This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 318 Peturabo: Macado, Emperor, where are you? Please save us!
Bloated and incompetent.

This has been the common impression of the empire for countless people over the past ten thousand years.

It's like a spider, greedily extending its web outwards, trying to wrap up everything it comes into contact with and turn it into its own, but unknowingly it gets itself entangled.

It often appears indifferent.

Even after its tentacles were severed and its limbs were dismembered, it remained unresponsive, simply continuing to devour the resources of the entire galaxy, allowing its decaying body to rot and swarm with maggots, seemingly on its deathbed, devoid of any vitality.

Its internal factions are far too complex, with conflicting interests and demands among themselves, resulting in severe internal friction.

However, this also means that the Empire has enough resources to engage in internal strife.

It is precisely because no one can rival the empire that it appears so clumsy.

However, when a message, a call to action, or an entity that can elicit the same voice from the vast majority of organizations begins to emerge, the Empire displays an almost terrifying capacity for action.

Alien civilizations that observe this transformation are always briefly confused.

Which one is the true face of the empire?

Is it that dying giant, or this destructive engine that is shaking off millennia of accumulated dust?

The answer is simple.

Both.

"Subspace jump complete, battle group has entered the outer reaches of the galaxy."

A notification from the Navigator interrupted Fricks' thoughts. As the Mandeville Point unfolded a purple vortex, Fricks and the fleet behind him successfully broke through the veil of warp and returned to the real universe.

He glanced at the heavily mutated navigator on the screen.

These traitorous navigators could no longer look the Emperor in the eye, but they could still guide the traitorous warships.

No one knows what the cost of doing this will be, but at least until the navigator dies, the so-called cost has not yet come.

The Auger Matrix on the warship performed a simple scan of the galaxy, and the holographic projection of the galaxy was displayed on the Thinker Array.

After confirming the large fleet led by Peturabo and the two Glory Queens whose brilliance could not be obscured even by the corruption of chaos, Fricks then ordered his warships to move closer to the 'Ironblood'.

As the warships drew closer to each other, Fricks was able to visually observe the spoils located alongside the large fleet through the warships' imaging systems.

That was an Imperial Retribution-class battleship.

Around the Retribution-class battleships, there were numerous broken wrecks. Judging from the length of the remaining adamantite keels, it could be preliminarily determined that this was a medium-sized strike fleet.

The newly added wounds on the armor belt of the Steel Blood were still oozing liquid metal, as if this steel behemoth had just finished a thrilling hunt.

Clearly, the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Navy had some minor skirmishes here.

This is a branch fleet.

Fricks observed the markings above.

It was a support fleet from the Calissis Sector. These sectors, far from Imperial control, had long been accustomed to taking initiative and, even when facing Primarch commands, habitually had their own ideas.

Then they died, that much is certain.

How can mortals compare to the wisdom of the Primal Being?
That's the right thing to do.

Fricks had essentially memorized the procedures for the vast majority of major battles in the modern empire.

Their gaze fell upon the Star Speaker Sanctuary at the very top of the warship, where a large area of ​​damage had occurred following the psionic eruption.

The subspace fluctuated, the Star Speaker died suddenly, the Imperial Navy launched a suicide charge and sent themselves to their deaths, then dragged the entire battlefield situation into the endless, messy war on the surface.

Communication, application submission, shuttle docking.

Fricks led his squad through the interior of the 'Ironblood'.

The 'Ironblood' has no mortal guards. After years of being tempered by the warp, this warship is like an extension of the Iron Lord, and everything is constantly being repaired and changed according to his will.

"Lord Peturabo has once again achieved a great victory."

Beside Frix, a dimensional blacksmith offered a compliment in a hoarse, gear-like voice.

Yes, a victory.

If the Iron Warriors can still use this word to describe their current situation.

They gained nothing but a Retribution-class battleship, and the Grand Fleet was even trapped here because of the conflict.

