Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 110 Star Language and Summoning 940.M41

The Galos Star Relay Station stands on the east side of the spaceport, its hexagonal tower piercing through the dome and extending into the void.

It was an ordinary late night. The psionic focusing antenna array at the top of the tower silently pointed into deep space under the starlight, while the dark gold runes of the hexagram protective array pulsated slowly on the inner wall of the tower, like the low-frequency heartbeat of a sleeping heart. The seven psionic focusing bases were arranged in a hexagram in the main control room—the lead singer in the center, with six backup singers on either side.

Lead Singer Morlock sat on the central pedestal, his grey robes billowing against the back of his chair in the circulating wind. He was the most senior of the Astrologers recruited by Cohen from the Lucis Astrologian Court, having served for decades at the Terra Astrologian Court headquarters before being transferred to the Frontier Sector due to health reasons. His eyes had been burned during the soul-binding ritual, the empty sockets covered by a black ribbon embroidered with the Astrologian Court emblem, appearing particularly deep-set in the dim light of the psionic focusing pedestal. His psionic level was Zeta-class I, signifying exceptionally strong psionic talent; he was the only one at the entire Garros Astrologian Relay Station to reach this level. Hera Voss, though an Astrologer from the Black Pearl, had experienced a decline in her abilities during a psionic overload incident, placing her on a completely different level from this veteran lead singer.

10:40 PM. Morlock's eyes were closed—his long-defunct eyes trembled slightly beneath his eyelids, but the loss of sight had no effect on him. Since the soul-binding ritual, his perception had been completely taken over by psionic signals; what he saw was not before him, but deep within the warp. A band of light suddenly exploded in the sea of ​​chaos. Not fragments, not echoes, but a complete, high-energy astronomical broadcast bearing the psionic imprint of the Lucis-forged world.

Morlock's lips moved slightly, the sound faint, but all six backing vocalists simultaneously heard the brief command transmitted through the psionic link. His hand touched the communication panel, and his dry lips parted again.

"Captain. Lucis full-band interstellar broadcast, intensity S-level. Summoning order from the High Council of the Temple."

When Cohen received the message in his private workshop on the Black Pearl, he was calibrating the parameters of a batch of mental barrier modules.

He put down the data panel without asking about the content. This message wasn't forwarded by the Black Pearl's onboard astro-speakers, but rather directly pushed to the Black Pearl's communication array via the astro-speaking relay station's bus.

"content."

Morlock transmitted the decoded text: "Lucis Forging World, Council of Sages, Large-Scale Astral Summoning Order."

All Lucis sages, whether directly subordinate or subordinate, whether technical priests or knights-chosen, even those on the edge of the frontier sector, must return to Lucis within two months of receipt to attend the High Priest Council of the Temple. The psionic imprint carries the certification mark of the Forging Master and a High Gothic inscription embedded in the psionic resonance: The Iron Will of the Om Messiah must be upheld.

Cohen's fingers paused on the armrest for a moment.

Then a second interstellar broadcast flooded the relay station's receiving array. This one had a much lower level of psionic encryption, falling into the category of public broadcast. The Lucis Forging World announced: Enp Shakra, the Mechanical Archsage of the Punoris Forging World, has been confirmed alive, his consciousness backup. The Forging Ark and the Titan Legion have returned to the Imperium. Mars welcomes the loyal Punoris lineage back to the Imperium, back to the embrace of the Om Messiah. The ritual procedures are being negotiated and will be announced soon. From the date of receipt of this announcement, all friendly Imperial units are prohibited from taking any hostile actions against the Punoris lineage and its forces.

Morlock continued reporting: "There's a third broadcast, medium level of psionic encryption, clearly targeted, addressed to the Garros Dominion." He paused, then pushed the decoded text over.

Lucis's order to the Galos Dominion: Effective immediately, the Titan Legion belonging to the Galos Dominion...

