On the ice plain, the retreating figures of the Orks made the Imperial soldiers rub their eyes in disbelief—these insane war machines would actually retreat on their own?
This was even more unbelievable than if the Orcs suddenly started studying philosophy.
The Commander stood inside the makeshift command post, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the tactical display.
On the holographic projection, the red markers representing the Orks were shrinking back at an astonishing speed, leaving behind only metallic wreckage and smoking green corpses.
"Sir, should we pursue?" The adjutant's voice was hoarse and tired, his uniform still stained with congealed blood.
The Commander shook his head, his chapped lips uttering a few words: "No, let the lads and lasses catch their breath."
He knew the condition of his troops all too well—ammunition was almost depleted, soldiers were exhausted, and even the heat sinks of their Lasguns were deformed from overuse.
To make matters worse, the medical tents were already overflowing, and the wails of the seriously wounded even drowned out the howling cold wind.
"Pass down the order: consolidate the defenses, count the casualties, and prioritize treating the wounded." The Commander rubbed his temples: "Have the sapper company lay mines at the front lines; God knows when those Orks will come back."
The troop losses were far greater than expected, and the Commander did not want his forces to collapse in morale.
Not only did the defenses need to be consolidated, but these lads and lasses also needed time to rest.
"Sir! Urgent order!" Just then, a communications soldier stumbled into the command post, his data pad flashing with a crimson marker of highest priority: "Inquisitor requests us to immediately organize a mobile unit and launch a feint attack towards the ancient ruins!"
"What?" The Commander snatched the data pad, repeatedly confirming the order's content.
This was completely illogical—his troops had just gone through a bloody battle; how could they have any strength left to attack? Especially towards that death zone heavily defended by the Orks?
But the encrypted mark at the bottom of the order was genuine; it was Alex's personal electronic signature.
"Damn it." The Commander cursed, but still immediately turned to his operations staff: "Gather all Chimera armored vehicles that can still move, and then draw twenty regiments that can still move.
Tell the lads—we only have thirty minutes to prepare."
—
While the Commander was urgently redeploying frontline troops and reorganizing forces for the next offensive, in his direction of attack, the Orc army was launching a fierce assault on the ancient ruins.
At the other end of the smoke-filled battlefield, a dense Orc army surged like a tide towards the ancient ruins, their crude war machines spewing black smoke, and deafening "Waaagh!" roars echoed across the entire battlefield.
Those Orks were completely in a state of madness; their veins bulged under their coarse skin, their eyeballs were bloodshot, and foamy, foul-smelling spittle frothed from their mouths.
They no longer charged chaotically as usual, but formed some kind of primitive battle formation; the foremost Orcs held up crude metal shields, while the Orks behind them set up modified heavy weapons.
The Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii defense line was under unprecedented pressure. The Knight Family's war machines formed a steel wall at the front lines, and their ion shields flickered with unstable blue light under intense firepower.
"For the Emperor! Hold the line!" A Knight pilot roared in the comms channel, his meltagun spewing scorching white flames, vaporizing charging Orcs into green mist.
But more Orks continued to charge over the charred corpses of their comrades, their crude weapons, empowered by the WAAAGH! energy field, were actually able to cause substantial damage to the knight titans.
A War knight titans's shield suddenly overloaded and was immediately hit by dozens of Orc rockets, leaving a charred indentation on its adamantium armor.
"They're insane! These beasts aren't afraid of death at all!" A Knight pilot roared in the comms channel. His war machine had just vaporized an entire squad of Orks with its meltagun, but more Orcs had already charged over the charred corpses of their comrades.
On the ice plain battlefield, the Orcs' madness had reached a chilling degree.
Their charge was no longer a chaotic, savage ramming, but like precise war machines controlled by some ancient will.
In the direction of the Dome, although the Orks were astonishing in number, their fighting was more like a chaotic carnival.
They reveled in the battle itself, wielding crude weapons and letting out deafening "WAAAGH!" cries, but lacked a clear objective.
Their attacks were without method; they simply enjoyed the thrill of slaughter.
But here, the situation was completely different.
In the eyes of every Green-skinned Orc, a fervent battle spirit burned, their pupils reflecting the outline of the ancient ruins, as if a sacred relic they must reclaim was hidden there.
Their actions were no longer aimless, but as if driven by some higher power, forming an organized army of slaughter.
These Orks completely disregarded casualties; some Orcs even threw their bodies at the meltagun muzzles of the knight titans just to buy their comrades a few seconds of charging time.
Their spirit of sacrifice was shocking; their green bodies instantly vaporized in the high heat, but more Orcs charged over the charred remains of their comrades, as if death to them was merely a step towards victory.
Most unsettling, the Warlords began to personally join the fray.
These massive monsters wielded power weapons, each swing tearing Skitarii combat robots to shreds.
Their muscular bodies steamed in the cold wind, and foul-smelling breath spewed from between their tusks; their much larger size compared to ordinary Orcs, combined with the finest weapons of the entire Orc tribe, made every Warlord a terrifying killing machine.
And behind them, a more terrifying shadow appeared on the battlefield's horizon—the Gorkanauts!
These colossal war machines, cobbled together from scrap metal and insane "I fink it works" logic, advanced with heavy steps, each stride shaking the ice plain.
Their crude exterior armor was covered in rivets and weld marks, but their destructive power was undiminished.
Giant power claws easily tore open human defenses, while the "Super-Duper Big Shootas" mounted on their arms blasted entire positions into scorched earth.
However, this was not the most terrifying.
Accompanied by a deafening explosion, an iceberg was directly blown open.
Amidst the flying ice crystals and steam, a colossal entity composed of metallic junk and ancient technological remnants slowly rose—that was the Orcs' Titan-class unit, the Stompa!
(warboss, also called Warlord)
(Warlord, Orc Warlord)
(Painboss, Mad Dok)
(Big Mek)
(Mekboy Junka)
(Gorkanaut)
(Morkanaut, yes, Gorkanaut and Morkanaut are two different things)
(Stompa)
(Stompa 2)
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