The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Amidst the air defense team's warning cries, the Vulture-type machine soldiers stationed at Outpost 7 took off, reaching the cliffs on either side of the outpost. They began attacking the snakes and insects that were climbing, which was precisely when these creatures were most vulnerable. Under attack, they had no means of retaliation and could only screech as they fell.

Six Stormclaws locked their weapons onto the tunneling Pythons that were climbing, unleashing a barrage of plasma missiles.

Accompanied by bursts of dazzling azure light, the tunneling Pythons were not only torn to pieces, but their claws used for climbing the cliffs lost their grip, shattered into fragments, and they could only wail as they plunged into the abyss.

In just ten minutes, Tyron's assault force was completely annihilated, destroyed even faster than the swarms of insects on the front.

"Captain, the Tyron on the front lines have also ceased their attack."

Hearing Jacob's words, Bakhram's face remained expressionless, simply nodding.

"Tell the soldiers to seize the time to rest, replenish ammunition for the automatic weapons and defensive turrets, and report ammunition consumption to me as soon as possible."

"Yes, I will go immediately."

After Jacob ran out of the command post, Bakhram walked onto the terrace and looked up at the sky.

As far as his eyes could see, were the massive shadowy outlines of the Tyron bio-ships.

"Hopefully the fleet is doing well; this place is already a dead end..."

After muttering to himself for a while, Bakhram decided to inspect the ramparts and give the soldiers some confidence. So, after calling a soldier to watch for him, he turned to pick up the Broken Horned Fiend, hung it on his waist, walked down the steps, and headed towards the ramparts.

"Uncle, what's this?"

Opening the iron lunchbox handed out from above, little Feiton used a spoon to scoop up the viscous liquid inside. Watching the pearl-like grains slowly fall along a light gray trail, his face showed reluctance.

But Hayes, opposite him, directly stuffed it into his mouth, nodding as he chewed.

"Mmm, it tastes good, you should try it."

"Really?"

At this moment, the cook distributing the lunchboxes walked over, sat on a nearby ammunition box, and said while eating his own:

"You don't know good stuff when you see it. This is a specialty of the original Garden World, a special grain cultivated for high-ranking priests and nobles called Pearl Rice. If it weren't for fighting this war, you hillbillies wouldn't get to eat such fine grains in your entire lives."

"Bragging so much—"

Little Feiton curled his lip, then scooped a spoonful and put it in his mouth.

In the next moment, his eyes flashed, and the classic Imperial folk music 'Terra's Ten Thousand Li Palace Walls' resounded in his mind. At that moment, he felt as if he were only wearing a pair of beach shorts, jumping from a high place into a blue ocean, his entire being submerged in the refreshing seawater, surrounded by countless moist and smooth pearls.

"This, this is simply!"

Then he scooped up several spoonfuls, eating heartily while showing a happy expression under Hayes' smiling gaze.

"This taste is truly amazing! How can grains have this kind of texture, this sweetness!"

"Otherwise, how could it be called a special grain? I heard my cousin, who works in the General Logistics Department, say that they searched the entire planet and only found more than two hundred tons, and that lord directly distributed it all to you grunts."

"Will there be any in the future?"

"You think we're out here on vacation?"

Hayes shook his head with a smile, picked up a fork, and put the heated meat from the can into his mouth.

"This is war. We have good food now, but soon we'll be gnawing on ration bars every day."

"Uncle, I don't think these Tyron are anything special. The numbers are quite intimidating, but they still turn to ashes when a shell hits them."

"Well, the command has arranged things very properly, and the deployment is very targeted. If we were following the Imperial standard tactical regulations, we might still be fighting the Tyron hand-to-hand on the walls. More importantly, our firepower is too strong, far exceeding the standards of the average Imperial Guard."

Hearing this, little Feiton put down the lunchbox he had licked clean and asked curiously:

"Uncle, was your firepower very poor before?"

"Very poor?"

Hayes gave a wry smile, put down his spoon, and touched his eyepatch.

"Back then, our company only had two machine guns, and the infantry only had one rifle, one bayonet, and six grenades. When we fought, everyone just charged forward with their guns."

As he spoke, Hayes gradually fell into memories, and his voice became low.

"...Even against cultists with crude weapons, we had to trade our lives. Fire support, air support, were like dreams... If we encountered Chaos Space Marines, even more people would die, squad after squad... You can't understand what it's like to face the most terrifying metal demons, even with only one gun left, you have to hold the line. I'm very glad you don't have to experience these things."

"Uncle, did you ever meet those legendary soldier kings back then?"

"Soldier king? What's that?"

"You know, those people in propaganda who can take down an entire enemy army by themselves."

"Ha, if you really want to talk about such people, our regiment was fortunate enough to fight alongside the Catachan Jungle Fighters Second Regiment. I'm not sure if they were soldier kings, but whether it was Colonel 'Iron Hand' Straken, 'Stone Tooth' Harker, or Marbo, they could all be called warriors who could take on a hundred enemies."

"Wow, is it really that exagge—"

Hayes, who was looking down, didn't notice the change in little Feiton's expression or the action of standing up.

Not only him, but all the surrounding soldiers put down what they were doing and stood at attention in one direction to salute.

"This captain, did you participate in the Maelstrom Expedition?"

Hearing this deep voice, Hayes suddenly raised his head and realized that he was covered by a huge shadow. He quickly put down the lunchbox and turned to salute.

"Lord!"

Standing before him was a Space Marine wearing silver-gray armor, without a helmet, with a young face and a smile. Unlike the irritable temperament of most Space Marines, he possessed a very unique sense of gentleness, coupled with his neatly trimmed hair, giving him the air of a scholar.

Standing here was Bakhram. He had been inspecting all the positions and, as he approached Hayes' company, he heard Hayes' words and immediately became interested. Although he knew that the legion had recruited many veterans from the Maelstrom, it was his first time encountering one in person.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your meal, did I? No need to keep standing, continue, continue."

Bakhram waved his hand with a smile, and the surrounding soldiers returned to their original positions, but no one dared to speak, only eating silently while cautiously watching the Space Marine.

"Which unit are you from?"

"Reporting, sir, this company belongs to the Second Battalion, 73rd Regiment, 13th Division of Kermanshah! Captain Hayes Bartoli!"

"Captain Hayes, no need to be so restrained. I'm just here to inspect the situation of each position and happened to hear you talking about your past service."

Hayes lowered his hand and cautiously replied:

"Reporting, sir, I previously served in the 310th Infantry Regiment of Abubakr, and the regiment commander was Arnie Morales."

"Arnie Morales..."

Bakhram paused for a moment, recalling the name.

"Oh, the Governor of New Badab? You were actually his subordinate?"