Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

The experience of emerging from the warp for the first time, for Roboute Guilliman, was like rising from a pool at the bottom of a waterfall after fishing in spring, complete with rumbling echoes and a brief moment of realization.

This state lasted until a few minutes later: the source of the subsequent trance was not the impact of the ripples of the vast ocean, but his deep thoughts triggered by the golden and blue light erupting from the flagship of the Iron Warriors Company.

That kind of vigorous and incomprehensible energy caused the entire world that he thought he was familiar with to suddenly be shrouded in a strange veil. His multi-threaded brain immediately set aside several spare cores to deduce what combinations of conditions could achieve such a miraculous outcome among Macragge's current technology, and even the current level of military technology displayed by the entire human empire. A fraction of the effect.

No, his reason said, there was no possibility.

The theory of energy is being completely overturned, and the existing physical knowledge is completely trampled under that golden-blue light. Extraordinary, majestic, and controllable, this does not belong to the empirical knowledge that humans can use but still cannot be called understanding, nor does it belong to the theoretical basis that has been incorporated into the system of reality and truth. That is……

He almost used the adjective "mysterious" which symbolizes surrender to the unknown and irrationality. In a sense, what really hit Robert was the lack of firmness shown by his sudden abandonment of the search.

"What is that?" Guilliman asked, hoping that his former Legion Commander and current lieutenant, Glenn Vosoto, could give him an answer that decades of expedition experience could deliver, an answer to the phenomena and limits of psionic energy. answer.

"A dark shadow with golden light," Glenn said, "clad in iron armor."

"What?"

"There." Glenn prompted his genetic father to stop looking out the window. "Captain of the Iron Warriors. Barabas Dantioch."

Robert Guilliman turned from the window, his eyes separated from the dark background of the real universe, and fell on the three-color armor of steel and black and yellow stripes that was emerging in the command room.

An image entwined with golden lines appeared silently, just like a photo washed out. The face of the Captain of the Iron Warriors is obscured by a helmet with a vertical breathing grid. Regular beveled yellow and black patterns line the warrior's right shoulder armor and left knee. The serial number of the Fourth Legion is engraved on the left shoulder armor. Several decorative iron chains are added to one corner and the right knee to create a simple and beautiful separation between the layered ring-shaped leg armor and the waist armor.

"Captain of the 7th Company of the Iron Warriors, Barabas Dantioch." Guilliman said.

"Honored Primarch," Dantioch said, and the golden light faded from his body.

"Why are you here?" Guilliman couldn't help but ask, "We haven't received any connection requests. Is this also the Empire's short-range communication imaging?"

"No, it's psychic," the Iron Warrior said calmly, raising a hand. The flowing illusory light loomed in the gaps between his movements, distinguishing his image now from the Astartes' body in reality. "In order to maintain more timely communication, I am here."

"Psychic power," Guilliman repeated, reluctantly accepting the reality. As long as short-distance communication arrays are connected, contact interfaces and unified locators are built, holographic images can also appear in ways that are more in line with existing physical common sense.

Perhaps one day, Guilliman would be even happier if the Imperium of Man could gain access to this extraordinary means of communication without the use of incomprehensible psychic powers.

In fact, it has always been one of Archon Conor Guilliman's highest aspirations to regain communication with the many countries throughout the vast territory that Ultramar once owned.

Limited by technological obstacles, they had to choose to focus on reforms within the planet - this was both a skill for picking a breakthrough point when there were many difficulties, and also a last resort.

Guilliman did sometimes think that if the Imperial expeditionary fleet had not arrived here so early, years or decades later, they might find traces of him among the stars.

"Did the explosion just now cause any damage to you, company commander?"

"Under the protection of Artisan Morse, we were fortunate to survive that sudden small crisis smoothly."

"He's a psyker," Robert said, hoping his words didn't sound like a confused murmur. "Okay. Is this the power of a psyker?"

