Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 115 The Expedition (Part 2)

Three days. Under the dome of Gallo, this is the time for the immigrant fleet to load and unload a batch of goods, and for the machine tool production line to complete a mold change.

Three days is the time it takes a soldier to walk from his barracks to the gangway and back. But for those silent steel behemoths in the berth area, three days is merely the time for engine warm-up, navigation calibration, and the final round of self-checks—waiting to be awakened.

On the morning of the third day, Marcus was already waiting in front of the tactical console on the bridge of the Black Pearl.

"The entire ship is ready. The course has been entered into the navigation system," Marcus said.

Cohen sat down in the commander's seat.

"set sail."

The thrusters ignited, and the Black Pearl slid out of its berth. The Truth, Intrepid, and Glory followed in succession. Ten Cobras spread out on the flanks, and four Odysseus-class ships lined up in a column behind. The Fireseed slid into the rear of the formation from the outer edge of the orbit, its twenty-kilometer-long steel hull obscuring half the starry sky behind it.

The fleet headed toward Mandeville. Sera counted down in the navigation cabin, the light from her third eye flickering through the gaps in the metal disc on her forehead. The porthole armor panels descended in stages, and the hum of the Geller force field surged up from deep within the hull.

The ship shuddered. Purple chaos surged into the boundary of the void shield.

Sierra's voice came from the navigation module, calm and steady: "Geller position stable. Subspace engine output normal. Starbeam signal locked."

Cohen leaned back in his commander's seat. Instead of going to the bridge, he rose and walked into the private workshop, the hatch closing behind him.

He sat down by the porthole, and the field unfolded. A spherical perception with a radius of twenty-five meters extended outwards. Chaotic matter in the subspace flowed into the field like water flowing downhill, being decomposed, stripped away, and transformed into atomic clouds stored in the warehouse. The subspace matter concentration around the ship continued to decrease, and the pressure reading of the Geller Field remained steadily in the green range. The Black Pearl's route left a relatively thin and clean passage—a safe path cleared for the fleet behind.

The voyage was uneventful.

Weeks later, the Black Pearl disembarked from Mandeville, and the glow of Lucius shone through the portholes.

The spaceport's guide lights formed a sea of ​​light. The number of ships in the berth area was several times greater than when they left last time. The main force of the Lucis Field Fleet's First Task Force had completed its assembly at the outer edge of the berth area—one Retribution-class battleship, two Mars-class large cruisers, six Dominator-class capital cruisers, ten Unyielding-class light cruisers, twenty Cobra-class destroyers, and three logistics support ships. The troop transports of the First Expeditionary Group of the Holy See stood ready on the outer tracks, their indicator lights forming a continuous ray of light in the darkness.

The six Dominator-class destroyers were reportedly part of a special squadron tasked with "raiding" or "targeted elimination" missions, and were described as having formidable firepower.

Cohen stood at the porthole, looking at the lights of the fleet.

Deeper into the berth area, the outlines of more than a dozen massive transport ships—Galaxy-class troop transports—were also moored. These behemoths were among the oldest interstellar troop transports in the Imperium, designed specifically for deploying Astragalactic legions across star systems. Each Galaxy-class was equipped with an independent subspace engine, but its speed was relatively slow, requiring it to sail in unison under the cover of a fleet.

These legions came from dozens of worlds across several star sectors surrounding Lucis. Based on its assessment of the situation at Armageddon, the Military Affairs Department issued a mobilization order weeks in advance, requiring each world to send strategic reserves to Lucis. To assemble sufficient forces in the shortest possible time, strategic reserves across the entire region were centrally deployed—some from the mechanics and chemical engineers of the Foundry world, some from the light infantry of the Agricultural world, and some from the armored legions of the Industrial Hive. They had already assembled at their respective bases and were traveling by troop transport ships to converge on Lucis.

At this moment, only the last batch of ships to arrive were anchored in the berth area. Their hulls were painted with emblems from different worlds: gears from the casting world, industrial symbols from the hive world, and grain emblems from the agricultural world. The hatches were already open, and crates of supplies were being transferred to the various capital ships via transport ships. The troop transport ships that had arrived earlier had been waiting on track for several days, their crews resting and their equipment being inspected, awaiting the completion of the combined fleet's formation.

The Astral Army is organized in units of "regiments," but the size of a regiment varies depending on the military traditions of the recruiting world. This time, most of the recruits are professional regiments that have long been stationed on the frontiers or participated in suppressing rebellions. Each regiment has tens of thousands of soldiers, fully equipped and trained, and have completed their training at their respective bases. Each Galactic-class transport ship is capable of carrying a regiment of tens of thousands of soldiers and all their equipment. With nearly a million members in the Astral Army, over a million in the Astral Army, and the 600,000 elite troops of the Galos Planetary Defense Force, the combined fleet's ground forces approach three million.

