Exceedingly rarely, Yarrick fell into absolute silence.
Even he failed to process the man's words for a mont; his mind montarily blanked as if struggling to comprehend the sheer audacity of the statent.
After a long pause, Yarrick finally spoke:
"If I am not misunderstanding you... you an to say that you possess the capability to et my conditions?"
Rowan was not surprised by Yarrick's incredulous reaction.
"I believe I made myself quite clear. I can satisfy all the conditions you just listed."
"Including the super-heavy tanks?"
"Including the super-heavy tanks."
A similar exchange occurred once more, but the difference was that this ti, the dynamic between the two had completely reversed.
"Could you elaborate specifically on what types of super-heavy tanks you require?" Rowan inquired.
Could it be that the Astartes strike cruiser in orbit carries a stockpile of such vehicles? Ultimately, Yarrick gave up trying to deduce the logistics behind it.
"Very well, I will be direct. First, our regint is at a nurical disadvantage, so we require an armored unit capable of rapidly sweeping away massed light infantry. Therefore, we need at least one Stormlord."
"To entirely shatter the xenos' defenses and obliterate enemy strongpoints during urban close-quarters combat, Stormswords are also indispensable. We require at least two."
"Furthermore, due to the labyrinthine topography of the Hive City, we will also need several Hellhound fla tanks—no fewer than five."
Rowan diligently noted them down on his paper one by one.
"And what else?"
"...That is all."
Yarrick already felt his demands were incredibly exorbitant. Such wargear was considered exceptionally rare and precious.
To the Departnto Munitorum, rather than dispensing such prized assets, it was infinitely more cost-effective to simply redirect a few infantry regints to grind the Orks down in a at grinder.
However, as a Commissar, Yarrick was truly unwilling to needlessly squander the lives of the n under his command within the Hive City—especially when such a sacrifice would likely amount to a futile waste.
["Life is the Emperor's currency, spend it well."]
Rowan looked up, his gaze fixing on Yarrick with a rather peculiar expression.
"You only need this little bit of wargear?"
"Huh?"
Yarrick was struck dumb.
What was this... so sort of incomprehensible Terran noble sarcasm? Regardless, he fundantally refused to interpret that sentence literally.
The technological mastery required to forge such behemoths had grown increasingly scarce in the stagnated and decaying modern Imperium, making every single super-heavy tank exceedingly rare. They were venerated as holy relics by the armored regints of the Astra Militarum.
How could soone just produce them on demand?
"Rest assured, if these are your only requirents, barring any unforeseen circumstances, they can be t quite effortlessly." Rowan tucked the pen and paper back into his pocket. "But before we handle that, I would like to ask if your armored regint has an embedded Enginseer. I wish to consult with him regarding this matter."
"Of course we do," Yarrick answered imdiately. "Without an Enginseer's maintenance, our armor wouldn't even be able to start."
"The 252nd Regint's attached Enginseer is nad Demian. He should currently be conducting routine maintenance in our rear logistics base. I can have soone guide you to him."
"That would be appreciated," Rowan nodded.
Then, as if suddenly recalling sothing, he gestured toward the Custodian.
"Leonardo, remain here and ensure Commissar Yarrick's safety. My current security detail is more than adequate."
Leonardo nodded silently and moved to stand at Yarrick's side like an unmoving golden statue.
Swiftly, following the Commissar's orders, a soldier of the Armageddon Steel Legion led the way, guiding Rowan's party toward the rear logistics base.
Along the way, Cybia turned her head to look at Rowan and spoke up, "Lord Rowan, does your plan involve utilizing the mories and technical knowledge of that Tech-Priest as a blueprint to literally create the operational wargear?"
"Naturally." Rowan was not surprised by her acun; after all, he had executed this exact thod once before. "As long as we thoroughly arm this Astra Militarum regint and amplify their threat level, they will exert massive pressure on the Ork Warboss once they breach the Hive City's interior. In the ensuing chaos of the battlefield, not only will the Warboss's position be exposed, but the probability of a successful decapitation strike will also skyrocket."
"However, there is a complication," Lucia, who had been silent until now, suddenly chid in. "That Enginseer will likely refuse to comply with your request. The Adeptus chanicus values the concealnt of data and knowledge far above their own lives."
"Or perhaps... do you intend to subdue him and forcefully extract his mories? That would be a viable alternative."
"That won't be necessary," Rowan shook his head. "I guarantee that, according to my plan, the Enginseer will willingly and eagerly offer up his knowledge."
His eyes glead with an absolute, unwavering confidence—an expression that imdiately made both Cybia and Lucia internally scream 'Oh no'.
It appeared this Covenant-bearer of the Emperor had formulated yet another highly unorthodox idea.
The guiding soldier moved swiftly, leading them deep into the Astra Militarum's logistics and maintenance base.
After clearing the checkpoint sentries with extre efficiency, Rowan's group proceeded deeper into the compound.
The further they ventured, the clearer the clanking of chanical gears and the hum of industrial circuitry beca in their ears.
Finally, after walking a bit further, the location of the Tech-Priest appeared in Rowan's line of sight.
In an open clearing rested a Baneblade super-heavy tank currently undergoing repairs. This was undoubtedly the second relic tank Yarrick had ntioned; it had evidently sat out the recent engagent to remain in the logistics base for maintenance and appeasent rites.
Standing beside the Baneblade was an Enginseer clad in Martian red robes, his body bearing extensive, glaring signs of cybernetic augntation.
Gripping an Omnissian Axe, his augtics blinking with rhythmic indicator lights, he was directing a cadre of servitors to conduct repairs on the tank through binaric cant incomprehensible to outsiders.
His optical sensors registered the intrusion, and the Enginseer slowly turned his head.
"[Basic Translation Module Engaged: Greetings. Commissar Yarrick has transmitted a vox-missive detailing your identities. Now, please state the purpose of your visit.]"
The exact instant those synthesized words left his vox-caster, Cybia's sixth sense as a psyker abruptly flared, warning her that sothing exceedingly unpleasant was about to happen.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
Rowan confidently took a step forward and spoke with crisp, absolute authority:
"You may address as Rowan. My identity is the Emissary of the Omnissiah. In the na of the Machine God, I require you to provide with the blueprints pertaining to super-heavy tanks."
The mont those words were spoken, the surroundings fell into a dead silence.
Even though the majority of the Enginseer's face was replaced by rigid cybernetic plating, the two won present could clearly sense—from the sudden, violently venting clouds of white exhaust steam violently hissing from his vents—that the Tech-Priest's mood was taking a catastrophic nosedive.
To put it simply: his core temperature just hit the redline.
--------------------------
Read 30 chapters ahead on Patreon!
spatreon/goatmama
User Comments
0 comments from readers