Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 146 Under the Pulse of Invernus

The approximately five million members of the Invernus Allied Forces who ultimately decided to leave with the Galloes Legion, along with their families, totaled approximately thirty million.

The disbandment process of the theater command had already begun during the rotation. The Invernus Allied Forces were originally auxiliary units temporarily organized by the theater, not belonging to any fixed regiment. After disbandment, these people were theoretically non-existent. The procedure was feasible. But procedure is one thing, whether it can be completed is another. The Imperial Executive Council and the Ministry of Military Affairs could ignore it, but the Tribunal had ample reason to intervene—Invernus showed signs of corruption. As long as Horst believed that these outflowing personnel posed a risk of contamination, he had the right to demand batch-by-batch screening, the right to demand that the Gallos side accept long-term monitoring, and the right to indefinitely suspend the entire process within the bureaucratic system on the grounds of "the need for further evaluation."

At least several billion people still live on Invernus, and the pressure of containment and quarantine has reached its limit. The departure of thirty million people slightly freed up space in the ruined hive, shortened quarantine queues, and reduced the density of survivor encampments—this was a pragmatic calculation. The three chapter commanders were aware of the population relocation plan before leaving and did not object—if this were to be reviewed later, an inquisitor would have to simultaneously face the endorsement of three founding chapters' "awareness and non-intervention." Cohen fought a tough battle on Invernus, and the corruption on Invernus has indeed been brought under control—this was a professional judgment. Horst simply chose not to exercise his authority.

Cohen stood on the observation platform at the top of the tower, looking down at the queue moving forward, and said to Cole, "He doesn't set any obstacles in the program; it's just a free-flowing process."

Cole nodded without asking any further questions. He glanced at the crowd boarding the ship below for a moment, then turned and left the observation platform.

He didn't need to call in any additional ships—the hundreds of Astragalus transport ships that had entered Invernus's low Earth orbit after the storm subsided were now idle in low Earth orbit awaiting return orders after delivering personnel and supplies. They would rendezvous with the Lucis field fleet, and all the ships could carry everyone away in one voyage. The ships of the Garros fleet carried the Legion, and the hundreds of Astragalus transport ships were full of immigrants. The Lucis field fleet was incorporated into the escort, forming a massive convoy led by the Hammer of the Divine Craftsmen. The Fireseed accompanied the convoy as its navigation and technical core, its navigation array maintaining the entire convoy's formation navigation in the warp. The journey would take several weeks.

He glanced at the lines moving forward, then turned and walked toward the shuttle.

The shuttle broke course over Invernus and headed towards Hades's stronghold. Hades was the location of the forward command post that had stabilized early in the Battle of Amigiddon, where Commissar Arek was located, and Hades's industrial facilities were still fully operational.

There were Astragalus guards on the landing pad, but no one questioned him. Cohen wore power armor underneath a crimson sage's robe, the fifth-order gear insignia on his collar gleaming coldly under the tarmac lights. His helmet hung at his waist, and his hood was not pulled up.

Arek's command center was located in an administration building. A mithril power claw rested on the edge of the table, holding a half-empty glass of cheap distilled liquor. When he saw Cohen enter, he put down the glass, tilted his head slightly in greeting, pulled another glass from under the table, filled it, and pushed it towards Cohen. The red spot of light from the mechanical prosthetic eye paused briefly on Cohen's sage's robe before moving away.

The two clinked glasses. The commissar remained silent, and Cohen didn't rush to speak either. Occasionally, cannon fire could be heard outside—but the rhythm was steady and the intervals even, indicating that the Empire was mopping up the remaining orcs.

Sister Valeria stood at the doorway but did not come in.

Cohen put down his glass and said, "The Garros Legion is about to leave. The fighting has slowed down, and we outsiders are more likely to be feared." He poured himself another glass of wine, took a sip, and said, "While the fleet still needs some time to assemble in orbit, I brought some things down with me."

"What?"

