A mechanized warfare exercise?

"Help! There's a plague on Olaye!" (Nurgle was one of the four great Dark Gods of the Warp, and plague was his domain.)

The brief astropathic message was translated vaguely. That was more or less what it meant, anyway. There were also mentions of Grandfather, walking corpses, and the like.

The Archmagos received the emergency transmission and forwarded it to Chapter Master Evan, who sat across from him.

What, are all you rebel planets the same? You can't return to the Imperium unless you run into trouble?

The problem is, if I go, who knows how many of these Astartes will make it back? But if I don't, this Archmagos will immediately realize I don't have enough strength at my disposal. He might even decide to seize the STC Fragment by force right now.

"How about... you lend me the Warmaster-class Titan first?"

The Archmagos shook his head so hard it nearly flew off. He had deliberately avoided the subject throughout their subsequent discussions, even leaving the wording vague in the treaty. How could he possibly leave that precious treasure with an enemy as a hostage?

"Then I'm not getting involved. Your rebel planets aren't under the Imperium's jurisdiction."

Archmagos Froes was frustrated too. Across all the neighboring villages-no, across half the sector-this was the only Agri World. It was the rebel planets' main source of food. If it fell, they might all starve.

People needed food to survive. Heavily mechanized as the Adeptus Mechanicus was, some of its members still ate ordinary meals.

Evan was still trying to find a suitable excuse to preserve his fighting strength when the Archmagos suddenly said, "I'll lend you three Warbringer Nemesis-class Titans and five Reaver-class Titans. No more."

The Reaver-class was the smallest battle Titan-the Warhound was a reconnaissance model. With its power systems mounted at the rear, it was difficult to destroy from the front. However, their numbers seemed to be dwindling as the technology needed to manufacture them was lost.

The Nemesis-class was a Titan design between the Warlord-class and Reaver-class, famous for the enormous quake cannon mounted on its back and its exceptionally aggressive machine spirit. It was still relatively common in the Imperium.

Evan had never expected the Titan loan agreement to actually be accepted.

What were they waiting for? Load them up and haul them away.

The enormous transport accompanying the Battle Barge immediately headed out to collect the Titans.

Hmph. Once they're in my pocket, you expect them back? Just watch me wriggle out of it two hundred years from now.

Both sides signed the agreement and settled the remaining arrangements. The transport also brought over some supplies while it was at it.

Right, time to depart. No, wait-call for backup first.

There were no other Chapters nearby, so he could only call on the Astra Militarum. A postscript read: Bring plenty of melta weapons, plasma weapons, promethium, and fully sealed uniforms.

The Atris Astra Militarum immediately answered the Crimson Tide Chapter's request for support. Everyone boarded their ships and prepared to depart.

The Astra Militarum force stationed with the Second Provisional Assembly of Segmentum Pacificus... dragged its feet. Admittedly, that really was its only naval asset.

The Battle Barge immediately jumped into the Warp.

The Archmagos took his transport back to his Forge World at a leisurely pace. A hundred years of production at full capacity awaited that world.

In the Warp, Evan began instructing his Astartes, though he himself had only dealt with one plague-stricken planet during his days as a recruit.

This time, the thirteen Astartes, Evan included, would not conduct raids or decapitation strikes. Such tactics were meaningless against Nurgle's followers.

Besides, they had Titans. Eight Titans, with one Astartes commanding each, leaving the remaining five to command their tank formations.

With their long history, the production methods for Sicaran Tanks and similar vehicles had gradually been lost, making replacements almost impossible to obtain.

Very few worlds could still manufacture Leman Russ Tanks either.

Now, under the forceful demands of Belisarius Cawl and Guilliman, the various Forge Worlds had received the technology to produce heavy tanks.

Leman Russ Tank output had barely recovered, while the supply of Emperor's Blade Tanks was passable.

In Evan's opinion, these members of the Adeptus Mechanicus belonged on the kill list too. They clung tightly to their technology and refused to share it, then died in some accident, taking vital knowledge with them forever.

