One day later.
The Ork Hive City.
Inside the planetary governor's palace, located at the very peak of the primary spire.
This opulent estate had long since been entirely converted into a fully functional command center—one that would arguably pass muster even by the stringent standards of the Astra Militarum.
"Wot da zog is goin' on?! All dem sneaky Boyz I sent out ain't co back! Dat new invention of yers seems completely zoggin' useless!"
Under the glare of bright illumination strips, an Ork Warboss clad in a crude approximation of a military officer's uniform stood facing the massive, shatter-proof armaglass windows. He then violently twisted his head, barking furiously at a massive Ork draped in a kboy's overalls standing behind him.
It had been several months since this Ork Waaagh! had overrun and seized control of the Hive City.
Over these months, Warboss Hakk Fang of the Blood Axe Clan had utilized every trick in his kunning arsenal. Relying on shockingly competent logistical planning and resource managent, he had caused the industrial output of this manufacturing Hive City to explode at an exponential rate, successfully arming his entire boyz to the teeth.
Despite this monuntal achievent, what infuriated him to no end—while simultaneously exciting him imnsely—was that the humie army prowling the wastelands outside was just too zoggin' kunning and fought entirely too well.
Ti and ti again, they had shattered his offensives despite being massively outnumbered.
Consequently, Hakk Fang had adopted a proposal from his Chief kboy. He dispatched a kill-team of Kommandos equipped with the k's latest invention—the "sneaky blue cloth"—to infiltrate the humie encampnt and execute a decapitation strike on their kunning commander.
But an entire day had passed, and not a single Kommando had returned to the Hive City. The outco was blindingly obvious: the mission had catastrophically failed.
"Boss, dese fings happen."
The Chief kboy clearly felt zero responsibility for the failure and imdiately deflected. "I figures dat humie boss must be right kunning. He probably saw our sneaky trick comin' a mile away! Dem sneaky Boyz just weren't kunning enough, so dey got krumped."
"But don't you worry none, Boss! Fightin' dese humies has given all sorts of new, brilliant ideaz! I'll whip up sothin' proppa shiny right quick. When I do, it's gonna work perfectly and we'll start an even bigga, greater Waaaagh!"
"Fine, I suppose I can accept dat excuse."
As he spoke, Hakk Fang began to run through any other unresolved issues. "Oh, right. You hear wot dem Boyz dat followed Galiya out said when dey ca runnin' back?"
"Bah! Boss, you knows how dem runts are! Dey definitely exaggerated how tough dem humies are!"
The Chief kboy scratched his head vigorously with a massive wrench, a glint of cunning and absolute certainty flashing in his eyes. He spoke with imnse conviction, "A humie dat shoots fire and has bird wings? Humie tin-cans dat are bigga and stronger than you? A weirdboy humie dat can throw a tank into da sky?! And so regular-lookin' humie who's so zoggin' strong he roasted Galiya alive without Galiya even bein' able to fight back?! Do you honestly believe any of dat squig-shit?! Just let 'em talk."
"I reckon dem Boyz just ssed up the fight, left an opening, and got krumped by dat kunning humie commander. So, to make sure dey don't get stomped for runnin' away, dey made up da craziest, scariest story dey could fink of!"
"Yeah, dat sounds about right."
The Warboss ground his thick, razor-sharp fangs together. "But we still gotta be careful. If I die and go et Gork and Mork, I won't be able to laugh at Galiya proper if I get krumped the sa way he did."
"No worries at all, Boss! You're da kunningest! Dem humies ain't never gonna break through our defenses!"
The mont the topic shifted to defenses, the Chief kboy grew incredibly animated.
He thumped his chest violently and declared, "With the shiny tanks dem humies got, dey can only bully da Boyz caught out in da open. If dey actually try to siege dis city? Completely impossible! You don't gotta worry about dat for a second, Boss!"
Hearing the kboy's tactical analysis, Hakk Fang nodded slowly, his concerns finally settling.
...
Naturally, those Greenskins could never have fathod that while they were confidently estimating the humies' capabilities, the tactical paradigm had already undergone a slight shift.
Outside the Hive City.
Just beyond the Armageddon Steel Legion's logistics base.
