Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 166 Trap

The Black Pearl has been moored in a side berth of the outer dock of White Scar for a month.

The light from the star Chogris slanted in through the portholes, falling on the metal floor of the bridge, a shade darker than the star of Garros, with a faint orange-red tinge at the edges. The dock's skeleton extended beyond the window frames, its adamantite supports appearing silent and ancient against the vacuum backdrop. In the distance, the wreckage of the Torture-class cruiser lay anchored beyond two berths, the blue trails of its probes moving slowly along its sides like a swarm of glowing beetles clinging to the carcass of a colossal beast.

Cohen stood at the porthole on the bridge, watching the afterglow for a while. The team of Tech-Priests had been working inside the Dark Eldar ship for weeks, peeling away layers of armor, extracting functional modules from cable trenches and pipe ducts, recording Eldar communication protocol data streams into portable Thinker arrays, and then sealing and marking them. Progress was on schedule, and the first phase of dismantling could be completed in a few weeks.

The communication panel behind him lit up. Marcus's voice came from the direction of the tactical console, steady, but with a slight rise in pitch at the end—a subtle difference that only those who had worked with him for many years could hear.

"Captain. Garros interstellar communication. Highest priority encoding, send directly to the Black Pearl."

Cohen turned around. Marcus stood behind the tactical console, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye glowing steadily, his gaze fixed on the decoding screen of the communications panel. He read the decoded text aloud, his pace even, as if reading a routine report: "To Cohen Severus, Director of Casting at Garros: Sebastian Arrek, Political Commissar of the Armageddon War Zone, arrived in Garros in November of Imperial Calendar 943, requesting an audience with the Director of Casting. This concerns the movements of the Bonecrusher warlords. A meeting is requested as soon as possible. Signed: Ellis, Civilian Sage of Garros, on behalf of Commissar Arrek. This communication is authorized by Commissar Arrek, and his spiritual imprint has been embedded into the underlying information by the sending Astrologer."

6

Marcus didn't speak immediately after reading. He turned off the decoding screen and stood there, waiting for Cohen's response.

Cohen stood for a moment, watching the Dark Eldar cruiser being dismantled outside the porthole. The trails of flame from the probes moved slowly along the outline of the armor plates, like a swarm of silent metal beetles dissecting a corpse. Arek's personal trip to Garros meant he had obtained enough intelligence to convince him. Cohen clearly remembered the timeline; Gorogosa was a definite trap. But he had no grounds to stop Arek, nor any source of information to explain his judgment. All he could do was insert a fuse during the expedition before the trap was set.

"How much of the dismantling is left?" he asked.

"The team leader, the technical priest, assesses that disassembling the core module will take at least three weeks. The stripping, archiving, and marking of the non-core areas will take even longer," Marcus said, flipping through a data panel. "If the transport ship arrives on time, the disassembled core module can be loaded onto the ship and transported back first, while the rest can remain in the dock for further work. White Scar has confirmed that the dock is still usable."

Cohen didn't answer immediately. He was calculating the time. The fact that Arek had traveled all the way from Amighiddon to Garros, and that the interstellar communication was being sent in this manner, indicated that the matter had gone beyond the scope of regular diplomatic channels. He needed to get back as soon as possible.

"The technical priest team will stay here," Cohen said. "They'll wait for the next transport ship to arrive, load the core modules onto it, and return together. They don't need the Black Pearl to wait with them."

Marcus made a note on the data board.

"Where is the Black Pearl?"

'

"Return to Garros. Inform White Scar of the route and accommodation arrangements. Tell them that the transport ship to Garros will arrive on time, and the subsequent dismantling operations will be handled entirely by the technical priest team."

Marcus nodded without asking further questions. He turned and operated the tactical console for a moment, sending commands to the corresponding frequency band.

Cohen turned and headed towards the bridge exit. He walked through the corridor, glancing at the crew members loading salvage supplies as he passed the hangar, then entered the private workshop and stood for a moment by the porthole. The orange-red light of the planet Chogris spread out outside the porthole, reflecting on the adamantite walls, warm and distant. He looked away and pressed the communication button: "Prepare for departure."

6

As the Black Pearl leaped from Mandeville, the star of Garros burned as a dark yellow orb of light outside the porthole. The ship slowed along its designated course, the guide lights forming an arc at the dock entrance of Wangshu, the docking supports extended, and the clanging sound of the side joints snapping shut echoed through every compartment along the hull structure.

When Cohen stepped off the shuttle, Ellis was already waiting at the edge of the tarmac inside Dome One. He wore a dark gray civilian sage robe, a fifth-order gear badge pinned to his chest, and clutched a data tablet in his hand. He nodded slightly, offering no pleasantries.

