[Unbending Truth]
The Lion El'Jonson, Knight of Caliban, stood alone before his holographic tactical display. Behind him, only a few low-ranking legion liaison officers and mortal officers moved about, constantly relaying important or trivial orders.
Corswain and Astoran had already gone to the front lines, with their own warships and companies to command. The talent and power of these most excellent individuals could only be best utilized when they stood on their own, responsible for the fate of an entire fleet, rather than subserviently obeying their Primarch.
And at this moment, Lion El'Jonson didn't actually need them. He had a more fantastical, more powerful, and more inexplicable form of assistance, beyond simple science and technology.
The Primarch of the First Legion stared intently at the divination instrument before him. No one could see that his emerald eyes occasionally flashed with an azure light that was the psychic aura of his blood kin.
Whenever this color flickered, the Lion El'Jonson, Knight of Caliban, would involuntarily frown. He had never adapted to the feeling of being enchanted by a psyker, even if that person was his own blood kin.
But in the face of genuine utility and benefit, he had temporarily compromised.
Perhaps to outsiders, the holographic projection before the Lord of the Dark Angels was no different from others of its kind: a chaotic battlefield outlined by crude light beams and dense clusters of bright spots,
representing the ceaseless, dirty glimmers of the Imperium's and the Randan's combined forces, irritating every eye that stared at the projection. Dashed lines, symbolizing gravitational shifts and explosion radii, constantly filled every inch of the combat zones.
All of this composed the disorganized three-dimensional projection before Lion El'Jonson, and the Unbending Truth, belonging to the First Legion, continuously emitted radar-like signals into the vast battlefield to gather the most up-to-date information.
Undoubtedly, this method was incredibly slow, chaotic, and unsafe, because the current void had become a battlefield where countless layers intertwined. The blood and fire of the real universe were merely the outermost layer. In places invisible to any living being,
both the First Legion and the Randan Xenomorphs were unhesitatingly pouring vast amounts of electronic waste code and interference signals into this battle. These invisible weapons were even more lethal than screaming shrapnel, but neither side cared, intent on turning every corner of this cosmos into a meat grinder in every sense of the word.
The battle continued: in reality, in communications, in souls. No one knew how long this battle had lasted, nor how many lives had perished in the previous moment. Perhaps a hundred Randan Xenomorphs warships had already become debris orbiting Tacus V,
or perhaps a million Randan Berserker Death Warriors had been struck by Imperial Auxiliary Forces artillery during emergency landings, wailing as they turned into charred corpses amidst the merciless dance of friction and flames.
But the Randan had still not breached the Human Imperium's defensive line around Tacus V, even though they had never ceased their pressure and assault, even though they had spent an unimaginably long time above this desolate world,
and even though they had tried time and again to bypass or avoid this lonely world, or simply blow it to pieces. All such efforts and arrogant attempts were ultimately halted by the commanders who still retained their sanity.
After the Dark Angels manipulated their unknown ancient relics and carried out a long, careful, and dangerous pre-battle deployment, Tacus V had become a meticulously arranged trap. Lion El'Jonson's sons activated machinery buried beneath the surface of this ancient world, temporarily stopping its rotation.
Thus, Tacus V presented only one face to the Randan Xenomorphs fleet, and this side was completely occupied by the Salamanders, the Dark Angels, countless elite Imperial Auxiliary Forces, and an ocean of fortresses and artillery positions.
And in the dark sky above the hidden side of Tacus V, void traps placed by the Dark Angels were scattered everywhere. Invisible miniature artificial black holes, gravity anchors, and asteroid belts ready to detonate at any moment made it almost impossible for any massive warship to hide,
as if a whole minefield within the void had been laid on the Randan Xenomorphs fleet's advance path. The First Legion had even frantically expanded this minefield to cover more than half of the Tacus System. All Randan Xenomorphs warships attempting to bypass Tacus V met with the fate of total destruction.
It must be known that Lion El'Jonson and his sons had been preparing in this star system for several Terra Standard Months. No one knew what they had turned this unremarkable place into. Even the Space Wolves and Salamanders fleets could only move cautiously under the guidance of the First Legion.
Vicious curses and insults continuously erupted from the Xenos Empire's command center. Each failed attempt gave the Xenos generals a deeper understanding of the First Legion's unfathomable depths. After paying a price no less than the front-line losses, the commanding Xenos generals finally abandoned all other thoughts and began to fully commit to their only remaining strategy.
Attack, destroy, land, occupy, exterminate every servant of the mad king, and end the battle before their great lord and the Future Engine, which concerns the future of their entire race, reach this star system.
No matter what the cost.
The most insane offensive then began.
All Randan Xenomorphs warships, regardless of their previous missions, regardless of whether they could still join the fight, were thrown into the ensuing assault. Every perspective observable by an Imperial warship was consumed by an endless tide of Xenos war engines. The fleets loyal to Holy Terra were like white sails in a storm, swaying precariously, on the verge of collapse.
But the facts proved that no matter how violent or vast the storm, it could not sink every warship that dared to challenge the sea.
The Randan Xenomorphs' tide was met with the most valiant warriors, the most fearless resistance, and the most ferocious artillery fire. The First Legion's fleet wove a magnificent net of death in the utterly dark void. Hundreds of capital ships precisely filled every gap in the firepower,
painting a vibrant, bizarre, post-modern space artwork in the most monotonous and silent starscape. The roars of warriors and the thunder of warships, like the most cunning brushes, depicted the Xenos' blood and demise as the most glorious art of the Great Crusade.
Every shell fired by the Dark Angels was as lethal as they themselves were. Even the strongest Randan Xenomorphs warships' Void Shields and hull armor were as fragile as withered leaves in a downpour against such an onslaught.
