"Wot?!"
The ladle in Ragnar's hand dropped onto the Great Pot Throne with a heavy clang, splashing greasy soup all over him. He squirmed violently, straightening his back as his round body trembled with shock. His small eyes stared fixedly at the blinding light flaring outside the porthole.
Those weren't stars.
That was the lethal glow of hundreds of macro-cannons charging up—cold, brilliant, and carrying the stench of annihilation.
"Bad news, Boss! High-energy signatures detected! Thirty thousand kilometers from da fleet!"
"Goff vanguard's under fire! Major damage!"
The shrill, grating reports of the Deathskull Big Mek echoed through the bridge. The rowdy Orks fell silent instantly, all eyes turning toward the primary viewscreen.
On the screen, the Goff warships—previously unstoppable iron slugs—were suffering a devastating blow. Lances of azure light, like the swords of gods, shot out from behind Karl-2, accurately striking the thickest prows of the Goff ships. These were reinforced steel rams capable of withstanding the simultaneous fire of three Imperial cruisers and smashing asteroids to rubble.
Under the judgment of these lances, however, the metal melted and snapped as if a red-hot knife had met butter. The heavy armor plates glowed incandescent before peeling away in massive sheets. The internal stew pots were ignited; the thick grease caught fire, triggering violent secondary explosions.
A massive fireball blossomed in the void, illuminating the surrounding darkness as bright as day. In just a single salvo, the Goff clan lost their pride, the Hard-Hitter.
"Dis... dis can't be!" a massive Goff yelled, his face written with disbelief. "How's dem humie lances so long-range?! How's dey so strong?!"
Ragnar's face became incredibly grim. He had spent years in the Calixis sector and had dealt with human fleets many times. But he had never seen lances this long-ranged or this fierce.
Thirty thousand kilometers! That was twice the range of a standard cruiser's main battery! Moreover, the power of that single salvo was more terrifying than any Imperial ship he had ever encountered.
"Boss, wot do we do? We retreatin'?" a Blood Axe Nob asked, his voice trembling as he looked for a way to save his own skin.
"Retreat?!" Ragnar snapped his head around, glaring at him savagely. "Retreat me foot! If we turn back now, we show 'em our backsides!"
"Dey'll be on us like a pack of hyenas, bitin' our rears an' pullin' out our guts!"
Ragnar might look clumsy, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the fleet was at full charge and the formation was fully deployed. If he ordered a turnaround now, chaos would inevitably follow. The enemy would simply chase them, dealing tons of damage for free.
"Listen up, ya gits!" Ragnar clenched his fists and roared. "Dey's only got a few dozen scrap ships, an' we got over a hundred!"
"Three digits beats two digits! Da odds are wiv us!"
"Keep chargin'! Get in der faces an' smash 'em! Chop dem humies into mincemeat an' cook 'em into stew!"
"Waaaaagh!!!"
Ragnar's prestige among the Dorito Orks was supreme. Moreover, since the sector's biggest troublemaker, Iron-Claw Chandler, had died on Karl-2, no one dared to question Ragnar's decisions. Every Ork Nob raised their weapons, shouting frantically. The panicked Orks instantly became bloodthirsty and frenzied once more. The Greenskin fleet didn't slow down; instead, they accelerated toward Karl-2.
But Ragnar soon paid a heavy price for his decision. That world-ending lance salvo had actually come from the firepower of just one warship.
Yes, just one.
It came from the Victory-class battleship painted in dark gold and burgundy—the Gemstone. Only the Gemstone, personally modified by a Magos Dominus of the Martian Mechanicus and equipped with three of the latest "Skyfire" pattern grand lances, could launch such precise and lethal strikes from thirty thousand kilometers away.
When the Greenskin fleet closed within ten thousand kilometers of Karl-2, they finally entered the full engagement range of the human fleet. The true domain of death unfolded!
"These wretched vermin dare to lay hands upon the domains of Mankind."
"All ships, in the Emperor's name, pour out your fury!!!"
On the bridge of the Gemstone, Dominic set down his wine glass. He raised his hand, drawing his sword, and issued the order with an impassioned tone. His brow was filled with a murderous rage toward the xenos!
"Yes, My Lord!"
Following Dominic's command, fifty-four macro-cannons on the Gemstone's broadside let out a synchronized roar of anger. From the moment they were forged, they had been granted the right to slay all enemies of the Emperor!
Each macro-cannon had a caliber exceeding forty meters, firing armor-piercing high-explosive shells weighing hundreds of tons. Simultaneously, three Mars-class battlecruisers and seven cruisers followed the Gemstone in firing their lethal rounds. In space, without air resistance, the shells reached a staggering velocity of one thousand kilometers per second.
