Practical Combat Day (II)

To be honest, as an Agri World, the environment of Minoris II is quite favorable.

Moreover, this planet possesses exceptional potential for transformation, making it fully capable of becoming a high-level Agri World. However, it's clear that some lazy individuals within the Ministry of the Interior have failed to properly manage resource allocation.

At least for now, this is still a feudal world, ruled by the Fane Family for generations. The old and the new coexist, with large areas of farmland cultivated using traditional methods left out of the city, indicating that peace has been long-standing.

According to Karyl, the only reason this place can maintain its Agri World rating is because it produces enough food each year.

The fact that such results could be achieved even with traditional farming methods gives us a glimpse into the environmental conditions of the Minoris II.

A gentle breeze swept by, and the distant horizon was slowly turning a pale white. Soon, the sun would rise. Karyl glanced down at the wheat surrounding him, already imagining how it would shimmer in the dawn light.

He gave a fleeting smile.

"Sir," a voice sounded from behind him, "We are now assembled."

"Good morning, Zabriel," Karyl greeted without turning around, extending an invitation. "Would you like to see the dawn?"

The Risen — the Fallen who had been pardoned—walked silently to his side and waited quietly. Several minutes later, the edges of the pale light turned golden and radiant, and a soft, gentle light gradually emerged, not dazzling at all.

A massive fireball slowly rose from the horizon, scattering light across the entire wheat field. The wind picked up slightly, the temperature was quite comfortable, and the wheat swayed gently.

Karyl reached out to stroke them and sighed.

"My lord?" Zabriel asked.

"It's just a pity," Karyl said. "Many people will be displaced, and this grain... will probably never be harvested."

The Risen fell silent again, his right hand unconsciously tightening its grip on the sword at his waist. He knew very well that Karyl Lohars was right—regardless of the outcome of this war, many people would be displaced or even die.

And the one who started it all.

Filled with hatred, Zabriel uttered the killer's name. "Eldar."

With his back to the rising sun, Karyl slowly turned around. With just this simple movement, the Radiance of dawn vanished completely before Zabriel's eyes.

They seemed to possess a certain spirituality, spontaneously refraining from crossing Karyl Lohars's boundaries, thus making him a kind of dividing line.

Zabriel lowered his head in awe, no longer looking directly at him.

Karyl spoke thoughtfully, "The difficulty of this mission lies in the fact that we must kill two birds with one stone, Zabriel."

"Yes, sir—but the enemy is not difficult to deal with; we will draw their full attention on the main battlefield."

"With only seventy-five people?"

Zabriel raised his head, revealing a cold, confident smile.

"That's enough," he said. "Besides, there are actually seventy-six of us."

Karyl paused for a moment, then chuckled. He turned to look at the back of the wheat field, where seventy-four other Risen, along with a servant dressed in pale white training armor and a robe, stood quietly waiting.

The two Sokaren-type Stormbird landed quite gracefully on the wide but somewhat distant road, rather than parking in the wheat fields. Something that ordinary Chapter rarely possessed was quite common among the Dark Angels.

A single Sokaren can carry fifty Astartes or five Dreadnought, and it also has powerful firepower and superior defensive capabilities. Compared to it, the Thunderhawk seems unreliable.

"You're really planning to send him to the battlefield like this?" Karyl asked, amused. "He has no objections?"

The old knight grinned. "He's already said everything he could think of when he learned he was going to be working with us, sir. Besides, I don't think he'd run away from battle."

"That's true. But, Training A?"

"The protective capabilities have been additionally modified, reaching the standard level of Power Armour; it just lacks power assistance. We're all eagerly awaiting when he'll discover this; I imagine his expression will be quite amusing."

Karyl smiled, offering no comment on Zabriel's wicked sense of humor, but simply raised his hands in salute. The Aquila flapped its wings, and Zabriel donned his newly acquired winged helmet, solemnly bowed, and then turned and left.

Half a minute later, the Stormbird roared off the ground, carrying them to the battlefield of the previous night and today—the dark side of Minoris II, where the local defense forces had regrouped, their anger and sorrow eager to be released.

Inside the Stormbird's cockpit, Zabriel spoke slowly.

"Our primary tactical objective is to capture the enemy commander alive. I personally added several secondary objectives, such as severely damaging them or decapitating enough Xenos heads. The relevant data has been sent."

He paused, and concluded in the silence of the communication channel.

"This is our first battle since our return to the Legion. Brothers, we must wipe away this shame with victory. In the name of the Emperor and the Lion El'Jonson."