"We tend to consider this mentor of the Primarch Perturabo to be a most special type of psyker. No other psyker on our ships possesses the qualities he exhibits."

"Very polite." Robert paused, finding himself feeling a little guilty pleasure that the average psyker in the Empire didn't have Morse's exaggerated expressiveness.

He glanced out the window again. At the end of the original body's line of sight, another explosion suddenly erupted. The flammable gas released from the ship's cabin exploded into a string of fleeting orange-red sparks. The pitch-black void swallowed up the roars of both fighting parties, and destruction occurred in silence.

"I don't know enough about the Orcs," said the Primarch. "Can you tell me, are they currently engaged in a civil war?"

"In Morse's listening, yes. I can ask Morse if he wants to share it with you if you want."

"I'm not a good translator," a disembodied voice suddenly intervened. "There is no way to interpret the greenskin's modalities at the same time. Also, they are not exactly in a civil war."

"Please share the monitoring content with me, Artisan." Robert chose a title that was probably unmistakable. He had little personal relationship with Morse.

"Work harder, boys," Big Tooth said. Its chariot passed between the orcs, carrying a huge big tug. The bomb exploded the green skinned flesh and broken iron pieces all over the ground. Yes, the machete and cheers shuttled between the heads and disemboweled flying bodies of the same kind everywhere. The grunts ran around in panic, which annoyed the big tooth boss. It howled and tore apart with its hydraulic claws. Corpses, internal organs fell off, some technician boys had their heads bitten off by the influx of crazy similar people, shock waves from nowhere rolled across the battlefield, some psychic boys blew themselves up, and an old psychic boy was in a bad mood A strange green light emitted from his hand, wildly exploding the psychic chain used to control the enemy greenskins..."

"I can continue to translate like this. Do you need it, Primarch?"

"Give me a summary of the situation." After reluctantly accepting a few new words and filing them into his mental database, Robert decided to listen to the overall situation.

"To sum up, a group of greenskins discovered that another wave of greenskins were controlled by some kind of psychic creature and were going to attack a group of weak shrimps - our fleet. They thought this was too waaagh, so Go attack another wave of greenskins," Morse said, as a figure in black robes appeared in the command room of the Ultramarines. "They trap each other. What is your decision, Primarch?"

"I don't know the greenskins." Guilliman said this strange word. "What is the relationship between the Empire and them?"

"It seems that no one has told you that hating aliens is one of the key concepts of the entire human empire. As for the green skins themselves, on the whole, we are considered enemies. Therefore, what is your decision?" Morse raised his head. , looked at Robert Guilliman calmly, with no unnecessary emotion in his tone.

"Give me a suggestion, Glenn Wasotto."

"Kill them," the deputy commander said shortly. "Both sides together."

"Marius Gage, tell me, based on combat experience, how many units of greenskins can we kill with the long-range firepower we carry?"

"It's difficult to estimate, the original body." The first company commander replied, "The upper and lower limits of green skin technology fluctuate greatly."

Before Robert asked him, the craftsman shook his head: "I am just an observer. Unless you are personally on the verge of death, or my shelter is attacked, I will not join the battlefield."

He paused and glanced at a request that was flashing on the data pad: "Is anyone going to take care of the Imperial Fists?"

Marius connected the signal after getting Robert's nod.

The head of an Astartes appeared on the screen at the same time, as did the middle part of a Primarch's body in golden armor.

After Achamus, who claimed to be the Lord of the Haskar Guard, greeted Robert Guilliman, Rogal Dorn took the communicator and pointed the camera at his rock-like face: "Aiming at these green Leather Orc, what is your decision, Robert Guilliman?"

"We are discussing." Robert said. "Do you have any suggestions, Rogal Dorn? I believe that my lieutenant's suggestion to kill all orcs is reasonable, but this is not our battle goal. We carry ammunition against Osiris, Provide supplies, discuss theories, lay out tactics, and make corresponding pre-war preparations. An unexpected battle will disrupt the entire rhythm of the war."

