Chapter 342: He Decided to Kill Him
After Romulus successfully exhausted Perturabo using his collective health bar accumulated from the four of them, Ramesses finally let out a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the surface battle.
Romulus wasn't as obsessed as Arthur, so he couldn't achieve the feat of hacking the very authority of logic and concepts into unconsciousness.
Dismantling Perturabo would take some time.
The forbidden spell he "borrowed" from the old Farseer was ready, waiting for Perturabo to be weakened to his limit, to teach this arrogant fellow a real lesson.
Thinking of this, a sarcastic smile appeared on Ramesses's face beneath his golden mask.
Perturabo talked a big game about calculating everything and being different from his past self, but when the fighting started, he didn't take Romulus seriously at all, nor did he take them seriously.
All assumptions, all stereotypes.
Now he's dumbfounded, right? Did he really think Old Ro was Guilliman, crippled by the Imperial Truth and refusing to use his power?
Ramesses rubbed his palm, crimson dust flowing between his fingers.
Fragments of the Maugetar Stone, from a magnificent chamber on the ancient Eldar world of Iydris within the Eye of Terror.
Ten thousand years ago, Fulgrim gave it to Perturabo as a gift, using the essence of two Primarchs as a sacrifice on Iydris to ascend as a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh, gaining a new form.
Ten thousand years later, after joint excavation and development by top archaeologists from humanity, Eldar, and Necrons, these taboo items buried deep underground during the loyalist siege finally saw the light of day again.
Did he really think learning a few Haemonculus tricks would let him escape unscathed?
Ramesses sneered, carefully observing his partner's movements.
"..."
Beside him, the Lord of Change, hearing the Formless Lord's sudden sinister laughter, instinctively folded its wings, its colorful feathers standing on end in fear.
It was too creepy.
The Lord of Change cursed that bastard Kairos in its heart.
It was Kairos who provoked the trouble, but now, because of his importance in Tzeentch's eyes, he could sit back and watch, while it became the meat on the chopping block.
Honestly, as a bystander who saw things more clearly, these four Primarchs were absolutely the most difficult opponents it had encountered in its long life.
Compared to those Primarchs who talked big but were arrogantly screaming 'I am superior to you' with every action, these four never took chances.
Like Perturabo, he would analyze the enemy, build data models, formulate a detailed plan, and launch an action before moving.
But these four were different. They were always preparing, not weighing their efforts based on the enemy's strength, but always operating efficiently to achieve their goals.
When you analyze them due to threat, they are evolving.
When you are self-intoxicated and complacent due to battle results, they are evolving.
When you engage in combat and formally slaughter them, they are still evolving.
This directly results in facing their strongest state whenever you encounter them.
Sigh~
The Lord of Change sighed quietly. It understood.
Dealing with these four, you absolutely cannot play by the rules. Instead of meticulous planning, it's better to just charge in before they notice, otherwise you definitely can't win.
Especially this time dealing with Perturabo.
Perturabo went through harassment, probing, and dueling. In the process, he didn't improve much, but lost more and more of his assets.
Romulus and Ramesses, one pretended to be unskilled in dueling like Guilliman, the other pretended to be tied down by Tzeentchian daemons.
That arrogant idiot jumped into the pit dug long ago, driven by arrogance from beginning to end.
Looking up—
Even bound by countless magical shackles, that sorcerer remained calm, his soul energy shining wantonly as if it were free, making various daemons drool.
The Lord of Change turned its head away, looking disgusted.
Shameless!
And their attitude towards Chaos forces was even more deadly.
Thinking of this, the Lord of Change felt its life was coming to an end.
There was only one attitude.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
The outer ring wall of the Tucana Bastion began to collapse under the relentless assault.
Having already suffered devastating damage from continuous orbital strikes and artillery barrages, it became increasingly riddled with holes under wave after wave of attacks from World Eaters and Khornate daemons.
The outer armor of the upper platforms was torn off in chunks, firing slits turned into burning molten holes, and load-bearing structures groaned ominously.
Fafnir Rann judged calmly that if the rebels maintained their current attack intensity, the entire structure would collapse within ten to fifteen minutes.
Then, the ruins, losing support, would expose the core void shield generators. Once these key devices were destroyed, a fatal gap would appear in the entire defense line.
At that time, the bloodthirsty tide would have no obstacles and drive straight in.
No fancy tactics. With the Blood God's blessing, the World Eaters thoroughly suppressed the defenders' most threatening long-range firepower and launched a textbook siege.
At the tactical weak points in the northwest and northeast of the ring wall, positions that should have formed crossfire with adjacent bastions were simultaneously assaulted by the main force of the World Eaters.
Armored siege engines and Termite drills formed a steel torrent. Heavy infantry launched death charges under the cover of daemon clusters. Distant siege engines poured fire to suppress defender counterattacks. Beastmen, mutants, and cultist troops harassed the entire defense line like a tide, pinning the defenders firmly in position.
Rann had to admit, this was an impressive offensive.
He was a son of Dorn, an Imperial Fist. Siege warfare was their basic skill.
This was the best way to breach a fortress: eroding and weakening the defense line through all-round attacks, relying on continuous attacks to probe the weak areas of the defenders, and then launching precise assaults on the exposed weaknesses with concentrated brute force.
Barbarism and precision achieved an astonishing unity at this moment.
Unsurprisingly, Rann knew from the moment he saw the World Eater Regent that this Legion would be the greatest test they faced, the only true opponent in this war.
He hated these traitors, but he admired the skill they displayed in this siege.
Deep in the center of the battle, those bloodthirsty and frenzied warriors made this attack look like a blind charge, but in fact, it was orderly and had clear goals.
Like a seasoned butcher, deftly concentrating the power of unruly cleavers and axes on the joints of bones; not much force was needed to split them in two.
Rann carved a bloody path on the chaotic stairs, throwing a World Eater off the blown-up battlement and kicking away a siege hook just latched onto the wall.
When he reached the high ground and recognized the figure standing at the breach through the smoke—
Khârn the Oath-Breaker.
Almost simultaneously, the commander on the high wall also turned to look.
Two pairs of eyes collided across the distance.
Like blades striking, sparks flew.
He decided to kill him.
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