Airdrop

"Blood Axe Clan?"

At this moment, on the bridge of the Strike Cruiser that had already entered low orbit, Rowan gazed at the image displayed on the auspex scanner before him, pondering slightly.

The formation of Ork Boyz shown on the device exhibited a trait completely at odds with their chaotic nature, instead revealing something that could be called discipline.

Whether it was the attack waves or the assault gradients, they all bore clear signs of training, and the coordination between firing positions and tanks would immediately strike any knowledgeable observer as off.

Clearly, this was the extremely rare Blood Axe Clan among the Ork Boyz.

The defining characteristic of this clan was that they did not descend into the usual Orkish chaos and disorder; instead, they mimicked the behaviors of human armies and learned human discipline.

In battle, they employed various human tactics, knew how to use their brains to devise strategies—such as harassment behind enemy lines, creeping barrages, tactical infiltration, and so on—sometimes even surpassing their teachers and performing better than humans.

"Never mind, no need to dwell on this."

Rowan paid it no mind.

Even if the enemy was such a special Ork clan, with his Reality Warping Ability, it shouldn't be Rowan fearing an unknown foe, but the unknown foe fearing him.

"Then, let's start with a round of orbital bombardment."

Through the intangible connection with the Machine Spirit, Rowan moved his mind and decisively gave the order.

In the sky, the Lance array of the Strike Cruiser began to gather blinding light.

Although most of the ship's weapons had been completely taken offline, a considerable portion remained usable, such as the Lance array, which required precision instruments.

These devices had not been twisted or corrupted by Chaos but had been preserved through the purification of the Emperor's Holy Power.

Crimson and glaring lasers shot forth from the warship, and under the excited gazes of the Armageddon Steel Legion soldiers on the ground, they plunged into the earth like spears of punishment hurled by the Emperor's wrath, carving scorched black trails across the land with abandon.

The Ork Boyz' artillery positions and numerous anti-aircraft installations were reduced to nothing at an alarming speed under the relentless orbital bombardment.

"Well, it's no good after all."

Rowan sensed slightly and found that he had not devoured any souls, couldn't help but frown, and let out a sigh.

As the saying goes, "The killer is not me, but the weapon"—this phrase fit perfectly here.

He was merely the one who issued the firing command to the Machine Spirit, while it was the Strike Cruiser that actually killed the enemy.

With that thought, Rowan considered the feasibility of upgrading an entire Strike Cruiser—roughly five kilometers long and capable of housing tens of thousands of people—along with its Machine Spirit, in terms of Reality Strength, and then sailing this ship across the galaxy to wholesale Exterminatus orders.

In the end, he concluded that the Reality Strength consumption required would be an astronomical figure, unaffordable even at his current level, so he had to abandon the idea.

Ending his brief contemplation, Rowan waved his hand and ordered, "Deploy the drop pods."

The next moment, within the ship's bottom drop facilities, the fully converted Astartes, bathed in faint light, traversed the long corridors and silently stepped into the Fear Claw Drop Pods before them.

From the ship's underside, a large number of drop pods were released, streaking across the sky like meteors descending from above, their speed so great that they formed rings of crimson air around them.

On the ground, having lost most of their heavy anti-aircraft firepower, the Ork Boyz could only, under the loud shouts and commands of the Ork Boss, desperately raise their shootas to fire at the sky, while frantically lifting the small shoota cannons mounted on various Rage Trackers to serve as makeshift anti-air, blasting wildly at the incoming drop pods.

However, not only did most of their fire miss, but the remaining hail of bullets, slamming into the Chaos Astartes' specialized Fear Claw Drop Pods, only produced dull "thump thump" sounds, unable to cause any real damage.

The drop pods slammed into the ground, and with the ignition of their crimson retro-rockets, their speed abruptly halted, crashing onto the earth with a tremendous roar.

"Waaaaagh!!!"

The roar of the Ork Boyz rang out.

A tide of Ork Boyz, brandishing their choppas and shootas, howling wildly, surged like a flood toward every drop pod.

"Bam bam bam bam bam bam bam!"

The moment the drop pods landed, their built-in Heavy Ripper Guns and Heavy Bolters activated immediately, roaring barrages pouring out like a torrential downpour, mowing down the Ork Boyz who hadn't yet reacted.

Then came a faint popping sound.

It was the detonation of micro-explosives designed to prevent mechanical failure, causing the drop pod doors to burst open completely.

One by one, the Astartes emerged.

They were the Army of the Undying.

They were the Army of Redemption.

In the endless wars to come, they would prove their loyalty to humanity and to the Emperor.

["For the Emperor!"]

Their flesh had long turned to ash, and they had naturally lost the ability to shout war cries.

But even so, these words were still etched into the heart of every Astartes. They raised their weapons and, in the Emperor's name, began their merciless slaughter.

The trails of bolter rounds traced clear paths through the air, and under marksmanship honed by centuries of combat experience, every Ork in sight met its end.

As for the various bizarre Ork vehicles, they were met with Melta Bombs hurled like cannonballs one after another.

A blinding flash of light passed, and turrets melted into slag, while streams of superheated metal poured into the cabins, instantly consuming the Ork drivers within.

With Rowan's unsparing support, every Astartes was armed to the teeth.

All were equipped with Iron Halos, Master-crafted Bolters and specialized bolts, a wealth of Plasma Weapons, inexhaustible Melta Bombs, master-grade Power Swords, Terminator Assault Cannons...

The consequences of such armament were best illustrated by the steadily vanishing Ork lives on the battlefield.

After paying a certain cost in casualties and clearing a patch of ground amidst the rolling green tide, the Astartes immediately began to establish a reasonably stable defensive position, using the wreckage of various destroyed vehicles.

The Orks, renowned as a war race, naturally could not remain unresponsive.

When the Ork Boyz quickly realized that these tin cans had jumped straight into their steel tide, they grew excited in turn.

A mass of Rage Trackers and Ork Tanks began to tighten their formation, growing denser and denser, like a closing vise, charging fiercely toward the Astartes, attempting to grind these seemingly very Waaagh enemies into pulp.