This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 328 The weapons have been oiled.
As soon as Karna returned to the Dawn, he saw that Arthur, who had been in another sector not long ago, had already returned and was standing in front of the map discussing with Romulus, who had not rested since the start of the war.

There was also an unexpected guest with them.

"Uslan?"

Before Karna, the rightful owner, could react, Tarasin could no longer suppress the desire rising in his heart.

With the blessing of the soul, Tarachin was able to clearly savor this emotion.

This prophet is also highly collectible.

"Tarrazin?"

The old prophet naturally recognized this great thief; they had dealt with each other quite a bit in the past.

He noticed the Necromancer's attire and the other's soul projection, and his heart skipped a beat, realizing that his movements seemed to have slowed down considerably.

"what are you doing here?"

He couldn't help but question, fearing that this guy had already given away the Tombstone Gate that allowed him to hack into the network.

"To contribute to the renewed revival of our fellow human beings."

Tarasin stood tall and held his head high.

I have been human for a long time.

Damn it, when the space necromancer civilization was born, our ancestors were probably still just loose rats.

Uslan cursed inwardly, his lips trembling slightly. In the end, he couldn't compete with this undead overlord in terms of sheer audacity.

There's no way around it; the term "cooperation" is used to describe the old prophet who signed the agreement with Dawnwing, and he's still too ashamed to admit that he's human.

"What a coincidence, we're the same."

However, the one-horned creature beside him, without any sense of propriety, immediately spoke up.

"Oh~"

This caused the green light in Tarasin's eyes to flash again.

My buddy is just as good.

The figure collector felt he had met a worthy opponent.

"They're all here."

Just as the two sides were arguing over their own values, Romulus, who had finished his discussion with Arthur, also raised his head.

There is indeed something next that requires their help.

Of course, it's not impossible for Ramses to handle it on his own, but since they've already started cooperating, these aliens should at least show some cooperative attitude.

"Ah, my lord."

Taracin immediately struck an exaggeratedly obsequious pose, rubbing his hands together as he approached, causing the image on the optical lens to squint into two curved lines.

Is there anything I can do for you?

"."

The old prophet had a blank expression.

He simply couldn't understand how a ruler of a necromancer dynasty could be so shameless. How were they, the spirit race, supposed to survive?

The unicorn beside him sighed again and quickly spoke:

"If it's a personal request from the adults, we can agree to it."

Humility, so utter humility.

"It's nothing, I just need you to accompany Ramses on this trip."

Romulus wasn't some kind of demon; he wouldn't send people to their deaths.

"We need to explore the ancient Eldar ruins where Vograim ascended to demonhood. Ramses needs to find the relics that are linked to Perturabo or Vograim. We need your help."

The ruler surveyed the room.

The old prophet was struggling with the unicorn's decisive agreement when Ramses, standing beside Tarasim, patted him on the shoulder and brought his soul back.

All the famous thieves in this universe have arrived, except for the one still stuck on the toilet.

We'll find an opportunity to bring the Blood Ravens to the party later, and then this group will be completely flawless in terms of its composition.

"Sigh, why can't Master Ya come with me?"

Ramses patted Tarasin on the shoulder and couldn't help but sigh.

"Arthur cannot go."

Romulus refused again.

Arthur's presence alone would certainly attract concentrated attacks once the main battlefield was fully engaged, and everyone was mentally prepared to face the challenge. However, it would be too dangerous to rashly enter the interior of the chaos.

"Hey."

Ramses couldn't help but sigh.

Karna couldn't help but smile.

Arthur was a reliable bodyguard to Ramses, a bodyguard to Romulus while also sharing the heavy political burden, and a man to Karna who could clear his mind and focus on what he did best.

Even when left to their own devices, the Lord of Knights can manage the affairs of the legions in an orderly manner, skillfully reconcile the conflicts between the legions, and continuously promote the innovation and application of war technology.

Now Romulus commands his rebellious sons, the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves, with ease.

"How about sending one to the surface of Cardia to join me? Maintaining fleet superiority will make it difficult for the Chaos to attack."

Everyone likes to team up with Arthur.

"Doesn't anyone want to ask my opinion?"

