This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 562 My greatest strength is my ability to reflect.

When Ahriman hurriedly returned to the Net Road, he relayed the message to his servants who had been deployed in various regions.

The Dark Eldar fortress located at a Webpath stronghold fell on August 18th of the Imperial calendar.

Easy and straightforward.

Several fortresses guarding the road to Comoros, ancient fortresses from the Eldar Empire, once so proud and invincible, have all been burned to the ground.

The defending troops were all slaughtered.

Its attackers are even more familiar with the composition of this place than the original owners, who were mostly born in the cultivation chambers and completed tens of millions of years of iteration in a short period of time in an unnatural way, to the point that their innate affinity with psionic energy has begun to degenerate.

So much so that the Dark Eldar who tried to defend the fortress, hoping the war would stay away from Comoros, were so easily wiped out.

Today, it has become a strategic high ground, part of the massive offensive by which the human army overlooks and blocks the Comoros.

The spirit bone structure, a symbol of the ancient Eldar empire, has been shattered.

Its city walls are now just ruins, with almost no roofs intact. Under the black paint, the pure white main structure has turned into dust all over the place, covering every surface and floating in the air in the specific low gravity environment of the network.

Under the pale white light projected from the bulkhead of the net cabin.

Space Wolves, the Imperium's only large mobile force, has completed part of its mission as the threat from the Chaos Warbands diminishes and the Primarchs expand their power and fulfill their respective roles.

From the ruins, Ahriman watched the advance below.

Infantry and war machines swept through the ruins of Gobinik like a tidal wave, rushing into the plains like a wide river of ice crystals, leaving a dark trail on the earth.

Swift and massive ground attack aircraft flew overhead, igniting huge streaks of fire under the enormous shadow cast by the Imperial Navy fleet.

Eight thousand, another eight thousand.

Roaring through the net, they pounced on the strongholds of the Dark Eldar.

A meticulously woven encirclement.

A war machine that is slowly advancing.

An elaborate extermination operation.

We have all received our own gifts.

As he watched the space wolves fall to the ground in the destructive attacks of the ancient Eldar and rise again amidst the burning flames, Ahriman pondered.

All of them were custom-made to meet our needs from the vast ocean of subspace.

They are all destructive in their own ways, but some are even more brutal.

At least, I am still whole.

Observing these former enemies, who were fervently responding to the mission given to them by the Primarch and shouting the slogans given to them by others, Ahriman confirmed this.

Ahriman showed no sign of nervousness in the face of the Empire's overwhelming offensive.

The bigger the score, the better.

The bigger the fight here, the smaller the pot will be when Magnus starts working.

Ideally, Dawnwing should be too busy to deal with the situation, so that when Magnus loses, they won't have any blame to take.

In any case, Ahriman held a conservative opinion on whether Magnus, as the Demon Prince, could ultimately defeat the Wolf King, since the blind Magnus never knew what he had lost.

A magnificent and auspicious blessing, an immeasurable gift.

Ahriman raised his left hand, and his iridescent cloak parted like mist, the thick dust in the air settling into his outstretched palm.

That is the dust that belongs to this world.

The world of an old woman drawn into the online world has already returned to dust, just like the false dream described by the human empire, just like their past obsession with glory and achievements.

Ahriman listened to every sound in the world, and combined this with the spies he had placed in the Imperial Warp Voices channel. He used psychic prophecies to check the resource throughput of each planet and gradually pieced together the situation of the entire battle.

Prophecies associated with the Wings of Dawn become inaccurate and uncertain.

Results will be available.

However, considering Abaddon's prophecy that launching the thirteenth Black Crusade would open the Eye of Terror, and then looking at the Warp Voice that seems to echo eternally in the Warp now, and Kayan whose Dao Heart is shattered and who even Ahriman cannot muster any provocation.
Ahriman sincerely believes it's best not to believe it.

If you don't believe me, just look at the Lord of Change who stares at the Well of Eternity every day waiting for updates, feeling resentful that he can't do anything, yet still craning his neck to watch, laughing and crying at the same time, obsessed with following the series.

Even Ahriman had to pick up the military skills he had learned during his time in Astartes.

In the early days, the Thousand Sons were few in number and loyally carried the shackles imposed on them by the Emperor, which made them not very good at head-on confrontations during the Great Expedition.