Dorn listened quietly, and half a second after Robert finished speaking, he opened his mouth: "Your view is that you hoped to kill the orcs, but hesitated due to lack of preparation, right?"

"Yes." Robert admitted, although he felt uncomfortable admitting it. "I can't lead 29,000 soldiers who haven't gained enough understanding before completing the mission goal..."

"Thirty-three thousand." Rogal Dorn corrected, "My and Perturabo's descendants are currently on secondment in your hands, and their lives belong to you."

"Let's go around." Robert didn't hesitate anymore.

He didn't need to fill his bullets and lives with the Empire's medals of honor, and the orcs were nothing more than a forest cover for their true enemies. The real enemy is and will only be the enemy commander who exists in the military order, and they have exposed part of their abilities before causing any damage-the mind-playing psykers.

great. Robert thought. Whatever psionic beings were, he was about to kill a group of psionic users.

"Thank you for your advice, Roger Dorn," Robert said.

Dorn responded with a simple nod, then handed the communicator back to his heir. The White-haired Primarch has little need for praise from his brothers.

Acamus took over the communication device. "The Fourth Company of the Imperial Fists will follow the Ultramarines. If there is any accident, please contact us," he said, cutting off the communication.

"I wish Perturabo was here," whispered Mors. "In fact, I think he's starting to feel pity."

His figure disappeared earlier than his floating words.

The last to stop was Barabas Dantioch. Separated by an iron mask and the actual barrier caused by space, Robert could not judge the emotion of this steel warrior. But before leaving, Dantioch gave him a message: "Thank you, Primarch Robert Guilliman."

He did not specify what he was thanking, but Robert Guilliman hoped that the Captain was thanking him for his wisdom.

Dantioch. Well, he remembered the name.

——

"Check the missile racks, brother," Valentus Doro said. "We are scouts, but we are not here to die."

The display on Caspian's helmet informed him that all of the Stormbird's pylons were in good condition. He informed Valentus of this. "I've checked many times, sir. And it's not even time for us to land yet."

"Don't call me sir, Varus Caspian." Valentus jumped out of the Storm Bird's cabin, "We are not that unfamiliar."

"I'm sorry, Valentus, but seriously, you and our father suddenly look a bit alike." Caspian shook his head. "It makes me a little nervous - and, gosh, I He still only dares to call him father in private. He doesn’t seem to like this very much.”

"Stop talking, Caspian," said Valentus. "Watch your language."

"Yes, sir."

The process of waiting for the ship to approach the Osiris star field is long. In order to avoid disturbing the orc groups that were fighting with each other and to save their own ammunition and energy, Robert Guilliman's Goliath-class battleship led the fleet to take a long detour.

They gradually drove into a chaotic area filled with burning debris, dangerous gunpowder and radiation. The range of eleven stars had been filled with traces of battles distributed extremely widely in three-dimensional space; the orcs and some vaguely identifiable planets belonging to the Empire The wreckage of the ship floated in the deep night sky, spinning endlessly under the influence of gravity, scattering steel wreckage and debris.

The debris that covered the entire star system silenced the Space Marines. Judging from the battlefield situation, these countless orcs actually occupied a position of assistance in this operation of the empire: if this team of more than 20,000 ultramarines broke into this star area, they would undoubtedly pay a heavy price. The price is heavy, not to mention that there is a race using psychic powers hidden behind the scenes, waiting for opportunities.

The astrology scanners of the Imperial Expeditionary Force have begun to operate, and countless pieces of data are rolling in front of the Astartes Commander and the mortal crew.

A new command was sent to the ears of the Ultramarines through the built-in sound transmission device. "Reconnaissance team, prepare to enter the Osiris star cluster."

"Reconnaissance team received." Valentus replied, once again scanning the Stormbird parked in the reconnaissance ship, and then turned around. "Follow, Kaspion, and Iote Capa, come here. Go to the cockpit, we need to adjust the route and backup route in real time."