"My Lord, should we not send reinforcements to the First Landing Zone?"
In the Rangdan command room at the Second Landing Zone, the Rangdan War Marshal asked the Overlord, their mental fluctuations hesitant.
One hundred thousand troops in the First Landing Zone were currently locked in fierce combat with the humans.
"Tend to your own affairs." The Silent Warlord's mental projection was cold and heavy, pressing down upon the speaker's mind like a frozen mountain peak.
It monitored the development of the battle, performing rapid calculations as the holographic images shifted under its psychic manipulation.
Responding with a pincer maneuver?
The Silent Warlord saw how the humans were reacting, and a sinister smile crossed its hideous mouth—exactly as I intended!
With only a slight deception, the Dark Angels Legion had fallen into a trap.
By deploying 100,000 Rangdan elites and slave armies at the First Landing Zone, it had drawn the humans' attention.
Deploying another 100,000 elites at the Second Landing Zone was naturally highly deceptive.
The Rangdan Empire's elite forces were finite, as precious as the humans' Astartes.
Each defensive line required protection; the number of troops that could truly be assembled as a main strike force was extremely limited.
Perhaps in the mind of the human Primarch, the 200,000 troops committed to Planet Seven represented the limit of their landing force.
One on the left, one on the right, 100,000 on each side—it was indeed a pincer maneuver.
But the ambition and malice of the Silent Warlord were far beyond what a simple pincer maneuver could define!
It wanted to transform into a scythe, treating the Dark Angels Legion like wheat to be violently harvested, dealing a crippling blow to the First Legion of the Human Empire!
It would not only eliminate a vital military force but also deal a severe blow to the confidence of the Astartes Legion.
"Once the pulsar emits its electromagnetic burst and masks the human sensor equipment, all landing pods are to open, releasing the forces to launch an attack toward the humans!"
The Silent Warlord's tentacles pointed toward the humans, tracing the offensive route. It planned to use absolute force to drive directly into the core of the human lines.
It intended to push through to the heart of the war fortress and capture the First Legion's Primarch alive: Lion El'Jonson.
Its arrogant confidence stemmed from the forces at its disposal: the 200,000 warriors allocated by the Supreme War Marshal, plus 200,000 elites of equal size from its own command, totaling a massive elite army of 400,000!
This absolute force had to advance at lightning speed, crashing through the human lines like a flood.
"Dispatch the Shadow-Raider Reaper Guard and the Aeldari slaves." A fanatical glint appeared in the Silent Warlord's eyes; it felt as though it could already see the gene-primarch kneeling before it, face full of shock and regret.
The periodic electromagnetic waves from the pulsar rendered the area outside the shields an electromagnetic blind spot.
The landing ships immediately released insulating smoke to mask themselves from human telescopic detection, providing concealment for the Rangdan army.
Under the cover of the smoke, the transport hatches opened wide, and large numbers of elite warriors poured from the ship hulls.
Their objective was clear and precise: reach the edge of the shield and launch an assault the moment the electromagnetic pulse passed.
The unusual activity in the landing zone immediately alerted the Dark Angels.
However, due to the interference of the electromagnetic storm, ground-based sensors and orbital auspexes could not scan through the intense electromagnetic waves.
Optical telescopes were blinded by the smoke, making it difficult to see what was happening within the landing zone.
With no other choice, they could only order the legionnaires to stay on high alert.
Legion scouts received the order, and looking out from the observation decks, they indeed detected unusual movements.
The Rangdan were moving their shields out of the landing zone, scattering smoke along the way—what were they trying to hide?
"Call for artillery fire!"
The Ravenwing soldiers sensed something was wrong and immediately requested fire support: "Use my line of sight to designate the impact point."
"Artillery base, understood!"
The mortal artillery officer, long accustomed to the roar of cannons, bellowed in return.
Seconds later, shells whistled out past the shield, blanketing the white-fogged Rangdan shield with firepower.
Once the shells had fallen, the Ravenwing soldiers squinted, and the sight that greeted them was shocking.
The scouts' dual hearts tightened instantly. Under the smoke cleared by the artillery, the interior of the shield revealed not the expected ragtag slaves, but a Rangdan elite phalanx as dense as a steel forest, the cold gleam of their weapons merging into one.
"Damned xenos!"
The scout's superhuman brain processed the information quickly, and he cursed under his breath.
Clearly, the number of Rangdan elite soldiers under the shield far exceeded 100,000.
They immediately understood—the First Landing Zone had been a lure to paralyze the Lion and divide the First Legion's forces.
The true hidden lethal blow was this fully armed, super-human army!
The helmet display showed communications from other observation posts; they had seen the drastic change through their own telescopes and were seeking a unified consensus.