He was met with seventy-four resounding battle cries. "In the name of the Emperor and the Lion El'Jonson!"

Only one person remained silent, his face trembling slightly beneath his raised visor, his lips pressed tightly together. A complex anger was quietly spreading across his face, but it wasn't particularly difficult for Zabriel to decipher.

Anger at the Xenos invasion, and anger at their battle cries.

Do you perhaps think we are no longer qualified to call them by their names?

Zabriel sighed inwardly—he had thoroughly figured out Asmodai's simple and stubborn personality; to put it bluntly, he was just a naive young man who couldn't get along with the world.

Several familiar faces flashed before the old knight's eyes, followed by a surge of nostalgia and sorrow. He didn't speak, but silently counted the seconds, waiting quietly.

The Stormbird landed smoothly 1,274 seconds later, and the fully armed Risen emerged from within, bringing indescribable courage to the local defense forces who were unaware of their true identities.

The remaining officers and Commissar began shouting and reprimanding them, telling them to stay where they were and not to go forward to "touch the angels' armor," or they would be severely punished.

Zabriel looked up into the distance and saw the smoke still rising from the soldiers' homes. Their cities had been destroyed, and their families and friends had been tortured to death in terror.

They tried to resist and defend their homeland, but were repeatedly defeated by the Xenos' blasphemous weapons, suffering heavy losses and abandoning their armor and weapons. Support troops and heavy firepower remained motionless, as if they were dead.

It wasn't until recently that they truly confirmed this—the Xenos had already infiltrated them layer by layer long before the attack.

Why was there no support? Because support was lost, because the defense system was paralyzed, and everything else fell into place.

Eldar raiders sped through the city in their sinister vehicles, dragging people from their homes, smearing the streets with blood, and slaughtering indiscriminately for their amusement. Amidst their maniacal laughter, they carried away the remaining survivors.

A nightmarish experience, but not anymore. In their eyes, the Dark Angels have arrived, and therefore the Xenos must be destroyed.

Zabriel knew their thoughts and gave them his full approval.

Twelve minutes later, he and his brothers charged into the Xenos, braving their ridiculous firepower from their venomous Splinter Rifle to begin their slaughter.

Zabriel used the shield and longsword combination for the first time in a long time. In the five-person squad that was temporarily formed, he took on the role of the vanguard, so the sword and shield was the safest combination.

Behind him, to his left, was the gunner, Lohok, whose Heavy Bolter shells sounded solid and reliable. To his right was the secondary attacker, Kay, a deadly swordsman who could accurately kill those foolish Xenos who tried to break into the formation with their agility.

At the back of the group were Afka and Bevidan, the Knight Sergeant, and the crippled Librarian. Zabriel wasn't worried about the Knight Sergeant; he had acquired a two-handed Power Axe.

This precious weapon, acquired from the War Hounds, combined with his skill, convinced Zabriel that Afka could cut down any enemy who stood in his way.

But Bevidan's situation may be worse; he has lost most of his left forearm, which has somewhat diminished his fighting ability.

Although he was Librarian, Zabriel still hoped he would use psionic powers sparingly, as they were, after all, a dangerous power that should only be used in critical situations.

Therefore, the old knight specially arranged for his only squire, Asmodai, to stand behind the Librarian.

With this in mind, Zabriel had no more worries and threw himself wholeheartedly into the killing.

An Eldar attempted a sneak attack from the left front, but he cleaved it in two with his sword. Starting from the left shoulder, the creature was cleanly and neatly split in two, the blood and the pink muscles beneath the dark skin trembling.

Zabriel didn't let it go so easily, but instead followed up with a shield bash like lightning. The battle shield locked to his left arm unleashed tremendous power, smashing the corpse into a rapidly flying mass of flesh.

As "raindrops" rained down, Zabriel burst into the fray. He ignored the scattered impacts through his goggles, his right hand thrusting out his longsword like a viper's tongue, piercing two Xenos together. Their chests shattered, and the force field crackled.

Zabriel twisted his wrists, shattering them into pieces, then without looking back, he slammed his knee and shoulder into a stop, forcing the roaring, twisted fleshy creature charging toward him to a halt.

Its bloated body is covered with numerous needles implanted directly into its flesh; their deep color creates a strong visual impact, and they are far from being merely pretty decorations.

The thing took a half step back and charged at Zabriel again as if nothing had happened.

The old knight narrowed his eyes, took two steps forward, and struck its jaw with his shield. The blow completely knocked off the black mask covering its face, revealing a face that was utterly terrifying.

