War Hammer: The reality Bender Chapter 55 55: Clash of Ideals [Bonus]

It must be said that Hakk Fang, as an Ork Warboss hailing from the Blood Axe Clan, possessed a genuinely sharp mind and a comprehensive understanding of the "humies."

But regrettably, even though he had anticipated it, it was entirely useless.

Because what Rowan was about to do was not sothing that could be defended against simply by being prepared.

At this mont, aboard the strike cruiser in orbit.

"Lord Rowan, I do not believe this is a sound idea; it is far too dangerous."

Having returned to the orbiting vessel via warp-translation, the group unanimously began to dissuade Rowan after hearing his battle plan.

Rowan, who was already standing before the drop pod, turned around and spoke with earnest sincerity: "This plan is the result of careful deliberation; the risk is minimal."

You call this minimal risk?

Upon hearing this, the expressions on everyone's faces varied wildly.

Rowan's plan was exceedingly simple. Void Shields could deflect any high-velocity object, including but not limited to lance strikes and macro-cannon shells, but their inherent weakness was their complete ineffectiveness against low-velocity objects.

Protected by the Void Shield, Rowan indeed had no way to simply obliterate the Ork Gargant from orbit with a lance strike, like in so cinematic trailer.

But, if I employ a boarding and decapitation strike, how will you counter it?

(A certain Lord of the Ninth Legion had done exactly the sa.)

"I still disagree with this plan." As an Inquisitor, Cybia spoke with solemn, self-evident conviction: "I believe the correct course of action is to order the Astra Militarum regint to launch a full-scale offensive to entirely attrite the Ork forces, and only then should you make your appearance."

"Lord Rowan, you are the hope of the Imperium of Man, the Emperor's Covenant-bearer. Your safety is ten thousand tis more precious than the lives of these Guardsn... No, their value shouldn't even be ntioned in the sa breath as yours."

"If they can die for you, it would be a worthy death; such glory is enough to earn them a place at the Golden Throne."

Rowan fell silent.

He glanced at the others. Unsurprisingly, both Lucia and Leonardo possessed looks of profound agreent. Evidently, they also genuinely believed this was the objectively correct choice.

"...You are all being a bit too extre."

Due to his experiences in his past life, Rowan was naturally no bleeding-heart saint. If necessary, he would not hesitate to sacrifice others to ensure his own survival.

However, this kind of entirely unnecessary sacrifice and wastage could only be described as giving Rowan a minor case of '40k culture shock'.

One must rember, even the SCP Foundation had an internal departnt called the "Ethics Committee," specifically tasked with maintaining a moral baseline and auditing whether their so-called "necessary evils" were actually necessary.

But here, in this grimdark galaxy? Ethics? Morality? What the hell were those? Could you eat them?

"I recall an Inquisition maxim: 'So may question your right to destroy ten billion people. Those who understand realize that you have no right to let them live.'" Rowan said slowly, his tone calm yet firm. "I do not believe our current situation has devolved to such a state."

"'There is no place for the weak-willed or the hesitant. Only by firm action and solid faith will mankind survive. No sacrifice is too great. No treachery is too small.'" Cybia did not directly refute him, but recited another Inquisition maxim to clarify her stance.

This man's consistent modus operandi—whether it was granting Excommunicate Traitoris a chance at redemption, or going out of his way to distribute hyper-rare Rosariuses to every single frontline Guardsman—gave Cybia an indescribable feeling.

It was a violent collision between two entirely different worldviews.

"Perhaps, you are right." Rowan pondered for a mont, but still shook his head. "However, I am not wrong either."

"In this grimdark galaxy, humanity is often forced to choose the lesser of two terrible evils. That is not humanity's fault; it is the fault of those vile entities sitting in the Warp. It is the fault of this universe."

"But as I am now, I possess the absolute capability to forge a third, better outco from those two terrible choices."

"This is not rely because of my Covenant with the Emperor, but more importantly, because I want to do it. It is as simple as that."

Having said his piece, Rowan strode forward and stepped into the drop pod.

The remaining three watched his back in total silence, falling into deep contemplation.

The hatch sealed shut, and the crimson warning lights flared overhead.

Rowan did not choose to strap himself into the restraint harnesses against the bulkhead; he rely stood there, perfectly still in the center of the cabin.

He communed with the machine spirit, issued the command, and the launch chanism engaged.

A drop pod, microscopic in comparison to the colossal strike cruiser, detached from the hull. It traced a teor-like trajectory through the void, plumting toward the surface below.

Inside the drop pod, a bizarre phenonon was occurring.

Rowan remained standing perfectly upright, his feet seemingly rooted to the deck. He experienced absolutely zero weightlessness or inertial G-force, nor did he follow the laws of physics and splatter against the ceiling as a pile of bloody paste.

Anyone with a shred of common sense witnessing this would shriek in horror: Physics had ceased to exist!

In a fleeting instant, the drop pod tore through the atmosphere and approached the Void Shield. The machine spirit imdiately registered this, and the massive retro-rockets at the base violently engaged, reducing its terminal velocity to an absolute standstill in a microsecond.

The terrifying G-force generated by this maneuver was enough to liquefy any baseline human, yet Rowan remained completely unhard, entirely ignoring the physical constraints as his feet stood firmly planted in the cabin.

And down on the ground, alerted by the commotion, Hakk Fang spotted the incoming drop pod. A flicker of sheer bewildernt crossed his eyes.

Seeing this object, he naturally understood the humies' intent.

But was dis a zoggin' joke? Tryna decapitate , an Ork Warboss, wif a single drop pod?! Who gave dese humies da zoggin' nerve?!

Without a microsecond of hesitation, Hakk Fang roared furiously, ordering the surrounding Ork Boyz to elevate their barrels and unleash waves of flak into the sky.

He wasn't idle either; he traversed two massive anti-air cannons mounted on the Gargant, unleashing a torrential storm of dakka at the drop pod that had halted to bypass the Void Shield.

Unsurprisingly, the Dreadclaw drop pod was instantaneously pulverized into dust under the concentrated firepower of the entire Ork horde. Burning debris rained down.

But then ca the problem.

Hakk Fang narrowed his eyes.

Wait... how co dere ain't no humie inside? It's empty?

Wait, zog!

BOOM—!!!

A deafening explosion erupted right next to Hakk Fang. Overlapping, resonating shockwaves violently expanded, nearly rupturing his eardrums.

Shrapnel and tallic debris violently sprayed outward, peppering the Warboss's face with blood and leaving him in a wretched state.

Wot da zog is happenin'?!

With no ti to mind the pain, Hakk Fang blankly turned his head. He saw that just a few ters away, standing directly upon the Gargant's massive left shoulder, was a seemingly entirely ordinary humie holding a golden sword.

The thick steel armor beneath the humie's feet had already been shattered and violently warped into a twisted ss by a colossal impact.

Yet, despite causing such catastrophic damage, the humie was completely unhard; even his clothes lacked the slightest tear.

He slowly raised his head, his calm gaze locking directly onto Hakk Fang's.

--------------------------

Read 30 chapters ahead on Patreon!

spatreon/goatmama