Preparing to Land

The surface of Planet Roswell VII.

This was a gray, dead, and silent planet. The atmosphere was filled with thin oxygen, and radioactive dust drifted along with the breeze. The surface was almost entirely composed of iron-gray gravel and rubble, with no signs of life to be seen.

Such a dead planet still possessed complex terrain and landforms. Massive, deep canyons, like scars on a continent, crisscrossed the entire planet, making Planet Roswell VII look like a dried-up, scabbed-over wound.

These canyons were riddled with caves and hidden passages eroded by underground ammonia rivers, forming a labyrinthine, intricate network.

At this moment, a pot-bellied transport ship, its hull covered in profane scripts and brutal graffiti, sat silently anchored between the depths of a deep canyon.

It was currently daytime on Planet Roswell VII, but the light of the star was blocked by the planetary atmosphere, leaving little behind. The transport ship, hiding in the deep pit of the canyon, was as dim as the dead of night.

Inside the ship's control room, prayer flags and scrolls were scattered everywhere, covered in dense, cramped Colchis script. The dim control room had no electric lights turned on, but was instead lit by candles of various sizes. The air was thick with a nauseating mixture of heavy blood and the spicy scent of burning incense.

At the very least, Liaoxia Hong nearly vomited the moment he stepped into this control room.

He carefully raised his head to size up the tall, terrifying figure sitting on the wide chair in the center of the control room.

The hideous armor shimmered like a phantom under the dim candlelight. The dark red pauldrons were engraved with fine, black prayers, and the edges of the armor were embedded with sharp metal spikes.

The master of the armor was not wearing his helmet. His pale, bald head was also tattooed with twisted scripts. He kept his head lowered, his face hidden in black shadows, while his gauntleted index finger tapped rhythmically against his knee.

Liaoxia Hong knew his name: Klofa, the commander of these three transport ships.

A powerful Chaos Space Marine.

Liaoxia Hong and the others had received the summons to come to the control room. Facing this powerful, fallen Astartes, everyone was cautious, and no one dared to speak first.

Only the sound of tapping fingers echoed in the dim control room. In this suffocating atmosphere, the Chaos Space Marine finally raised his head, revealing a pale, evil face, and spoke in a low voice:

"They want to trap us on this planet."

The bald man's eyes were yellowish-white, and his teeth had all been filed to points. When he opened his mouth, the sight of those jagged fangs made Liaoxia Hong unable to look directly at him.

No one responded to him. Klofa continued in a slow, measured tone:

"They will be landing soon... The Ultramarines are very cautious; they will test our strength bit by bit."

"These blasphemers are very clever... They won't fight a war of attrition with us in the caves and tunnels. Once they pinpoint the location of the transport fleet, they will teleport back and call for orbital bombardment."

Having said this, he looked up, staring straight at the few people in front of him, and said:

"When that happens, we will all be buried in this damn canyon by the high-explosive bombs poured down from a Lunar-class cruiser."

Klofa asked with a playful tone:

"You few, who claim to be sent by The Ruinous Powers to assist me, what brilliant insights do you have for facing such a predicament?"

In the early stages of the Horus Heresy, the strength of the rebels was inferior to that of the loyalists. Warmaster Horus, operating on the principle that the enemy of his enemy is a friend, actively contacted the discriminated and oppressed illegal Psykers, mutants, space pirates, and others within the Imperial territories, inciting them to launch rebellions and disrupt order within the Empire. Thus, these people were considered to be in roughly the same camp as the Warmaster during the early days.

Klofa clearly categorized the Reincarnators among these people.

Liaoxia Hong swallowed hard, his mind racing.

He had been in the Warhammer 40K world for some time now. He had long since learned how these genetically modified superhumans known as Space Marines fought, and he was well aware of the teleportation and other technological means at their disposal.

He did not doubt the Chaos Space Marine leader's assessment of the enemy's tactics, and now he had to find a way to disrupt them.

"My lord, I can provide you with excellent warriors. As long as there is enough food, there will be an endless supply of soldiers!" a middle-aged man with brown-red hair and a beard, who looked like a scholar, said excitedly in a loud voice.

Liaoxia Hong, who was just about to speak, couldn't help but sneer upon hearing this.

Klofa also smiled slightly upon hearing this, revealing his sharp teeth, and said in a gloomy voice:

"Belinsky, I remember you. Your little bugs are interesting; they might be useful against mortals, but they are too weak against Space Marines."

Liaoxia Hong watched the middle-aged man clutching the iron-gray long canister in his hands and cursed inwardly: Idiot. This is the Warhammer 40K universe. In a world with such a high floor for power, the exoskeleton strength of Xenomorphs—which can be injured by ordinary firearms—and their speed and strength, which are only slightly better than ordinary humans, are simply not worth looking at in the face of Bolters and Power Swords.

The brown-red-bearded middle-aged man, however, pursed his lips, looking unconvinced.

Ignoring the others, Liaoxia Hong made up his mind and spoke in a deep voice:

"My lord, I can jam the enemy Space Marines' teleportation for thirty minutes."

"Oh?" Klofa was clearly interested. "How do you jam it? Are you using some kind of ancient technological jamming device?"

Liaoxia Hong explained: "No, after I activate my domain... er, I mean, after I activate my psychic ability, all teleportation within a five-kilometer radius will be rendered ineffective!"

Klofa squinted, looking the thin, black-haired young man up and down, and stroked his chin:

"A Psyker who doesn't need a psychic amplifier. Interesting..."

Liaoxia Hong said: "I can only interfere with them teleporting back to their warship, my lord. As for the Space Marines left on the planet, that will be up to you."

After speaking, Liaoxia Hong looked deeply at Klofa. He believed this evil and cunning Space Marine understood what he meant.

