The first clash on Planet Five acted like a fuse, igniting the true war.
The long-standing stalemate came to an end. Taking the starlight and the void as their chessboard, the commanders of both sides began a confrontation in the truest sense.
The campaign unfolded on a grand scale, and the fleet battles shifted from tentative, back-and-forth skirmishes into raging, roaring torrents.
Distance calculations, angle adjustments, power outputs—fleet combat was devoid of battle cries. Cold logic replaced emotion, calculating the gains and losses of every single inch of a warship.
As high-level combat units, each warship was a collective of millions of lives. To maintain synchronized coordination, they had to rely solely on rigid systems.
Here, there was no need for individual heroism, nor was there any room for adrenaline rushes.
Within the colossal hulls of the warships, there existed only one iron rule: standard operating procedures!
Everything was executed in strict accordance with regulations. Personal emotions were swept away, and regulations kept the warships running, directing them to fire torpedoes and macro-cannons at the enemy.
The individual will was bound by steel and ironclad discipline, forged into a force of absolute obedience.
For the warship itself was but a single piece in the void battlefield that required absolute submission.
In the theater of the void, the warships clashed intensely at high speeds like two rows of giant teeth.
Combining the forces of the Imperium of Man and the Rangdan Empire—excluding mobile star-fortresses and void bastions, and filtering out all supply vessels and light combat ships—the capital ships participating in the battle numbered close to one hundred thousand!
It was a staggering figure.
Neither humanity nor the Rangdan had ever assembled a fleet of such scale within a single system to launch an offensive against a single foe.
Yet, this reality inevitably came to pass.
Both humanity and the Rangdan firmly believed they were chosen by destiny, ordained to rule the galaxy.
The opponent they sought to defeat was the most stubborn obstacle on their path to galactic dominion.
They had to commit the entirety of their might, even if it meant fighting to a bloody and battering end.
Only a single conviction burned in the hearts of the combatants: annihilate the enemy!
Across the boundless sea of stars, the war raged with indescribable intensity.
As ground forces were being deployed and reshuffled, the soldiers along the front lines obtained a brief moment of respite amid the prolonged confrontation.
Yet this rare rest was far from peaceful.
The sky seemed to hang with countless stars that stretched endlessly, as the combined glare of fleet-wide lance volleys dominated their entire field of vision.
Those brilliant flashes of light were as fleeting as supernovas, and the glare of the discharging energy weapons painted the ground battlefield in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Within the planetary fortresses, ground-to-ship defensive domes slid open, pointing giant cannons toward the heavens.
Plasmas, lances, and macro-cannons—anchored to the planet itself, with calibers ranging from tens of meters to over a hundred meters—gathered energy, preparing to fire.
Do not misunderstand; this ground-to-ship fire was not reinforcing the void battle.
The planetary defense systems were fully activated for the sole purpose of destroying falling warship wreckage, barely managing to protect the ground battlefield below.
Void vessels were colossal, constructed of adamantium skeletons and steel flesh. Their armor density was incredible, and their overall mass was even more terrifying.
A light frigate, fully provisioned, could weigh up to billions of tons—crossing into the "megaton" scale.
As for super-capitals like battleships, their mass was far greater.
When warships were blown apart in the void, their high-mass wreckage, pulled by planetary gravity, fell toward the surface, posing the greatest threat to the ground battlefield.
Their falling bodies were incredibly heavy and descended slowly, making them impossible for void shields to intercept.
If the debris was left to accumulate, the energy shields—such as ion shields—would be continuously crushed by the sheer weight, causing the shield systems to overload and collapse.
The only way was to rely on orbital defensive fire to systematically vaporize the debris.
Despite this, massive amounts of warship wreckage still rained down, crashing into the planetary wastes and kicking up billowing clouds of dust across the airless surface.
Fortunately, this wasteland lacked an atmosphere; otherwise, the continuous bombardment of warship wreckage alone would have devastated the planet's surface.
Within the trenches, soldiers looked up at the stars, watching the colossal vessels being destroyed one by one.
Both human and Rangdan warships collided and intertwined in the sea of stars like schools of sharks.
Broadside weapon arrays fired salvo after salvo, sending steel plating flying and snapping adamantium spines, until the crippled vessels finally wailed and plummeted to their doom.
Countless humans and aliens drifted in the void, their faces frozen in expressions of terror, turned into stiff blocks of ice.
The fall of every single warship represented the death of a medium-to-large city.
The two transhuman fleet commanders exerted their talents to the absolute limit, extending their wills across the battlefield as they continuously laid down their chess pieces.
Ferrus and Solas. The former excelled at launching all-out offensives across the entire line, translating global advantages into grand victories.
