The Volscani Cataphracts possessed formidable tactical discipline.
Even in treason, their battle lines remained textbook-tight.
Heavy weapon companies swiftly established firing points, advancing layer by layer, methodically harvesting the lives of the Cadian defenders who had yet to recover from the shock.
Until their flank suffered a senseless, violent impact.
No artillery cover.
No armored spearhead.
Only two men.
Horus and Cullen relied on sheer physical power to leap straight into the rebel formation.
The rebel machine gunner didn’t even have time to pull his trigger before a massive shadow descended upon him.
Horus extended his left hand, thick fingers closing over the skull of the soldier wearing a heavy helmet.
His grip tightened.
The solid, master-crafted carapace helmet collapsed inward alongside the skin, flesh, and bone beneath it.
With a casual flick, he hurled the lifeless corpse into a nearby infantry squad.
Bone-cracking snaps echoed in rapid succession as seven or eight fully armored traitors were bowled over by the brute force, instantly neutralized.
The power dagger in his right hand traced a lethal arc.
The high-energy disruption field cleaved through armor and flesh with effortless grace.
Cleave, horizontal slash, upward thrust.
The movements were pared down to absolute minimalism—devoid of superfluous flair, forged entirely for maximum efficiency in slaughter.
The skills polished by the Wolf God through endless blood and violence during the Great Crusade were now unleashed upon these fallen Astra Militarum soldiers, an utter dimensional slaughter.
Yet the Volscani troops did not break at the initial setback.
Junior officers reacted instantly, issuing commands for three squads to rapidly fall back and open up distance, attempting to weave a crossfire net.
Hellgun muzzles lined up on the two canvas-draped giants.
But their sights simply could not lock onto their targets.
The Primarch’s movements followed no predictable pattern, yet precisely avoided every lethal trajectory.
Finding gaps in the hail of fire, Horus retaliated with the bolter in his hands before crashing deep into the enemy ranks.
Flesh and blood flew.
Cullen followed right behind him.
The former Heavenly Host knight wielded his master-crafted power sword, whipping up a metal storm among the rebel ranks.
The veteran moved with rigorous, lethal precision, specifically clearing away enemies attempting to flank the Wolf God from blind spots.
Yet he quickly realized that his extraordinary reaction speed—the source of his pride—could not keep pace with the Wolf God.
A touch of helplessness welled up within the First Legion knight.
He was an Astartes who had survived a hundred battles, but the combat rhythm of a Primarch existed in an entirely different dimension.
At the rear of the battlefield, a hundred and fifty meters away in a bomb crater.
Kaelen lay flat on a pile of rubble, gasping for air.
The stock of his lasgun was pressed tight against his shoulder, his eye glued to the scope.
The system interface flickered along the edge of his retina.
[Points Spent: 800] [Skills Exchanged: Advanced Enemy Dynamic Sensing, Auxiliary Weakness Targeting Knowledge] His field of view transformed completely.
High-brightness red outlines lit up one by one across the distant enemy positions, with streams of data scrolling through his mind.
Up ahead, the Primarch was butchering everything, but that didn’t mean there were no hidden threats.
The Volscani rebel commanders were no fools.
Several heavy plasma launchers were adjusting their elevation angles in a concealed position, preparing to blanket Horus in crossfire.
The Primarch had no armor; a direct hit from high-energy plasma would still severely injure him.
Kaelen held his breath and rested his finger on the trigger.
The reticle locked onto the rebel plasma gunner hiding behind the wreckage of a Chimera armored vehicle.
He pulled the trigger.
A brilliant red beam of high-energy laser cut through the smoke, piercing the exposed eye socket of the gunner.
Extreme heat instantly incinerated the cerebral cortex.
As the gunner collapsed, the near-overloaded plasma gun in his hands went off out of control, detonating a blazing blue sphere of heat right in the center of the rebel position.
The blue burst swallowed an entire infantry platoon nearby.
Gazing at his handiwork, Kaelen’s lips split into an extremely practical grin.
He shifted to a new sniper spot and raised his rifle once more.
Through his scope, the tactical maneuvers and position coordination that the Volscani Cataphracts so proudly relied upon had become a complete farce in the face of absolute violence.
No matter how elite ordinary Astra Militarum soldiers were, against a Primarch, they were no different from weeds facing a harvester in a wheat field.