Even a warrior like Zabriel couldn't help but shrink in surprise, yet his sword still pierced through its chest with unparalleled power.

At the same time, Kai's slash arrived, and a head flew high into the air. The headless monster stood still for a few seconds before the chemical agent that replaced the blood gushed out of its veins. By then, the team had already gone far away.

Similar scenes played out repeatedly here, with fifteen squads of Risen using their familiar tactics to harvest the corpses of Aeldari Corsair, creating extremely favorable conditions for the defenders' charge.

The two Stormbird dominated the sky, constantly spewing fire rain. What this meant for any commander or anyone with even a modicum of military skill was self-evident.

That's why Elothian Sharan, the Archon of the Kabal of the Withered Heart, had such a gloomy expression.

"Still not working?"

He asked this question to a woman standing behind him—a human woman. She wore a long, blood-red court dress and had a beautiful face. Her blonde hair was piled up on her back, and her large, watery blue eyes were unusually wide open.

However, to Eloshien Sharan, she was nothing more than a monkey that looked slightly better.

She is now known as Catherine Farn, a traitor, a witch obsessed with power, strength, and darkness. Forty years ago, she made contact with the Heart of Decay and has since traveled throughout this sector, gathering intelligence and guiding them.

If anyone were to ask, Eloshion would very readily admit that Catherine Farn played a very important role in his path to promotion.

But don't expect him to be grateful. Given the opportunity and the means, Elosion would be more than happy to peel away Catherine Farn's beautiful facade bit by bit.

But not now.

Now, in order to survive, they must cooperate.

"No!" the witch screamed, sweating profusely. "The blockade is still in effect!"

Blockade

Ilosien uttered a derogatory term usually reserved for humans to express his anger—to him, the term was utterly ridiculous. What power could possibly block a node in the Webway, preventing them from leaving quickly? Psionic energy? Who could be so powerful?

Damn it.

Ilosien waved his finger impatiently, ordering his serpent-men from the War Court to stop the so-called Astartes. He didn't know where these modified, strong apes had come from, but they were certainly causing him a lot of trouble.

His ships were laden with forty thousand carefully selected slaves, waiting to return to Commorragh and be delivered to them. How much profit this would bring? Elosien didn't know, but he didn't care much either.

What he desires most is fame—once he has fame, he can rise to a higher level, and at that time, further expanding his political power will be a foregone conclusion.

Now, there is only one obstacle standing in his way and in the path of his ambition.

Who exactly is trying to trip me up from behind?!

He roared inwardly, but his expression remained unchanged—a Archon's instinct.

Several names flashed through his mind, twisting those calm or elegant faces into a shared wicked grin, followed closely by his own imagined mockery.

Ha! Foolish Elosion, you're being kept out of the Webway! This is the consequence of your collaboration with the monkeys!

Yes, I did cooperate with the monkey, but so what? You bunch of fools, it's just a tool in my hands! Just wait, I, Eloshien Sharan, will one day crush you all under my feet.

His near-madness of resentment was shattered by a sudden explosion. The Archon immediately turned around and found that the warships he had seized and modified were now engulfed in flames.

Meanwhile, the monkey slaves he had captured were escaping at high speed in their own four-wheeled vehicles, aided by a group of monkey soldiers dressed in ridiculous armor.

Ilosien screamed silently and ordered the Nightmare and elite warriors he had hired at great expense to go and salvage the situation.

He was becoming somewhat reckless. Although setbacks are a necessary part of every Kabal's Archon, Elothien was still a bit too young.

Despite his noble lineage and willingness to seize every opportunity, he had never experienced any setbacks. With Catherine Fine's help, he progressed a little too quickly.

But does it matter? Could those monkeys possibly defeat his guards?

The answer was quietly revealed half a minute later, accompanied by a splatter of blood—not only could it be done, but it was extremely easy.

That smear of blood originated from a nightmare, a deadly blade of exceptional skill and absolute adherence to the terms of the contract.

He died, and the Klaive he cherished as his life was held in a pale hand.

In the next ten seconds, the Klaive was pushed to the peak of the killing by this hand.

Its former owner spent his entire life pursuing a glimpse into this path, even if only for a fleeting moment. Tragically, less than a second after his death, the murderer revealed it in its entirety.

Everyone except him could see this rare spectacle; a vicious, cruel, and elegant art was thus silently unfolding.

The remaining four Nightmares were brought to the ground at the same moment, their swords shattering without exception. Their armor followed suit, falling to the ground without any prior signs of destruction.