Once he had enough power, he would find a way to trick those Tech-priests into handing over their technology, then put it into official production, under state control and with multiple backups.

That was why the ten Astartes studying on the Forge World had another special mission: exchanging knowledge. They were not merely to learn, but also to trade knowledge and technology in secret, using the technology their Techmarine had deciphered from the STC Fragment to steal back as much as possible.

No, wait. How could a scholar's work be called stealing? It was mutual learning.

A Battle Barge could carry 1.5 million mortals at full capacity, generally including several hundred thousand members of the Imperialis Militia.

By Astra Militarum standards, roughly one heavy tank was assigned to every one or two thousand soldiers.

In other words, this Imperialis Militia force should have had four hundred Emperor's Blade Tanks if it were fully equipped.

But it currently had only 193.

To avoid "sending troops to the enemy," Evan ordered the force to deploy with twice the usual firepower density. He intended to commit only a hundred thousand Auxilia.

Nurgle was a god of life, an embodiment of decay and plague. When an organism rotted, didn't that mean new life for scavengers and bacteria? Those who worshipped him invariably turned a sickly green, their bodies covered in pustules and blisters. Sometimes their flesh split open, exposing or spilling rotten, disease-ridden organs.

Yet his worshippers genuinely revered him as the god who granted them eternal life, sincerely and affectionately calling him Grandfather.

The unfortunate mortals infected by Nurgle's plagues would be slowly tormented by the disease before becoming Plague Zombies. The longer they endured the suffering, the stronger the resulting Plague Zombie became.

These Plague Zombies carried rust-covered iron swords from who knew where, coated in disease-laden pathogens.

Even Astartes could not resist this infection, because it was not merely a biological disease, but one infused with Warp energy. Even someone as powerful as the Primarch Horus had failed to withstand it, and that had directly led to his corruption by Chaos.

Olaye was still putting up a desperate resistance. Of course, that was not because its people were strong fighters or possessed unshakable resolve. It was simply because they had no Hive Cities. Their settlements were enormous food-processing plants scattered across the planet.

That kept the disease from spreading too quickly at first.

An obscure fact: in Nurgle's eyes, all living things were equal. Plants therefore caught his plagues too, withering and rotting, turning into muddy swamps or twisted "grasslands" filled with bizarre creations. The entire planet had transformed from a lush green agricultural world into a sickly green plague world.

Only one location was still holding out. Again, it had nothing to do with firm resolve or formidable combat strength.

The manager of that food-processing plant was simply ruthless enough. Whether fleeing refugees or Plague Zombies, no one was allowed inside. Anyone who tried was killed without exception.

Harvesters, shredders, and whatever else they had were simply put to work as enormous war machines.

When the Battle Barge Righteous Vigil arrived at Olaye, the war had entered its final frenzy. Vast numbers of Plague Zombies surrounded the last fortress.

The troops in space could only launch bombing runs with their few atmospheric aircraft, but these achieved little against the enemy's endless numbers. When the Battle Barge approached, the forces aboard every space station and satellite immediately surrendered.

Their warships had all been destroyed in the Taste Massacre, and their newly ordered vessels had not yet arrived. There was no point resisting. They could simply pin responsibility for the rebellion on those people down below, whose survival was anyone's guess.

Seeing that the space stations were uncontaminated, Evan finally felt relieved. The greatest danger with a plague like this was its spreading throughout the universe aboard spacecraft.

The situation was now simple: large numbers of enemies surrounded the last fortress. Emphasis on large numbers of enemies.

Brothers, what else is there to discuss? They're all gathered together. Orbital bombardment.

What? What about the people inside the fortress? They aren't citizens of the Imperium. Let the rebels turn to ash along with the Plague Zombies.

The Battle Barge swiftly adjusted its orientation. Its powerful Lances began charging, and the Macro-cannons dedicated to orbital bombardment were loaded.

The bombardment gouged out enormous craters, reducing every living thing to ash. Evan had originally hoped to salvage the planet, but he had arrived too late. Nurgle was unlike Khorne. A plague that spread across the globe could kill the entire world.