The Ark, the Garros fleet, and its legions were forged and placed on high alert.

Morlock added: "The first S-level encryption is for all sages and military units under the Lucis system."

The second is a public broadcast. The third is directed to Garros.

Cohen didn't reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair, gazing at the cold white light emanating from the workshop's dome. Lucius had summoned all the sages to a meeting and simultaneously revealed Enp's existence—meaning that the Martian censorship process had at least completed its first phase. Not that purification was complete, but rather a "welcome back." The ritual was underway and would be announced soon. He understood.

"Continue listening. Report any new information immediately."

"Yes, Captain."

The communication channel fell silent. Morlock leaned back in his chair on the lead singer's platform, his empty eye sockets concealed by a black ribbon, his grey robes motionless in the dim light of the psionic focusing array. The six backing singers remained silent; only the low-frequency hum of the cooling pumps and the faint electrical hum of the psionic focusing array filled the control room.

The summons was relayed through the administrative network of Garros by the morning of the following day, reaching every dome. The Governor's Office's announcement was concise: all mid- to high-ranking personnel, including civilian officials, staff of the Defense Forces Command, captains and first officers of capital ships, were to assemble at 1 p.m. the following day in the Governor's Office's main reception room. Except for the HMS Valiant and its captain, Phyllis, who were on a long-distance trade voyage, all other personnel were required to attend.

The following afternoon, in the Grand Hall of the Governor's Mansion, hundreds of people packed the hall to capacity. The long table was filled with people on both sides, and no cups or saucers were placed on the dark hardwood table; only the cauldron at the foot of the imperial statue burned with frankincense, its smoke rising slowly beneath the dome.

Marcus sat in the first seat to Cohen's left, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye fixed at a normal focus. Kara sat beside him, power armor on her body, helmet tucked under her arm, her face expressionless. She was also one of the first elites to complete the neural interface surgery and CMC-300E power armor conversion; her modifications were deliberately concealed—the back of her head interface was covered by her hair, the spinal interface by her collar, and the mental barrier module on her forehead was covered with artificial skin. Without close inspection, she was indistinguishable from an ordinary person.

Ellis sat calmly in his administrator's seat, a data panel clutched in his hand. Cole sat at the head of the defense officers' seats, his back ramrod straight. The captains of the capital ships lined up on either side of the long table, with the first officers and vice-captains standing behind their respective captains, crowding the corridor.

Rellano sat at the end of the row of defense officers. He wore a dark gray combat uniform, without power armor. His face was stern, and his light gray eyes appeared particularly sharp in the smoke of frankincense. Most striking was his forehead, from his hairline to above his brow bone, where a single titanium alloy plate replaced his original skin. The unpainted metal surface gleamed with a cold gray sheen. A fine surgical suture mark marked the junction of the plate and skin, running from his left temple to his right. It was a trace of his latest modification; after the implantation of the mental barrier module, his forehead plate had been completely replaced, and he had chosen not to cover it with artificial skin. A veteran of millennia did not need flesh and blood to conceal steel. Passing officers and captains nodded slightly to him, and he returned the nod, his light gray eyes as calm as ever.

The noise in the reception room vanished almost instantly as Cohen rose from his seat. Hundreds of beams of light converged upon him. He wore a deep red fifth-order sage's robe, the hood undone, and his face remained expressionless.

"I've gathered you all here today to announce a few things." His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in every row of the large living room could hear him clearly. Those standing in the back rows tiptoed, while the captains sitting on either side of the long table leaned forward slightly.

"First thing. Everything you see in Garros—the dome, the underground industrial center, the Wangshu Forge World, the Black Pearl and the Truth—these precision-engineered ships didn't appear out of thin air." He paused. "The construction of Garros is inseparable from the legacy of a Forge World: Punolith. A Forge World from the Great Crusade era, destroyed by Chaos during the Horus Rebellion. Its Forge Ark, carrying a backup of its consciousness and the Titan Legion, fled into the warp and remained lost for millennia. Several years ago, the Ark returned to the real universe and docked at Wangshu. The backup of the consciousness of the Enpu Shakra Mechanic Archsage Punolith—has returned."