The Black Pearl slid into its designated berth. The airlock opened, and a rush of dry air, carrying the distinctive rusty smell of the Forge World, filled the Lucis Spaceport.

As Cohen descended the gangway, a man in a dark blue general's uniform was already waiting on the berth platform. He wore the Imperial Navy's double-headed eagle insignia on his chest, had a mechanical prosthetic eye in his left eye, and a worn energy weapon burn mark running from his jawbone to his right cheek.

"Sage Cohen Severus." His voice wasn't loud, but every word carried an undeniable composure. "I am von Hoffmann, Commander of the Lucis Field Fleet. By the resolution of the Lucis Sage Council, I have been granted battlefield command of the Combined Fleet, and am fully responsible for the tactical coordination of this expedition. My headquarters is located on the Retribution-class."

Cohen nodded.

Von Hoffmann's gaze passed over him, landing on the Black Pearl's weathered armor. "Gothic-class—leader?" There was no sarcasm in his tone, but the question was already on his lips. "Several cruiser captains have questions about your ship. Not questioning the resolution, but purely a technical discussion—the Gothic-class's light lance array consumes a lot of energy, and its engine output is in the lower-middle range among ships of its class, making it unsuitable as a lead ship."

Cohen didn't answer immediately. "What do they want to see?"

Von Hoffmann's prosthetic eye narrowed slightly. "The simplest way—make your ship run a lap at normal speed."

Cohen turned to Marcus and said, "Notify the engine room. Normal speed, full power. Run one lap around the track outside the berth area."

Von Hoffmann's lips twitched. He spoke a few words into the communicator. A few minutes later, the berth's guide lights adjusted the course. Tugboats towed the Black Pearl from the berth, and the ship turned onto the outer track.

The Black Pearl's thrusters ignited, its exhaust trailing a blue streak across the starry sky. The ship accelerated.

Cohen stood on the bridge, watching the speedometer climb steadily. The Black Pearl wasn't a light lance specialized ship; it was a hybrid of macro cannons and light lances. Its engines had undergone years of continuous upgrades—from the power conduit lattice reconstruction during the Lucis era to the reactor energy allocation logic optimization during the Garros era—leaving the ship with only its exterior resembling the Gothic class. At full power, the Black Pearl's speed far exceeded the Gothic class standard, the speedometer readings climbing to a level that silenced other captains of its class.

Von Hoffmann's communications channel remained on; he didn't speak, but Cohen could hear someone whispering numbers on the other end. The Black Pearl traced an arc along its course, skimming the edge of the fleet's berth area before slowing down and returning to port. The entire journey took less than twenty minutes.

As the Black Pearl slid back into its berth, a series of short binary pulses came through von Hoffmann's communications channel.

It wasn't a question, it was confirmation. The sensor data didn't lie—the Black Pearl's normal speed was twice the standard for the Gothic class. The doubts vanished. What truly convinced von Hoffmann to make the final decision was the Black Pearl's exceptional performance in subspace. Its logbook showed it repeatedly maintained stability in small-scale subspace turbulence; its ship spirit's perception of chaotic disturbances far surpassed that of ordinary vessels. In the face of the storm engulfing Armageddon, a stable lead ship was more valuable than a fast one.

Von Hoffmann pulled a data panel from his pocket and glanced at it. "That's the end of the dispute. A war council will be held this afternoon, attended by all captains. The fleet will depart first thing tomorrow morning."

Cohen nodded.

He turned and looked into the depths of the berth area, his gaze sweeping over the silhouettes of those massive ships. In the berth area for capital cruisers, a familiar hull came into view: the Dominator-class's rugged armored bow, with clearly visible weld marks on the sides.

The Ironwall. Eisenhorn's ship.

Cohen didn't go over, nor did he make any communications. He simply watched for a few more seconds. Some old acquaintances don't need pleasantries; seeing the other's ship still there means they're still alive. They parted ways at the Wandering Harbor, each going their own separate paths, and now they've reunited in the same fleet. That's enough.

Boarding continued in the afternoon.

The Temple of Lucis sent another group. A core force, led by a technical priest, crossed the jet bridge and boarded the Fireseed. Behind them followed a large transport ship, its cargo holds stacked with enormous, adamantite-reinforced transport containers. Each container was large enough to hold an armored vehicle; the sealed flanges and pressure-regulating devices indicated that it contained sophisticated, high-precision equipment.

