrifying—everything he had spent his life trying to escape from had now come back to him by his own choice.

War. Ur Pesson sighed bitterly.

He tilted his head to look at the fog that was spreading across the other end of the trench, then he took his gun, took aim, pulled the trigger, and without hesitation, everything was incredibly smooth as the silk of the East.

Two cultists dressed in human skins were smashed in their chests and heads, and a third rushed at him wielding the long beast bone blade in his hand. His face was full of fanaticism, and there was no trace of human rationality in a face that was so thin that it was out of shape.

Orr glanced at him, calmly waited for him to get closer, and pulled the trigger again before he swung his knife.

"Boom!"

Gunfire so loud that it was no different from that of artillery erupted again, and the devastating fire of the Battle Shotgun smashed the entire upper body of the enemy who tried to get close to him into a cloud of blood.

Orr put down his gun and stepped over to the beast bone knife with his foot. He looked at it for a while, and finally decided to pick it up and use it. It is important to have a knife, and there are occasions when a gun will never come in handy, this is his experience.

However, at the moment when the blade was in his hands, the jewel on his chest was hot again, and a flame-like brilliance emerged from his chest, and in a flash, the entire knife was instantly burned to ashes.

“.”

Orr shook his hand wordlessly, white ash inside his blood-stained battle gloves.

He didn't say anything, just kept going.

He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know where the troops that had fallen with him were, he just moved forward.

He could swear to God—or that God—that he didn't want to do what he did, and he didn't want to really be the company commander. However, when he came to his senses, he already had an army of almost four hundred men by his side.

They all listened to him, and the two standard-bearers followed him, holding the blood-stained banner aloft.

"Keep going!" He heard himself growling, and really naturally shouted a slogan. "For Holy Terra!"

What a hell of a thing. Orr thought to himself.

But the hell was yet to come, for Orr had learned from the surviving soldiers that they were now in the eastern front of the Terra Palace, numbered Thirty-Six.

Frankly, when he learned about this, there was a loud bang in Opezon's head.

How could it be such a coincidence? How can it be so coincidental? Why is it so coincidental? He was almost about to curse and question the man, he knew he could see and hear, and eighty percent was watching him.

But he didn't.

I still have work to do. Ur Persson thought indignantly. It's not like you, bastard, who burns my knife when you're idle.

He leaped from the trench with his gun in hand, and the crowd shouted behind him. They advanced more than 600 meters as they fired, and succeeded in meeting the support that the soldiers had claimed.

It was a squad of Imperial Fists that were engaged in a melee with demons and traitors, and there were not many of them left. Orr immediately picked a place that was still high and built a simple fortification out of two cultist corpses and dirt.

He leaned down and used a flying needle sniper rifle he had picked up to observe the circumstances of the melee. Thanks to the power of the scope, it didn't take much effort for him to identify the leader of both the enemy and the enemy. The leader of the Fists of the Empire is a burly giant armed with a twin axe, and the leader of the enemy is a Whisperer in heavy armor.

"Ready to move forward." Orr told his herald very calmly. "Let all the people with heavy firepower come to the front, let's fight a round, and then charge, but don't engage the enemy, just harass these goddamn bastards from a distance."

"Also, fuck me this time keep a good distance and don't get approached by any demons. Get the grenadiers ready, and if the enemy can't hold back and wants to mess with us, just ask them to eat some Glocks. ”

"Understood, sir!" His herald roared.

Half a minute later, his orders began to be carried out. For a force that has lost the ability to communicate in modern times, this efficiency is simply appalling.

Orr didn't have time to bother with this sacred ninth wonder of the world, he was full of chagrin, and he couldn't understand how his way of speaking had changed again.

He sounded like a veteran now, not 'Pious Or', not the retired soldier who lived on Couss.

Ah, Couss. He sighed. I miss you.

He really missed that good place, there were few places in the galaxy that were so beautiful, but it was all gone, all thanks to this group of damned Whisperers.

My land. Ur Persson began to grit his teeth. My cotton.

Bringing his cheek close to the butt of the flying needle sniper rifle, he patiently and calmly began to slow down his breathing and observe the enemy through the scope.

