Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 592 The Oath of Protection
The massive structure of Karada Fortress seemed to awaken from an ancient slumber, every rock and piece of steel humming in a low, guttural hum.

Deep underground, the core—those plasma reactors resembling the hearts of mythical giants—roared at unprecedented power, outputting massive amounts of energy that set countless gears dormant for millennia on a new speed, and causing towering giant track lights to illuminate the ever-burning ochre-red storm clouds as if they were a sea of ​​burning blood.

The sight on the giant take-off and landing platform "Gorgon's Grip," located deep within the fortress, is truly breathtaking.

Hundreds of technical priests dressed in gray robes, like priests performing a sacred ceremony, joined hundreds of thousands of servo robots to form a massive logistical torrent, shuttling back and forth amidst the deafening roar of engines and the screeching sound of metal scraping.

Their work is breathtakingly precise; every movement follows the highest principles of mechanical doctrine, like a grand religious ceremony.

The magnetic levitation platform moved silently, transporting ammunition racks as majestic as mountains.

Tens of thousands of heavy bombs, plasma canisters flashing with a dangerous blue light, and hissing hot fuel rods were precisely loaded into the bomb bays of waiting Thunderhawk gunships, Stormravens, and Hellclaw attack aircraft at a dazzling speed by multi-jointed robotic arms.

The ground trembled slightly under the heavy pressure, and the air was filled with a strong smell of ozone, propellant exhaust, and the unique pungent odor of air ionized by a high-intensity energy field, which could even irritate the modified breathing filters.

At the center of the platform, two torrents of steel are quietly taking shape.

The warriors of the Lakuan clan are known for their impenetrable defensive formations, their dark gray power armor covered with additional protective plates, and their ancient clan emblem—a fortress standing against the storm—gleams with a cold, hard light under the lamplight.

They silently inspected the heavy bomb guns, assault guns, and vortex-class molten lava guns in their hands, the servo systems emitting low, coordinated calibration sounds.

Their posture was as steady as a mountain, and their footsteps carried a weighty weight, like a giant shield about to close. Every piece of armor gleamed with the vicissitudes of war under the light.

The Valan clan's formation was even sharper and more agile; their armor was bluish-gray, and their emblem was a lightning bolt cleaving a gear, symbolizing speed and precision.

They excel at assault and precision strikes. Many soldiers carry new types of plasma incinerators or gravity guns, and highly modified sensor arrays constantly scan their surroundings like vigilant compound eyes, with the faint light of data flowing across their lenses.

Their silence contained a power that could be unleashed in an instant, like a sharp sword about to be drawn from its sheath. The power backpacks had a significantly higher output power, emitting a high-frequency hum that was almost inaudible.

Regardless of the clan, all have undergone subtle yet profound changes from the past.

They remain efficient and silent, but the sense of isolation that sees them as cold, unapproachable weapons is fading.

Their movements as precise as machines remained as they checked weapons and calibrated armor. But occasionally, a warrior would subconsciously raise the original arm that had not yet been completely replaced by machinery, or gently brush his fingers, covered in adamantite, over the tiny runes newly engraved on his power armor that represented the "Oath of Protection"—runes that were often hidden in the seams of the armor or inside the gun handle, in locations known only to himself.

A rekindled flame called "Mission" burns deep within the genetic seed and is transmitted silently through modified neural bundles.

On a command corridor with an excellent view at the edge of the take-off and landing platform, two figures stood side by side, overlooking the grand scene of preparation for war.

One figure stood tall and imposing, like a mobile fortress. His silver-gray liquid metal arms gleamed with an inhuman luster under the lights, each drop of metal seemingly possessing life. The other was clad in a black judge's robe, his face hidden in shadow, with only the Rose of the Repulsion Order on his chest reflecting a cold, sharp light. The hem of his robe fluttered slightly in the static-filled wind.

“Look at them, Chen Xi.”

Ferrus Manus’s voice was deep, with an almost metallic resonance. Her gaze swept over every busy figure below, like a forging hammer examining a casting about to be completed. “The steel is still here, and the logic has not been abandoned.”

But some things... are different now.

Judge Chen Xi nodded slightly, his gaze like the most precise sensor, capturing every detail—from the soldier's movements as he wiped his weapon to the slight tremor in the technical priest's fingers as he prayed.

"Efficiency is infused with purpose, and logic is infused with responsibility."

You have freed them from the cage of self-imposed confinement, Feralus.

They no longer pursued steel to negate flesh and blood, but rather harnessed steel to protect life.

This is a fundamental difference.

Felus's liquid metal arm moved unconsciously, hardening into several sharp edges, as if reflecting her inner thoughts.

"This path is far more difficult than simply denying it."

Perception brings pain, connection means responsibility. Reforged steel must withstand more under flames and hammer blows.

"But only a will forged in this way can withstand the endless darkness of the future."

Chen Xi's voice was calm yet resolute. His hand gently pressed on the railing of the corridor, the finger cot making an almost inaudible sound as it touched the metal.

"What the empire needs is not insensible weapons, but warriors who know why they fight and why they defend."

What you gave them was precisely this most precious thing.

Below, Company Commander Kyle is striding toward a Thunderhawk gunboat.

His new left hand held a precision-engineered explosive pistol steadily as he conducted a final check.

Instead of relying solely on the self-test data stream as he had done in the past, he ran his fingers over every heat dissipation fin on the gun body, feeling the temperature of the metal and the potential vibrations.

A technical sergeant reported to him, and he not only listened to the data, but also looked at the other man's oil-stained goggles and slightly trembling mechanical prosthetics, and nodded very slightly.

This subtle movement was almost unimaginable in the Steel Hand Company over the past century.

Felus remained silent for a moment, the massive Heart of the Furnace burning quietly deep within her eyes.

"They are relearning."

Learning involves experiencing, connecting, and finding a balance between the resilience of steel and the warmth of flesh and blood.

She slowly raised her Gorgon-skinned arm and pointed it at the "Iron Will," which was issuing the final boarding order and whose ram was like a blade tearing through space and time. The gun turrets on the side of the ship were slowly rotating and adjusting.

"And the battlefield will be the final and only testing ground."

Chen Xi looked in the direction she pointed and saw the signal lights on the bridge flashing like stars.

"The Vulcan Hammer will witness all of this."

Witness the return of the Gorgons, witness the weight of the oath of protection.

"Yes."

Ferrus's tone was resolute, like a hammer finally falling, creating almost visible ripples in the air.

"it's time."

She turned around, her heavy cloak rustling through the air like a battle flag unfurling in the wind.

Chen Xi followed closely behind, as if another will merged into its shadow, the two figures casting long silhouettes in the corridor.

Beneath the massive "Iron Will," the landing hatches were slowly closing, swallowing the last batch of soldiers and equipment into its steel belly.

The engine roared to its peak, causing the entire platform to vibrate violently. An energy halo spread outward, blowing away the pervasive dust and exhaust fumes, and even carving subtle ripples on the thick metal floor.

The two steel torrents have been fully embraced by the flagship.

The reforged will has been fully loaded.

Target—Vulcan's Hammer!
To be the emperor!
For Medusa!

The oath of protection begins here!

(End of this chapter)