Heavy equipment that could not be shaken. The cargo hold doors of the transport ship opened, and service servitors filed out, carrying the heavy containers one by one into the hangar of the Fireseed. Several heavy-duty transport servitors were brought in, their hydraulic arms lifting the largest container and slowly moving it into the depths of the Ark under the guidance of a beam of light.

Cohen stood at the edge of the hangar, watching the containers being opened one by one.

The box didn't contain weapons or ammunition. It contained components missing from the Emperor-class Titan. The weapon interface base...

The core coil of the Void Shield generator, the spare modules of the cockpit neural connection array. Each one is enormous, some requiring several mechs to transport. Spare parts for the Astronomical Legion, accumulated by Lucis over hundreds, even thousands of years.

The technical priest approached Cohen and performed the gear salute. His robes were embroidered with the emblem of the Lucis Temple, and he wore a fourth-order gear badge on his chest.

"Sage, the Lucis Temple has decided to transfer these components to the Garros Titan Legion free of charge." His voice was calm, without any pleasantries. "The Astronomical Legion has several spare sets in its inventory, and these components will not affect Lucis's military capabilities. However, once the core components of the Fireseed's Emperor-class Titans are replenished, they will possess full combat capability. Lucis believes that a complete Titan Legion is more valuable than a set of spare parts."

Cohen remained silent. He watched the adamantite components gleam coldly under the hangar lights. Lucius had gone all out. Unconditional transfer—these four words were extremely rare in the psychic guild's dictionary.

The tech priest continued, his tone flat: "For the steely will of Om Messiah."

Cohen glanced at him, then nodded. "Garos will always remember Lucius's friendship."

The Technician didn't press Garros on how he intended to repay him. He'd seen too many deals at the negotiating table in the Temple of Lucius; some things didn't need to be written down. Lucius was betting now, and Garros would have to pay up in the future.

In the corridor, Cohen suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, as if he were talking to himself.

"Gallos's Titan Legion—one day it will expand to the size of an Imperial first-class legion. Perhaps even larger."

Marcus followed behind him, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye expanding and contracting slightly, but he didn't reply. It wasn't that he didn't hear him; rather, he heard him, which is why he remained silent.

Cohen said nothing more and continued walking toward the foundry hall.

The operational meeting was held in a conference hall outside the temple. The vast space could accommodate hundreds of people, with captains and commanders seated on both sides of the long table. The captains of the First Task Force of the Lucis Field Fleet sat on the left, and the captains of the Garros Fleet sat on the right—Marcus, Edric, Vera, and Hawke.

Cohen's seat was on the side of the Garros fleet. As he sat down, a familiar figure opposite him slightly turned his head and nodded at him. Eisenhorn. A fourth-tier technical priest, captain of the Ironwall, his left eye's red optical lens remained unchanged. He zoomed in and out for a moment, then turned back to continue watching the holographic projection platform.

Cohen didn't say much, he just nodded slightly.

Von Hoffmann stood in the main seat. On the holographic projection platform, Armageddon's star map slowly rotated, marking the direction of the Orks' invasion, the deployment of the Imperial defenses, and the boundaries of the warp storm.

"The subspace storm hasn't subsided. The Imperial Navy's reinforcement fleet is still lingering on the storm's periphery," von Hoffmann's voice was calm. "According to reconnaissance reports, there's a brief period of stability at the storm's edge—this is our window of opportunity. But we need a ship to guide us through this window."

He paused for a moment, his gaze falling on Cohen.

"The flagship Black Pearl".

He withdrew his gaze and swept it across the faces on either side of the long table. No one raised an objection. The speed test data from the Black Pearl had already been transmitted to the tactical terminals of every ship; the numbers spoke for themselves.

"The Combined Fleet—nearly a hundred ships and three million ground troops. The Lucis Field Fleet's First Task Force is the striking fist, the Astronautical Transport Fleet is the landing hammer, and the Garros Titan Legion is the decisive blade."

, 7

He turned around and touched the outline of the Fireseed on the holographic projection table with his finger.

"The Fireseed. It's not just a delivery platform for Titans and Knights. It's the mobile industrial heart of the Combined Fleet—the ammunition production line, the weapons repair workshop, the spare parts casting bay. As long as the Fireseed doesn't sink, our guns won't stop, our tanks can be repaired, and our Titans can stand up again. It's our only reason to fight a protracted war."

His gaze lifted from the holographic stage and swept across the entire room.

"Therefore, the Fireseed was positioned at the rear center of the formation, protected by layers of capital ships."

The Lucis captains on the left exchanged a glance. Eisenhorn's optics shone steadily.

