What kind of object could affect the destiny of a vast, galaxy-spanning empire?
Alexei had no answer.
But the banner of fighting for the God-Emperor had been raised, and the peoples of the entire Ersbaines and surrounding sectors rallied together.
Countless pilgrims organized themselves spontaneously—from clergy to merchants, from Astartes to commoners, even extending to the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Inquisition.
Driven by fanatical faith, a colossal fleet arrived in orbit above the capital world of Nifl where Prophetess Alexei resided, begging the God-Emperor’s messenger to guide their crusade.
And so, she came here.
The two crusade fleets, the Martyrs and the Pilgrims, had pursued the Ork Battle Moon all the way, fighting their way through the green tide that choked the stars.
Along their path, they gathered troops and supplies from shattered Imperial worlds and launched one frantic assault after another against the Orks, yet none yielded any decisive results.
Through endless battles, they had reached the eastern fringes of the Ultima Segmentum—the very place the Emperor had spoken of in the prophetess’s dream.
In the dark, a sense of glorious destiny filled every warrior with the firm belief that they would achieve unprecedented greatness here, sacrificing their lives to the Emperor to fulfill the task given to them by the Master of Mankind.
—Even if the Emperor had never actually said such a thing.
“Prophetess Alexei, what should we do next?”
Aboard the Fire of Penance, the Ecclesiarchy Cardinal leaned forward slightly from his seat at the table, asking with utmost sincerity.
The temporary commander, Milach, watched the battle in the airspace of the Second Moon with tense focus before the psychic divination array.
The Navy Admiral and the Adeptus Mechanicus Magos stood by as everyone calmly discussed the next steps of their plan, completely free of any dispute.
They were actually not blaming one another or engaging in endless bickering.
This was miraculous—a once-in-ten-thousand-years miracle for the Imperium of Man.
Alexei closed her eyes, her thoughts in disarray.
After a long pause, the prophetess finally spoke:
“We are not the only ones who wish to wrest the treasure from the Orks. The greedy xenos swarm also covets that artifact… I have seen it. Endless signals of insatiable hunger echo within the turbulent currents of the Warp. The swarm is approaching; the Shadow is drawing near…”
A brief silence fell over the bridge, but there was no panic.
They had long anticipated this scenario.
Instead, they were unified and controlled by a colossal consciousness known as the Hive Mind.
When the swarm arrived and the Hive Mind blanketed the stars, all Warp signals under its Shadow would be choked out, rendering the ships’ warp drives completely useless.
In other words, the arrival of the swarm would cut off their retreat.
In such a situation, the best choice would be to withdraw.
The value of any single strike cruiser in the Martyrs Fleet far exceeded that of the barren Faya system, but…
“But gentlemen, we are already on the edge of the Halo Zone. Beyond lies a dark abyss where not even the Emperor’s light can reach. If we fail to seize this final opportunity and allow the Orks to leap out of the Halo Zone, we will completely lose any chance of reclaiming what the Lord Emperor desires.”
Milach said, picking up his helmet and power sword from the table.
In a voice as booming as thunder, he declared:
“We have only this one chance. Everyone, allow me to stake it all!”
Such grand words reminded everyone present once again that he was not just a legion commander orchestrating strategies, but also a formidable Astartes.
“Now, let us review our previously established battle plan once more…”
The attack plan this Astartes commander had prepared for the Orks was simple yet practical:
Have the lightly armed pilgrims deplete the Orks’ naval strength as much as possible.
Then, the heavily equipped main force of the Martyrs Legion would seize the opportunity to launch a general assault on the heavily fortified Battle Moon itself.
The crusade fleet would deploy all its ground forces to the moon’s surface in a single wave.
The brave and fearless Imperial warriors would carve a path of blood through the Ork war machines, driving their spearhead straight toward the Ork leader hiding in its fortress.
Without a doubt, the treasure had to be in its possession.
All they lacked now was the perfect timing.
They had to reserve enough time for a subsequent retreat while expending as much of the Greenskins’ void presence beforehand as possible, clearing away obstacles for the landing forces.
They had to pinpoint that exact window of opportunity.
To this end, the Adeptus Mechanicus had urgently summoned a battle formation from the Forge World Muspel, consisting of the precious Warlord-class Titan “Monarch of Night”, three Reaver-class Titans, and six Warhound-class Titans. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Sisters of Silence from the Black Ships, Inquisitors and Grey Knights, Freeblade Knights wandering the galaxy, over a dozen Space Marine Chapters of various sizes, and countless Imperial Guard and Imperial Navy forces…
these diverse powers together comprised this massive army known as the “Martyrs”.
The warriors stood fully prepared, vowing to wrest what the Master of Mankind desired from the hands of the Orks.
After reviewing every arrangement of the landing operation one final time, Milach confirmed that all was in order.
With the shadow of the swarm drawing closer, it was time.
The battle-hardened Chapter Master picked up his battle-scarred greatsword, ready to issue the order to begin the operation.
Just then, he heard an utterly distorted cry of shock:
“By the Omnissiah! What is that?!”
Milach looked in the direction of the voice.
The one who had let out this gasp was actually the usually enigmatic Magos.
This high-ranking member of the Adeptus Mechanicus from the Forge World of Muspel had provided immense aid to the Martyrs Fleet and was held in high esteem by everyone, including Milach.
Yet at this moment, the Magos—whose face retained only a single organic eye amidst a web of wiring and gears—agape in an indescribable expression, let out one sobbing cry after another.
“What is that? What is that?!”
“This is… how could this be… Omnissiah, O Omnissiah!… Have my visual sensors malfunctioned?”
It seemed there was no way to have a normal conversation with him in this state.
Milach directly copied the information projection in front of the Magos and cast it onto the meeting table.
Appearing on the table was a slightly blurry feed of dynamic footage.
The spherical image in the center was indeed the Battle Moon.
However, what had thrown the Magos into such hysterics was not the Battle Moon itself, but a heavily scarred space station hovering in its orbit.
The Seeker.
The void shields on the surface of the space station flickered incessantly as they absorbed fire from all directions, looking precariously close to being torn apart and sunk at any moment.
Yet, the hangar modules located along the Seeker’s midsection were opening one by one in an orderly fashion, calmly and without the slightest hint of panic, dropping colossus after colossus of iron and steel down toward the Battle Moon below.
The landing had begun.