The arrogant, conceited Trisolaran commander could never have imagined it.
The elite "legion" in their eyes—an elite force made up entirely of Psykers, capable of calling on the wind and rain and doing anything—had collapsed completely in a single charge by a mere thousand-strong Astartes Chapter!
Why? Why had things turned out like this?!
The Trisolaran commander stationed at the rear was filled with confusion, fear, and panic.
These lunatics were like fearless beasts. Even if the path ahead was a mountain of blades or a sea of fire, they wouldn't hesitate for a moment. They charged forward one after another, even when their comrades were blasted apart by psychic spells right in front of them. Even when they lost limbs, they still summoned every last ounce of strength to strike the enemy before them one final time.
In the holographic footage transmitted back, it had even witnessed an extraordinarily shocking scene with its own eyes.
A warrior had been blasted apart by psychic magic, half his body gone, but he hadn't died outright. Instead, with his dying breath, he had used his teeth to bite through the core of a Trisolaran Psyker warrior.
Scenes like that played out almost every moment.
They didn't care if they died!
Lunatics!
Beasts!
Those were the first thoughts that came to the commander's mind.
This wasn't war at all!
No—or rather... it wasn't what it had imagined war to be!
The Trisolaran Civilization had highly advanced technology, but that was precisely why it had long since left this kind of warfare behind.
For most of its history, its civilization had been struggling against natural disasters.
To them, ancient, backward warfare like that of Earth's people was like the fighting of primitive savages, utterly devoid of the elegance and wisdom befitting an advanced civilization.