After all, if you dare to use magic to destroy a planet, the Emperor might just use magic to blow you up the next day.

Thus, while dancing in shackles, Qianzi often judges the number of participants by the loss of resources, assesses the basic condition of the planet by various indicators, analyzes weaknesses by investigating the local cultural structure, and relies on psychic energy and his own outstanding individual combat skills to directly strike at the ruling class of the planet and systematically conquer the planet.

Every one of the thousand sons is a polymath.

The sons of emperors always flaunted their superiority, but Ahriman, who was also of noble birth and knew that these arrogant beings were powerless against the warp because of their own arrogance, disregarded them.

Fugrim was already deeply immersed in this intoxicating ocean like an addict, completely unaware of the deadly nature of this gift.

Like an alcoholic, a fanatical ascetic begins to drink heavily, going on drunken rampages for weeks, and then, after sobering up from the hangover, begins to feel sorry for himself and vows to never touch alcohol again, but his body and mind do not allow him to do so, until he relapses into his old ways.

[Starting at 838.m41, the Space Wolves, in conjunction with multiple warbands, launched an initial blockade operation aimed at further compressing the Comoros' sphere of influence and expanding the Empire's control over the cyberspace. It is estimated that hundreds of thousands of people will be involved, with specific participants including...]

As the documents swirled in his hand, Ahriman looked at the purple figures mixed among the blue ranks and couldn't help but think.

The Crimson Lord greatly appreciated Ahriman's initiative in volunteering. Knowing that Ahriman was Tzeentch's precious toy and that he himself was incapable of killing him, Magnus ultimately sent Ahriman to observe the Dawnwings in the Web before the plan was officially executed, in order to gauge the Dawnwings' current behavior.

Compared to the grand scale of the Great Expedition, where iron fists are wielded and all enemies are crushed, this one has a more refined sense of control, making one unconsciously feel a natural and precise beauty.

Of course, they also became even more unscrupulous.

Guided by the groveling Eldar, they dragged these lustful Dark Eldar from the corner and slaughtered them.

Those wizards who had connections with the Lord of Darkness and the Lord of the Formless and Unseen fought with the Lord of Pleasure for souls, tearing at each other amidst countless howls, like a pack of hyenas fighting over food, then tearing it to pieces and greedily devouring it.

sad.

Looking at the two sides' seemingly identical ugly state at first glance, Ahriman made this judgment.

This reminded him of Mortarian.

Motalian's tragedy is that he became the very thing he opposed his entire life.

He hated himself and the world so much that he could never reconcile with his dramatic transformation. The stench of the plague seeping from beneath his armor was a disgrace, just like him.

The same is true of empires, led by the Emperor, humanity's greatest liar.

[Emperor-level Demon Engine, Warmaster-level Demon Host, and...] Records of weapons that were somewhat sinister even by the standards of a chosen one of Tzeentch. Knowing that any action against Astartes could invite the iron fist of the Faceless God, Ahriman, who had already suffered a great loss at the hands of Eldar, suppressed his desire to steal one for research.

How ironic.

How ironic it is that you are so content with that title now. It was the name of the monsters you used to hunt with such joy, the creations you once despised, which sent countless people to the stake.

Empire, enemy of chaos, you proclaim your slogans so loudly that you are now falling into them without even realizing it.

Lemanrus, the executioner, the one who once also used psychic powers, yet shamelessly opposed them and committed a heinous crime against Prospero.

We have long awaited your retribution, and the retribution has been so sweet.

Look at what you've become!
Slaughter, sacrifice, and pleasing one's master.

Now we can enjoy to our hearts' content how you decay and become the playthings of the gods, forever.

Witnessing the massacre led by the Space Wolves up close, Azek Ahriman smiled behind his gold and blue mask, finding the scene before him quite ironic. No wonder the Lord of Changes was so concerned.

One evil god's demon army reserve is attacking another group of evil god's demon army reserves, fighting each other for their master.

The thought of it is darkly humorous.

This Chosen One of Chaos seems to have selectively ignored those Spirit Race members who constantly talk about labor protection and job benefits, only to be successfully rescued by the God of No Form in their anger.

Or rather, it is indeed difficult for people to believe in creations that contradict their own worldview, especially for someone like Ahriman, whose values ​​have been fixed for ten thousand years and who has never experienced true torture, inheriting the arrogance of an emperor from the very core of his being.