The Probe is a counter-intuitive, high-range weapon with no gunfire at all, and its ammunition is a hardened, lethal toxin crystal propelled by a laser that hits when shot. Although it doesn't have the ability to pierce armor, it's a perfect fit for killing idiots who don't wear helmets.

Through the scope, he found the Fist of the Empire's two-axe warrior again, and slowly moved the barrel of the gun to aim at the traitorous Whisperer who was fighting him.

He put his finger on the trigger.

Be careful, Oranius. Orr told himself. You have to be careful, because that Imperial Fist doesn't wear a helmet either

He pulled the trigger.

The Bearer's movements suddenly stiffened for a moment, and he looked very confused, the confusion that came from the bottom of his heart, and a tingling pain on his right cheek.

But he didn't have time to think about what was going on, and the intense feeling of weakness that swelled up immediately after the sting came made him suddenly fall to his knees, and the Imperial Fist did not waste this opportunity, and immediately swung his axe to cut off his head.

In the next few seconds, the headless corpse began to tremble violently, and blood gushed out. The Fist of the Empire strode to its next target.

Orr smiled with satisfaction, knowing that the Bearers had already taken refuge in the dark gods of the subspace, but they still possessed physical bodies, so there was no way they were immune to neurotoxins.

He moved the barrel of his gun and began to follow in the footsteps of that Imperial Fist, shooting enemies who tried to get close to him one by one.

The man soon realized that he had been aided by a sniper, but instead of immediately rallying his forces to evacuate from the enemy's encirclement, which was several times their number, he rushed into the enemy hinterland alone.

Seeing this, Ur Pesson couldn't help but scold.

He has been through many kinds of wars, some primitive, some full of artillery and bombardment from the sky. So he knew exactly what the Imperial Fist was going to do - he was going to go straight to the enemy general and kill him in order to boost morale.

"Why is Astarte always like this?" Orr muttered to himself. "I really don't understand why you superhumans lose your intelligence at such a juncture and start fighting one-on-one duels with your enemies like idiots."

"Wait, what?"

He looked up from his scope, then leaned over again, carefully checking that what he was observing was correct.

"Am I crazy?!" He roared. "That idiot actually agreed to a one-on-one duel with him?!"

"Sir!" The herald ran at him out of breath. "Do you have an order?"

"Push forward! Leave the ammo alone, kill these bastards! Orr yelled at him, stood up with his gun in hand, and began to run.

He had to get closer to get a higher chance of hitting. He doesn't know if that Imperial Fist will win, but he will do whatever it takes to ensure that he wins.

On such a battlefield, only Astarte could help him do what he was going to do next.

As he ran, the jewel on his chest was so hot that he bared his teeth and cursed with resentment.

——

Fafnir Rann raised his right hand slightly, allowing gravity to slide naturally down his hand with the axe handle.

He gripped the middle of the axe's handle, not the grip that would make it the most lethal, but the one he needed the most next. At the same time, he lowered the axe in his left hand slightly, and made a gesture that he was going to use it to pry.

"Come on."

The Bearer standing across from him said, a very dark voice coming from inside the Terminator's helmet.

"I'll enjoy every second of slaughtering you, Fist of the Empire."

"No more nonsense, traitor."

Rann raised his chin in defiance, a blood-stained face that could not hide his haughty expression at the moment. But it was only a trap, and it succeeded in getting the Bearer into it.

He let out a cold snort and raised the power hammer in his hand high. Rann didn't hesitate and rushed straight at him.

Unlike most Imperial Fists, his fighting style is very aggressive and prefers to attack most of the time. In response to this, some people once joked that he probably went to the war dog for internal training.

But the truth is that even the War Dogs are amazed at his dual-wielding power axe, and bluntly say that Rann is a madman in some way, like their Eighth Company Commander Karn.

Rann certainly knows who Karn is, but does Karn know who he is? He didn't know, he just knew that it was time for him to swing the axe in both hands. It's not a slash, it's a smash.

Two muffled thuds, arcs of electricity, firelight splashed, and two deep marks were left on the scarlet shoulder armor of the Bearer. He roared and forced Rann back with a backhand swing of the hammer, pressing the handle of the hammer and pressing it hard.

