This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 306 You are the most difficult class I've ever taught.

The Primarch is something to be wary of.

That fear was like cold steel needles, piercing deep into the marrow.

Unlike those warriors who are obsessed with glory and dare to challenge the Primarch on a personal level, and unlike those fools who are intoxicated by the power of chaos and are so arrogant that they think they can shake the demigods, Kothorax has an extremely clear understanding of the Primarch.

It's not fear, but a clear understanding, an instinctive tremor when facing a natural enemy.

He had witnessed how beings with power beyond the mortal realm could crush half a galaxy and extinguish stars.

The Primarch is not a match, but a calamity, a scythe swung by fate.

Therefore, when the Primarch is about to arrive, running away may not be a bad option.

So when the ripples of the warp began to surge, when the veil of reality was torn open for the first time by an unseen hand, and when the wizards accompanying the group began to shriek at the approaching golden light, Kosorax's nerves were stretched taut like a bowstring.

Kosolax immediately informed his colleagues who were still enjoying their gains.

"My brothers—"

Before the words were even finished, the excruciating pain of the Butcher's Nail exploded once more.

It felt like someone was inserting a red-hot iron rod into the brainstem and then violently stirring it.

Kosolax's knuckles clenched with a loud crack, and he felt his retina being covered by layers of blood clots, every muscle fighting against the urge to tear itself apart.

Butcher's Nail again!

Those savage creations from Nukelia, the reins that slave owners used to tame wild beasts.

Once implanted, the Butcher's Nail becomes inextricably linked to the brain, whipping the host with neurochemicals, rewarding bloodshed and punishing cowardice, until the soul is reshaped into a perfect vessel for slaughter.

After Angron ascended to demonic status, Butcher's Nail became an inescapable shadow for the World Eater.

Those mysterious warp magic spells can revive the dead and heal the wounded. Kosorax witnessed Lucius, whose body had been completely annihilated by the cannon fire, being resurrected on the body of a slave worker. However, any attempt by a World Eater to remove the Butcher's Nail has ended in failure.

No one can escape the Blood God's control anymore.

No one could leave their offspring with as much suffering as Angron.

Kosolax's resentment boiled within his skull, and his blood surged with rage.

The butcher's nail hummed contentedly, like a satiated parasite, emitting a sticky gurgling sound in his agony.

"Your Excellency the Regent!"

Beside him, one of his lieutenants, the skull hunter Sharok, grinned cruelly, drool dripping from his chin like a thirsty hunting dog.

The members of the World Eaters are extremely sensitive to their emotions, which often leads them to fall into an unusual frenzy on the battlefield. This also causes them to grow closer to each other, earning them a level of discipline that even the Iron Lord Perturabo admires.

On the battlefield, they are ruthless butchers who obey orders without question; off the battlefield, they are domestic dogs who patiently await the next battle, only obeying their masters' commands.

They are a legion that even the most demanding Iron Lord admires.

Was.

Shalock's gaze lingered on the ordinary slaves on the bridge, even landing on the war blacksmith who was responsible for building the information hub for the team.

He sensed Kosolax's anger, yet there was no restraint befitting a leader; only the frenzy catalyzed by the Butcher's Nail was boiling in his veins.

Kosolax stood up.

His body, though not bathed in much of the Chaos's blessing, still stood like an iron wall before the Skull Hunter, cutting off his bloodthirsty gaze.

A brief moment of clarity appeared in Sharok's eyes.

He was much taller than the regent before him, his muscular body enough to cast the other man in shadow, yet his posture at this moment resembled that of a slave gazing at his master, his violent rage suppressed by something deeper.

Kosolax exchanged a glance with the Warsmith, who was still coldly operating the ship's equipment. He raised his slightly twitching hand, clenched it into a fist, and forcibly suppressed the urge to kill.

"Use plaintext channels."

He said, ignoring Sharok's unwilling roar.

Driven by our shared goal—

He paused, a metallic taste of blood rising in his throat.

"We should retreat."

The Conqueror chose to accept the order.

The steel behemoth slowly turned its bow, its thrusters spewing out a sickly purplish-red tail flame. The three captured Ramirez-class star fortresses, like slaves chained by iron chains, left long scars in the void.

Kosolax's gaze swept across the porthole.

The Midnight Lords fleet's eerie blue silhouette resembled deep-sea predators, while the Death Guard's filthy, dark green fleet writhed further away.

By now, most people were already crowded onto the gunboats that were constantly returning to the ships, impatiently taking stock of their spoils.

From time to time, clashes broke out between war gangs due to unequal distribution of profits, with transport ships and gunboats exploding into fireworks in the void.

The light warships were also firing at each other, attempting to force each other into submission.

Click~ Click~
The butcher's nail is throbbing.

But Kosolax ignored that feeling.

Used to it.