"Emperor above..."
Yarrick murmured softly, his eyes widened to their absolute physical limits in profound disbelief.
Even a man as indomitable as him couldn't stop himself from reaching down and pinching his own thigh.
The sharp sting of pain was crystal clear, confirming he hadn't succumbed to a warp-induced hallucination. But if this wasn't a hallucination, then the reality presented before him was simply too absurd to process.
Unfolding before Yarrick's eyes was an endless, unbroken wall of steel—a colossal armada comprising various classes of heavy armor.
The total count hovered around one hundred and thirty vehicles. A staggering number of hyper-rare tank variants, models considered mythical relics even within elite Astra Militarum armored regints, were parked casually in the dirt as if they were cheap wares tossed onto a street vendor's stall.
The light from the system's local star filtered softly through the atmosphere, washing over the nacing, brutalist angles of these chanical leviathans.
The cavernous maws of the macro-cannons and heavy bolters resembled the fangs of ancient beasts, exuding an aura of apocalyptic war and suffocating pressure.
In a brief mont of delirium, Yarrick—a devout believer in the Imperial Cult—suddenly felt he could, on so fundantal level, comprehend the dogma of the Adeptus chanicus.
Anyone with even a shred of aesthetic appreciation witnessing this spectacle would naturally conclude that there must be an Omnissiah capable of dominating all machines. And the steel leviathans arrayed before him were the ultimate, perfect embodint of His glory.
"If you please."
Rowan wasn't the least bit surprised by Yarrick's loss of composure. He rely offered a casual, sweeping gesture.
Hearing his voice, the Commissar finally managed to forcefully snap out of his stupor and strode forward.
"Five Baneblades. Five Hellhamrs. Five Stormlords. Five Stormswords. Five Shadowswords. As well as a massive complent of Hellhound fla tanks, Rogal Dorn battle tanks, Leman Russ Executioners, and Hydra flak tanks..."
The further he inspected the armory, the more intensely Yarrick's heart pounded against his ribs.
Super-heavy tank variants that were typically once-in-a-lifeti sights were gathered here in obscene abundance.
As an Imperial Commissar, he absolutely dared not dwell on exactly where these vehicles had originated, or the glaring logistical impossibility of fitting this sheer volu of heavy armor inside a single strike cruiser.
[To question is to invite heresy.]
After rapidly reciting a silent litany of faith, Yarrick forcibly suppressed the treacherous thoughts bubbling in his mind.
"Well? Is your regint capable of crewing and integrating this volu of heavy armor?"
Seeing that the Commissar had regained his bearings, Rowan asked.
"Undoubtedly. Every single soldier of the Steel Legion has undergone unspeakably rigorous training. We are among the premier armored regints in the entire Astra Militarum," the Commissar answered instantly.
"Excellent."
Rowan nodded in satisfaction, then gestured for the profoundly bewildered Yarrick to follow him toward another clearing nearby.
What could it possibly be this ti? Yarrick couldn't help but wonder as they walked.
However, after enduring the previous baptism of shock, he firmly believed that there was absolutely nothing left in this galaxy capable of shattering his composure again.
However, reality promptly proved that he had made that assumption far too prematurely.
"What... what is this?"
One minute later, Yarrick spoke, his voice completely hollow.
"Have you never encountered them before? This is Ignatus-pattern power armor, standard issue for the Ordo Hereticus and Ordo Malleus, complete with matching Artificer-grade bolters. The quantity is sowhat limited, unfortunately. I only produced about a thousand suits."
Rowan introduced the wargear with extre thoughtfulness. "You can equip your personal command squad with them. Or, perhaps, utilize them to forge a dedicated vanguard assault echelon."
"However, as it is only a thousand suits, it is obviously insufficient to equip every single Guardsman in your regint. Therefore, I took the liberty of preparing a supplentary boon."
As he spoke, Lucia effortlessly dragged forward a massive crate with her bare hands. Looking inside, Yarrick saw it was entirely overflowing with golden pendants shaped like the Imperial Aquila.
"This crate is entirely filled with Rosariuses. There are roughly over ten thousand of them; I did not take an exact count. Take them and distribute them among your infantry."
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