40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 450 176. Terra (Thirty-seven, The Great Adventure of Orr Persson)

Orpeson opened his eyes and saw the burning sky.

The smell of sulfur rushed into his nose, and he felt himself shaking, or the ground was shaking, and people were shouting around him.

After a while, the world in front of him was finally no longer blurry. Some things that should be remembered, and his own name emerged from the depths of his mind.

He opened his eyes wide and immediately raised his right hand to grab his chest. The heavy weight in his hand made him let out a sigh of relief, but the scream that followed made his hair stand on end.

He remembered where he was.

Orpeson rolled over, his. His whole body ached, especially his chest. Despite his confusion, Orr made a reliable guess.

The explosion and subsequent fall probably brought him back to life once or twice, and the pain was naturally the effect of the gem's gravity.

He looked down at the charred military uniform with blood on his body, and suddenly realized the blind spot of this speculation - the explosion should have burned all his clothes dry. He could be resurrected, but his clothes obviously could not.

So, what does this mean?

His thoughts did not last long. A burst of heat from his chest brought Orperson back to his senses immediately. He glanced around, and his instinct began to forcefully urge him to take action again. As a result, his body started to move before his mind could return.

Orr began to run wildly. The stench unique to war poured into his nose cruelly from the hot wind blowing in his face, and began to remind him more and more dangerously of where he was at the moment and what he was doing.

And he had no time to care about these things now. The first priority was to find a weapon. From the trench covered with thick ashes, he got a combat shotgun in good condition from a soldier who had been dead for a long time. .

A heavy guy, but a good guy. He squatted in the trench, pulled out its drum and took a look. It was full of shotgun shells.

This incident made Orr look up again at the deceased who generously gave him equipment. The latter's exploded chest and dull expression revealed the way he died - being inadvertently killed by a stray bullet.

The most common and cheapest way to die on the battlefield. After the invention of machine guns and the doctrine of fire superiority, such deaths became commonplace for infantrymen.

Orr sincerely observed a moment of silence for him, and then marched in the trench with his gun in hand.

At this moment, there were not many sounds he could hear, but each one was very violent. They mingled together into an intolerable and violent cacophony.

Barbaric shouts, crazy laughter, falling shells, and roaring gunfire. All of these echoed in Orpeson's ears. They made his head start to hurt again, and his temples on both sides were beating with the beating of his heart. Together they agitated endlessly.

So familiar, so terrifying - everything he had spent his life trying to escape from had now come back to him because of his own choices.

War. Orr Persson sighed bitterly.

He turned his head to look at the fog spreading from the other end of the trench, then raised the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger without any hesitation. Everything was as smooth as oriental silk and was incredibly smooth.

He smashed the chests and heads of two cultists wearing human skins, while the third one rushed over waving the long animal bone blade in his hand. His face was full of fanaticism, and there was no trace of rationality that should belong to human beings on his face that was so thin that it was out of shape.

Orr glanced at it, waited calmly for him to approach, and pulled the trigger again before he could swing his knife.

"boom!"

The gunfire, which was so loud that it was no different from the sound of cannons, erupted again, and the devastating firepower of the combat shotgun turned the entire upper body of the enemy who was trying to get close to him into a ball of blood mist.

Orr put down his gun, walked over and stepped on the long animal bone knife with his foot. He looked at it for a while and finally decided to pick it up and use it. It is very important to have a knife. In some situations, a gun will never come in handy. This is his experience.

However, at the moment when the blade came into his hand, the gem on his chest became hot again, and a flame-like brilliance emerged from his chest, and in a flash, the entire knife was instantly burned to ashes.

"."

Orr shook hands wordlessly, his blood-stained combat gloves filled with pale ashes.

He said nothing and just kept going.

He didn't know where he was going, nor where the troops who fell with him were. He just moved forward with all his heart.

He could swear to God - or that God - that he had no intention of continuing in his old profession, nor did he really want to be the company commander. However, when he came to his senses, there was already a force of nearly 400 people around him.

They all listened to him, and the two flag bearers followed him, holding the blood-stained flag high.

"Keep going!" he heard himself roaring, and it actually came naturally. "For Holy Terra!"

What a hell. Orr thought to himself.

But the real hell is yet to come, because Orr learned from the mouths of these surviving soldiers that they are now in the eastern front position of the Terra Palace, numbered thirty-six.

Frankly speaking, when he learned about this, there was a loud bang in Orperson's mind.

How could it be such a coincidence? How could it be such a coincidence? Why was it such a coincidence? He almost cursed and questioned the man, knowing that he could see and hear him, and was probably paying attention to him.

But he didn't do it after all.

I still have work to do. Or Persson thought indignantly. Unlike you, bastard, who has nothing to do but burn my knife.

He jumped out of the trench with a gun in hand, and the crowd shouted loudly behind him. They advanced forward for more than 600 meters while firing, and successfully saw the support that the soldiers talked about.