Kosolax did not fantasize about having any real control over them, but rather relied on a combination of interests and threats to bind them together and get them to play their part as much as possible.

He has always done this very well.

"Go to the duel arena to collect your reward."

Unable to bear the hungry growls coming from beside him any longer, Kosolax said to his adjutant.

Despite his confidence in his own strength, Kosolax had to admit the power of these beasts, driven by their desires, in one-on-one combat.

In the perilous world of the Chaos Warband, he certainly needed a powerful lieutenant to ensure his safety. "Yes, Your Majesty the Regent."

The skull hunter swallowed his churning saliva and turned to walk toward the gaping maw of the bridge.

They chose to follow Kosolax because he consistently rewarded their loyalty with blood.

Kosolax is adept at striking a balance between risk aversion and profit maximization.

"Cossolax".

A sound came through the communication channel.

Kosolax shifted his gaze.

The master of this Night Lord, a Chaos Lord.

"I want ownership of a Starfortress."

The declaration of greed made everything clear, allowing Kosolax to understand why the Midnight Lords' deep blue fleet was so eager to leave the battlefield, heading towards the 'Conqueror' like sharks smelling blood.

A cold smile curled at the corners of Kosolax's mouth.

"This is the spoils of Lord Perturabo, which I will offer to him, and then let the great Primarch decide its ownership."

Before the words were even finished, the Conqueror let out an excited war cry.

The array of macro cannons unfolded like hungry fangs, and the buzzing sound of the light spears charging reverberated below the deck.

This steel behemoth was already dissatisfied with the hasty retreat, and now it was even more eager to tear something apart to vent its anger.

The Midnight Lord, however, would clearly not give up his prey because of a mere verbal threat.

As the Butcher's Nail began to compress the nerves in his brain, Kosorax pounded heavily on the armrests of the throne, his armored knuckles denting the adamantite surface.

His roar echoed across the bridge:
"Kill that ship, conqueror."

The Conqueror roared and opened fire.

The shells trailed comet-like trajectories, each one containing enough power to destroy a city. The Void Shield evaporated like morning dew before them, and the armor plates were easily pierced like parchment.

This is a Vengeance-class heavy cruiser.

The 8,000-meter-long hull is covered with repair marks, and the scars accumulated over a thousand years of war have caused its outline to deviate from the original template of the Martian Mechanicus.

Every seam of its armor tells a story of the countless modifications it underwent in the world of Midgard, its surface covered with scars and proliferating weapons.

Seventy thousand souls bustle within its steel belly.

Servant, slave laborer, crew, and about a hundred Fearbringers clad in dark blue armor, organized according to the traditions of the Midnight Lords Warband.

They may be sharpening their weapons for the next boarding action, or they may be using the screams of their victims to please the dark gods.

Its death lasted less than a minute.

Each salvo from the Conqueror ripped away large chunks of the ship's structure. The reactor compartment collapsed first, followed by a chain of explosions that spread along the keel, tearing the entire warship into burning wreckage.

Kosolax stared at its mark in the pool of blood, and was completely torn apart by the Conqueror's extremely powerful cannons.

No ship dared to provoke the Glory Queen.

“If you continue to indulge your greed, lord.”

Kosolax's gaze shifted to the Chaos Lord, who was still maintaining communication.

Ripples spread across the pool of blood before them, reflecting the outline of an even larger warship.

That was the spoils they had torn from the Empire in the previous world—a Retribution-class battleship, bestowed upon them as a reward for their loyalty to the Night Lords.

"I will choose to take back my gift."

He was unwilling to waste blood in a war because of the stupidity of his allies, but that was the law of the Chaos Warband: chaos, greed, and shortsightedness.

These beasts, tamed by the dark gods, always prioritize personal plunder over strategy, and their skulls, filled with the lust for slaughter, know only how to submit to greater violence.

Now, Kosolax must also communicate with these greedy worms in a language they can understand.

What I can give you, I can also take back.

My saber is still sharp.

"."

On the other end of the communication, the Chaos Lord fell silent.

He clearly hadn't anticipated that Kosolax's threat would be so direct, so...

reasonable.

Well, that makes sense.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice filled with suppressed anger and resigned surrender.

"I agree with your decision."

Thus came to an end a clash imbued with the essence of chaos.

Kosolax tightened his jaw, suppressing the murderous intent surging in his mind back into the cage of the neural nails, and sat back on the adamantite throne.

If he could, he would never want a glorious heavy cruiser to be destroyed like this.

But Chaos and these fools who submitted to Chaos showed him through their actions that he had to do it this way.

He gazed at the Dark Mechanicus still dawdling in the pool of blood, the World Eaters still slaughtering, and the Emperor's Sons still extracting pain from mortals.

Click~ Click~
The Butcher's Nail began to throb uncontrollably once again.

　P.S.: There's more to come later, just a few hundred words left. I'll polish it up in about an hour or two.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)