Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 627 Another Trump Card

Ferrus Manus strictly kept her promise.

She was like a fire brigade, appearing at the most critical and tense points on the front lines.

Her presence alone is an unshakable banner; her arrival can instantly boost morale on the verge of collapse and turn the tide of a local battle with absolute power.

She even challenged Fang, the most arrogant champion of the Emperor's son, several times, and each time she completely destroyed her opponent with overwhelming power and ruthless efficiency.

There is no enemy who can withstand her "forge hammer". Every swing is filled with cold determination, as if she wants to smash the resentment and old hatred of ten thousand years.

However, she consistently avoided direct contact with areas where Fugen might be present.

After each such display of "victory," she would quickly retreat, as if unwilling to linger, or perhaps because she was outmatched or conserving her strength.

This "restraint" might be interpreted by the emperor's son as a sign of hesitation, weakness, or depleted resources, which further fueled Fugen's greed and arrogance, making him even more convinced that the fruits of victory were ripe and within his grasp.

Reports of the devastating battles continued to pour back to the Karada command center.

The list of losses continues to grow, and behind each name and each number lies a lost life and a heavy price to pay.

But the steel hand's defenses, like refined gold forged through countless trials, though constantly bending, groaning, and cracking, never broke.

The soldiers' morale grew stronger through the extreme trials of blood and fire. They unconditionally trusted their Primarch, believing that she could lead them to final victory, even if it required unprecedented sacrifices and trials.

They were unaware that they were also part of this grand scheme. Their perseverance and sacrifice formed the most solid and authentic foundation of the bait. This ignorance, to some extent, was also a necessary form of protection.

Ferrus stood on a front-line position where he had just repelled a frenzied enemy attack. Beneath his feet were craters emitting blue smoke, droplets of molten metal that had then solidified, and scattered pieces of broken corpses.

She looked around at the soldiers, covered in gunpowder, blood, and wounds, yet their eyes remained firm as they gripped their weapons tightly.

In her silver-gray eyes, endless streams of data flashed silently, calculating the final cost and success rate, further strengthening her resolve to carry out that dangerous plan.

The trap has been set, the bait has been thrown out, and all that remains is for the most deadly and cunning serpent to succumb to its greed and step into the final cage.

The air was thick with the smell of blood and fire, along with a faint, almost imperceptible, sweet, putrid stench from the warp, foreshadowing the approaching final storm.

Medusa's war was no longer a simple war of attrition; it evolved into an ultimate struggle of will and desire, a cruel dance performed amidst steel, fire, mad whispers, and cold calculations.

The Emperor's Sons' attacks grew increasingly frenzied, as if they collectively sensed the approach of some ultimate temptation. They threw more twisted creations, enchanted warriors, and fallen elites into the battlefield, torturing the defenders' nerves and bodies with blasphemous sounds and lights and extreme cruelty.

At the Karada command center, Feralus Manus was under immense pressure.

On one hand, every loss report from the battlefield, every cold symbol representing the annihilation or heavy damage of a company, struck at the core of her will like an invisible hammer. Those were her offspring, and the guilt of failing to protect them ten thousand years ago, like an ever-present ghost, became increasingly clear and painful in the face of new and immense sacrifices.

On the other hand, there is the pervasive and persistent spiritual pollution caused by Fugrim.

Even with the powerful psionic protection set up with Chen Xi's help, those distorted images and sweet yet malevolent whispers still managed to find tiny gaps and slip in. As she focused intently on the battle simulation, they suddenly exploded in her consciousness—perhaps the silent, desperate scream of the Iron Hand warrior who had been transformed into a living being, or perhaps Fugen's call, tinged with feigned sadness and alluring charm: "My dear brother... look at you, why let them sacrifice themselves in vain for your hopeless persistence? It's too 'imperfect'... look at you, you clearly possess a more perfect form than I had envisioned, yet you remain so stubborn, and so... heartbreakingly lonely."

Each time, Felus forcefully suppressed it with unwavering absolute willpower, his face as cold as ice frozen for millennia, only occasionally clenching his right fist, which was flowing with liquid metal, revealing the surging waves beneath.

She cannot afford to be distracted, much less provoke herself and lose her composure.

The core of the entire plan lies in her need to maintain a subtle, almost contradictory posture: to be both the unyielding defensive core and spiritual symbol of the entire army, and to reveal a subtle “fatigue” and “isolation” that Fuggen would see as an opportunity to exploit.

She was like a supreme alloy string stretched to its limit, perfectly playing the delicate balance between calmness and rage; the slightest mistake could lead to the complete collapse.

Her secret communications with Chen Xi, Hathor, and the other two became extremely frequent and highly confidential.

The communication location is often not in the bustling command center, but in a secret chamber located deep underground in the fortress, sealed by multiple black stone fields and ancient runes. The walls here are covered with powerful markings that resist all warp vision.

"The pressure on Kaul's side has reached a critical point."

Chen Xi's voice came through the highest level of encrypted psionic link, sounding somewhat ethereal, but the solemnity and urgency in it were clearly discernible.

“Every test is like detonating a miniature star. According to the latest report from Aurejana, three Tech Priests have completely collapsed due to mental overload and energy feedback, resulting in their ‘death’ on the data level. We are taking an immeasurable gamble, with our very existence at stake, and it may even affect the stability of the reality structure.”

"The stakes in this gamble are Medusa's future, the survival of the Tenth Legion, and even the fate of a wider star system."

Feralus's response was as cold and hard as vibranium, without the slightest wavering.

“Tell Kaul that I need that weapon in place and fully functional within the specified timeframe. There are no ‘ifs’ or ‘possibilities.’ Failure is a luxury we absolutely cannot afford.”

Her gaze was sharp as a knife as she turned to Hathor beside her. "And what about you? How's the 'other card' coming along? I need a definite, affirmative answer."

Hathor met her scrutinizing gaze. The air between them was still somewhat heavy due to the grudge from ten thousand years ago, but a cold consensus of cooperation based on absolute necessity had quietly formed, overriding personal likes and dislikes.

“Ready, in final standby mode.” She paused, then added, her tone almost coldly objective, “provided you can withstand Fugen’s full-force attack until that moment. His power far surpasses what it was ten thousand years ago; completely immersed in the grace of the Dark God, he is closer than ever to his distorted understanding of… ‘perfection’.”

The last word she used carried an undisguised hint of sarcasm and disgust.

(End of this chapter)