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Author Reminder
I hope you're enjoying the novel so far! Let's keep it moving!
For every review left before April ends, I'll drop 1 extra chapter (up to 8 now).
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Outside New Kato's command building, four regiments had assembled in perfect formation, standing at rigid attention as they conducted final inspections of their gear.
The air buzzed with anticipation, a collective hunger for battle simmering beneath their disciplined facade.
It had been several days since their last engagement. Too long.
Now, at last, they would spill blood once more.
....
"Spread out, lads! I'd rather not return your fused corpses to your families!"
"The Lord Commander! He's here!"
"I won't be wearing a helmet in battle, sir! That way, you'll see my bravery firsthand!"
A wave of cheers, gallows humor, and half-sincere bravado rippled through the ranks as Qin Mo advanced, flanked by Klein and Creed.
Creed observed the assembled troops with an analytical gaze.
Something was off.
They weren't moving.
For a moment, he considered the possibility of a last-minute briefing, but then the answer dawned on him—obvious yet utterly improbable.
They weren't marching into battle.
They were about to be teleported.
Qin Mo, reading Creed's expression, confirmed it.
"They'll be teleported."
Creed exhaled slowly. Mass teleportation of infantry was a technological feat almost unheard of in the Astra Militarum.
"Is the technology stable?" he asked, skepticism creeping into his tone.
"Stable," Qin Mo replied without hesitation.
Creed said nothing more, but his mind raced. Mass teleportation as a standard deployment strategy? If true, this could reshape the nature of warfare.
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The War Room
They entered the command spire's highest level, stepping into a war room that pulsed with blue light and tactical overlays. The center of the room was dominated by a massive holo-display, a slowly rotating model of the battlefield.
Above the enemy-occupied hive sprawl, recon drones prowled through the tangled exhaust towers and industrial pipe networks, their optical cloaks allowing them to blend into the hive city.
A flick of Qin Mo's hand brought the battlefield into sharper relief. Enemy movements, unit placements, and projected supply lines flickered into view.
On the side of the display, a running data-scroll listed troop strengths, estimated reserves, and defensive installations.
"Two hundred thousand troops," Qin Mo noted.
The number didn't surprise him.
What did surprise him was the presence of an Imperial Knight.
He expanded the projection, zooming in.
There it was, an Errant-class Knight.
The war machine stood at the heart of the enemy formation, its Avenger Gatling Cannon primed and flamer vents glowing with residual heat. A walking bastion of ceramite and adamantium, over 12 meters (forty feet) tall, bristling with weapons and crowned by a sensor-crowned carapace that scanned the battlefield with machine precision.
"How do we kill that?" Klein asked.
For the first time, Qin Mo remained silent.
Creed did not.
"If we don't have war engines of equal size, we'll need fast attack units to rush it down, get under it, and plant melta charges between its legs."
Klein scoffed. "You've got to be joking." He gestured toward the holo-display. "It's wielding Avenger Gatling Cannons. You do know those are enhanced Assault Cannons, right? They chew through tanks, let alone infantry."
"He's correct." Qin Mo's voice cut in.
A Knight wasn't just a unit. It was a symbol of dominance, a legacy of the feudal houses of old Terra, clad in armor forged during the Age of Technology. Designed for single-combat duels and mass battlefield control, it could lay waste to entire companies with its heavy weapons while weathering return fire like a fortress on legs.
On an open battlefield, it could alter the tide of war by its presence alone. Infantry formations were forced to scatter or hide, armored divisions redirected to avoid direct confrontation, and air support limited to skimming strikes to avoid the Knight's powerful anti-air flak systems.
A Knight—especially an Errant—was best countered by another Knight.
Lacking one, there was only one viable alternative: a high-speed charge to plant explosive charges at its weakest points.
In theory, it was possible.
In practice, success would depend entirely on terrain and execution.
Creed stared at the display, imagining the timing, the coordination it would take—seconds would make the difference between glory and annihilation.
Qin Mo minimized the Knight's display and shifted his focus to the broader battlefield.
Compared to their last engagement, the rebel formations had changed.
"They've tightened their ranks," Creed muttered.
Spacing between regiments was less than a kilometer— a deliberate counter to teleport insertion tactics.
It wasn't a brilliant strategy, but it was a necessary one. The rebels had adapted.
No fool commanded an army of two hundred thousand soldiers. Circumstances had forced them into this deployment.
Qin Mo marked the Knight's location on the map.
"I'll deal with the Knight personally."
He turned to Creed.
"You're not under my command, but if you have tactical suggestions, I'd appreciate them."
Creed wasn't yet the Lord Castellan who would one day make Abaddon lose his temper.
But even now, he was an exceptional strategist.
And since he had accepted the power armor, he would repay that favor with his expertise.
"What forces do we have?" Creed asked.
He hoped the infantry regiments he had observed over the past few days weren't the entirety of the army.
If they were, this battle would be far more difficult.
Qin Mo gestured over the holo-display.
The full military strength of New Kato appeared.
Seventeen combined-arms regiments of infantry and armor.
Two thousand self-propelled artillery pieces, fully autonomous.
Five additional elite warriors.
Creed frowned. "What good are five men?"
Klein smirked. "They're worth entire regiments on their own."
Creed gave a curt nod. He'd reserve judgment until he saw them in action.
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"Can we teleport our forces straight to the frontlines?" Creed asked.
"Of course," Qin Mo replied. "But there are conditions."
He explained the limitations. Mass troop deployment was possible, yes, but it required a clear landing zone or an active beacon. Without one, there was a significant risk of materializing inside structures or terrain obstructions.
Creed exhaled, eyes gleaming.
"By the Emperor… I've never fought a war with this level of logistical advantage."
He leaned forward, studying the display. Then, he outlined his strategy:
They would deploy ten regiments directly into the enemy's forward lines and establish defensive positions in sectors thirteen through seventeen to prevent enemy advances.
Meanwhile, seven regiments would be teleported around the enemy perimeter—not to engage immediately, but to probe, scout, and locate structural weaknesses in the enemy's lines.
Once those weak points were identified, they would launch a decisive breakthrough. Shock troops would follow to tear open the enemy formation and move immediately to eliminate the Knight.
If the Knight proved too difficult to destroy in the open, they would lure it into the city, where urban warfare would neutralize its maneuverability. Ambushes would be laid in the hive's inner districts, kill-zones prepared.
Artillery would be positioned behind the city, their range covering the entire battlefield. If a direct hit on the Knight landed, all the better.
Creed finished his briefing and turned to Qin Mo.
"These are just my recommendations. The final decision is yours."
Qin Mo studied the display for a long moment before finally smiling.
"Looks like we think alike."
He lifted a vox-unit and began issuing orders.
As the army mobilized, Creed noticed something peculiar about their regimental numbers.
They weren't sequential.
The first regiment was the 48th. The next was the 31st, followed by the 87th.
Then, it clicked.
He had heard from the soldiers that the First Legion had been nearly wiped out in the underhive.
Perhaps this was Qin Mo's way of honoring their sacrifice.
Qin Mo turned back to Creed.
"You've been extremely diligent these past few days.
I know you're planning beyond just training the troops—you're trying to establish a full officer training program.
Once I repair your ship, I'll grant you one additional request as a reward."
Creed shook his head.
"There's no need for a reward. This is simply my duty."
Klein chuckled.
"You might want to reconsider that.
Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
Qin Mo smirked. "He's right."