The nightmares trembled naked, their skin and flesh slowly slipping away, but instead of falling off, they clung to their bones like blooming petals.

Suddenly, they transformed from dangerous warriors into bloody works of art for all to see. Ilosien stared, stunned, unable to describe what he had just witnessed.

That beauty, that cruel beauty that blooms between life and death, caused him to suddenly let out an indescribable cry.

Only after his screams echoed across the battlefield did the nightmares' blood begin to gush forth, steaming from the cracks in their skin, flesh, and bones.

After that, Ilosian Sharan was not surprised to see his warriors turn and run, abandoning their armor and weapons without the slightest hesitation. So he also grabbed a Splinter Rifle without hesitation and began firing at his warriors.

"Get back!" he screamed. "Who let you run away?!"

More and brighter rain of fire swept in from behind his warriors. It was the human monkeys firing; their crude and outdated weapons were far more lethal than their elegant ones.

Crimson beams of light and streaks of bullets felled his warriors one by one, while the elegant dancer wielding Klaive stood quietly behind the monkeys.

Beneath his dark red coat was a gaunt body; even from this distance, Ilosien could still see how thin and pale he was.

How could anyone imagine that he could unleash such power and elegance?

Elosien observed the calm face through the scope, and suddenly the image of the naked man with the black and red coat removed flashed into his mind. He couldn't help but swallow hard.

"So beautiful," he thought, raptly, then a wave of dread washed over him: How could I use such an adjective to describe a monkey?! Am I sick?!

Another explosion came from behind him. Ilosien turned around and saw that his snake-man bodyguards were dead and scattered. The culprit was standing in front of him, his blood-stained longsword hanging to the ground, and bone fragments stuck in the gap of his shield in his left hand.

As for his partners

Elosien subtly turned her eyes to look at the witch, only to find her already kneeling pitifully on the ground, pretending to be a suffering commoner, constantly muttering the name of her current husband.

"Despicable monkey!" Elosien roared inwardly. Now, his Kabal was almost wiped out, from the bottom to the top, every link had suffered heavy losses, and his only hope for escape was now trying desperately to sever ties with him.

Ilosien's throat bobbed, he took a deep breath, and humiliatingly prepared to utter the word "surrender" in the language of monkeys, but a sword was suddenly raised and held against his neck.

"Keep quiet."

Elosien heard the strong Jokaero speak in their language, with a strange accent and a calm tone, as if giving a command.

A surge of anger rose within the Archon, which he skillfully concealed. He then surprisingly fell silent, showing no further intention of speaking.

Yes, he planned to find another way to escape. Although he was a young Archon, he already knew what the path of the Broken Road required for his intrigue—nothing more than will, wisdom, and strength.

He may still lack experience, but when it comes to fighting, Ilosien is confident that he is second to none.

He stood quietly, observing the every move of the apes before him, watching the monkeys behind them clean up the mess with perfect obedience, while the dark desires churning within him showed no sign of abating.

He planned to launch a surprise attack now, first killing the ape closest to him, then stealing its weapon, then killing all the other apes and taking advantage of the chaos to steal a vehicle and escape.

The monkeys can fly; he only needs to steal a small boat to escape this situation, and returning to Commorragh shouldn't be difficult. He also has several safe houses and some assets; it's only a matter of time before he makes a comeback.

With enough money, a broken spirit can be quickly rebuilt.

All his fantasies were shattered to pieces by a calm voice that rang in his ears.

"I have some questions for you," the voice said.

The world before Ilosian's eyes collapsed in an instant; there was no light, no battlefield, no corpses or bloodshed, only darkness itself.

He turned around, trembling, and saw a wasteland filled with ashes.

A person stood there quietly waiting for him.

Ilosien instantly collapsed to her knees, unconscious.

Karyl, anticipating this, took a step back, preventing the man from touching him. He raised his head and smiled at Zabriel, but at that moment a sobbing woman bumped into his arms.

"My lord! Oh, my lord!"

She leaned against his chest, exhaling a honey-scented breath, her deep blue eyes brimming with tears; her expression was so pitiful.

"Thank you for saving me, sir!"

She spoke with great enthusiasm, as the psionic energy flashed subtly from her eyes, approaching Karyl with lightning speed.

Karyl punched her to the ground, then grabbed the lightning bolt and crushed it into powder right in front of her.

"You're welcome, Leona de Laer," he said expressionlessly. "Now, let's talk about your connection with the Thousand Eyes."

The witch, whose real name had been called, suddenly let out a scream.