The blue light of the tactical hologram suddenly went out, and Arthur looked up. This usually hardworking and diligent tool, second only to Romulus in his diligence, rarely expressed his dissatisfaction.

Yes, who wouldn't feel resentful if they were treated like a tool and ordered around all the time?
"So what's your opinion?"

Ramses' eyes lit up. Was his Storm Shield coming back?

“I’ll listen to Romulus.”

The knight shrugged.

His motion of reactivating the tactical projection was fluid and effortless, as if the protest had never happened.

"."

Master Ya, your talent for telling corny jokes is getting better and better.

Ramses's face fell, and he simply waved his hand, signaling the other three notorious bandits to prepare to leave.

The green-robed sage, the old prophet, and the unicorn immediately followed in his footsteps, their four figures gradually disappearing into the distance as the hatch slid open with a hum.

time does not wait.

The Black Templars repeatedly forced their way through the Eye of Terror to locate the coordinates of the Ascended Planet and seize control of it. Every moment earlier they obtained the key relic, their chances of defeating Chaos increased.

"It's all done."

Arthur watched Ramses and the others leave.

"The Black Templars have been recalled. I have drawn some Iron Warriors and Imperial Fist officers to form a naval warfare advisory group. Under Bjorn's leadership, the Space Wolves are still maintaining their attacks on the outer perimeter of the Eye of Fear and the Chaos's productive planets."

The upcoming fleet battle will require the Son of Dorne and the Glory Queen to be in command.

The Space Wolves' combat style differs greatly from the current Imperial mainstream. With Bjorn, a warrior who has been prayed for for ten thousand years and is comparable to the chief archmages of the Four Gods, leading them, they have more room to maneuver in behind-enemy-lines strikes, while also further forcing the Chaos to take action.

Which war lords have the guts to challenge Bjorn to a duel?

"It's all done."

Romulus stared at the projection, chin in hand, gazing at the star map. All the necessary preparations were complete, the initial strategic pressure had been achieved, Ramses's exploration of the Primarch had begun, and his own weak strategic deception had been successfully launched.

Each sector surrounding the Eye of Fear has ten to twenty planets directly under the control of the Dawnwings. The harassment of these planets by the Chaos Warbands, the small fleets of the Dark Mechanicus, and the opportunistic Xenomorphs has been effectively contained.

The Iron Warriors also chose to retreat after occupying a large part of the star sector.

He was victorious in the initial battles around several star sectors.

Romulus was very happy with his achievement; anyone who could achieve such a feat would be naturally happy.

The empire was vast, and he was fortunate enough to make good use of that vastness.

Next is waiting.

Romulus examined the reports submitted by the Black Temple and the Space Wolf.

The movements of three nascent legions—the Emperor's Son, the World Eaters, and the Iron Warriors—were subtly revealed in the sporadic conflicts that erupted within the Eye of Terror. Both the Loyalists and the Chaos faction exposed their intentions to varying degrees.

Chaos cannot tolerate this.

"Now it's time for us to prepare ourselves."

Even Arthur, who had a thorough understanding of both the warp and reality, had no idea how the Chaos faction would make its move.

After all, there are too many cases where people can't afford to play the game, especially Blood God.

They could only do their best to ensure that, even if the evil god intervened, the humans within its influence would still have the power to resist.

"Yes."

Romulus looked up and stared at Cardia in the image.

He had a premonition that the outcome of his battle with Peturabo was a contest between them, but the key to the battle between Chaos and humanity lay on this planet that blocked the expansion of the Eye of Fear.

"Get Kadia ready."
-
In our company, eating is a ritual.

It is both a source of nourishment for the warrior's body and a tempering of his will.

The accompanying priests usually choose to deny the divinity of the Primarchs who give us food, but there are always those who prefer to call it "receiving communion."

The place was not a dining hall, but a solemn hall of reconciliation, with long stone tables as cold as altars, and light streaming in through tall, narrow stained-glass windows, illuminating the dust particles suspended in the air.

The figures depicted above are neither saints nor angels, but the company's past heroes, wielding laser rifles and longswords, fighting alongside saints and imperial angels, their faces solemn.