Having dispatched the enemies before him, Horus glanced back in the briefest lull of combat.
The sniper fire from afar managed to clear out the most dangerous heavy weapon positions a second before he made his moves every single time.
It was not only ruthless, but the timing was also extraordinarily sharp.
That kid Kaelen worked surprisingly well with him.
The Wolf God let out a low chuckle.
Interlacing his footsteps, he dodged a sweeping volley of gunfire, ducked low, and charged straight into the outer perimeter of the rebel command post.
Two riot servitors equipped with heavy riot shields were pushed to the front, backed by over thirty hellgunners who formed an airtight wall of fire.
“Fire!
Tear these two Ogryns to shreds!” A rebel officer screamed at the top of his lungs.
Horus didn’t even bother to dodge.
He kicked over a ruined statue in front of him.
The hard stone sculpture slid across the floor, shielding him from the first wave of bullets.
Gripping the edge of the statue with one hand, he slammed both himself and the stone straight through the servitor defensive line.
Heavy riot shields buckled and shattered under the Primarch’s monstrous strength, scattering metal parts everywhere.
The power dagger sank into the rebel officer’s chest, twisted, and pulled back.
A shrill scream stuck in the back of his throat.
Deep within the position, an anomaly erupted.
A man dressed in an officer’s uniform tore open his coat, revealing a chest covered in profane eight-pointed stars.
He was a Chaos Sorcerer.
Unearthly purple light gathered in his palm as the surrounding temperature plummeted.
He had locked eyes on the rampaging Horus.
The sorcerer began chanting intricate, venomous incantations as Immaterium energy surged, preparing to unleash a psychic storm capable of corroding flesh.
The distance was too far, and two wrecked Leman Russ main battle tanks blocked the line of sight.
Combined with his spent bolter ammo, neither Horus nor Cullen could break free to close the distance in time.
Kaelen’s retina was flooded with bright red warnings from the system.
[Warning: High-risk Warp psychic signature detected] Without hesitation, Kaelen flicked the power adjustment valve on the side of his lasgun straight to the bottom notch.
Overcharge mode.
Such crude operation would ruin the barrel and carry a risk of backfire.
He braced the rifle stock hard into his shoulder.
In his scope, a coin-sized energy vulnerability materialized in the purple shield surrounding the sorcerer, pulsing softly with the traitor’s breathing.
“Die, traitor.” Kaelen exhaled softly.
He squeezed the trigger.
An intensely brilliant crimson beam shot out of the barrel.
Traversing the battlefield, the beam passed through the gap between the two tanks and struck with pinpoint accuracy right into the energy weak point beneath the sorcerer’s throat.
The high-energy thermal burn on a physical level instantly severed the incantation.
Out of control, the Immaterium energy violently backfired.
Before the sorcerer could even scream, his entire body exploded from the inside out into a burst of purple-black unholy fire.
Over a dozen elite rebel guards surrounding him were caught in the flames, their armor and flesh melting into bubbling toxic slag in the blink of an eye.
Kaelen tossed aside the ruined lasgun, scooped up another unowned rifle from the mud beside him, and racked the bolt.
In the distance, Horus sensed the enemy’s demise.
The Wolf God turned his head, looking across the battlefield toward the crater where Kaelen was hidden, a look of approval gleaming behind his visor.
*** “G-General Cliff!
Two Ogryns are attacking our flank!” “They’re moving too fast!
The flank troops can’t stop them!
Based on their heading, they might be coming straight for command!” In an encampment on the Tyrok Fields, General Cliff—the commander leading nine Volscani operational regiments in rebellion—had only one thought upon hearing this report from his subordinate: Absurd.
Two Ogryns broke the flank defenses and even knew how to execute a decapitation strike?
“Don’t panic.
Tell the armored units to push forward and annihilate those two Ogryns!” He issued the order.
No matter how powerful Ogryns were, they were still just mortal flesh and blood.
If it were two loyalist Astartes, he might have been somewhat worried.
In the face of an armored force, those two Ogryns would inevitably be ground into dust!
Before his words even landed, another messenger scrambled into the encampment, tumbling over himself.
“General!
Our front line is under attack!
The False Emperor’s dogs have reacted!” “Which unit is it?” “The Cadian 8th led by Ursakar E.
Creed!
They’re charging down from the ridge!
Two of our frontline regiments were caught completely off guard!”