More smaller warships and drones were constantly ready, circling the capital ships like loyal hounds at the hunter's feet. Even if a Randan Xenomorphs warship managed to break through the First Legion's firepower, its fate was simply to be relentlessly intercepted by these death-defying kestrels, then treated to a concentrated barrage from hundreds of gun barrels and Lances.
Unable to break through, unable to disperse, countless Randan Xenomorphs warships lingering at the edge of the firing range desperately awaited a moment of carelessness from the Imperial Auxiliary Forces.
But until they were driven towards the point of no return by a continuous stream of friendly forces and higher-level compulsory orders, they never witnessed a single mistake from the Dark Angels.
The First Legion was like a perfect symphony personally played by the gods in the clouds. Their every action left no room for the Randan Xenomorphs fleet to exploit. Lion El'Jonson's sons cooperated tacitly and moved in unison, like an unbreakable shield, firmly holding most of the air superiority over Tacus V in their hands.
But this was not all. Under the Xenos Empire's no-holds-barred offensive, a portion of the airspace was eventually seized by the Randan Xenomorphs fleet. Hundreds of distorted warships desperately plunged into these gains. The most cumbersome warships covered transport fleets carrying millions of troops.
As one steel giant after another wailed and was completely torn apart by the Dark Angels' artillery fire, their debris captured by the planet's gravity, turning into burning scrap iron falling to the ground, tens of thousands of Drop Pods, like a sudden meteor shower, left streaks of blood-red light tearing through the curtain of the desolate world's grey sky.
The previous skirmishes, involving only a few hundred thousand troops and occupying merely a few isolated fortresses on the edge of the fortress complex, were finally over. Relying on the relatively safe and reliable landing sites left by the vanguard,
countless Randan Xenomorphs Drop Pods, after enduring the rain of defensive fire, disgorged cage after cage of warriors, already Inspired into monstrous shapes, onto the soft sands of the desolate world.
In a blink of an eye, the grey-white desert completely vanished. The Randan Xenomorphs army, like a black sandstorm on the plains, surged into the defenders' every line of sight without warning.
The burly and formidable Randan Berserker Death Warriors, clad in armor and armed with sharp weapons, screamed as one, like beasts escaped from their cages. Tens of thousands of roars resonated together, audible even dozens of kilometers away.
Faintly, various armored vehicles could be seen appearing in the dust cloud stirred up by this vast army. Artillery, warplanes, and even malicious war engines modeled after Titans intermittently emerged from the invading tide, testing the minds and bodies of every defender.
The real war had begun.
——
"According to reports from the ground, the Randan Xenomorphs army has officially landed, Lord Lion El'Jonson. This time it's no longer just the vanguard and reconnaissance forces of only a few hundred thousand. We've discovered a large number of armored vehicles and heavy fire weapons in the Randan formations."
The officer's voice came from behind the Primarch. Lion El'Jonson didn't turn around; he merely nodded slightly, indicating he understood.
All of the Primarch's attention was focused on the holographic tactical display before him, his pupils constantly flashing with azure light.
From the moment the war erupted, the Lion El'Jonson, Knight of Caliban, had been issuing orders. Although he hadn't received any detailed reports from the front lines, he could easily pinpoint any oversight or error there. He didn't stop for a moment; countless orders poured from his mouth, relayed by the busy liaison officers behind him to every high-ranking officer or captain on the front.
His orders were always accurate, directly hitting crucial points, and even preemptive. This led to an increasing number of admiring and praising gazes converging on the Lion El'Jonson, Knight of Caliban.
But only he himself knew what was truly happening.
Perhaps to outsiders, Lion El'Jonson was simply facing a holographic tactical display, deducing the war's progression from its vague, chaotic, and delayed information. But in the Lion's eyes, it was not so.
Psychic power, from his blood kin, surrounded him. As the azure light continuously swept across his eyes, Lion El'Jonson had, in a sense, achieved an information-sharing link with his blood kin.
While Morgana was busy crushing Randan Xenomorphs mages who dared to provoke her into complete soul fragments, she had not ceased her role as an auxiliary. Every soul accumulated over ten years was now burning for Morgana's power. The Spider Queen could do far more than anyone imagined.
Just like a true trapdoor spider, waiting and observing its prey, Morgana's senses, following the rhythm of the battle, swept over the battlefield again and again. Her keen senses were thousands of times more refined and powerful than the best radar and information gathering devices. As she patrolled the battlefield repeatedly, the information she captured was reflected in Lion El'Jonson's eyes through pre-emptive psychic perception.
So, when the Lion El'Jonson, Knight of Caliban, looked at the holographic tactical display before him, he could not only see where each of his warships was, but he could also see what it had done in the past, and what it was doing at this very moment.
Each warship was specially marked and described: which fleet and squadron it belonged to, its current status, and even whether the morale of the warriors it carried was high, or on the verge of collapse.
Even the ambushes the Dark Angels had set beforehand were marked one by one, allowing Lion El'Jonson to clear out the enemy ships surrounding them in advance.
Who, where, what was their situation, which unit they belonged to, what they were doing just now, what their morale was like, what their state was, whether they would be threatened, whether they could withstand the next round of damage and assault…
When the azure light flickered in Lion El'Jonson's eyes, he knew everything.
As he looked at this impossibly detailed star map, the bloody war before him became a difficult grid game.
He controlled, deployed, and ruthlessly sent valueless individuals to the most dangerous and exposed positions, slowly eroding the Xenos fleet's strength and morale, dividing the endless void into one grid after another, slowly defeating them one by one.
When the liaison officer once again reported the ground situation to him, Lion El'Jonson didn't even listen carefully: he trusted Vulkan's strength.
For the Primarch now, his most important task was to win this boring grid game with the constant and powerful assistance of his blood kin.
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