The Skarrus Sector fleet, directly controlled by the Primarch, is clustered behind the Grand Fleet, employing a textbook strategic deployment to squeeze the Chaos fleet's operational space. They are relentlessly deploying seemingly endless waves of Astragalus troops onto the occupied planets, and using their overwhelming military force to compel the Chaos fleets to converge on the fortified node planets. If any Chaos fleet is bogged down in ground warfare, they will face relentless bombardment from the Sector fleet.

and--

Fricks reviewed the information in his mind and did not think there was anything to boast about in a victory that had not achieved any strategic objectives.

All around were sounds of agreement.

Frix looked around and, with some despair, realized that only Honso, this mixed-race bastard, had noticed the problem.

"."

Taking a deep breath, 'The City Breaker' reluctantly accepted this despairing answer, which worsened his already bad mood considerably.

"All units return to their posts on the warships."

In order to save the lives of these fools, he gave the order.

The Iron Warriors of today are not as resilient as they used to be, so much so that they are often overwhelmed when faced with the very battles they excel at.

"Hong Suo, come with me."

Faced with his boss's direct naming, Hong Suo, who had always suffered from discrimination, was stunned for a moment, but quickly followed along.

When Frix trudged down the corridor and reached the bridge, Peturabo was already standing there, endlessly working.

This is a huge floating platform, with thirteen iron ring robots guarding the throne.

The Forgebreaker is the massive warhammer of the Lord of Steel, standing head down beside the throne.

Just as Fricks guessed, Peturabo was never happy about winning a conflict.

A holographic panel equipped with a jet-black servo arm extends from the wide armrests and footrests of the floating throne, surrounding him on three sides. Data flows across eighteen shimmering screens, flashing images taken from various battlefields, from which faint wails of sacrifice, used as information transmission, can be heard.

The face of the Lord of Steel was illuminated by the flash, and he was immersed in it.

Servo cables and feedback lines bound his skull like braids, covering his ears and sprouting from his neck, cheeks, and chin, making him look like Medusa with snake-like hair from ancient legends.

His gaze kept shifting, glancing from one screen to another.

His fingers flew across the touchscreen of the throne, adjusting, deleting, moving, and tapping.

Watching the Lord of Steel at work is a real treat.

This scene brought Fricks some comfort.

In the known galaxy, only Dorn, Guilliman, and perhaps the deceased Horus, could strategize and command in such a massive war as he did.

The one who still has the right to confront them is behind the massive blockade they are desperately trying to break down.

But Fricks had to break the silence that had been making him feel comfortable.

He exchanged a brief glance with Kosorax, the master of the Conqueror. As the Steel Lord completed yet another devastating deployment, and the holographic projection briefly dimmed due to the end of the command transmission, Fricks stepped forward.

"Sir, Fricks is reporting to you."

The 'Citybreaker' presented a disk.

In the early stages of the war, the dimensional blacksmiths established an informational advantage over the Imperium by leveraging demonic technology unearthed from the Abyss of the Warp and the fragmented intelligence network of the traitorous Alpha Legion.

In contrast to the Imperial Navy's sluggish warp navigation, the Chaos Fleet, blessed by the evil gods, traversed the sea lanes with ease. Combined with their information advantage, this allowed them to make rapid progress in their initial offensive.

However, at this moment, this advantage, like sand held in their palm, is relentlessly slipping away through their bloodied fingers over time.

As Peturabo withdrew from a series of tactical victories—

Those battles, which he brilliantly commanded and created with near-perfect kill-to-death ratios, could never reverse the strategic collapse.

The Iron Lord's face twisted slightly with rage. He grabbed the disk, and the data interface cable coiled around it like a venomous snake, brutally sending information into his mind.

The Mechanicus faction, located in the Misty Sector, has begun to gradually embrace the new Om Messiah faith. Under the deliberate propaganda of the Dawn Sector government, they portray the four Primarchs as their human representatives of the Om Messiah. Our strategy of gaining more support through the Mechanicus faith has failed.

[Among them, Agrippina and Huangquan No. 8 responded most actively. In early 769, Agrippina officially accepted the Dawn Star District government's entry. During the war, several forging worlds were formally brought under the control of the Dawn Star District government and began to cooperate with its production plans.]

At the end of 772, two Retribution-class battleships, built by Agrippina and controlled by the Dawn Star District government, along with their accompanying escort fleet, were officially completed and departed port.

Peturabo's face darkened.

(End of this chapter)