Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Page 136

Anger burned fiercely and crackled within Peturabo's chest.

A briefing interrupted his train of thought.

[My lord, Mortarion, commander of the Death Guard of the Fourteenth Legion, requests an audience with you.]

Peturabo snorted.

Poor guy.

Peturabo had never met his brother before, but such news always travels very fast among Primarchs.

In a previous conversation with Magnus (Petulabo did not dislike the wise man; Magnus was one of the few who understood Peturab's wisdom), Magnus mentioned Mortarion, a Primarch from an agricultural planet, but who was short-sighted.

Magnus commented regretfully that he had heard his new brother was extremely averse to psychic powers.

"It's not his fault; his planet may not be able to support his understanding of the wonders of the warp and psionic energy."

The red giant spoke in his library.

"I hope that when I see him in the future, I can help Mortalian truly understand psionics."

Perturabo took a sip of tea. Whatever. He wasn't as kind as Magnus.

His brother, who comes from an agricultural planet, is unlikely to understand or appreciate Peturabo.

Some rumors afterward confirmed Peturab's conjecture: the Fourteenth Army's first battle was not widely publicized; on the contrary, Fernús and Vulcan, who went to judge, left in silence.

Although Peturab didn't think Fernus and Vulcan could make any objective and fair judgments—Fernus was too rigid and Vulcan was too emotional—Petrulab silently marked his new brother for the wrong reasons in his heart.

The Death Guard symbol jumped on Peturabo's communication board, which Peturabo glanced at.

Fine, let him greet his brother and teach this brother from the agricultural world the art of war.

(Please take a look at the author's words)

Hmm... the volume split was a complete failure. I've decided to throw all of this into one volume, but actually, there's still a loose end to the plot of the first volume.

Then, regarding the Necromancer… I've been diligently researching, but regarding combat power, specifically the electronic cricket fighting… well… I might still be writing this subjectively. (You see Krieg fighting the Necromancer, the Minotaur fighting the Necromancer, etc… but I'm currently referring to the book about the Green Skin fighting the Necromancer. The Necromancer is currently the ceiling of the background, but the combat power of those fighting him… if we compare it to 30k, it feels…?)

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For example, what is the approximate exchange rate between the Necromancer's Calamity and the Empire's Stormbird?

What is the approximate speed ratio between Necromancers and Space Marines?

What is the current combat strength that the lord is comparable to...? (What I found is a warband commander, which is roughly equivalent to a 30k legion company commander.)

Previously, when the Necromancers fought the Empire, it consisted of a 40-strong mortal legion, a warband, and a large Imperial navy.

However, when the Empire's combat strength is converted to 30, it doesn't seem to be as exaggerated as four or five large legions.

There are still many power conversion steps involved... so is there any reader familiar with necromancers who would be willing to explain them?!

Just enjoy this, don't take it too seriously... but if you've given your feedback, I'll try my best to change it if I can.

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pps

Calvinka is driving me crazy.

Electronic cricket fighting is incredibly difficult.

Chapter 153 Iron and Death

This is a jungle of steel and concrete.

Black, gray, silver—the colors spread with their footsteps, bright spots of light streaking across the metallic surface, calm and hard.

The only thing breaking the oppressive atmosphere was the steel warrior flags hanging on both sides of the corridor, their glaring yellow and black stripes serving as a warning to visitors.

The sound of the incense burner touching the armor rustled softly, but it seemed so faint amidst the muffled footsteps.

The servants opened the door for them.

Without hesitation, Mortarion strode inside, followed silently by their Primarch in the Death Shroud.

The room was tall, filled with steel, devoid of any useless patterns or decorations. The minimalist, cold lines were straight, and countless black screens were embedded in the walls, with densely packed information rushing past.

In the very center of the room, beneath that enormous banner, stood the Lord of Steel.

Peturabo.

Mortarian silently murmured the name to himself as he looked at his brother.

The Iron Lord was encased in heavy, silver-gray armor, the metal shimmering faintly in the white light of the room as if it were an extension of his body.

Countless cables extended from his head, connecting between his armor, and exploded erratically.

Mortalian's first impression of this brother was that he resembled Phenus Manus; they both possessed a metallic quality, rational and cold.

However, given that Mortarian's previous relationship with Fenus was not good, Mortarian decided to lower his expectations again.

Previously, Makado had mentioned Perturabo to Mortalian, but the cunning mortal psionicist did not elaborate on it.

"I care a lot about the outside world, and I care a lot about myself."

This is Makado's only assessment.

Motalian felt that the statement was meaningless. Makado always liked to say ambiguous things, allowing people to think freely and eventually believe the politician's words.

Mortalian had learned some information about Peturabo and his legion beforehand from Hades, who had previously made contact with these warriors who liked to compare themselves to steel on Mars.

Mortarian recalled Hades' hesitant expression.

"As far as I know, the Iron Warriors deeply revere their father, but every time they mention him, their reverence is tinged with weariness and exhaustion."

Mortarian blinked. Offspring certainly needed to show reverence to their father, but was he exhausted?

Mortarion never intentionally tires his offspring; they need to revere Mortarion, or perhaps fear him, but they will not feel weary.

Deathguard is not a tiring place.

He isn't either.

Motalian thought so.

So his brother must not care so much about his offspring. Mortarian felt a little resentful, but these feelings were quickly dissipated.

He didn't care about the affairs of other legions; as long as they didn't bother the Death Guard, Mortarion wouldn't easily lift his gaze from his own world.