It was a team of Imperial Fists fighting with demons and traitors, and there were not many people left. Or immediately chose a relatively high place and built a simple fortification with the bodies of two cultists and mud.

He lay down and used a flying needle sniper rifle he picked up to observe the specific situation in the melee. Thanks to the power of the scope, he confirmed the leaders of both sides without much effort. The leader of the Imperial Fists was a burly giant holding two axes, and the leader of the enemy was a Word Bearer wearing heavy armor.

"Prepare to move forward." Orr told his messenger very calmly. "Let those with heavy firepower come to the front, we will fire a round, and then charge, but don't engage the enemy, just harass these damn bastards from a distance."

"Also, this time, pay attention to the distance, don't let any demons get close to you. Get the grenadiers ready, if the enemy can't help but want to mess with us, just let them eat some Grox shit."

"Understood, sir!" his messenger roared.

Half a minute later, his orders began to be executed. For a unit that has lost modern communication capabilities, this efficiency is simply appalling.

Orr didn't have time to care about this sacred ninth wonder of the world. He was full of regret and didn't understand why his way of speaking had changed again.

He now sounded like a veteran, not the 'pious Orr', not the retired soldier living on Calth.

Ah, Calth. He sighed. I miss you.

He really missed that good place. There were few such beautiful places in the galaxy, but it was all gone, all thanks to those damn Word Bearers.

My land. Orr Persson began to grit his teeth. My cotton.

He put his cheek close to the butt of the Flying Needle sniper rifle, began to slow his breathing patiently and calmly, and observed the enemy through the scope.

The Flying Needle gun is an unintuitive high-range weapon with no sound at all. Its ammunition is a hardened deadly toxin crystal, propelled by lasers, and it hits the target when it is fired. Although it has no armor-piercing ability, it is very suitable for killing those idiots who don't wear helmets.

Through the scope, he found the Imperial Fists' double-axe warrior again, and slowly moved the barrel, aiming at the traitor Word Bearer who was fighting with him.

He put his finger on the trigger.

Be careful, Orlanes. Orr told himself. You have to be careful, because the Imperial Fist is not wearing a helmet either.

He pulled the trigger.

The Word Bearer's movements suddenly froze for a moment. He looked very confused. The confusion came from the confusion in his heart and a sharp pain on his right cheek.

But he had no time to think about what was going on. The strong weakness that surged instantly after the pain made him kneel down suddenly. The Imperial Fists did not waste this opportunity and immediately swung the axe to chop off his head.

A few seconds later, the headless corpse began to tremble violently, and blood spurted out. The Imperial Fists strode towards the next target.

Or smiled with satisfaction. He knew that the Word Bearers had already surrendered to the dark evil gods in the warp, but they still had flesh, so they could never be immune to neurotoxins.

He moved the barrel and began to follow the pace of the Imperial Fists, shooting and killing those who tried to approach him one by one.

The man soon realized that he had received help from a sniper, but he did not immediately assemble his troops to evacuate from the siege of enemies that outnumbered them several times, but rushed into the enemy's hinterland alone.

Seeing this, Orr Persson couldn't help cursing.

He had experienced many kinds of wars, some primitive, some full of cannons and bombardments from the sky. Therefore, he knew very well what the Imperial Fist was going to do - he was going to find the enemy general directly and kill him to boost morale.

"Why are you Astartes always like this?" Orr muttered to himself. "I really don't understand why you superhumans lose your intelligence at this moment and start fighting the enemy one-on-one like idiots"

"Wait, what?"

He raised his head from the scope, then leaned over and carefully confirmed that the scene he observed was correct.

"Am I crazy?!" he roared. "That idiot actually agreed to fight him one-on-one?!"

"Sir!" The messenger ran towards him breathlessly. "Do you have any orders?"

"Full company advance! Don't worry about the ammunition, kill these bastards!" Orr yelled at him, stood up with his gun, and started running.

He had to get closer to have a higher chance of hitting. He didn't know if the Imperial Fists would win, but he would do everything he could to ensure it.

On a battlefield like this, only the Astartes could help him do what he was about to do.

As he ran, the gem on his chest was extremely hot, forcing him to grin, full of resentment and curses.

——

Fafnir Lane raised his right hand slightly, letting gravity carry the ax handle and slide down his hand naturally.

He held the middle part of the ax handle. This was not the way to hold it to maximize its lethality, but it was the way he needed it most next. At the same time, he lowered the ax in his left hand slightly, as if he was about to use it to lift.

"bring it on."

The Word Bearer standing opposite him said this, and the voice coming from the Terminator helmet was very gloomy.

"I will enjoy every second of slaughtering you, Imperial Fists."

"Stop talking nonsense, traitor."

Lan raised his chin in contempt, and his bloody face could not hide his arrogant expression at this moment. But it was a trap, and it succeeded in trapping the Word Bearer.

He let out a cold snort and raised the power hammer in his hand high. Lann didn't hesitate and rushed straight towards him.