A Greenskin Kill Cruiser attempted to turn and evade, only to be struck precisely by an armor-piercing shell. The massive kinetic force instantly pushed its shields into overload. Immediately after, several lances fell upon the exposed hull, the violent explosions snapping the entire cruiser in half at its waist.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The macro-cannon salvos from over a dozen capital ships formed a seamless web of fire. Every volley destroyed at least one Greenskin cruiser and several escort frigates along with it. Those warships that the Orks deemed invincible were as fragile as paper before the overwhelming firepower of the Tithe Fleet.
The three Mars-class battlecruisers continued to play their part. While waiting for their main batteries to cool, they opened their carrier bays. Thousands of small, agile interceptors swarmed out like a cloud of bees.
These craft weren't equipped with heavy weapons, only jammer pods and decoy flares. But they were extremely fast and highly maneuverable. Their target was the Evil Sunz fleet on the flank.
The Evil Sunz Orks were already famous for their speed and fanaticism. Seeing these small craft, their eyes turned red, like sparrows spotting flies.
"Chase 'em! Catch 'em an' shoot 'em down!"
A Speed Freak Nob shouted, taking the lead in his own fighter. All the Evil Sunz fighters abandoned their original flanking mission, chasing the decoys in a disorganized swarm.
The decoys remained unhurried, leading the Evil Sunz fighters on a chase through the asteroid belt. They used the temporary bastions that hadn't been fully destroyed as anchors, constantly shifting directions. From time to time, they launched jamming flares to cloud the Speed Freaks' vision.
The Orks were led in circles, howling with rage but repeatedly running into trouble within the asteroid belt. Occasionally, a few fighters accidentally strayed too close to a bastion's kill zone and were instantly turned into fireballs by interlocking fire.
The Evil Sunz fleet, originally responsible for flanking, was thus pinned down by a few thousand decoys, forgetting Ragnar's original task to harass the human capital ships.
On the other side, the Blood Axe fleet also found themselves in trouble.
Raynor's Second Expedition Fleet, along with the twenty Sword-class frigates and the Peak Obsidian originally left to defend Karl-2, had long since established a defensive line on the flank. The Blood Axes, known for their cunning and ambushes, had intended to slip around the rear while the human main force engaged the central Greenskin fleet.
But Raynor's expedition fleet had been waiting on their path for a long time.
"All frigates, fan out! Cruiser main batteries, target the Blood Axe flagship!"
Geth stood on the bridge of the Peak Obsidian, calmly issuing orders. Although his fleet's raw power was far inferior to the Tithe Fleet, they possessed Genestealer commanders. The efficiency of command transmission was incredibly high. The fleet's formation changes were fluid and seamless, without a hint of confusion. Every ambush attempt by the Blood Axes was anticipated and easily neutralized by Geth.
The two sides fell into a stalemate on the flank. Although the Blood Axe fleet had the advantage in numbers, they could not break through the line commanded by Geth for the time being.
On the frontal battlefield, the situation was even more one-sided.
Dominic ordered all capital ships to hide behind the bulk of Karl-2. Most of the Greenskin attacks slammed into the already dilapidated space station. Bursts of sparks appeared continuously on the surface of Karl-2, and massive chunks of metal were hurled into space.
Under precise and efficient command, the prepared capital ships would emerge to fire a full salvo before retracting behind Karl-2, repeatedly "peeking" the Greenskin fleet. Since Karl-2 was essentially a pile of scrap metal now, it was better to use it as a shield. The more intense the Greenskin fire, the more Karl-2 was blown apart, and the safer the human fleet became.
Ragnar grew increasingly frustrated as the battle progressed. His fleet outnumbered the enemy five to one, yet his firepower was completely suppressed. The enemy's shells seemed infinite, volley after volley without pause. His fleet, meanwhile, could only stare helplessly across the mass of Karl-2. Occasionally, a few ships tried to flank, only to be immediately targeted by the Gemstone's lances and destroyed instantly.
What puzzled him most was the enemy's output frequency and endurance. It was terrifying. Although Ragnar looked crude, he was actually quite meticulous. His personality was like his stomach—vast and willing to learn anything that could make him stronger. He frequently communicated with the Kommando bosses of the Blood Axe clan. While those Blood Axes often betrayed their own kind and were bought off by humans, they did possess a significant amount of intelligence regarding the "humies."