The latter would first define a singular strategic objective, and then direct all maneuvers and resources to revolve entirely around that strategic core.
It was impossible to tell who was stronger, but they locked horns and refused to yield an inch.
The only certainty was that they had seen through each other, anticipating every single plot and calculation.
When all stratagems failed, the battle gradually devolved into a brute-force head-on collision.
The two players overlooking the battlefield used cold, ruthless commands to drive their warships into suicidal missions.
They sent their warships to die!
Wave after wave, the vessels transitioned from biting sharks into line infantry lined up to be shot.
The warships deployed in straight lines, arrayed in multiple vertical tiers, presenting their broadside batteries to the enemy.
Aim, fire, sink; then bring up the next warship to plug the gap.
Logistics vessels rushed forward in frantic haste, rescuing as many crew members as possible from crippled ships to station them on the next vessel.
Abandoning tactical maneuvers, they engaged in a contest of sheer resolve and endurance.
The most brilliant commanders in the galaxy used the most primitive of tactics, counting on their fingers:
How long could their own warships hold out? Could they exhaust the opponent's industrial capacity?
Across the various ground command posts, the Primarchs stared at the system-wide tactical displays, their transhuman minds silently running simulations:
If they were commanding the fleet battle themselves, could they secure a victory with some unconventional gambit?
The answer was no!
Their conclusions were highly identical: it was impossible to use tactical maneuvers to secure a victory in this fleet action.
The best possible outcome was to maintain the front line, just as it was being done now.
In a conflict of such colossal proportions, neither side lacked telemetry or battlefield vision, and both commanders were of equal caliber. Maintaining the line was already the best possible result.
Even the habitually proud Lion, upon reviewing the battle simulations, found himself unable to match Ferrus's execution.
His brother not only maintained the front line but also had the spare capacity to dispatch recovery fleets, continuously rescuing crew from falling warships.
Conceited as he was, he had to admit that he would gain absolutely no advantage facing a master strategist like Solas.
For the battle had been unfair from the very beginning.
The void war that Solas inherited had been one where the Rangdan Overlords were unilaterally suppressed by Ferrus over decades of confrontation, leaving Rangdan morale in the absolute gutter.
To be able to catch Ferrus off guard at the very beginning, forcing him to make adjustments, already proved the capabilities of their rebel brother.
The Rangdan also found it unbelievable, but chose to remain mostly silent.
The void battle had raged for a long time. All the Rangdan Overlords had taken turns on the field, yet none had gained any ground against the human Primarch.
At times, they even had to combine their commands just to withstand Ferrus Manus's multi-pronged offensives.
Now that Solas had taken over, he fought on equal terms with the opponent, ultimately dragging the war into an unresolvable stalemate.
They did not know what to say.
Their inner pride would never allow them to admit their own lack of capability, or that they were inferior to a Primarch.
Within the command room of Planet Five, Junior saw the request for assistance from the Primarch of the Iron Hands.
The request was not for military reinforcements in the traditional sense, but rather a massive placement of orders, requiring the Nour Stars to expand their industrial capacity and forge more warships.
No matter the form the J-11 campaign took, its core essence was a war of attrition.
The ground forces were nearly depleted, and now they were consuming the void fleets.
"The industrial capacity of the Mechanicus has reached its limit. I need more warships. Prepare the vessels produced by Nour to be secretly commissioned."
Ferrus's will was delivered via digital commands; he had no time to spare much of his focus.
Junior did not rush to reply, pulling up a vast amount of data to review before cautiously responding to the Commander-in-Chief: "Since Nour began producing warships of the same specifications as the Imperium ten years ago, we have manufactured three thousand warships of various classes."
"By utilizing automated systems, the crew requirements have been reduced by half compared to similar Imperial vessels."
"That many?"
There was a clear hint of surprise in the digital transmission. Ferrus had not expected Nour to have prepared so many brand-new warships within their secret shipyards.
Most importantly, the reduced crew requirement was stellar news.
Without a doubt, this hidden force was more than enough to serve as the final straw that broke the camel's back at the critical moment.
"My Lord," Junior replied politely, "you may take delivery of the warships at any time. The crew will require very little training to operate them."
"I understand."
"I shall contact the Administratum, directing them to take delivery of the vessels and assign new batches of academy crewmen to operate the fleet."
"New ships, new fleets—letting young minds with fresh perspectives take over is far better than trying to reshape the habits of veterans."
"I shall provide the coordinates of the staging area within an encrypted channel."
Junior tapped lightly on the armrest of his throne, confirming his clearance. Once he obtained the celestial coordinates, he sent them over via the Primarch's private channel.