Klofa laughed and said: "I'm starting to appreciate you, clever mortal. Of course, rest assured. The holy warriors blessed by the Four Gods will keep the False Emperor's lackeys on the surface. Once they are entangled with our men, the Ultramarines' commander won't dare to use orbital bombardment, unless he doesn't care about his own warriors at all."

Having said this, seeing that the other eccentric individuals present had no further opinions to offer, Klofa waved his hand and said:

"Alright, you may all withdraw. We will begin arranging our defenses to welcome the arrival of the False Emperor's lackeys."

The Reincarnators left the main control room one after another.

Walking through the dim corridors of the ship, the screams and moans of victims could be heard from the depths of the darkness from time to time, which was hair-raising.

Liaoxia Hong guessed that it was likely the Word Bearers torturing prisoners for amusement.

At this moment, a woman in black, carrying a long, stick-like object wrapped in cloth on her back, suddenly leaned in and whispered to Liaoxia Hong:

"Jujutsu Kaisen?"

Liaoxia Hong was startled, turning to look at the tall, slender white woman with European features, dressed in black and wearing a black hood.

Liaoxia Hong asked, "You know it?"

The woman's lips curled, and she said, "I heard those words you let slip. Hmph, it's not just you Asians who watch anime."

As she spoke, she chuckled softly: "But you'd better be careful. If your Domain doesn't work, I believe that before Klofa gets drowned by the ship-borne cannons of those so-called Ultramarines, he will personally crush your skull, hehe."

Having said that, she turned and walked forward.

Liaoxia Hong stood rooted to the spot, watching the woman's back. To be honest, this white woman with a sharp chin, deep-set eyes, and a heart-shaped face was quite beautiful, but she always gave him a very dangerous feeling.

She was right. Despite his confident appearance in front of Klofa, Liaoxia Hong had no real certainty in his heart about whether his Domain could actually disrupt the Ultramarines' teleportation device. If it failed, the wrath of the Word Bearers would surely descend upon him.

Liaoxia Hong looked at the long, stick-like object wrapped in black cloth on the woman's back, guessing that it was likely a sword.

On the other side, the brown-bearded man who looked like a scholar was clutching a iron-gray metal canister to his chest, gritting his teeth and whispering curses to a hunched, dwarfish woman wrapped from head to toe in gray robes beside him:

"Klofa doesn't trust me, none of them trust me. These damn fools, they don't understand the potential of the Astartes Xenomorph at all. The potential ceiling of the Xenomorph is infinite. As long as Klofa promises me a living Astartes Monk, I can cultivate an Astartes Xenomorph. That would be a powerful existence the likes of which have never been seen before. Damn it, damn it, these ignorant, short-sighted fools..."

The woman, whose face was covered by a black veil and whose head was hunched forward at an exaggerated angle, listened to her companion's incessant rambling, looked left and right, and whispered:

"The battle is about to begin... Hiss~ Belinsky, we don't need Klofa to give us a living Astartes Monk. If we find the right opportunity, we can obtain one ourselves, can't we?"

Her voice was neither quite human nor inhuman, carrying a strange, raspy hiss.

Belinsky said, "I know, but you've seen them. Those perverted gene-modified superhumans are not people we can just approach. Even in a wounded state, they could crush us with a wave of their hands. And the corpses of dead Astartes Monks are useless; the Chestburster can only be gestated from a living host."

The hunchbacked woman hissed, "Patience, Belinsky, maintain your patience. We will have our chance."

On the teleportation deck, Vlahos stood quietly in the center, holding a tactical tablet. The green dots flickering on the screen moved, intuitively reflecting the positional information of each squad.

The communication channel constantly relayed the progress of the spearhead squads on the surface—which squad was encountering heavy resistance, and which had already arrived at their designated positions ahead of schedule.

More battlefield information flowed back, converging on the Sotharan. Vlahos's brain operated at high speed, calmly analyzing the data.

This was the unique ability inherited from the Primarch by the sons of Guilliman; it was said that the Primarch's own brain could process tens of thousands of pieces of information simultaneously and make rapid decisions.

Overall, the spearhead troops were not encountering much resistance, but as they passed through caves and fissures, getting closer to the actual location of the transport ship, enemy firepower began to intensify. Accompanied by the interception of some ship-borne heavy weapons, the ground forces began calling for orbital support.

Vlahos stroked his chin, deep in thought.

Beside him, row upon row of Astartes Monks clad in deep blue Power Armor stood in neat formation, heads held high, ready for battle.

The Chaplain, holding a crozius, walked in front of the ranks, pinning the handwritten pre-battle oaths of the warriors onto their plasteel chest plates with a red seal one by one.

The Chaplain of the Sotharan was an Astartes Monk with brown hair and white temples, who inspected the mental state and pre-battle oaths of every warrior in turn.

When he reached Fu Qinghai at the end of the line, he paused slightly upon seeing the bone-white armor, then patted Fu Qinghai on the shoulder and smiled:

"Good luck, warrior of The Khan."

"Thank you, sir."

Finally, Vlahos made up his mind, looked up, and said loudly:

"According to the latest updated coordinates, follow me and execute the orbital drop strike!"

The Tech-priest standing to the side, draped in a dark red hood, immediately took a few Servitors and began busily updating the various parameters for the orbital drop on the control panel.

After Vlahos donned his helmet, he led the various drop squads as they walked into the orbital drop pods one after another.

Hovering in the orbit of the 7th planet, the Sotharan opened a row of hatches on the belly of the warship. The sharp heads of the drop pods slowly protruded from the hull, thrusters ignited, and these long, cone-shaped pods transformed into streaks of slender golden meteors, vanishing into the atmosphere.