40. Olympia in Turmoil (I)

Sevatar felt a strong gust of wind coming from behind him.

The Power Armour immediately activated its warning system, and the various readings on the visor began to jump wildly. He silently regained his senses, showing no intention of swinging the chainsaw in his hand, but his body stiffened slightly.

Then, unsurprisingly, he saw Karyl Lohars.

The latter was speeding off, wreaking havoc, and no matter how many times he watched, Sevatar's two hearts would race as he witnessed another masterpiece from his instructor.

Karyl was almost a Shadow, black and white, simple yet distinct, like the horizon at dawn. He swept across the Orks that were firing, a flash of deep blue light in his hand disappearing in an instant, and dozens of heads were easily sent flying into the air in the next second.

The headless corpses of the Orks fell to the ground, their metal armor striking the earth with a heavy thud. At the same time, Karyl's voice came from behind Sevatar.

So illogical, yet so natural.

"What are you standing there like an idiot, Sai?"

"I wasn't just standing there like an idiot; you've simply killed all my enemies." Sevatar turned around helplessly, the crimson visor on his bat-wing helmet reflecting a skull face. "And why are you back on the ground?"

"Don't I even have this much freedom? Or have I interfered with your stealth tactics?"

"Possibly both."

Sevatar withdrew his gaze, trying hard to avoid making any real eye contact with the swirling cloak behind the instructor—even though the cloak had no eyes, he still felt it was watching him.

"But."

"Don't give me that, Jago Sevatarion." Karyl suddenly adopted a serious tone. "Perhaps I can no longer set foot in ordinary wars, but Orks are different. Their foolish audacity makes them completely indifferent to death. For these creatures, the battle itself is a reward."

Sevatar shrugged and said nothing.

"It seems we really taught you too well," Karyl said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But then again, why did you turn down another promotion recently?"

"What?" Sevatar blinked. He knew his current expression wouldn't be noticed by the instructor, so he could confidently engage in this kind of serious thinking that would reveal his micro-expressions. "What promotion? I don't understand, Instructor."

"There's a clear difference between feigning ignorance and genuine stupidity. If you do the former too often, you might actually become stupid."

"Huh?" Sevatar shrugged again, puzzled. "I really don't understand what you're talking about."

Karyl looked at him for a moment, then suddenly chuckled softly, "Whatever, Sai. You've obviously been through a lot in the eighteen years I was away. You can come and talk to me when you're interested."

He turned and left.

Sevatar watched his retreating figure, momentarily at a loss for words.

After a while, he took off his helmet, revealing his face. Several hideous scars had appeared on Nostramo's pale face, one of which crossed his cheekbone and lips, giving him a natural, sinister, and mocking look.

Sevatar liked it, but not the things that brought it.

He pondered in silence, his lips twitching occasionally, making his smile all the more natural. A few minutes later, Jago Sevatarion, who had become a sergeant in the First Company but had refused promotion three times, sighed as he put on his helmet and left the battlefield.

They all changed too much, only Karyl Lohars remained the same.

Sevatar returned to the rear of the position on foot, which did not take long. There were not only Night Lords wearing midnight armor, but also others whose armor was simply painted, with silver, black and gold creating a cold, steely look.

Along the way, people would nod and greet him from time to time, or even pound his chest with their fists for a more enthusiastic welcome. There were Night Lords and Iron Warriors. Sevatar ignored everyone's greetings and simply walked into an underground facility.

Here, a lone Iron Warriors is meticulously and diligently conducting a tactical simulation on the sand table.

Sevatar glanced at him but chose not to interrupt. He crossed his arms and leaned against the makeshift concrete wall, his posture nonchalant, but his eyes behind his glasses were quite sharp.

This is certainly not the first time Midnight Blade has collaborated with Iron Warriors. If you were to trace it back to its origins, their first collaboration could probably be traced back to sometime many years ago.

Only a few people know exactly what happened that day, Sevatar could be considered one of them, as he was given only a few words. This collaboration, however, marked their seventeenth.

Yes, it might sound a bit strange, but the Iron Warriors do often operate alongside the Night Lords. They launch attacks from the front, drawing the enemy lines and distracting them, while the Night Lords execute surprise attacks and decapitation strikes.

Sevatar called this tried-and-true, simple combination tactic a Combination Punch Tactic.