"One hundred thousand CMC-100 sets and twelve hundred CMC-300 sets." Cohen placed the cup on the table. "That's enough to equip a full-strength army. However, the 300 requires neural interface implantation to activate. My medical expert team will leave a group of people behind to train your medical team. I've kept about a hundred veterans for operational training; they'll train your troops after they've completed their surgeries."

He paused, then added, "There's also the forehead mental resistance barrier. Implanting a psionic filter module in the forehead area of ​​the skull is a separate modification surgery. It can filter low-intensity psionic pollution, preventing you from turning against the enemy when facing chaos directly. The Great Sage Enpu was produced in very small quantities in the lab, so mass production is not currently possible. I'll allocate ten thousand modules to you."

After he finished speaking, the room fell silent. Arek's hand, holding the cup, froze in mid-air. The spotlight from his prosthetic eye locked onto Cohen's face, as if he were recognizing the speaker rather than listening to a report. Valeria turned her head at the doorway, her gaze passing over Cohen's shoulder and landing on his face. There was no hostility in her gaze, but something was clear—she was reassessing him.

Cohen didn't wait for them to process it before continuing, "This is what you're most concerned about, isn't it?"

Arek placed the cup back on the table, his fingers not immediately loosening their grip on the cup. He paused for a moment before speaking: "One hundred thousand sets of armor are enough for me to establish a foothold in the war zone. I've seen the briefing on the Type 300 armor; it's comparable to half of Astartes. Twelve hundred sets—a considerable number. But these ten thousand bulwarks—" The light from his prosthetic eye shrank slightly, "They mean that everyone on the defensive line has a chance of surviving the Chaos Impact and maintaining their original position."

Cohen didn't reply. He just took a sip of his drink.

Arek was silent for a moment, then said, "One hundred thousand suits of armor, twelve hundred suits of Type 300 armor, ten thousand barrier modules, surgical training, operational training... It seems you've come to Hades. You're telling me that Hades must survive."

Cohen put down his cup: "The Greenskins threat isn't going away; they're just preparing for a bigger war."

Arek stared at him for a long time. "What do you want me to do?"

"Continue to be your political commissar. Fight your battle. Keep an eye on your supply lines, and then find those traitors working for Chaos along those lines. Traitors must be eliminated; if you find them in the toilets, drown them in the toilet bowls."

Cohen finished his drink, put down his glass, stood up, buttoned up the front of his robe, and walked towards the door.

He paused at the door but didn't turn around.

"There's one more thing."

Arek's voice came from behind: "Speak."

"The battle for Armageddon is essentially over, but the Greenskins won't give up on Armageddon just because of one defeat. They will return, with forces far exceeding what they've done this time. The next major offensive won't be a scattered, coordinated attack, but a unified, organized invasion across the entire sector. Be prepared—not just for the next battle, but for a battle far more devastating than this one. When the next war comes, I will return, but with far greater strength. What you need to do is hold firm until I arrive."

Arek didn't answer. Cohen paused for a moment in the doorway, then turned his head. Valeria stood to the side of the door, the sunlight falling on his face, her gaze carrying something she didn't say.

Cohen didn't wait for their response and walked out.

In the corridor, Valeria straightened up from the wall and followed him toward the helipad. Her chainsaw sword hung at her waist, her helmet tucked under her arm, and her steps were naturally in sync with Cohen's.

After leaving the administration building, she said, "You've never mentioned the barrier module in the battle reports."

"It's not in the battle report."

"How much production does Great Sage Enpu have?"

Cohen glanced at her: "The remaining ten thousand were given to Arek. There aren't enough left to equip a company right now. But there will be more later."

Valeria didn't press further. She simply nodded, her pace unchanged.

The two crossed the helipad. Cohen walked toward the shuttle, while Valeria stopped at the foot of the gangway, looking up at him. She said, "The Silver Shrouds' mission in Amigiddon has temporarily come to an end, and other sisters have taken over. I will be taking thirty nuns with me to Garros. Horst has authorized us to build a monastery in Garros."

