Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 600 After the Victory
The star of Vulcan's Hammer was slowly sinking below the horizon. For the first time, its light, distorted by pollutants suspended in the atmosphere, illuminated the land without the backdrop of intense gunfire, presenting a tragic and hazy tranquility.

The Iron Hand Legion has completed the clearing of the main battle zone. Only the occasional explosions and bursts of bullet gun fire in the distance remind people that sporadic fighting is still going on—but these echoes can no longer change the overall situation. Only the smoke of gunpowder still rises, like unhealed wounds.

The STC Temple has been completely recaptured, and its core template library is miraculously intact.

Clad in red robes, the technical priests, escorted by steel warriors, traversed corridors riddled with bullet holes and energy burn marks, assessing the damage and carrying out emergency repairs.

Their chanting mingled with the hum of the mechanical servo system, like a lament and a song of hope belonging to the era of heavy production.

All the discovered shelters were opened one by one.

The survivors—skilled workers, civilians, and wounded soldiers—helped each other out of the dark ruins.

Their faces were covered in dust and dried tear stains, their eyes filled with the bewilderment of surviving a catastrophe and the grief of losing loved ones. But when they looked at those silent, mountain-like silver-gray giants, an indescribable awe and gratitude spread silently in their eyes.

Most of the fire in the seventh residential area has been extinguished, but thick smoke still billows in the air, a testament to the tragedy that once raged.

The warriors of the Steel Hand stood like statues at various strategic points, sensors under their helmets scanning every inch of the ruins.

Engineering vehicles and servo skulls shuttled back and forth, clearing obstacles, searching for possible survivors, and solemnly recovering the remains of fallen comrades and precious genetic seeds.

Company Commander Kyle stood in the middle of the street where a bloody battle had once taken place, his squad surrounding him, conducting inter-battle preparations and weapons maintenance.

At this moment, a young apprentice—who looked no more than a teenager, his face blurred by oil and tears—timidly approached, holding a basin of holy water dug out of the ruins. The edges of the basin were twisted and deformed from the impact, and it contained a little clean drinking water.

“To…for you…sir…” the boy’s voice was weak, his arms trembling with tension and weakness.

Kyle lowered his head, adjusted the optical lens, and the cold halo reflected the child's slender figure.

In the past, he might have ignored it or dismissed it with an absolutely rational command.

But at this moment, his newly formed left hand—a metallic hand forged from technology bestowed by the Emperor and the will of the Primarch, capable of sensing minute tremors and temperature changes—slowly extends.

He did not take the basin of water, but instead touched the boy's trembling, oil-stained hand with his fingertips with extreme lightness and steadiness.

An extremely simple encounter.

"Temperature... 34.2 degrees Celsius. Vital signs are stable, but he urgently needs water and nutrients." His voice, still modulated, came through the microphone, trying to maintain its usual coldness, but it seemed to have lost a certain indifference and gained an indescribable weight.

He took the basin of water and handed it to a soldier behind him who had a leg injury and was being bandaged.

"Prioritize supplying survivors. That's an order."

The apprentice stared at him blankly, the fear in his eyes gradually fading, replaced by a bewildered, faint yet real light.

Inside the makeshift command center, Ferrus Manus listened intently to the battle reports and loss summaries from each battle group.

Data surged like a waterfall on the holographic screen. "...Confirmed killing of one orc war leader and seventeen chieftains; estimated total extermination of over 300,000 orcs..."

"...Our army suffered 43 dead and 109 wounded, including 21 seriously wounded who need to be sent back to Medusa for extensive mechanical repair..."

"...The STC core template library has been ensured to be intact, and the recovery of technological losses is incalculable..."

"...5,731 civilians and skilled workers were successfully rescued..."

"...The remnants of the Vulcan Hammer's Guardian Army and Defense Force have been incorporated and are assisting in maintaining order and carrying out basic duties..."

Judge Chen Xi stood quietly to the side, his gaze sweeping over the cold data stream before finally settling on Felus's figure.

“A costly but indispensable victory.” Chen Xi began slowly. “We not only reclaimed a forging world and crushed a WAAAGH!!! threat, but more importantly…” He paused slightly, his voice low and clear, “…it proved the value of the path of reforging. Steel, too, can be held tightly for protection.”

Ferrus remained silent and did not answer.

Her gaze shifted to the window, where the setting sun cast a warm golden glow on the soldiers' cold armor.

She saw the warriors of the Lakuan clan helping the elderly priest lift the collapsed steel beams, and the soldiers of the Valan clan stuffing rations into the tender hands of children. She also saw Kyle's subtle yet manifesto-like gesture.

Her right arm, covered in liquid metal, flowed silently, reflecting the colorful hues of the sunset, undulating slightly as if it were alive.

“The tempering isn’t over yet, Chen Xi.” Her voice was still deep, but it seemed to contain the heat of a furnace. “But the effect of this first hammer strike… is more ideal than expected.”

She turned to face her generals, her gaze sweeping over each resolute face with the intensity of steelmaking fire.

"Notify the fleet to maintain high-orbit alert. All ground units, assist local forces in establishing a temporary defense and relief system. Prioritize the treatment of the wounded, and do everything possible to ensure their survival and functional recovery. The remains and gene seeds of the fallen must be solemnly preserved, and preparations must be made immediately for their return to Medusa."

Her commands remained swift and clear, imbued with steely logic and efficiency, but deep within that unbreakable core, a new element seemed to have been forged—an understanding of the value of sacrifice and an acceptance of the responsibility to protect.

"Our mission here is not yet completely over. But the Hand of Steel has declared to the galaxy—" Her voice rose, like a hammer striking an anvil, "The Gorgon have returned."

This time, what we hold tightly is not just steel, but a vow to protect.

Outside the window, night finally fell, enveloping the scarred land of Vulcan's Hammer.

Most of the flames that once burned all night have been extinguished, leaving only a few sparks flickering in the darkness, like memories that refuse to fade.

Meanwhile, the helmet spotlights of the Steel Hands patrol pierced the darkness, their beams firm and orderly, like newly forged steel veins, injecting a rhythm of rebirth into this ravaged world.

The reforged steel, tempered for the first time by the flames of the Vulcan Hammer, not only became more resilient, but also truly gained a touch of warmth.

(End of this chapter)