"Director, Commissar Arrek has been here for three months, waiting for your news."

.

"How is he?"

66

"Physical condition is stable. Mental state—focused. Apart from two prayers in the state cathedral on Dome One, he spends the rest of his time in his office reviewing intelligence." Ellis paused. "He has brought an entire staff, a large group of various professionals, and a whole Star Language choir. They are processing massive amounts of data daily using the Star Language relay tower in Garros. As per your instructions, our people are assisting them."

Cohen nodded and walked into the temple's corridor. The floor was paved with dark terracotta plates, gleaming coldly in the twilight. The arcades of the side chapels were now connected to the main hall, and as one passed through them, one could see parts of the main hall's interior—a giant, adamantly cast, gear-shaped chandelier hung from a dome, its hundreds of bulbs lighting up in the twilight and casting a cold, white glow. The statue of Om Messiah in the very center of the main hall was not yet fully in place; its pedestal was empty, and unopened adamantly cast components were piled around it.

The office on the top floor of the side hall was at the end of the corridor. The door was open, and a cold, white light streamed out. As Cohen approached, he heard the sound of pages turning, followed by a short, suppressed cough.

He pushed open the door and went inside.

Commissar Arek sat in the chair opposite the desk. He wasn't wearing his full uniform; his coat was draped over the back of the chair, and the top button of his dark gray shirt was undone, revealing half of his mechanical prosthetic arm from the sleeve. His face was even thinner than during the Battle of Armageddon, his bony features particularly sharp in the lamplight, and the red spot of his mechanical eye glowed steadily as Cohen entered. His fingers pressed against the edge of the data panel, not flipping through it, but pressing it down, as if confirming that something was still there. The moment Cohen entered, his self-illumination rose from the data panel, paused on Cohen for a moment, then moved away, falling on the view outside the window. It was a look that no longer needed confirmation. All the preparations had been completed during the months of waiting. All that remained was for someone to say, "Yes."

Cohen sat down opposite him. "Commissar. Sorry to keep you waiting." He then took out a bottle of Armageddon vintage wine from under the table and poured a glass for each of them.

Arek put down the data panel in his hand, picked up his glass and took a swig: "I knew you would come."

"I had to come. Every loyal warrior of the Empire deserves a drink," Cohen said.

"I've come to you for help." Arek placed his glass back on the table, leaned back in his chair, and tapped the armrest lightly with the fingers of his prosthetic arm. "First, the Bonebreaker is alive. Second, its location is known. I need to kill it."

T

Cohen took a small sip of his drink and said nothing.

"After the Second War of Amigidodton, the remaining fleet of the Bonecrushers withdrew from the edge of the star system and disappeared in the direction of Gologosa." Arek's voice was not loud, but every word sounded like he was clenching his teeth. "There are three sources of intelligence. One is from an Imperial Navy reconnaissance ship, one is from an informant of the Inquisition on the eastern border, and the third is from the confession obtained after interrogation of a Greenskin Techobos captured on the outskirts of Gologosa."

;

He paused, sat up straight, picked up his glass, and took another swig: "Three sources, the same set of coordinates. The Bonebreakers have established a new command center in Gologosa."

Cohen picked up the bottle and filled the other person's glass with wine, then remained silent for a moment.

The intelligence itself might be true. He had no doubt that the Bonecrushers were indeed in Gologosa. But that coordinate was a trap on the timeline, a trap using the Bonecrushers as bait, waiting specifically for Arek to take the bait. He clearly remembered the ending, but he couldn't speak. No position, no source of intelligence, no explanation. The commissar wouldn't stop, and he couldn't stop him.

He didn't say any of this. He just looked Arek in the eyes: "So you're going to Gologosa."

“I’m going to end it,” Arek said. “The Bonebreaker’s war leader is dead, and the Greenskins will split. Gologosa is already occupied by the Greenskins, and if they let it gain a foothold there, next time it won’t just sweep through one star system.”

His gaze lingered on Cohen's face for a moment: "I need Garros."

66

Cohen leaned back in his chair. Arek's expression was focused and resolute, a focus that was both familiar and subtly unsettling.

Extensive intelligence analysis and three independent confirmation channels suggest that this was a sound military decision from any perspective. From Cohen's point of view, this precisely demonstrates the breadth and depth of the conspiracy.

"What do you need?" Cohen asked.

