Rename Them the Iron Warriors!

One punch.

There was no warning in that punch, no starting point.

There was no charge, but the Imperial Fists warrior swung his fist out from his side and hit the Iron Warriors warrior's breastplate.

It's not very powerful because no one wants to kill anyone.

But it was enough to make the Iron Warriors soldier take three steps back and hit the wall he had just built, shaking three bricks loose on the wall.

The Iron Warriors soldiers put down the bricks in their hands.

Imperial Fists's soldiers put down their mortar trucks.

The two groups of people looked at each other for three seconds across the wall that had three bricks loosened by the shock.

Then, they started fighting.

Not a war, not a battle, just a fight.

It's the kind of fight that can break out over a gossip on a construction site or during a break, with punches to the flesh but no one's life.

The sound of Power Armour hitting Power Armour echoed in Webway, like thousands of bells being rung at the same time.

Chainsword is not started, Bolter is not loaded, there are only fists, only knees, and only the muffled sound of helmet hitting helmet and breastplate hitting breastplate.

A Iron Warriors hugged the waist of a Imperial Fists and threw him to the ground.

That Imperial Fists turned over and punched Iron Warriors in the face.

Iron Warriors's Power Armour mask had a crack, revealing the same angry face inside.

He hit Imperial Fists's shoulder armor with a backhand punch. The shoulder armor cracked a line, and Smart Atoms began to repair it automatically.

No one is trying to stop the fight because it can't be done.

No one dared to fight, because the person who started the fight would be beaten by both sides.

Perturabo stood at a high place and watched the melee.

There was no smile on his lips, but there was a strange light in his eyes.

It's nostalgia, the kind of nostalgia that says, "This is the Imperial Fists in my memory."

Dorn stood on the tower in the distance, also watching the melee, his face expressionless, but his fingers no longer pinched the railing.

It took a long time to fight.

It took so long that the first wave of Psionic Energy mortar solidified in the mixer truck, so long that the newly built brick walls began to heal spontaneously, and so long that both groups of people were tired.

A Iron Warriors collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. His helmet flew to nowhere, and his face was bruised and bruised.

A Imperial Fists was lying next to him, Power Armour was covered with footprints, and there was a clear fist mark on the breastplate.

"You... cheated..."

Iron Warriors's voice is intermittent.

"You... talk too much nonsense..."

Imperial Fists's voice was also out of breath.

The two looked at each other, stretched out their hands at the same time, shook it, and let go at the same time.

Then, they got up from the ground, dusted themselves off, and walked to their respective posts.

Continue to dust.

It's not because they are not tired anymore, but because if they don't continue, they will fall behind.

Falling behind means applying yellow paint, changing the name, and losing to that damn nemesis.

This is absolutely unacceptable.

On the third day, Imperial Fists won.

And it's not just a centimeter win, it's a whole three centimeter win.

Perturabo stood in front of the three centimeters ahead, with a complex expression on his face as if he had swallowed a live fly.

His bald head no longer shines, the corners of his mouth no longer curl up, and his gray eyes are full of disbelief.

"You are acting rogue!"

There was a kind of anger in his voice that "I have been cheated", "If you hadn't provoked the fight yesterday and caused us to fall behind, we would never have lost!"

Dorn stood on the tower with an expressionless face.

But the corners of his mouth, which had remained motionless for thousands of years and even Sanguinius thought he had lost the ability to smile, rose slightly.

The upward angle is so small that if you don't stare at his face for more than three seconds, you won't notice it at all.

But Perturabo discovered it.

His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked.

"It's all part of the plan."

Dorn's voice was as calm as water, but every word was like pouring a basin of ice water on Perturabo's bald head, "Computing power is also part of the project."

Perturabo's teeth clenched loudly.

Today, he was ridiculed by this stone egg again.

Yesterday he was the one who laughed, today he is the one being laughed at.

Things were turning, but they were turning so fast that his bald head didn't even have time to cool down.

The fourth day, the fifth day, the sixth day.

In this rhythm of "you win a round and I win a round", the two groups of people cultivated Webway further and further.

Their progress was ridiculously fast, and the passages that were riddled with holes by the Eldar nobles were repaired, reinforced, and upgraded bit by bit in their hands.

Psionic Energy Bricks were laid one after another, and Psionic Energy mortar was applied bucket after bucket. The once shaky passage walls became indestructible in their hands.

In the process, they encountered Eldar pocket space.

It was a private territory abandoned by the Ancient Eldar nobles, with an area equivalent to half a planet.

There are palaces, Garden of Nurgle, amusement parks, and a sparkling castle made of spiritual crystals.

The owner of the castle is a Eldar noble who is still alive. He did not flee with his compatriots, but chose to stay here, guarding his castle, guarding his wealth, and guarding his pride that no longer had any meaning.

He stood on the wall of the castle, looking at the yellow and iron-gray figures pouring out of Webway, with a trace of disdain on his lips.

"Human warriors. Do you know where this place is? This is the territory of Eldar, it's--"

He didn't finish what he said.

Because Perturabo and Dorn walked to the city wall at the same time.

Two Primarchs, one with a bald head and the other with a stone head, both raised their heads and looked at the Eldar noble standing on the city wall with the same expressionless expression.

But their eyes are different.

Perturabo's eyes seemed to be looking at an illegal building waiting to be demolished.

Dorn's eyes seemed to be looking at a dangerous wall that needed to be reinforced.

Eldar The noble voice is stuck in his throat.

"Will you surrender or not?"

Perturabo spoke.

His voice was not loud, but every word was like thunder exploding in the ears of the Eldar noble.

Eldar The nobleman's lips moved.

He wanted to say no.

But he couldn't tell because he saw the yellow, iron-gray, boundless ocean behind the two Primarch.

That's five hundred thousand Space Marines, Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors, two hundred and fifty thousand each.

They are not standing, they are suspended.

Suspended in the void of Webway, holding Power Sword in his hand, carrying Bolter on his back, his eyes burned with the light of "Try saying no again".

Eldar Noble took a deep breath.

"I surrender."

His voice was so low that it was almost inaudible.

But Perturabo heard it, and Dorn also heard it.

They nodded at the same time, turned around at the same time, and waved to the five hundred thousand Space Marines behind them.

"Work."