Everything happened in the blink of an eye, and Nathanduum’s face still held a fleeting expression of astonishment.
A dense swarm of Men of Iron deactivated their optical camouflage, appearing out of thin air as if emerging from a fractured space.
They stood before Nathanduum, and though the Bolters exploding against them reduced them to heaps of scrap, they left Nathanduum completely unharmed.
But was this enough?
No, far from it!
Morningstar tore through the battlefield, where gunfire crisscrossed like a web, crashing into the enemy ranks like a scorching comet.
Since arriving in this world, Morningstar had never used any weapon other than the Twin Swords on her person, for she had no need; she herself was the swiftest bullet, the most scorching gunfire.
The Men of Iron blocking Morningstar’s path were like fragile building blocks before her.
Morningstar only needed to run, and the enemies would be smashed to pieces by her peerless strength.
Morningstar tore apart one enemy after another.
She was now only a few meters away from Nathanduum; Nathanduum could almost smell the stench of blood soaked into Morningstar’s sword.
“Stop her, stop her!” Composure?
He had none left.
Nathanduum screamed in a loss of self-control.
Just a few seconds—in a few seconds, the teleportation device on his person would activate.
As long as he escaped this place, it would not be a defeat.
Even if everything he possessed turned to nothingness, as long as he lived, he could always make a comeback.
It was too late, far too late.
Nathanduum was too arrogant; he had miscalculated Morningstar’s strength, and he had miscalculated Morningstar’s resolve.
Ignoring the hail of gunfire coming her way, Morningstar unleashed torrents of scorching lightning from her body, turning everything in her path to ash.
Morningstar reached out, clamped her hand firmly over Nathanduum’s twisted face, lifted his head, and slammed her own head into his with a heavy thud, knocking Nathanduum completely unconscious.
As Nathanduum lost consciousness, the army of Men of Iron completely lost control.
They now only followed their master’s final command—to protect him.
But with their master now in the enemy’s hands, what were they to do?
Retrieve him at any cost!
Morningstar tossed the person in her hand behind her: “Don’t let him wake up.” With that, she once again charged into the enemy formation like a gale-force wind.
Ushotan gritted his teeth.
The enemies poured in endlessly.
The powerful computing capabilities behind the Men of Iron allowed them to achieve optimal coordination with minimal cost.
Their bullets always covered every angle, and their ambushes were always unexpected.
These terrifying creations, which had once nearly pushed humanity to the brink of extinction, were wantonly unleashing their power on the battlefield.
Bolts of lightning blanketed the battlefield as Morningstar struck again: “Ushotan, clear the enemies inside.
Activate the prepared defensive fortifications.
Have fifty men support me at the main gate, and everyone else, hold this position for me.”
Morningstar raised her longsword and charged out.
Nathanduum had evidently made preparations beforehand; when Morningstar attacked with psychic power again, the lightning dissipated as it drew near.
“Damn it!” Morningstar only regretted that she was not a Psyker of the caliber of Magnus or Malcador.
Since she could not play the mage, she would just have to be a warrior.
At this moment, the Thunder Warriors were standing on the city walls, bombarding the distant enemies with the machine guns or cannons in their hands, while Morningstar herself was firmly blocking the main gate, hacking to pieces every enemy that surged forward.
Ushotan’s eyes were splitting with rage.
Her Highness was down there fighting countless enemies herself, while they, the Thunder Warriors—who prided themselves on being the sharpest blade under the Emperor—were just watching?
But Ushotan had no choice, for this was an order—Morningstar’s own order.
Whether the war ended did not depend on whether Morningstar could kill all three hundred thousand Men of Iron, for that was impossible.
The war would only end when the main force captured the capital of the Pan-Pacific Empire and completely destroyed the device that brainwashed people and the control hub for the Men of Iron.
All they could do was fight desperately to survive during this time.
Hundreds of kilometers away at the capital of the Pan-Pacific Empire, gunfire and artillery fire wove a symphony of death.
Iligos was at the very front, shouting at the top of his lungs: “Assault!
Assault!”
Thousands of Thunder Warriors and Astartes advanced against the enemy’s dense firepower, fearless of sacrifice.
One body fell, and another took its place.
“Fall back, recruit.” The Thunder Warriors were at the very front of the battlefield, where the fighting was most intense and Death watched most closely.