From them, Ragnar had learned that while the ammunition for the powerful weapons on human ships wasn't exactly scarce, the supply was extremely unstable. Often, a request for ammunition resupply would rotate through the Imperial bureaucracy for six to ten months before being approved. Furthermore, the humans' strongest weapons and vehicles possessed something called a "Machine Spirit." Those spirits had eccentric tempers; if not pampered correctly, they would go on strike. Therefore, it was supposedly impossible for human weapons to fire continuously for long periods.
This was a lesson Ragnar had summarized himself, and it was the Greenskins' greatest advantage in a war of attrition against humans. As long as they dragged it out, the humans would run out of ammo and their weapons would malfunction. Then, the tide would turn.
But today, this experience seemed to have failed. The human fleet had been shelling them continuously for half an hour. Not only had the firepower not weakened in the slightest, it was growing fiercer. The Gemstone's macro-cannons fired a salvo every few dozen seconds. The lances constantly drew energy from Warp rifts, firing every few minutes. The carrier craft from the Mars-class battlecruisers came in wave after wave, as if they would never run out.
This defied all logic!
"Zog it! Where are dese humies gettin' all dis ammo?!" Ragnar slammed his fist onto the console, denting the metal deeply. "Don't der Machine Spirits ever get tired?!"
No one could answer him. Only the constant alarms of destroyed warships and the dwindling green icons on the screen served as a reminder. This battle was moving in a direction that was becoming increasingly unfavorable for him.
Unlike the sweating Greenskins, the captain's quarters of the Gemstone were as quiet as a luxury banquet hall. Soft classical music flowed through the air.
Dominic and Raynor sat on a sofa by the window, holding translucent crystal glasses filled with aged wine from a Garden World. Outside the window was a fierce battlefield. Fireballs from exploding Greenskin ships illuminated their faces from time to time. Yet, both men appeared calm, as if watching an inconsequential film.
Ralfa remained standing behind Dominic, his gray eyes occasionally sweeping over Raynor with a vigilant gaze.
Raynor gently swirled his glass, watching the deep red liquid spin in a graceful arc. His gaze moved through the screen to the battlefield outside, watching the Greenskin fleet pinned down in front of Karl-2 by overwhelming fire, forced to take a passive beating. A hint of worry rose in Raynor's heart as well.
In this half-hour alone, the firepower poured out by Dominic's fleet exceeded all the ammunition his own Second Expedition Fleet had fired since its inception. Even a regular Imperial Navy fleet shouldn't have such an exaggerated ammunition reserve. Moreover, those weapons had been firing for so long without a single malfunction. This completely overturned Raynor's understanding of the Imperial Navy.
After a moment of hesitation, Raynor spoke: "Lord Dominic, if I may be so bold. With this style of combat, your ammunition reserves and the stability of the Machine Spirits... can they hold out?"
Hearing this, Dominic let out a light snort. He raised his glass and took a sip of red wine, speaking in a nonchalant tone: "I am not like the rest of you."
"My family has shared a deep friendship with the Martian Adeptus Mechanicus for thousands of years. My fleet's entire supply of weapons and ammunition comes directly from Forge Worlds controlled by the Mechanicus. Whether in quality or supply efficiency, it is the finest in the entire Imperium. With firepower output at this intensity, my fleet can sustain itself for an entire month without any resupply."
Raynor's pupils constricted slightly. Sustaining for a month?! That was far too exaggerated! One must realize that even if Brevis's industrial capacity was pushed to its limit, it could only barely support his expedition fleet for a single week of combat at this intensity.
Dominic seemed to see through Raynor's thoughts and continued: "Furthermore, as you have likely noticed, the number of Tech-Priests on my ships far exceeds that of a normal Imperial Navy vessel."
Raynor nodded. He had noticed earlier on the bridge. On the Gemstone, almost every macro-cannon battery had a Tech-Priest on duty. They prayed continuously, wiping the weapons with sacred oils and soothing the Machine Spirits.
"These Tech-Priests are talents supplied to me by the Martian Mechanicus," Dominic said. "With them present, the stability of the Machine Spirits is maintained exceptionally well. My weapons rarely malfunction. However," Dominic's gaze turned serious, "while equipment is important, I have always believed that the key to winning a war is not the gear, but tactics and morale!"
"Without the correct tactics, even with more warships and more ammo, you will only be picked apart by the enemy. Without high morale, even the finest equipment cannot display its proper power."
Raynor looked at Dominic and forced an awkward smile. He had to admit that Dominic's words made sense. But in his heart, he knew the fundamental reason Dominic could be so composed was his bottomless family wealth. This wasn't just waging war; this was burying the enemy in money.