"A capable legion. The Ministry of Military Affairs will give me a formal expedition order, but that's not enough. I need a strong strategic reserve," Arek said. "I have the 100,000 power armor sets you provided, a guard equipped with 1,200 sets of elite power armor, and 10,000 elite soldiers implanted with mental barriers. But that's not enough. I need to go to more places and persuade more factions. I need to show them that the Forging World is willing to endorse this expedition."

66

Cohen looked at him for a few seconds: "Garros can deploy the Phoenix Legion."

66

"Phoenix Legion?"

'

"The elite strike force of the Garros Guardians has just completed its reorganization," Cohen said. "A fully equipped fleet can independently carry out interstellar combat missions."

He paused for a moment: "The Phoenix Legion can serve as your strategic reserve, existing as an independent force within the expeditionary force. It will not be incorporated into any Astral Army order, but will be directly commanded by Garros, while coordinating with your operations on the battlefield."

66

Arek's prosthetic eye shrank slightly: "So, what are the conditions?"

"There are conditions, of course," Cohen said, "but there are prerequisites. The Phoenix Legion of Garros has answered your call to the expedition, but the definition of victory needs to be redefined—it's not about you killing the Bonecrushers, nor is it about the entire Gologosa being wiped out. It's about bringing back the troops you can take with you."

Arek was silent for a moment: "Are you saying I should bring back my enemy with his whole body, or should I bring back the living?"

""

"Bring the living back," Cohen said. "The Bonebreakers will come to you."

He paused for a moment, picked up the bottle from the table, refilled Arek's glass, and set the bottle down with a very soft thud as the rim of the glass touched the table.

"There are three more things."

Arek looked at him without interrupting.

"First, during the expedition preparations, the procurement list for materials from the Garros Forge World went through the priority channel of the Armageddon Theater. Fine gold ore powder, raw materials for specific types of ammunition, and high-precision components for ship repair—these things bypassed the Executive Yuan's approval process and went directly through you."

Arek didn't answer immediately. His prosthetic eye lingered on Cohen's face for two seconds before he spoke: "The authority to allocate supplies in the war zone isn't something I can use arbitrarily. Every order that goes through the channel must have a corresponding justification for combat readiness."

"The Phoenix Legion's supplies and preparations are the justification for war," Cohen said. "My men can't be torn apart by green-skinned scrap metal just because they don't have spare parts when they're taking a knife for you in Gologosa. My Foundry World makes these things—but they don't get to you from the Executive Yuan. Whose approval do you think is faster?"

Arreek picked up his glass, took a sip, and didn't argue.

"Secondly, my people must have the authority to obtain copies of the reconnaissance data from the eastern frontier of the Armageddon theater—in the direction of Gologosa. You don't need to push for it; your intelligence officer just needs to send a copy to Garros along with the regular summary sent to Terra and the Ministry of Military Affairs. A delay of two days is acceptable, but there must be a copy."

Arek's prosthetic eye shrank slightly, this time even more deeply.

"You're laying out an information pipeline for yourself."

"My Phoenix Legion is in your expeditionary order," Cohen said. "My men are going to Greenskin-occupied territory. I can't see what's going on that road, so I shouldn't have sent them."

Arek was silent for a few seconds. He placed his glass on the table, his fingers not immediately loosening their grip on the rim. Cohen didn't urge him.

"Third, after the expedition concludes, as the political commissar of the Armageddon theater, submit a formal theater military assessment report to the Ministry of Military Affairs and the Imperial Executive Council. Garros Forges the World—listed as a priority partner for the theater."

Arek's eyebrows twitched: "You asked me to write a letter of recommendation for you in the documents."

“The recommendation letter was written by someone else,” Cohen said. “What I need is an objective assessment from the theater military assessment report. The Phoenix Corps fought in your expeditionary force and defended the line for you at Invernus. You just need to write down the facts you observed on the ground. The assessment system of the Department of the Armed Forces and the Executive Yuan does not recognize recommendation letters, but reports from theater commanders.”

Arek leaned back in his chair. He stared at Cohen for a few seconds.

"Intelligence lines. Supply routes. Theater partners." He repeated each item one by one, his voice low, as if he were taking stock of a list. "You traded an entire legion for three lines."

"The Phoenix Legion is not a price to pay," Cohen said. "The Phoenix Legion is an investment."

Arek remained silent for a long time. Then he picked up his glass, downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, put the glass down, and stood up.

"During the expedition preparations, I approve the supply lists from the Garros theater. The Garros communications array receives a copy of the reconnaissance reports from the eastern frontier. After the expedition concludes, my report will include an actual assessment."

He walked to the door, paused, and didn't turn around.

"Bring the living back. You said it."

