Swing the sword.
Kill the enemy.
The moment the power sword was in his hand, Lancelot felt as though he had already endured countless trials and refinements.
The sword in his grasp fit him as naturally as breathing.
The reward granted by the secret of his Fallen Angel identity was the Bearing of a Veteran of Ten Thousand Wars.
Once he raised the sword, Lancelot clearly felt that the world before his eyes had changed.
When he walked out of the cargo hold and into the ship’s corridor, Lancelot immediately saw one gun-wielding Ork Boy after another.
At the same time, those Ork Boyz saw Lancelot too.
With the Orks’ way of thinking, they could not immediately tell how Lancelot was different from them.
Instead, the black armor on his body became their most direct impression of him.
“I reckon dis big lad painted all black must be dead killy and proper tough!
Real good at close fightin’.
Real Waaagh!”
With that thought, the Orks did not grow afraid.
Instead, they erupted into even more excited war cries.
They might have been the happiest creatures in the entire universe.
Their lives consisted of fighting, or being on the way to a fight.
Lancelot knew that they were actually war machines created by the Old Ones.
In terms of structure, they were less like living creatures and more like mushrooms.
And so, they charged at Lancelot.
The crude Ork pistols in their hands fired continuously, producing deafening bangs, but their accuracy was truly moving in the worst possible way.
Some even exploded in their users’ hands.
But for most Orks, as long as the gun in their hand was big enough and loud enough, that was good enough.
Besides, they preferred close combat even more.
As it happened, Lancelot felt the same way.
He stamped hard against the floor.
In an instant, the power sword in his hand bloomed with a deep blue disruption field.
In almost the blink of an eye, more than a dozen Ork Boyz were cut into chunks by Lancelot.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
The power sword wove out an unbroken chain of slashes, carrying Lancelot forward through the Orks.
Almost no Ork Boy could survive even a single exchange before him.
One had to understand that Orks were not some kind of cannon fodder.
Even an ordinary Ork Boy possessed enough strength to tear apart a Space Marine’s limbs with bare hands.
Combined with their utter fearlessness, ordinary Space Marines almost never fought this deeply inside an enemy formation.
But to Lancelot, these Orks charging toward him were, in his field of vision, actually closer to…
Moving rapeseed flowers by the roadside.
Cut them down.
Slice them open.
Chop them apart.
Lancelot flourished his sword, efficiently clearing away the enemies of mankind before him.
As he slaughtered his way forward, he soon encountered a being more than half a body taller than an ordinary Ork.
Its shoulders and back were as broad as a moving slab of iron.
Its dark green skin was stretched tight and gleaming, while old scars overlapped new scars, running horizontally and vertically across its chest and arms.
Every mark was a qualification earned through battle.
It carried a massive battleaxe taller than a man, and on its head sat a huge iron helmet painted with a red Ork emblem.
Clearly, this was a battle-hardened Ork Boss.
But… Lancelot did not even spare it a second glance.
He simply dodged its strike with swift footwork, then cut off its head with his power sword.
The Ork Boyz had still been howling and yelling, but after seeing the Ork Boss die, the Orks present lost their pillar of support.
Their originally orderly formation plunged into chaos in an instant.
“Whoa, I reckon dis big lad’s real strong!
If I krump ‘im, I’ll be an even bigger, better lad!”
Some Ork Boyz became even more excited, as if injected with stimulants, and continued charging toward Lancelot with Waaagh roars.
But some of the more quick-witted Ork Boyz chose to retreat first.
“I reckon dis big lad’s too tough!
Bein’ near ‘im feels all wrong.
Gotta find more boyz and come back for a proper Waaagh!”
Naturally, Lancelot noticed the commotion among the Orks.
But for him at this moment, in an enclosed space like a ship, individual martial strength could clearly be brought to bear to an extreme degree.
Slaughtering all the way forward, Lancelot steadily advanced until he finally drew the attention of the larger Ork force.
Strangely, however, Lancelot faced almost no concentrated ranged fire.
This was not because the Orks had any sense of morality.
It was simply that after large numbers of Ork Boyz began surrounding Lancelot, as their numbers increased, a situation they had not anticipated began to grow serious.
The problem was their weapons.
The shootas in the hands of these Ork Boyz had changed the moment Lancelot stepped onto the battlefield.
One after another, they either exploded in their users’ hands or simply failed to fire at all.
Beyond that, the grenades carried by the Ork Boyz became the worst-hit area for malfunctions.
One explosion after another erupted among their own ranks.
This situation caused some disorder within the Orks, to the point that the Ork Boyz could only take up cold weapons and fight Lancelot in melee, where they were then harvested with ease by the power sword.
Naturally, Lancelot noticed this situation as well.
After only a brief moment of thought, he roughly understood why it was happening.
The shootas used by the Orks were, in essence, garbage assembled from scrap metal and junk.
From the rational perspective of humans, there was no way those things should have been able to fire bullets at all.
But Orks possessed a special psychic power known as the power of “I reckon.” In essence, it was a kind of reality-warping ability.
As long as the Orks believed the gun in their hands could fire bullets, then even if that gun looked like a pile of junk to anyone else, in an Ork’s hands, it could fire like a normal gun.
It was also because of this power that the Orks could become one of the Imperium of Man’s great enemies.
If they thought their blades were hard, then a rotten scrap-iron knife could chop through a Space Marine’s precious ceramite armor.
Add to that the fact that Orks were natural battle maniacs, and the more intense the battle became, the faster they grew.
This “I reckon” power would also become stronger.
That meant no matter who their enemy was, unless the other side wiped out the Orks in an instant, the Ork army would evolve at terrifying speed until it reached an equivalent level.
But now, this power had encountered its natural enemy.
The Inviolable Domain.
As the anchor of the material universe, Lancelot repelled all powers of the Warp.
Within this domain, the rules of material reality suppressed everything.
The guns and cannons the Ork Boyz had cobbled together with the power of “I reckon” all lost their effect.
In other words… against Lancelot, the Orks’ “I reckon” power would be sealed away.
As the battle continued, some clever Ork Bosses finally discovered this as well.
“I reckon fightin’ dis big lad makes me whole body feel wrong!
Can’t get proper Waaagh at all!
I’m goin’ somewhere else to find fun!”
The Ork Boss ran.
Under his lead, large numbers of Orks even began fleeing the area where Lancelot was.
And against enemies already collapsing into rout, Lancelot’s sword only swung faster and faster.
In a short amount of time, the number of Orks fallen beneath Lancelot’s blade had already reached over a hundred.
For a boarding action, this was already enough to tilt the battle.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
The rhythm of lasfire that had originally been pouring out began to slow.
Near the direction of the ammunition depot inside the bridge section, a force of defenders silent as corpses was the first to sense that the battle seemed to have changed slightly.