When Mortarian entered the house, his brothers came to greet him from the strategic platform.

"Hello."

Mortarian's hoarse voice rang out as he raised his hand first, wanting to express his sincerity.

He just wanted to beat up whichever alien he could find, escape from the mundane government documents, and Mortarian didn't care which legion he was cooperating with.

As long as it's not with Fenus or Vulcan, Mortarian tolerates subtle and unintentional malice towards others.

Peturabo watched Mortarian enter the room, and he specially chose one of his favorite strategy rooms to receive his brother from the agricultural planet.

This strategy room allows information from an entire star system to be displayed simultaneously, and the programs personally set up by Peturabo ensure that this information is presented on the screen in the most efficient way.

Few other brothers could improve efficiency with such precision as he did.

Peturabo looked at Mortarian, who had just entered, and hoped that his brother could understand everything.

But Peturabo soon realized that he couldn't see his brother at all.

Mortarian concealed everything about himself.

When his previous assumptions about this brother disappeared, Perturabo found that Mortarion was so different from the other Primarchs he knew.

Motalian was very high; Peturabo was certain that only Vulcan and Magnus could reach that height.

But what Petrabo was concerned about was not Mortarian's height.

His brother, with a breathing mask covering the lower half of his face and a hood pulled down very low, cast shadows over the upper half of his face.

Countless incense burners were tied to Mortarion's armor, and pungent poisonous gas slowly rose, mixing with white smoke and further obscuring Mortarion's already hidden face.

This made it impossible for Peturabo to see Mortarian's expression clearly.

Peturabo hesitated for a moment, the foul and pungent fumes making him instinctively feel dissatisfied.

But Motalian's greeting interrupted Peturabo, who naturally extended his hand, and they shook hands.

"Commander of the Fourth Legion, Lord of Olympia, Peturabo."

"Commander of the Fourteenth Legion, Lord of Barbarossa, Mortarion."

The two tacitly released each other's hands, shaking hands briefly, indicating that neither of them liked this form of welcome.

"The Fourteenth Legion received a distress signal from Greiel's Forged World and has therefore come to the scene."

Mortarian spoke, his gaze shifting to the chess pieces on the strategy table.

"But it seems you've already begun."

The Lord of Death's voice was very soft, like a breeze blowing across a field, and Peturabo could not detect any emotion in it.

But he was satisfied with Mortarion's choice of words; yes, it was "forging the world," not "steel warriors."

"Yes, the Iron Warriors have begun this battle."

Perturabo tried to sound nonchalant, and in reality, he didn't care much about this small war. If it weren't for Mortarian's request to meet, Perturabo wouldn't have stayed here any longer.

He stepped aside and led Mortarian to the strategy table, where the battlefield of Planet 106 was being replicated in real time by these tiny chess pieces.

The Iron Warriors' long-range heavy weapon forces have advanced to Mining Area 02, providing ample fire support for the Iron Warriors fighting on the front lines in Area 03.

The Stormbirds flew low overhead, and with the support of ground troops, they passed through the enemy's air defense zone, unleashing a barrage of fire on the enemy's heavy weaponry.

On the front lines, where they were fighting against the Necromancers, the Predator Tanks were advancing in a staggered fashion, keeping pace with the Iron Warriors. The fire support from the rear made the advance of the battle line as smooth as loading a bullet.

To Peturabo's dismay, the opposing side has not yet deployed any high-powered aircraft; their air force consists only of swarms of scarabs, which makes the sky area on this 3D map somewhat empty.

He was also unable to better demonstrate his superb ability to control the battlefield.

Peturabo looked at the strategy table, but his mind wasn't there. The pungent fumes around him annoyed him, but he still stood there patiently waiting.

Look at this ingenious battle situation, a three-dimensional mobile battlefield, something that those who fight on land on agricultural planets can never achieve.

However, Mortarion stood there like a dead tree, unresponsive.

While Perturabo stared at the map, Mortarian regretfully realized that it seemed the Death Guard's involvement was unnecessary in this war.

Seeing that Motalian remained silent, Peturabo crossed his arms.

Mortarion is still searching for a warzone where the Death Guard can intervene.

Peturabo took a few steps along the strategy table.

Mortarian remained deep in thought, staring at the strategy table.

Peturabo stopped again.

Mortarian remained standing motionless.

Inside the room, Hades, standing inside the shroud of death, saw this scene and his hair practically stood on end.

This batch needs to be sent.

Unlike Peturabo, Finus, and Vulcan, this guy would most likely not tolerate a "lower-level" person interfering in his "higher-level" conversations.

Although Hades had subtly insulted Perturabo several times in Mortalian beforehand, intending to lower Mortalian's previous expectations of Perturabo so that Mortalian could prepare in advance.

If expectations are not too high, reality will not be too cruel.

But clearly, Mortarian, who was so engrossed in the thought of "finally not having to approve official documents," didn't take it all in.

The Tridents on the other side were also in a bad situation. They were Perturabo's military advisors in the Legion and were often by the Primarch's side. Some of them had already realized that something was wrong.

For a moment, apart from the sounds of Peturabo's movements and Mortarian's hissing through his breathing mask, there was no other sound in the room.

Everyone except Mortarian felt an immense sense of oppression.

Mortarian blinked. Perhaps he could have the Death Guards land at the rear of Mine 03, then form a pincer movement with the Iron Warriors on the front lines, tearing the enemy lines apart from both sides.