This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 336 Regret, Regret Now

Peturab kept his war blacksmiths under strict command.

As the Antarctic landing site and surrounding air defense zones fell one after another, a swift attack relying on local troop superiority became readily available. However, the Steel Lord's heartbeat remained unmoved as he continued to prepare for the launch of the sacrifice, maintaining a calm and rational perspective.

"Continue to suppress them and drag them into the designated area."

When the situation was reversed after months of effort, Peturabo was not disappointed at all.

"Alternate cover, reorganize the existing forces around the centaur fortress occupied by demons."

Upon receiving news of the near-Earth orbit fleet's defeat, with two Ramirez-class star fortresses destroyed by the fleet led by the Eternal Expedition, making it impossible to continue projecting offerings to the surface, the Iron Lord remained indifferent as he observed the battlefield.

"."

When the volatile communications of the Kosorax were severed by the sudden attack from the Queen of Glory on the Eternal Expedition, silence hung in the air on the bridge of the Steelblood, with only the hum of machinery filling the void.

His gaze lingered briefly on certain groups within the fleet, as cold commands were transmitted step by step in the form of data.

The war blacksmiths fell silent, fearing that their mistakes would incur the punishment of the Iron Lord, while Fricks could clearly sense the emotions of the Father of Genes.

Peturabo was neither disappointed nor enraged by this setback.

He was quick to adapt, his eyes always fixed on the ever-changing tactical diagram, adjusting his deployment and preparing for the next phase of his plan, as if everything happening now was part of his plan.

The Iron Lord reveled in this game, commodifying the unequal military strength of both sides and exchanging it in the most precise way.

This is where his brilliance lies: a decisive and fierce siege, a persistent and ruthless attrition. The current situation, created by the gaps in many aspects, is acceptable, and as the commander, he can only persevere and forge ahead towards the goal.

Today's defeat is not a devastating one for him; it is merely a step in the process, a small part of a larger mechanism.

What else? Perform an eleven-fold bluff halfway through the battle?
As Frick's eyes dimmed with realization that the Iron Lord no longer had any expectations of them, a cold smile curled at the corner of Perturabo's lips.

To be honest, he really wanted to, but he didn't have the means to do so right now.

The servo skull, carrying a new data board, flew around him, displaying the overall battle damage for each region.

The overall exchange ratio in Astartes is 5 to 1. Except for a few areas, the exchange ratio in the areas guarded by the Primarchs is much more exaggerated.

As for ordinary people, there's no need to pay special attention to them. The high-ranking ones are all approaching the tens of percent, which is completely unbearable to look at. They are basically just material for sacrifices.

Even when used as sacrificial offerings, people find the ingredients of these consumables too complicated.

Outside the window, the surface strike fleet seized the opportunity of the Void Shield closing to launch an orbital bombardment of the Peacock Fortress. The firelight from the attack illuminated Peturabo's profile, but no emotion could be discerned on his metallic, hard face.

I'm used to it.

Til your head slightly to avoid the most glaring flash of light.

Perturabo then ignored the Peacock Fortress, which had successfully blocked the orbital bombardment by re-deploying its Void Shield after completing its cooldown in time. His gaze wandered among the countless screens for a moment before landing on the images of the original Space Marines.

A selection process that is far from scientific but absolutely brutal, involving twenty-two surgeries, a brand-new model of power armor, excessively ample supplies, and a fighting spirit forged from millennia of devotion to the Emperor.

They are higher, faster, and stronger.

Peturabo gazed at a black Templar Marshal bathed in blood.

His soul shone so brightly in the eyes of a warp power.

"No pity!"

Enveloped by the roar was a battle-hardened siege master who whipped up a storm with his two-handed battle axes, tearing more than a dozen people apart.

He noticed the warrior, who was just as powerful as him, approaching. Before he could even gather his strength, the marshal wielding a chain hammer shattered his skull, and fragments of his skull scattered slowly in Superman's view.

"No regrets!"

Comrades around him fell under the barrage of fire, but they did not stop. The marshal strode up and charged into the firing range in the trench, holding a burning pile of rubble amidst the hail of bullets, as if driving a pin into the enemy's back, buying time for his comrades to retreat.

"not afraid!"

As the rumbling armored convoy passed through the gap torn open by the Black Temple amidst artillery fire, these Astartes, with their exceptional physical abilities, kept up and covered the rear of the main force.

When the demons, whom the people of the Empire called the Unborn, crawled out from the bones and flesh of the Chaos traitors, they fought for the warrior's head for their master amidst the roar of the Blood God.

The marshal, wielding his warhammer, bravely faced the test that lay ahead.

That fervor, that determination, that unwavering resolve.

There is also the unparalleled physical body capable of bearing this great spirit, which even the gods cannot help but lower their eyes and show their longing.

"hehe."

Peturabo smiled, and couldn't help but think of another brother known for his fanatical faith.

In his opinion, compared to the contemporary Space Marines, the so-called unwavering faith of those Word Bearers charlatans is utter bullshit.

That's about enough for now. Even if it's bad, it's acceptable. Anyway, he didn't expect to win with these useless players.

Reduced to the essential conflict, it boils down to a battle of wills between Romulus and the desire to reclaim the souls of their offspring.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down.

Peturabo feels that he is in a good state of mind now.

As Frix thought, when you stop having many expectations for something, you'll find that you won't get angry about it.

They manipulate a bunch of psionic energy, bestow blessings upon beings, and usually boast about how powerful, cruel, and great they are, but then they're the kind of people who will die if the Chaos Blessing is broken—

Go fight against a group of soldiers who have undergone rigorous physical and mental tests, have an efficient leadership team, work closely together, and are able to devote themselves wholeheartedly to the battlefield.
He didn't know the cost of living until he was in charge of the household, so what can he complain about now?
It can't be that he was just slacking off in the warp, disbanding his troops, doing nothing but researching the demon engine and resurrecting his sister, and then suddenly decided to gather his troops to fight back, only to end up like this, which is entirely his own fault, right?

Nobody told him that the empire could be played like this.

I should have followed Guilliman's example back then.

While processing battlefield data and confirming losses, Peturabo couldn't help but let his mind wander.

The fact that they can still maintain a superficial stalemate is thanks to the fact that he fought many bad battles during the Great Expedition and was able to withstand pressure.

The forces of Chaos are now concentrated on the south side. This unprecedented battle has attracted the attention of the Blood God, but for some reason, the Blood God is not in a hurry to get involved.

The other three gods were even more cunning, all employing a strategy of making a breakthrough at one point and then following up across the entire front.

Don't ask me if I've followed up yet, just tell me if you've made a breakthrough?

After confirming the losses, Peturabo maneuvered his battle group, which, despite suffering heavy losses, was still roughly equal in number to the Dawn Fleet, to abandon the first line of attack and retreat, creating enough space for redeployment.

This is the largest battle group since the post-Great Mutiny era, consisting of three Glory Queens and thousands of warbands.

Disagreements and disputes have always existed here.

He would use every means of combat he possessed to achieve the greatest effect. Perturabo dared to say that he had always had to go against his own nature, communicate and coordinate with others, and satisfy various forces, including the master behind his brother.

But no matter how he tries to coordinate, these guys will always have their own ideas.

Seeing the emperor's son, who remained unmoved even when his allies were in trouble, Peturabo held his forehead with his hand.

Although he was unwilling to admit his decision-making failure, he did feel some regret for associating with such a group of people.

We can't count on them at all.

(End of this chapter)