Food, which the warriors of those barbaric worlds called treasure, was delivered by servants in heavy, slightly humming carts.

It was placed in a steel tray in front of each soldier.

It was a gray, dense square box with faint black mineral patterns on it, pressed into a perfect cube without a single flaw.

It emits an inorganic smell, similar to ozone and a faint pharmaceutical odor, which is somewhat unpleasant.

However, this discomfort was quickly dispelled.

Then the food box was opened, revealing a sumptuous meal.

In the past, apart from officers of noble birth, a soldier rarely had the opportunity to enjoy this level of cuisine.

Therefore, pray before eating.

The pastor would stand at the far end of the hall, his voice echoing through the dome via loudspeakers, not to ask for blessings or protection, but to read excerpts from the Battle Creed.

"Though flesh and blood are weak, the will is indestructible."

"Fear is an illusion, only responsibility endures."

"This body is humanity's weapon, and this food is the whetstone for sharpening the knife."

Every soldier bowed their head, not to the food, but to the Dawn Emblem on their chest. This was a reminder that what we swallowed was not merely to satisfy our appetites, but to better fulfill our duty to protect humanity.

Then, the ceremony began.

You use a heavy steel spoon, more like a tool than a utensil, to cut the first piece of food; it's soft and requires no effort at all.

When you put it in your mouth, your tongue can barely taste anything; it's warm, soft, and has a smooth, creamy texture.

Your taste buds, honed by genetic modification and countless battles, are no longer able to distinguish subtle flavors.

It can no longer discern how abundant the food is; it can only tell you that it is nutrition and fuel.

But your thoughts are not here.

As you mechanically chew and swallow, you silently recite the name of the ninety-seventh component of the Void Armor you are responsible for maintaining. You recall the scars on it, the fall of every enemy, and the sacrifice of every comrade in the last battle.

What you are tasting is not this sumptuous meal, but the weight of responsibility and the embers of hatred.

Some say these sumptuous meals were created by the miracles of the Primarchs.

Some say that each piece contains trace amounts of the ashes of saints, in order to pass on their courage.

None of this matters.

As you savor the food, you reflect on the education you received.

What matters is the meaning it represents.

continue.

Continue your fighting ability, continue the company's mission, and continue humanity's life in the dark universe.

The water we drank was purified water, served in a plain metal cup.

With one sip, it washes away the lingering softness in your mouth, as if cleansing away any trace of weakness that might arise in your heart.

No one talked.

You are elite because you only need to think about how to fight. Conversations are left for inventorying your comrades' belongings in the tents after the battle, and tension is left to the political commissars to lead by example and provide guidance.

You look toward another unit.

Those troops from the wild world, often overlooked by the Ministry of Military Affairs, are seated not far from you.

They no longer need to haggle over the ownership of a single battery in the trenches as they used to, nor do they need to trade away their meager resources for temporary enjoyment.

Everyone is equipped with the most advanced weapons, and everyone has enough supplies to keep them full.

They are all the same.

No one pays attention to things outside of the war anymore.

The only sounds were the uniform metallic clinking of spoons against trays and the muffled sounds of swallowing.

The sound was like a massive war machine performing self-maintenance—calm, rhythmic, and devoid of any emotion.

After finishing the meal, I put down my cutlery and pondered silently.

His muscles twitched incessantly as he began to recall countless training sessions from the past.

When the ship's bells rang, the soldiers stood up in unison, producing a crisp, synchronized sound.

The news reports about war missions were ringing in their ears. Elite troops always need a certain degree of initiative and a deeper understanding of the battlefield situation, because they need to step into the most dangerous battlefields. In those areas, the most effective way to transmit intelligence is to shout to comrades on the other side of the trench.

And the tacit understanding and trust etched into our blood.

You begin to walk towards the Stormbird that has been prepared for you.

As you fasten your helmet and the Void Armor's life support system activates, you can feel your body's energy being restored.

Your spirit also became harder and colder because of this ceremony.

You didn't just eat a meal; you simply completed a task.

The weapons have been oiled.

A tremor resounded in the void, the echo of slow-moving debris fragments striking the surface of the Stormbird.

Now it's time to use it.

(End of this chapter)