A moment of silence fell over the reception room. Hundreds of people held their breath simultaneously, leaving a brief vacuum. Marcus didn't move, Kara didn't move, and Vera Nazari sat in the captain's seat, her lips twitching slightly—they already knew.

But the others weren't. Ellis's fingers tightened around the data pad. Cole lowered his arms, which had been crossed over his chest. The captains of the capital ships exchanged glances. The first officers peeked out from the back. Rellano didn't move. His light gray eyes were fixed on Cole.

A first officer in his forties, who had been transferred from the Black Pearl to the Dreadnought, and had spent more than a decade in the Lucis Naval Office, muttered, "So those ships—" and then fell silent.

Cohen didn't give them time to ask further questions. "The second thing. Sage Enpu has been recognized by Mars. Mars welcomes the descendants of Punoris back to the Empire, back to the Om Messiah. The ritual is being agreed upon. From today onwards, the existence of the Garros Titan Legion and Sage Enpu can be made public."

The words "Titan Legion" landed in the living room like a molten bomb exploding on the terrazzo floor.

This time, the silence didn't last. "The Titan Legion?" A young logistics officer poked his head out from the back row, his voice barely audible. "The Governor means—Gallos has Titans?" "Warrior-class, Raider-class, Warhound-class, a complete strike group." Cohen's tone was flat. "Nearly a hundred Knight Mechs. All in the Ark."

The drawing room erupted. It wasn't a commotion, but a series of barely suppressed, low gasps of surprise, forced from the depths of their throats. Ellis's eyes widened, his mouth opened, but he said nothing. Cole's hands gripped the armrests of his chair tightly. The captains of the capital ships couldn't sit still. Some sat up straight, some turned to look at Marcus, some stared at Cohen's lips as if to confirm they hadn't misheard. Whispers from the first officers surged up from the back rows, flooding the entire drawing room like a tidal wave. Hundreds of eyes converged on Cohen's face, eyes filled not with surprise, but with awe, with fervor, with a sudden realization of "I see."

So that's how Garros's precision-engineered ships came to be. So that's where those armor and firepower, far exceeding Imperial standards, came from. So that's where the domes that have risen from the wasteland and the fleets on orbit have been built over the years, backed by the entire legacy of a world-building organization.

Rellano remained unmoved. The Titan Legion was nothing unusual to him; it was only natural for a Mechanicus sage who had rescued him from the Omnipotent Iron Coffin to then rescue another Mechanicus archsage and inherit his legacy—all manifestations of the Emperor's will.

Marcus's voice broke in from the side, not loud, but each word steady. "Building the Ark requires a captain. Edric, the first mate of the Black Pearl, is up to the task." He paused. "He's been with me for many years, has solid seafaring experience, and is skilled in boarding and anti-boarding tactics."

Cohen nodded, as if he had expected Marcus to bring up the name. He turned to the captains on either side of the long table. "The captains of the Forging Ark are only responsible for fleet battles and anti-boarding operations. Onboard production facilities are not within the captains' purview." No one raised any objections.

"The third thing. The Titan Legion." Cohen's hand slammed on the table. "Lucis will send maintenance, upkeep, and piloting teams to Garros. What does Garros need to do? The civilian team will select technical backbone personnel, with priority given to young, experienced apprentices. They'll learn from Lucis's people, so we can pilot Titans ourselves in the future. Garros can handle maintenance and upkeep on its own; piloting is the key." Ellis noted this on the data panel.