Cohen paused on the gangway, glanced back at her, and said, "Once we get to Garros, have Ellis mark the grounds for you."

"Everything for the Emperor," Valeria murmured to herself.

Cohen turned and entered the shuttle, the hatch closing behind him. The engines ignited, and the shuttle detached from Hades' surface, ascending towards its orbit. Valeria stood at the edge of the tarmac, watching its tail flame gradually shrink into a point of light in the gray-yellow twilight, disappearing at the edge of the atmosphere.

Two heavy-duty elevators ascended in batches, their blue exhaust trails leaving parallel beams of light in the gray-yellow twilight, carrying in turn the General-class and Warhound-class, Marauder-class and Emperor-class ships, their trails of light gradually diminishing as they entered the orbit. The hangar doors of the Fireseed opened one by one, cold white lights silently spreading in the vacuum. The clanging of the adamantine locks engaging their bases echoed throughout the Ark along its hull. The lighting panels dimmed sequentially. The Titan Legion had completed its evacuation from the surface of Invernus, suffering no losses.

Cohen boarded the Fireseed via the docking tunnel. After finishing up the remaining tasks in the armory and audience hall, he encountered Liz in the corridor leading to the docking tunnel. She had changed out of her surgical gown and was wearing a dark gray casual dress, her hair loose and untied. There were no servants, no data panels, no equipment beside her. She stood there, like someone who had finally finished everything and didn't know where to go.

Cohen stopped.

She looked at him, her voice lower than usual as she spoke: "The entire medical station has been evacuated from Invernus."

Cohen paused for a moment, then said, "Send some people familiar with neural interfaces and mental resistance barrier surgery to Hades' hive."

Liz looked at him, said nothing, and simply nodded.

Cohen continued walking towards the docking passage. He encountered Eleanor at the corner of the passage. She was wearing a Star Speaker's grey robe, a black ribbon obscuring her eyes, the hem of the robe pressed against her calves by the circulating wind. In her hand, she clutched a sealed file box—containing the choir's itinerary confirmation and boarding number. Although she couldn't see it, she knew it indicated her destination. She faced Cohen but didn't approach.

"Captain." Her voice was low, hoarse from using psionic energy extensively over the past few weeks.

Cohen stopped.

"The choir has been re-registered. From now on, we are the official Star-Speaking Choir of the Garros Legion, and we will be stationed permanently on the Fireseed." She paused—the pause was slightly longer than expected, her blindfolded eyes lowered slightly. In her psychic perception, he stood there without a silhouette, empty. She suppressed that perception deep into her memory. "I want to tell you in person that fate has allowed you to see our signal. This is not a fluke."

Cohen looked at her without offering any pleasantries. "The Garros Legion needs men. Do your job well."

Eleanor lowered her head, her fingers tightening slightly around the file box, her knuckles turning white: "I will certainly not fail in my mission."

Cohen continued walking. As he rounded the third corner, he saw Ulf. The Invernus Allied Forces commander leaned against a bulkhead, his power armor's breastplate removed, revealing a grey undershirt. His right shoulder was bandaged, and his prosthetic left leg was exposed, the servo motor at his knee humming softly in standby mode. His transport ship, carried in the Fireseed's cargo hold, awaited further instructions.

Cohen stopped in front of him. Ulf didn't stand up straight, nor did he salute. He leaned against the railing, looked at Cohen, and remained silent for a moment before speaking: "The transport ship is about to take off. I stood on the platform at the top of the tower for a while before coming up."

Cohen did not respond.

“There are still many people down there,” Ulf said in a low voice. “They saw us leave. They stood at the entrance to the shelter, by the ruins, beneath the cracks in the domes that hadn’t completely collapsed. No one waved, no one shouted. They just watched. Old people, women, children—everyone watched.”