He went outside. The twilight in the corridor gathered through the crack in the door, and the sound of his footsteps gradually faded away along the terrazzo floor.

Cohen sat alone in his office, staring at the closing door. The wine glass on the desk was empty, and the bottle was half full. He didn't pour any more; he simply leaned back in his chair and went over the sentence in his mind: "The Phoenix Legion isn't a price to pay—it's an investment."

He confirmed that the accounts for the transaction were balanced. Then he stood up and walked to the window. Dusk was gathering outside the dome, and the lights of the No. 1 Dome residential area were gradually coming on.

As Arek stepped out of his office, the twilight in the corridor had deepened to a dark gray. Deep within the main hall of Garros, the pedestal of the Ohm Messiah statue was being installed into place by automatons; the interfaces of the adamantine components flashed briefly in the light—this forging world was developing at an alarming rate, its power growing stronger every day, but he paid it no heed. His gaze pierced through the adamantine components, landing on something further away. His heart was filled with hatred.

On the same day he met with Cohen, Arrex boarded his official ship. He didn't linger; Garros was merely the first and most important stop on his expedition plan. For the rest of the time, he needed to personally persuade more powerful forces to contribute to his expedition.

The next day, Relano rushed to the temple from the training center in the Third Dome. Cohen met him in his top-floor office.

Rellano sat down opposite Cohen, without exchanging pleasantries, and waited in silence for Cohen to speak.

"Arek is going to Gologosa to hunt down the Bonecrushers," Cohen said. "Gallos has promised the Phoenix Legion as a response force, with you leading the team, awaiting his Astronomical Assembly."

66

Rellano did not speak.

Cohen looked at him. Gologosa was a trap, and he had to tell him. This would allow Rellano to make more careful and clear-headed judgments on the battlefield.

"This operation is a trap, but Garros didn't refuse him," Cohen said, his voice a notch lower than before. "Garros' army will rely on your judgment. The stated mission is fire support and tactical cover. If the expedition progresses to an irreversible point, you will make your own decision."

66

Rellano looked at him, his pale gray eyes, though filled with questions, held no inquiries.

"You didn't ask why I said it was a trap," Cohen said.

"The Emperor's will needs no explanation," Rellano said. "You tell me to go, and I'll go. You tell me to bring people back, and I'll bring them back."

Cohen paused for a moment. He did not correct Rellano's words.

"Gallos's legion went there as a safety net," Cohen said. "If you can turn the tide, no, that's difficult. You only have one bottom line: make sure he's not captured. The rest is up to you to judge."

Rellano nodded: "Hatred is not shameful. What is shameful is letting hatred make decisions for you."

66

He stood up, walked to the door, paused, and said without turning back, "He will come back alive."

The door slid shut behind him.

Cohen sat alone in his office, staring at the closing door. He didn't linger on it.

The expedition was merely one step in Garros's strategy to maintain a presence within the Empire. Sending a legion in exchange for resources and intelligence was the norm in shaping the world. The Phoenix Legion also needed real combat experience to establish its organization and accumulate merit and prestige. Its future deployments would be regular—exchanging its blade for the bargaining chips Garros needed within the Empire's system. This is why it was named a "Legion" rather than a "Guard."

Cohen's gaze fell on something further away.

Preparations progressed daily under Garros's efficient command. The Phoenix Legion entered a state of readiness. The Phoenix Legion's flagship, the Mars-class battlecruiser HMS Phoenix, completed final calibrations on the outer edge of Wangshu. Two Odysseus-class battlecruisers, HMS Courageous and HMS Hercules, along with one light cruiser, two frigates, and several small logistics ships, were on standby. Over 15,000 soldiers completed equipment checks on Dome 30 and were ready to board at any time. Training and rotations were all suspended—the next order was departure.

Rellano split his elite company into three waves: the 300E engineered armor was responsible for boarding and decapitation strikes, the 300A was responsible for ground occupation, and the twenty Guardian Legions temporarily assigned to the Phoenix Legion by Garros were responsible for logistics and defense.

The fleet, comprising hundreds of thousands of personnel including skilled craftsmen, apprentices, and mech servants, along with the Thunder, Bald, and Thunderhawk squadrons, and two Rhinoceros and Razor Whale fleets, has assembled. Beyond the standard equipment, a separate supply line is marked: a two-deck medical module. Biotechnical priests, life support pods, prosthetic components, and wet-body vitality maintenance devices are all in place. Garros' logic is simple: as long as the wet-body signal remains, no one will be abandoned. Ruthless, efficient, and precise, it means everyone has one or more chances to return—this is the logic behind Garros' world-building.