Rellano spoke. His voice was deep, hoarse from millennia of wear, but every word was like a nail driven into the air. "Piloting a Titan isn't a technical matter. The Titan's soul chooses the pilot. When Lucis's team arrived, the first thing they did wasn't teach how to press buttons, but to bring the candidates before the Titan and let the Titan choose for itself." All eyes in the reception room turned to him. His forehead, covered by titanium alloy plates, appeared particularly hard under the light. No one questioned him. Cohen glanced at him and nodded.

"The fourth thing. Preparedness." Cohen's gaze swept across the hundreds of faces on either side of the long table. "Some of you may have already guessed. The reorganization of the Garros fleet, the establishment of the psionic support legion, and the installation of more than half of the Void Shield arrays are not just for show. You've all seen the reports of Greenskin activity in the Amegiddon direction, the military department's notifications, and the fleet's encounters on the route. The Empire needs Titans on only one battlefield." He paused. "The Garros Titan legion will be sent to Amegiddon. Not possibly, definitely."

Cohen removed the adamantite servo skull from the inside of his robe and placed it on the table. The optical lens lit up with a dark red light, and a holographic projection appeared above the long table, displaying a star map centered on Amegidon, marking the strategic passages, forging worlds, and hive worlds on the northeastern frontier of the Solar System. The star map slowly rotated in a cold white halo.

"Armageddon," Cohen pointed to the planet marked with a red warning symbol, "is the industrial hub of the Solar System, the strategic passage for the Empire on its northeastern frontier, and the lifeline for the Forge World and the Hive World. Cut it off, and half the system's supply lines will be severed." He paused, raising his voice. "Therefore, I predict that this war is not a border conflict, not a Greenskin raid. This is an apocalyptic war affecting multiple star sectors, mobilizing hundreds of millions of Imperial troops, and costing millions at a time."

Marcus's right mechanical eye's blue halo shrank slightly. Kara lowered her arm. Ellis and Cole's expressions both darkened. Rellano remained silent. He stared at the red-marked planet on the star map, his fingers tapping lightly on his knee—a subconscious gesture of a millennium-old veteran during battlefield simulations.

"If something happens to Amegidodon," Marcus began, his voice low, "according to this calculation, the most troublesome thing is probably not just Amegidodon itself, but also the Metallica Forging World. It is located in the Extreme Starfield, but happens to be the largest Forging World close to Amegidodon. Metallica has its own Titan Legion, and it will definitely provide full support to Amegidodon."

"The Lucis Forging World is too far away, and its current strength is insufficient to provide direct support. The only Titan Legion is Lucis's greatest asset, but it needs to be stationed on Lucis's homeland. Therefore, Lucis's support can only be symbolic and political." He looked at Cohen.

Cohen continued, "And the Titan Legion of Garros perfectly echoes this symbolism and political significance."

A moment of silence fell over the reception room. Hundreds of eyes swept back and forth between Cohen and Marcus.

He turned to Vera Nazari. "Vera. You are in charge of the integration and mobilization of the Garros Legion. The Black Pearl, Truth, Dauntless, and Glory, ten Cobras, and four Odysseus-class destroyers are all under your temporary command." Vera stood up from her chair, her right fist pressed against her left chest. "Yes."

"Ellis. Keep a close eye on the Void Shield Array. The main structures of the ten generators are more than half installed, and force field calibration is underway. The progress cannot be halted while I'm away." Ellis nodded and quickly jotted down notes on the data panel.

"Cole. The defense force's readiness level has been raised to level two. Inventory all ammunition depots, fuel depots, and medical supplies."

"Reassign funds promptly if necessary." "Yes." Cole lowered his arm, his voice steady.

Cohen's gaze swept across the room, finally settling on Relano's face. His millennia-long slumber in the iron coffin gave him a clearer understanding than anyone what kind of person could stand before a divine machine. Titan pilots didn't need skill, but unwavering willpower. He had guarded the darkness for ten thousand years; he understood this better than anyone. "Relano. Oversee the neural interface calibration and mental barrier module debugging for the combatants. You're in charge of the first round of screening for Titan pilot candidate apprentices."