This wasn't the ring, but he could still compress the space in which Rann could dodge. Rann breathed solemnly, weighed for a moment, and began to dodge with dexterous steps, crossing his hands while swinging his axes to deliver a powerful combo.

His enemies saw through his movements, and simply did not dodge, relying on the superior defense and agility of the Hades-type Terminator to charge straight towards Rann. The human skin on the scarlet shoulder armor glistened in blood, and the painful human face made the corners of Ran's eyes twitch.

He was a little angry.

"Brute!"

The Fist of the Empire roared, but it didn't even dodge, raising its twin axes in the air, and slashing at the head of the Bearer in a sideways arc, which was firmly protected by the neck guard and shoulder armor.

He hit, but he was also hit. The whole person was knocked out, and the Bearer chased after him with shaky steps. The eyepiece of his helmet had been destroyed, and Rann's left axe was deeply embedded in it.

"Loser!"

The Bearer sneered harshly, and the power hammer had been raised again, without any reservations. It would be a terrifying swing with a single purpose, to kill Rann in an instant.

With this blow, he was going to shatter the armor in Ran's abdomen and make his entrails explode as a sacrifice to the gods.

Faced with such danger, Rann gave his answer only for a split second - instead of dodging, he rolled sideways, allowing the power hammer to smash into his well-conditioned left shoulder armor and throw the axe in his right hand.

It struck the Bearer's shattered eyepiece with precision in an arc. The crazy blood-colored eyes beneath him widened for a moment, but the Imperial Fist saw a glittering white light at this moment.

A smile appeared on his blood-covered face.

Half a second later, with the loud sound of the axe striking the helmet, the power hammer that the Bearer had raised again froze in mid-air.

Rann leapt to his feet, swooping down on his weapon with flying shards of shoulder armor. He held the axe down with both hands and pressed the head of the Bearer, and began to apply pressure to the axe with his knee.

A dull sound echoed across the battlefield, and many people noticed what was happening here, but they didn't have time to pay attention to it, because grenades were falling at their feet, and a large group of mortals with black faces rushing out from an unknown corner.

To correct, there are mortals with heavy logging guns, blasters, and trench shotguns in their hands that are enough to threaten Astarte's firepower.

Corrected again: A bunch of mortals who don't want to die.

Eleven minutes later, they killed them all.

Ur Pesson, gasping for breath, walked over to Fafnir Ran, who was sitting on the corpse of his enemy, with his gun in hand. He looked up at the other man, and Rann looked down at him. A few seconds later, the two of them spoke at the same time quite tacitly.

"Who are you?"

"Ur Pesson."

Rann was slightly stunned and nodded: "So you are Ur Pesson." ”

"What?" This time it was Orr's turn to be surprised. "You know me?"

"You've been assigned a mission by Machado, the Palm Sealer, and when everyone else arrives, you're left behind, Ur Pesson."

Rann said slowly, shaking his head. He raised his right hand, the blood-stained yellow armor rusting, but his expression was calm enough to be convincing.

"About 1,200 meters to the east, you should be able to run into them."

"I don't want anything probably, I should!" Ur Pesson suddenly roared. "I don't have any tasks! I'm just here to deliver something! ”

"I don't care about this, by the way, you hit it very accurately." Rann grinned at him. "Also, since you've arrived, does that mean our reinforcements have also arrived?"

Orr didn't answer the question, his stomach now full of grumbling and resentment - however, the sound of footsteps coming from behind him interrupted his self-pity and anger at someone. He turned his head and saw his herald and standard-bearer.

"Reinforcements, sir?" The herald looked at him expectantly. "We have reinforcements?"

Orr sighed, not answering immediately, and began to sort out the words, wondering how he should tell them that there were six protogens and seven legions coming to their aid.

But he soon didn't have to say anything more, as the crowd began to shout, and Fafnir Rann stood up in an instant. He stared at the fog that was spreading from their right and smiled heartily.

In the somber proclamation of "We are here for you", the Fist of Empire calmly breathed a sigh of relief.

"There's a good show to watch now." He smirked and looked down at the corpse of the Bearer on the ground. "Don't you like to peel?"

He couldn't help but burst out laughing.

This chapter is 5.3k, and there are a total of 16,000 today.,The update is complete.。

(End of chapter)