He paused, then pressed the bandages down again with his left hand: "I've lived in Invernus for most of my life, and I never imagined I'd leave this way."

Cohen said, "You'll be back."

Ulf looked up at him, his lips twitching slightly—not in a smile, but with the kind of expression that Invernus locals make when they confirm to each other before a battle that "we'll see each other again." Then he lowered his head, straightened up, and walked toward the gangway.

His prosthetic limbs made short, grinding noises as he walked, which gradually faded in the corridor.

Cohen returned to the Black Pearl via the docking bridge. He encountered Cole at the bridge entrance. The commander of the Garros Planetary Defense Force was standing at a porthole, watching the convoy of transport ships being dispatched on orbit. Cohen stood beside him without speaking.

Cole was silent for a moment, then said, "The orders for the Imperial Cadian Assault Force, the Mordian Iron Guard, and the 13th Penitentiary Corps to take over the defense line have been confirmed. The handover of all twenty-six defense zones on the northern front is complete."

Cohen nodded without asking further questions. He watched the exhaust plumes of the transport ships outside the porthole, offering no comment. As soon as the situation in Armageddon improved, foreign armed forces like the Garros Legion and Space Marine Chapters would be quickly redeployed from the war zone—a standard Imperial practice to prevent any side from becoming too deeply entrenched in the post-war situation.

"One hundred and twenty transport ships have been requisitioned, carrying a total of 31.53 million people. Medical supplies for the ships have been distributed," Cole said. "The mission orders for those transport ships have been signed and submitted to the theater command by the Garros Legion."

On the flank of the tower platform, Maggie stood beside a service servant's transport platform, handing the data panel to the Astragalus logistics officer who took over, and signing her name on the handover form. Her handwriting was a little messier than usual, but she finished signing. As the service servant pushed the empty platform past her, she glanced at the direction of the transport ship's exhaust plume as it rose into the air, then turned around, boarded the transfer transport ship, and didn't look back.

At the edge of the Invernusta Spire, an elderly local man squatted beside the rubble of the collapsed guardrail, watching the transport ships take off. His fingers gripped the broken railing, his knuckles white, but he didn't raise his hand. Several women in gray overalls stood at the entrance of the containment station nearby, holding half-grown children in their arms. No one waved, no one shouted. They just watched. The contrails of the transport ships rose one by one into the gray-yellow twilight, leaving trails of fading orange-red light in the smoke and dust, before gradually converging into points of light and merging into the starlight in their orbits. The figures on the ground didn't move until the contrails disappeared from sight, then someone lowered their head, turned, and walked into the half-open hatch of the containment station.

Hundreds of kilometers above in orbit, the Black Pearl's main display screen showed the course chart. The combined fleet's route extended from the Mandeville point on the outskirts of Invernus, crossed the edge of the receding subspace turbulence, and headed towards Lucis. The fleet would make a brief stop at Lucis before being split up, with the Galos fleet proceeding to Galos on its own. Navigation parameters were locked, and engine warm-up complete.

Cohen stood by the porthole on the bridge, watching the course for a moment. The Combined Fleet's identification signal shone brightly in the network of navigational aids at the edge of the system. Then he looked away from the chart and glanced at the grayish-yellow planet outside the porthole. It was shrinking from a clear sphere into an arc of light that gradually dimmed at the edge of his vision. Billions of people still lived there, and deep within their nests, some unpurged sources of psionic contamination lurked. Horst had said he would return once Invernus became interesting again.

At that moment, the Black Pearl's engines completed their warm-up, and the thrusters' exhaust flames lit steadily in the darkness. The grayish-yellow planet slowly receded from the edge of the porthole, shrinking from a complete sphere into a gradually dimming arc of light, and finally sliding completely out of the porthole's reach.

He turned his gaze back to the course chart. The Black Pearl began to turn as the lead ship, and the combined fleet followed its path. Engine output was stable, the course was locked, and the fleet spacing was confirmed—everything was ready.