Rellano stood up. Even outside his power armor, he was still half a head taller than everyone else, and the titanium alloy plate on his forehead gleamed with a cold gray metallic luster under the light. "Yes." Just one word.

Cohen nodded. "I'm going to Lucis. When I return, it will be time to set out for war."

People in the reception room gradually rose. The captains, accompanied by their first officers, headed for the door, while the officers left with Cole and Kara. The footsteps of hundreds echoed down the corridor, fading into the distance.

Ellis didn't leave immediately. He stood by the long table, clutching the data tablet, his brow furrowed.

"Governor, there's something I need to clarify." His voice wasn't loud, but his tone was serious. "What exactly is the relationship between Garros and Pronoris? Is it inheritance, trusteeship, or cooperation?"

Cohen glanced at him. That was a good question, and a very timely one.

“None of those,” he said. “Punolith no longer exists. Its planet was pulled into the warp by chaos, and its people died ten thousand years ago. Only three things remain: an ark, a backup of consciousness, and a Titan legion. These things have drifted for ten thousand years and are now at our port.”

He looked at Ellis and slowed his tone.

"Gallos is not Pronoris. We built Gallos from scratch. The Great Sage Enpu chose Gallos as the new home of his legacy, as the final anchor for the name Pronoris. The Ark is his, the Titans are his, but Gallos is ours. He lent us the technology, and we gave him a reason to continue existing. This is not inheritance, it is symbiosis."

Rellano walked last. He paused as he passed the Imperial Statue, looking up at the adamantite statue. The flames of the cauldron danced on the titanium plating on his forehead. He didn't pray, but stood there for a few seconds before turning and walking down the corridor.

Cohen stood alone before the Imperial Statue. The frankincense in the censer was still burning, its smoke rising slowly beneath the dome. The adamantine Imperial Statue gleamed dimly in the cold white light, its eyes, cast to gaze ahead, seemed to come alive in the flickering candlelight. He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked toward the bridge.

As the Black Pearl slid out of its berth, the spaceport's guide lights formed cold, white chains in the twilight. Vera stood on the bridge of the Aletheia, watching through the porthole as the weathered Gothic-class cruiser slowly turned, its thruster exhaust trailing a thin blue streak in the vacuum. Behind her, the Dauntless, the Glory, and the Ten Cobras lay silently docked in the main berth area.

The four Odysseus-class ships adjusted their attitude on the outermost orbit.

The Black Pearl's bridge. Marcus stood in the tactical officer's position, hands behind his back. Cohen sat in the commander's seat, right hand resting on the armrest; a star symbol on the holographic projector indicated the coordinates of Lucis. On the communications panel, Hera Voss's channel indicator flashed.

"Captain, the interstellar communication array is ready. Subspace communication environment is silent." "Roger that."

Cohen pressed the ship's broadcast button. "All departments, approaching Mandeville point. Subspace engines warming up, all personnel in position. Porthole armored covers closed." The corridor lighting switched to emergency mode. The porthole armored covers slid down one by one, the heavy adamantite armor plates slowly sliding across the bulletproof glass under the drive of hydraulic pushers, making a dull thud.

Sierra's voice came from the navigation module, steady and normal. "Geller position stable. Starlight signal locked. Subspace engine preheating complete. Start-up."

The ship shuddered violently. A rift was torn in the physical laws of the real universe, and purple chaos surged in from the crack, while the Geller Force formed a fragile bubble around the hull. The porthole armored covers were tightly shut, and only the faint light from the instrument panels and indicator lights remained in the bridge.

Cohen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. In the higher dimensions, the star chart of Amegiddon was marked with a red warning sign, Enp's forging hall operated silently deep within Wangshu, and the Titan legion waited in the Ark hangar.

The Black Pearl leaped into the warp, heading towards Lucis. The flames of war had already been lit on the horizon of Amegiddon.

The iron will of Om Messiah needs to be upheld.

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