After the meeting, Cohen walked back to the Black Pearl alone. He stood at the gangway for a while, watching the lights of the ships in the berth area. The silhouette of the Fireseed obscured half the starry sky, and von Hoffmann's command headquarters was already fully operational deep within the bridge of the Retribution-class ships.

The next morning, the guide lights in the berth area lit up one by one. The combined fleet began its departure from port.

The massive hull of the Fireseed slid out of its outer track first, the twenty-kilometer-long steel behemoth slowly turning under the guidance of the beam of light. The Black Pearl slid out of its berth, following alongside the Fireseed. The Truth, Dauntless, and Glory followed closely behind, ten Cobras spread out on its flanks, and four Odysseus-class battleships lined up in a column behind. The battleships of the Lucis Field Fleet's First Task Force spread out on either side of the Fireseed, large cruisers and capital cruisers layered upon each other, while light cruisers and destroyers patrolled the outer perimeter. Further out in the airspace beyond the fleet's perimeter, three watchtowers painted with silver rose crests silently glided past—warships of the Silver Shroud Order, who would maintain a certain distance from the fleet and independently carry out psionic surveillance missions.

In the formation of capital cruisers, HMS Ironwall slowly slid out of its berth, the silhouette of the Dominator-class fleetingly appearing in the Black Pearl's view. Its turrets were already calibrated, and the Nova Gun's standby lights on the bow glowed a dark red.

Last to depart were the dozen or so Galaxy-class troop transports. Each was equipped with an independent warp engine, but their speed was relatively slow, requiring them to sail in unison under fleet cover. Their hulls turned slowly and clumsily, pulling out of their berths with the aid of tugboats, like a group of awakened whales. Identification lights flashed on the bridges, and the Astragallian Army's corps insignia were faintly discernible in the lights: gears of the Forging World, industrial symbols of the Hive World, and grain emblems of the Agricultural World. Over a million elite Astragallian Army soldiers, along with their tanks, artillery, and armored vehicles, were secured in the cargo holds of those giant ships.

Cohen stood on the bridge of the Black Pearl. On the holographic projection platform, nearly a hundred points of light were arranged in a loose formation on the star map.

The fleet sailed out of the berth area and, guided by the beam of light, completed its formation along the outer edge of the Lucis. The Black Pearl led the way, with the Fireseed in the center of the formation, and the battleships spread out on either side of it.

Von Hoffmann's voice came through the communications channel, steady and clear: "Joint Fleet, all ships. Set sail. Destination: Armageddon. Black Pearl, lead; the rest follow. Proceed through the designated windows."

Cohen pressed the communication button. "Black Pearl received."

The Black Pearl was the first to head towards Mandeville. The fleet spread out behind it, the exhaust plumes of nearly a hundred ships forming a magnificent sea of ​​light in the starry sky.

The ship shuddered, and purple chaos surged into the boundary of the void shield. Sera's voice came from the navigation cockpit: "Geller's position is stable—The Black Pearl has entered warp space."

The echoes of the communication channel still lingered as von Hoffmann's voice remained calm: "Joint Fleet, follow the lead ship's path and proceed in sequence."

Behind them, the massive hull of the Fireseed slowly passed Mandeville Point, its hull disappearing into the chaotic rifts; battleships,

Cruisers, destroyers, transport ships—one after another, their exhaust plumes extinguished in the darkness as they filed into the purple abyss of the subspace. Nearly a hundred ships stretched a long trail through the thin passage opened by the Black Pearl.

Cohen leaned back in his commander's seat, his right hand resting on the armrest. Outside the porthole, a purple chaos churned through the gaps in the armor plating. The Combined Fleet sailed in formation behind him, smoothly navigating into deep space along the path opened up by the Black Pearl.

Eisenhorn's Ironwall also moved silently forward in this torrent of steel, within the ranks of the capital cruisers. From Wandering Harbor to Garros, from Garros to Lucis, from Lucis to Amegiddon—some drifted apart, some returned.

Cohen looked away and closed his eyes.

Amegidon is burning. The Allied Fleet is heading to that scorched earth. The Garros Titan Legion will lead the way.

On a rearguard ship, Sister Valeria stood at the porthole of the bridge, watching the trailing embers gradually being swallowed by the warp. Behind her, the silver rose emblem of the Silver Shrouds gleamed dimly under the emergency lights on the bulkhead. She didn't speak; the Silver Shrouds' sisters always expressed themselves through actions, not words. She simply placed her palm on the I-shaped amulet on her chest, her lips moving silently—a prayer for the fleet, and a preparation for the impending war.

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