They had to advance, to advance at any cost, because they were racing against time, racing against Death.
The baton in this race was the life of the Highness they revered.
Fighter jets streaked across the sky, dropping bombs into the dense enemy ranks, while other jets were shot down, nose-diving into the burning battlefield.
“Blow up that turret for me, blow it up!” roared Ilio, the Legion Primarch of the First Legion.
A dense hail of bullets fired at the turret, which was ceaselessly strafing the fighter squadrons, but was blocked by a thin energy barrier.
A Void Shield—a Void Shield, the nightmare of almost all ranged weapons—protected the turret impenetrably.
“Sir, I have a way to blow up that turret.”
In the hail of gunfire, Ilio looked the small soldier over: “Tell me, Astartes, what way do you have to blow it up?”
“Sir, I can break through to the vicinity of the turret, pass through the Void Shield, and destroy it.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?
Get out of here, denied!”
“…”
Looking at this stubborn little soldier standing before him, Ilio suddenly understood something.
When he spoke again, his voice was serious and solemn.
“Tell me your name, soldier.”
“Astartes First Legion recruit, Anglarenia.”
“Anglarenia…
I salute you, soldier.”
Ilio shouted to those around him, to everyone: “Cover him!
Let him get close to that spot!
Cover him!”
Anglarenia unslung the Bolter in his hands.
He did not seek cover.
He was running; he was simply running, using everything he had to run.
Bullets tore through his arm, shrapnel embedded itself in his chest, yet he kept running.
Ilio watched that staggering shadow.
He was actually praying—praying to the Emperor or some other god?
Ilio did not know, but for now, he too could only pray.
Disaster struck.
A shell landed precisely beside Anglarenia, and the shockwave exploded outward, knocking him down.
“No!” Ilio rushed out but was held back by the Astartes beside him: “Sir, trust him.
Trust Anglarenia.”
That’s right, he stood up.
Even with one arm and half his body blown to pieces, he still stood up.
“For the Emperor!” Anglarenia let out the final roar of his life, using all his remaining strength to dive into the Void Shield, and with his only remaining arm, pressed the bomb firmly against the turret that was reaping the lives of the soldiers.
“Charge!
Attack!” As the explosion rang out, Ilio let out a thunderous roar, his whole being like a furious lion.
With the destruction of the enemy’s heavy fire point, the tide of battle instantly turned.
The Empire’s army broke through the Men of Iron’s defensive line and marched into the heart of the city-state.
Morningstar was already numb.
Time and space had lost all meaning; all she could do was destroy everything in front of her.
Even though Morningstar instinctively dodged, countered, deflected bullets, or backhanded enemies approaching her with stealth, shattering them with ease, bullets still grazed her skin and bored into her body; blades still slashed her cheek and pierced through her torso.
Ushotan and his men had long since come down to fight side-by-side with Morningstar.
Having exhausted their bullets and artillery shells, they chose to live and die with Morningstar.
Morningstar was in a wretched state.
Her porcelain-white skin, like a work of art, was covered in scars.
Her once snow-white wings and hair were stained with blood and filth, and even her once-gleaming golden armor was tattered and broken.
Morningstar’s Twin Swords had long since broken and been tossed aside somewhere; she was now even tearing enemies apart with her bare hands.
It was unknown how much time had passed—perhaps an instant, perhaps a lifetime.
The enemies, which had been swarming in like a hive of insects, suddenly froze, as if they were toys that had lost their power source.
It was over.
Morningstar knelt weakly on the ground; she no longer had the strength to even lift her head.
At her feet and all around her, countless fragments of metal were piled into several small hills.
“Ushotan, are you still alive?”
“I am, Your Highness.” Ushotan stumbled, almost crawling to Morningstar’s side.
“How many of us are still alive?”
“One hundred and thirty, I counted, Your Highness.
Thanks to you, we still have one hundred and thirty.”
“How much time has passed?”
“Eleven hours, Your Highness.”
Morningstar raised her head.
The flowing sunset clouds pierced through the dim, smog-filled sky of Terra, and specks of rosy light descended from the gaps like droplets of red rain.
She spread her arms toward the sky, toward the reflected sunset glow, and let out a desperate, hoarse roar.
“Ah————!”