Amid the corruption of Chaos, the last sanctuary became forbidden ground. The most effective way to deal with Nurgle's Chaos corruption was to scour the land with firepower.

Transports deployed the enormous Titans onto the forbidden ground, followed by large numbers of heavy tanks and fully armed Imperialis Militia troops.

They could have scoured the entire planet with orbital bombardment, but then they would never discover why Nurgle's plague had appeared here. Was it a Warp Rift? Had it come from elsewhere in space? Or had deluded people performed a ritual to summon it?

They had to find and resolve the cause, or they would face an endless stream of enemies.

After a round of "questioning," the space station administrators spilled everything, right down to the exact times they had received messages and what everyone had been doing then.

It appeared that everything had begun at a food-processing plant, so the force advanced toward it while clearing the way.

Evan had originally wanted to flatten the place and land there, since scans showed plenty of enemies at that location too. But what if there was a Warp Rift and the orbital bombardment enlarged it? No one could guarantee otherwise. Who could say anything for certain when the Warp was involved?

Vast amounts of firepower poured onto the ground. The Titans' terrifying quake cannons and Gatling blasters practically swept Evan's route clear. These ordinary Plague Zombies were no match for the God-Machines.

Below, the mortal troops continued advancing in personnel carriers under the cover of heavy tanks.

There was only one trick to fighting Nurgle: never let his forces get close. Exterminate them completely with overwhelming firepower.

This was an extremely dangerous operation. With the Chief Apothecary absent, Evan had to be exceptionally careful not to let his warriors die, although gene-seed contaminated by Nurgle's plagues might be impossible to recover anyway.

Every Astartes had been assigned a command position, protected inside thick steel machinery.

These warriors were eager to fight, but he really could not let them take too many risks.

The agricultural planet's endless, exceptionally flat plains were ideal for fully mechanized operations. The sons of Ferrus Manus could conduct a textbook mechanized advance.

Of course, the enemy had ranged weapons too. For instance, they stuffed thoroughly corroded skulls with disease-ridden slime and hurled them at their enemies. The pathogens drifting through the air were also lethal foes.

Nearby troops carrying promethium flamethrowers swiftly dealt with such things.

The mighty Emperor's Wrath descended upon Olaye.

The planet contained more than Plague Zombies. There were other creatures too, such as farm animals corrupted by Nurgle into Plague Beasts with formidable combat strength and infectiousness. That was what they would call this broad category of creatures for now.

Some Plague Zombies mounted these Plague Beasts, greatly increasing their speed. Naturally, they posed little threat to Evan's fully mechanized force, though the disease-filled skulls hurled their way were genuinely frightening.

Except for one creature that overturned a Chimera personnel carrier before the Titans' fury blasted it to pieces.

Ant-Cattle were creatures riddled with parasites. Once all harmful substances had been removed, they were delicious when cooked. However, they were exceptionally vicious, and nothing could stop their determination to burrow-not even superalloy walls. The Imperium therefore banned the breeding of these dangerous creatures. Clearly, though, some very bold idiot had tried raising one here.

Ant-Cattle were exceptionally suited to Nurgle's blessings. After becoming infected, this one had rapidly transformed into a powerful Nurgle war beast.

Another Battle Barge was conducting recruitment for sixty recruits above Kusliev.

Though this was normally a major event overseen by a Chaplain, Situval and Annos had at least seen how it was done, even if they had never done it themselves.

The grand recruitment trials opened on Kusliev with great ceremony. This time, as with the Ultramarines Chapter, outstanding boys were selected from training camps to undergo augmentation.

The main reason was that, after hearing about the previous Astartes recruitment, the Kusliev colony had calculated that the next round should be approaching. Over the past few years, it had thrown everything into establishing training camps, hoping to gamble on that one-in-four chance and ensure the Astartes left satisfied if they chose to recruit here.

This time was even more extravagant than the previous gathering of three thousand elite noble youths. A full ten thousand exceptionally gifted boys stood ready to face the trials.