He preferred to believe that these spirit races had successfully pleased the God of No Form because they were fighting against him, the Chosen One of Chaos, rather than believe that this was what one could gain by working for the God of No Form.

Even now, driven by instinct, he still forces himself to remain an observer rather than confront these space wolves who are reforming and dismissing illegal buildings and law enforcement personnel on the internet.

This is what people who believe in chaos are like.

Selectively believe in conditions that are favorable to oneself, and then use these conditions to tell oneself that everything is stable and improving.

What else can we do but acknowledge these real disadvantages to prove our failure and then prove that we were indeed idiots for getting involved with the power of chaos?

[It seems Dawnwing truly has no intention of paying attention to Magnus's actions. Is control of the Web Path too important for them?]

Ahriman stopped taking notes and looked around.

The Empire's magnificent battleship fleet has begun its relocation, preparing to head to its next operational objective.

A portion of Astartes was left behind, along with the engineering teams that continuously transported supplies through the network gates as control of the network was transferred.

Ahriman stopped writing.

There's no point in recording it anymore.

He only needed to confirm that the Empire was indeed very keen on conquering the Comoros, and then observe the end of a war before heading to other areas scouted by the Prodigal War Gang for further observation.

He also kept his guard up.

Given the ever-increasing power of a certain formless god, even without relying on torture, extreme interrogation, or other methods to break the limits of human endurance, he could still retrieve information directly from the soul fragments while giving the other party a good death. Therefore, Ahriman no longer allowed any member of the Prodigal Warriors to know what he was doing.

The surrounding air became bitterly cold.

Ahriman did not let his guard down after a brief observation. He narrowed his eyes, examined his records, and prepared to move on to the next location to make his understanding of everything more detailed.

A glimmer of light flashed by for a moment, as if a pair of hands had torn an irregular rift in the void.

Ahriman stepped through the door.

Ahriman believes his greatest strength is his ability to reflect, remedy, and improve.

Instead of making the same foolish mistake a second time.
-
Meanwhile, somewhere far away...

Blackrock Keep, a group of Primarchs gathered together.

This is the area that commands the entire campaign; it is the core of the Empire's rapidly operating war machine.

Space Wolf's initial mission went very well.

Having received the mission from the Wings of Dawn and handed over the defense duties within the Empire, the Space Wolves, who began a large-scale invasion of the Webway, commenced their operations.

Advance slowly, block off areas, and strengthen control over network sections.

The time and location are correct, both within a reasonable margin of error.

Given the scale of this war operation, such precision is truly remarkable.

Relying on the network that spans the entire galaxy, they have been able to refine what was once an incredibly long, redundant, and inaccurate battlefield report down to the days and kilometers.

However, it's clear that not everyone is happy.

At least, that was true for Ramses.

The formless and shapeless Lord is participating in a formal meeting.

He had no expectations for the meeting, because he knew it would be troublesome.

Repeated simulations, lengthy discussions, and massive screening.

But despite his dislike for it, the attitude everyone was displaying at that moment, and the sense of responsibility that arose from their desire for success, compelled him to work hard to complete it.

He found a place to sit down. For security reasons, many matters did indeed require the personal attention of people at their level.

The sandbox shows the Empire's deployment across the galaxy, and it changes over time.

As various contingency plans are corroborated by real-time battlefield data, local logistics data, and the various administrative systems built by Dawnwing over the years, the final results are constantly being updated to meet their own requirements.

Information blockade, tactical deception, attack targets, and contingency plans for dangerous situations.
The sunlight, having completed its revolution around the sun, streamed in through the porthole on the sunny side of the fortress.

Ramses began to sweat.

"Hey."

He sighed.

"Master Ya, why are you worried about these things?"

Looking at the pile of subspace information security assurance missions and a series of simulation plans in his hands, and faced with such complex and stringent counter-threat measures, Ramses couldn't help but complain to Arthur, who had entered work mode and was beginning to put pressure on everyone equally.

"The traditional culture of this group is to remember the good times but not the bad times."

Guilliman, who was engrossed in processing logistical documents and maintaining communication with the Necromancers in space, frowned.

　P.S.: I have to go to work at 8:30.

　　Children, will I ever have a chance to sleep?
　　
　
(End of this chapter)