The Ravenwing soldiers did not hesitate and immediately reported their findings to the command center!
Inside the command fortress, the Lion's golden eyebrows furrowed; the Rangdan had used an unexpected tactic.
But he showed no trace of panic. With extreme speed, he issued his orders: "Luther, continue the attack. Do not concern yourself with the rear."
"You absolutely must not return for reinforcements. Once you allow the alien army at the First Landing Zone to launch a counter-offensive, the true pincer movement will be upon us."
Lion El'Jonson struck the heart of the matter, reminding Luther of the chain reaction that a retreat might trigger.
"Understood!" Luther's expression was grave. He dared not be negligent now, knowing the heavy burden of the Legion's survival rested on his shoulders.
"You have only one order." The Lion looked at his foster father, his tone becoming more fervent: "Attack! Attack! And attack again!"
"Break through the First Landing Zone, then launch a rear assault on the Second Landing Zone. That will relieve the pressure on the defensive fortress."
"I understand!" Luther's solemn voice sounded stiff; he hurriedly cut the communication.
The Lion turned his attention back to the fortress defensive line, squinting as he issued instructions: "Defensive legion, form echeloned defenses. Trade depth for Rangdan troops."
"Defense mission." He pointed at the corridors of the defensive fortress, his tone extremely stern: "Use every means necessary to hold the area behind Luther. Prevent the Rangdan from breaking through here and flanking the rear of our attacking legion."
"If this falls, everything is lost!"
The Lion let out a low roar in the command room. Only now did he feel a hint of pressure; his magnificent frame trembled slightly with excitement.
Lion El'Jonson recalled the days on Caliban; the encroaching threat of the alien-born made him feel alive with a sense of crisis.
"Hold the line, no retreat!"
The Astartes sensed the shift in their gene-father's emotions through their bloodline, kneeling and shouting in response, answering their Primarch with absolute loyalty.
Hearing his scions' response, a smile curled on the Lion's lips.
His fingers tapped rapidly on the holographic display, issuing hundreds of primary directives in a single second, deploying the legion across the fortress defensive line.
Defense troops formed tiered defensive lines, with mortals and Astartes fighting side-by-side to construct interlocking defense networks.
Tanks, Dreadnoughts, and Terminators formed defensive nodes in the fortress streets.
Knight households formed guard units, patrolling the steel jungle of the fortress like wolves waiting to strike.
Every model of Titan was deployed, dispersed to form vital fire nodes overlooking the human defense.
Above, mortal aircraft and Stormhawks soared, while the Ravenwing moved like the wind to sweep the area, their defense firm and resolute.
"Firewing, enter the designated lines and engage at will."
The Lion's finger flicked, placing the Firewing icon into the designated fallen zone, allowing the elite warriors to demonstrate their abilities.
The Firewing was the smallest of the Legion's six wings, but its members were mostly Terran veterans, many of whom had fought in the Unification Wars.
They possessed keen intellect and immense power; even though the legion had undergone multiple reforms since the Lion's return, the Firewing remained largely unchanged, save for a name shift.
The Firewing warriors were elites, adept at dismantling the enemy's organizational structure, destroying their command chains, and plunging them into chaos.
Deploying them was the optimal choice.
The Firewing Grand Master saluted the Lion and turned to leave the command room, his silence laden with determination.
The battle-hardened warriors had a premonition that with this crisis, many Firewing brothers would bid farewell to the Great Crusade with honor.
This was the best end for a warrior—to die with honor!
"Contact the Rock."
The orders were not yet finished; the Lion had fully awakened from his listless sleep, ready to deploy his own hunting plan.
To face such a formidable enemy, one needed a modicum of external assistance.
Before Blazkowicz destroyed the World Engine, he had transported a large number of war engines from his flagship; they were now all stationed on the Rock.
And there were special units that had not yet been taken away.
"Lion El'Jonson."
The figure in the transmission lifted his chin slightly, his voice devoid of fluctuation as he addressed the Emperor's eldest son.
"Shield-Captain Valdor." The Lion gave a slight nod in return, looking at the golden-armored warrior with a haughty air.
A haughty Custodian met an even haughtier Primarch; their gazes locked, as if sparks flew between them.
"I require some autonomous machinery," the Primarch stated his intent, concise and to the point.
"Impossible!" Valdor refused sternly. His scrutinizing gaze did not waver, staring straight into the Primarch's emerald eyes: "The First Legion has the authorization of our Lord to utilize relics from the Dark Age of Technology."
"But—" the Captain-General continued, his logic clear: "That authorization is limited to the Empire and the First Legion; it does not include the Nor Stars."
"It is necessary for me to remind you, eldest son of our Lord: you have no authorization to use those war machines."
Valdor did not back down; he was uncompromising, rejecting the gene-primarch.