Chief Apothecary Situval was happy to see it. He promptly handed everything over to Techmarine Annos, then slipped into the shadows around the trial grounds to secretly observe several candidates who had caught his attention.

The Techmarine considered the standards of the previous Neophyte Transformation. Strong-bodied, strong-willed children seemed to have a higher success rate. In that case, there was no need to overthink it. They would start with a test of willpower and whittle ten thousand down to five hundred.

Naturally, he had no interest in anything elaborate. They would simply sit cross-legged on the ice fields, and those who held out the longest would enter the next round.

In the end, 466 half-frozen children advanced to the next selection. After a test of Warp aptitude and loyalty, only eighty-four remained.

Techmarine Annos found himself in a difficult position. He seemed to have mismanaged this selection. What sort of contest should he use to reduce eighty-four to sixty?

Ultimately, Annos chose the same method as Evan: set out sixty tokens and let the armed contestants fight for them.

Clearly, the Techmarine had not kept the contest's casualties adequately under control. Only fifty-eight contestants advanced. The others were either dead or too badly injured to undergo Neophyte Transformation.

Chief Apothecary Situval took a casual stroll through the Underhive and abducted two lucky boys who caught his eye. Or perhaps unlucky was the word?

Nurgle's blessings granted his children unparalleled vitality and resilience. Ordinary Plague Zombies could keep moving even after being slashed by blades, struck by bullets, or pierced by Lasgun fire, swinging their "Plague Swords" at enemies who dared resist Nurgle's blessings.

Now, however, these supposed Nurgle Cultists were being melted to ash by powerful melta weapons and Plasma Cannons. The firepower was even more intense than when they fought Orks.

The planet's population was too small. Even if every person became one of Nurgle's creations, they still could not withstand the wrath of the God-Machines.

Orbital bombardments occasionally struck ahead or to the flanks, claiming the "lives" of vast numbers of enemies-if they could even be considered alive.

The Imperialis Militia kept firing from their Chimera personnel carriers, laser beams flashing constantly. There were occasional casualties. Whenever aircraft delivered ammunition and supplies, the scorching ground, plowed by powerful thermal weapons, invariably burned a few unlucky mortals sent to collect them.

Overall, though, things were going well. These Imperialis Militia troops, trained by the Dawn Angels Chapter, were excellent soldiers. Evan even suspected that some had more experience dealing with Nurgle's creations than he did.

The line advanced rapidly, but the consequences of their insufficient manpower gradually became apparent. Their current troop numbers might not be enough to defend the cleared territory.

Evan simply ordered them to ignore the ground behind them. Everyone was to maintain formation and keep advancing.

The enormous food-processing plant was now wrapped in vines and slime. The entire metal structure looked rusted and ready to collapse.

Floor after floor of the food-processing plant had become a playground for Nurglings, the culprits behind the entire plague. These creatures were small but fashioned in Nurgle's image, with squat green bodies and enormous mouths. Their bodies bore constantly weeping sores and exposed rotten organs. The filthy fluid from their bursting growths contained countless lethal diseases, and amid incessant giggling, they spread Grandfather's affection across the world.

Some Nurglings lacked "antlers," making them less like Nurgle in that respect, but who cared about that?

Several small rituals had already been held here to express the creatures' gratitude to Grandfather. In most cases, Nurglings and Plagueflies carrying deadly pathogens would cross through Warp Rifts into reality.

Now, Nurgle's children sensed a threat. Their world of mutual encouragement was gone. Many, many children had been killed by searing weapons, and the relentless waves of heat made all "life" uncomfortable.

They decided to do something big.

Vast numbers of Plague Zombies gathered at the site of the first ritual, where food had once been prayed for. Sacrificial victims tortured beyond human recognition by disease were continually carried onto the altar. This was a ritual initiated by Nurgle's creations to thank Grandfather and request more troops.

Blasphemous symbols were drawn everywhere. Mysterious ritual invocations emerged amid the Plague Zombies' strange laughter and muttering. Psychic light shone within bizarre patterns, and the Warp Rift continued to widen with every "chant." Nurgle had once again answered his "loyal" children.