His fighting style differs from that of most Imperial Fists in that he is very aggressive and prefers to attack most of the time. In response to this, someone once jokingly said that he might have gone to War Dog for internal training.

But the real situation is that even the war dogs were very surprised by his dual-wielding power axe, and bluntly said that Lann was a madman to some extent, just like their eighth company commander Karn.

Of course Rann knew who Kahn was, but did Kahn know who he was? He didn't know, he only knew that it was time for him to swing the ax in both hands at the same time. This is not a slash, but a downward blow.

There were two muffled bangs, arcs of electricity, and fire, leaving two deep marks on the Word Bearer's scarlet shoulder armor. He roared and swung the hammer with his backhand to force Lann back. At the same time, he pressed the handle of the hammer and pressed hard.

This is not a ring, but he can still compress the space where Lan can dodge in this way. Lan took a serious breath, weighed for a moment, and then started to dodge with dexterous steps. He crossed his hands and swung both axes at the same time, hitting a powerful and heavy attack.

His enemy saw through his movements and did not dodge at all, relying on the Hades Terminator's superior defense and almost no loss of flexibility to rush straight towards Lann. The human skin on the scarlet shoulder armor glistened in the blood, and the painful human face made Lann's eyes twitch.

He was a little angry.

"brute!"

The Imperial Fist roared and did not even dodge. It raised its two axes high and slashed hard at the Word Bearer's head, which was firmly protected by the neck guard and shoulder armor.

He hit, but he also got hit. The whole person was knocked away, and the Word Bearers chased after him with unsteady steps. The eyepiece of his helmet was damaged, with Lann's left ax embedded deeply into it.

"loser!"

The Word Bearers sneered harshly, and the power hammer was raised again, without reservation. It would be a powerful and terrible swing, with only one purpose, to kill Rann in an instant.

He wanted to use this swipe to completely shatter the armor on Lann's abdomen, causing his internal organs to burst out and become a sacrifice to the gods.

Faced with such a dangerous situation, Lann gave his answer in just a moment - he still did not dodge, but rolled sideways, letting the power hammer hit his left shoulder armor, which was in good condition, and at the same time threw the right hand's weapon. ax.

It accurately drew an arc and hit the broken eyepiece of the Word Bearer. The crazy bloody eye beneath it widened in an instant, and the Imperial Fist saw a flash of white light at this moment.

A smile appeared on his bloody face.

Half a second later, with the loud sound of the ax hitting his helmet, the power hammer that the Word Bearer raised again froze in mid-air.

Lann leapt to his feet, lunging at his weapon with the flying fragments of his pauldron. He held the ax with both hands and pressed down on the Word Bearer's head, and began to put pressure on the ax with his knees.

The dull sound echoed throughout the battlefield. Many people noticed what was happening here, but they had no time to care, because grenades were falling at their feet, as well as a large group of people with black faces and unknown faces. Mortals rushing out from any corner.

Correction, holding in hand a series of mortals such as heavy logging guns, bolters and trench shotguns that are enough to threaten the firepower of the Astartes.

Correction again: a group of mortals who don’t care about their lives.

Eleven minutes later, they killed them all.

Panting heavily, Orperson walked up to Fafnir Lane, who was sitting on the enemy's corpse, holding his gun. He raised his head to look at the other person, and Lan also looked down at him. A few seconds later, the two of them actually spoke at the same time with quite a tacit understanding.

"Who are you?"

"Ol Persson."

Lan was startled for a moment and nodded: "So you are Orr Persson."

"What?" This time it was Orr's turn to be surprised. "You know me?"

"You have been assigned a task by the Markmaster Malcador. Everyone else has arrived, but you are the only one left, Or Persson."

Lan said slowly and shook his head. He raised his right hand. The yellow armor stained with blood seemed to be rusty, but his expression was calm enough to be convincing.

"Go east for about 1,200 meters and you should be able to meet them."

"I don't want any assumptions or shoulds!" Orr Persson suddenly roared. "I don't have any mission! I'm just here to deliver something!"

"I can't control that. By the way, your shot is very accurate." Lann grinned at him. "Also, since you are here, does that mean our reinforcements are also here?"

Orr did not answer this question. He was now full of complaints and resentment. However, the sound of footsteps coming from behind him interrupted his current self-pity and anger towards someone. He turned his head and saw his messenger and flag bearer.

"Reinforcements, sir?" The messenger looked at him expectantly. "Do we have reinforcements?"

Orr sighed and did not answer immediately. He began to organize his words, wondering how he should tell them that a total of six Primarchs and seven legions came to support them.

But he soon had no more to say, for the people began to shout, and Fafnir Lane was on his feet in an instant. He stared at the mist creeping in from their right and smiled sincerely.

With the somber declaration of "We come for you," the Imperial Fists let out a calming breath.

"This is going to be something fun to watch." He laughed ferociously and looked down at the Word Bearer's body on the ground. "Don't you like skinning?"

He couldn't help but burst out laughing.

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