Shen mocked his simple naming skills for a while, but the nickname quickly spread. Eventually, even the Primarch of the Iron Warriors Perturabo himself, uttered the words "combination punch" at a war council meeting.

Sevatar wasn't excited for even a second, but he pretended to be very excited and mocked Shen for four and a half months. The matter finally ended when the adjutant of the Fourth Company forced him into the dueling cage at knifepoint.

Lieutenant Sevatar curled his lip. "So you're already a lieutenant now."

"Sergeant Jago Sevatarion." A voice suddenly rang out at the tactical simulation table. "I noticed you're deep in thought. Do you have any ideas for my next tactical deployment?"

"No." Sevatar spread her hands neatly. "I was just thinking about what kind of nutritious porridge to have for dinner tonight, Dantioch."

"Shouldn't you call me company commander during wartime?"

"I think our ranks are equal."

"But you're a sergeant." The Warsmith of the Fifty-First Expeditionary Fleet of Iron Warriors frowned, delivering an uppercut to Sevatar with a serious expression that held a hint of mockery. "Shouldn't you call me 'sir'?"

Sevatar stared at him silently, without saying a word.

"Alright," Dantioch shook his head. "But I don't understand why you're so resistant to the promotion; you've already been given company command."

"You wouldn't understand, and I don't even need it," Sevatar replied softly. "Besides, I just went to the front lines of the Sixth Position to check things out; those Orks bastards haven't fled. They're still trying to fight back."

"As expected," said the Warsmith. "I'm not surprised by this, cousin. The Orks are known for their tenacity and fanaticism; otherwise, how could they occupy such a vast area of Ullanor System? It's quite strange that these Xenos creatures can be seen throughout the entire galaxy."

"I think those with pointed ears are pretty much the same."

"You mean the Eldar?" The Warsmith pondered for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Indeed, they're everywhere. And they're not much easier to deal with than the Orks."

"So, which type of Xenos do you think is the most difficult to deal with?" Sevatar asked casually.

Without a second thought, Dantioch blurted out a name: "Hrud."

He wasn't wearing a helmet, so Sevatar could clearly see every detail of the Olympia's expression. It was an expression mixed with hatred, relief, and lingering fear.

"No creature in the galaxy can horrify me like this, Sevatar. They're almost a..." The Warsmith shook his head. "I don't know how to describe it, but they're utterly repulsive, every single detail."

"But you won."

"Yes," the Warsmith sighed with a touch of melancholy. "But my Primarch wasn't happy about it. To reduce casualties, we had to cooperate with the Imperial Fists. Company Commander Forrix said privately that he thought the Primarch was practically going crazy those few days."

Sevatar chuckled twice without commenting. He certainly couldn't understand where this hostile atmosphere towards the Imperial Fists among Iron Warriors came from, but for him, as long as he could avoid encountering the Imperial Fists was fine.

No, let me put it another way.

Meeting is fine, as long as I don't run into Sigismund.

"Let's not talk about that anymore," Dantioch said with a slightly serious tone, changing the subject. He raised his hand and rotated the holographic projection of the tactical sand table so that Sevatar could also clearly observe every detail.

The sergeant of Night Lords's First Company observed for a moment and quickly came to the conclusion—yes, his tactical skills were quite good, but he just didn't use them much.

No, actually, he hardly ever uses it.

"You want to launch a general offensive from the west?" Sevatar narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's quite a risky tactic. We all know there's an Orks fortress to the west, right? You've seen those crude cannons sticking out from the cliffs; I don't think we can launch a direct assault on it at this time."

"No." Dantioch shook his head. "I'm surprised you still think that way. It's already the 999th year of the 30th millennium. The Iron Warriors will no longer rashly launch a full-scale attack on any fortress. We will only do so when victory is assured."

"So—" Sevatar tilted his head. "—still Combination Punch Tactic?"

"Classic, but effective." Dantioch smiled, a rare occurrence. "Can you deny that?"

"I'd have to be crazy to deny it at a time like this," Sevatar said. "And I haven't had dinner, Dantioch. Okay, that's settled then. When to launch the attack?"

"Tonight," said the Warsmith, his eyes gleaming.

And... well, I don't know how many chapters there will be, but I'll just keep writing.