Chapter 142 I Think This Is Impossible

After the enemy's wreckage crashed through the human ship's defenses, the video began to shake, probably because the camera servant was dragged by his user and began to run.

"...It is now the 167th year of the Hamil calendar." A female voice came from the video, trying her best to remain calm, and dutifully introduced the time, coordinates, ship registration name, and ship mission. From this person's report, it can be learned that the middle-aged female captain and her crew did not make any mistakes that violated the regulations during the entire voyage, so her death can be called a sacrifice.

Witnessing the casualties of a team of humans is a common thing for several people present. No one has time to mourn, because the best way to mourn is to sharpen the blade with hatred.

Perturabo waited for the carried machine servant to record the enemy in the camera. Before that, a group of extremely noisy roars and shouts first rumbled from the end of the ship's corridor, mixed with a lot of irrational cheers and wild singing, which shocked Perturabo's spirit, as if a huge bell was buzzing in his head.

And when the enemy drooled, the green arms above the knees carried stick weapons made of iron bars and broken chains, the patchwork bang bang iron guns were wrapped with the fluorescence of high-quality ion weapons, and the bayonets protruding in front of the dirty and ugly overbite iron chins cut through the wall like single-molecule weapons and rushed in in groups, Perturabo's buzzing head fell into absolute silence in an instant.

The video in front of him seemed to be stagnant as if time slowed down, and the pixels were reorganized in the rotation, gradually evolving into a line of desperate text: What am I fighting against?

They have paid so much calculation, measurement and experiment, relying on precise data and a large engineering team, and even the Mechanicus, to achieve today's level of armament. And these green things, their existence is a living insult to physics.

"... Perturabo?" Someone called him, "My brother?"

It was Rogal Dorn, his brother who was as indestructible as a rock, who still maintained his precious calm in the face of such bizarre heretical technology.

Perturabo regained the will to think, and was satisfied to find that his stiff expression did not slide into the abyss of losing control of his demeanor. He should still look as cold and resolute as steel.

He ignored Morse, who seemed to be smiling, and who had obviously seen through everything, whether he secretly used psychic reading or not, and asked rationally: "What's wrong?"

Rogal Dorn paused the video and motioned Perturabo to look down. "The Legion servants have sent the remaining ammunition fragments. Do you want to study them now?"

Perturabo's eyes slid across the pile of scrap metal on the table that seemed to have suddenly appeared and was stained with unknown dried objects.

He knew that he should cheer up and devote more energy to the study of unknown technology. However, those unknown creatures with savagery written on their big green faces and the weapons in their hands that were basically physics stuffed into the sewers of the hive city rolled past the Primarch again, giving Perturabo a deep sense of frustration.

In a trance, he seemed to have returned to the terrifying experience of his childhood when he plunged into the unfamiliar ocean of knowledge from the beginning. The difference is that this time the object he needs to study is more unpredictable and contrary to common sense, and this time there are far more people who put their expectations on his shoulders than in his childhood.

"If you are embarrassed, then refuse." Morse said, his eyes as dark as deep and empty as a hole looked at him. "If you know it is difficult and you still want to do it, then think about whether you will regret your excessive efforts when you reap the rewards."

"Oh, I'm not a child anymore." Perturabo muttered, "Don't worry about whether it is possible to succeed, let me try it first. If the unknown technology can be verified to be harmless and replicable, it will always be useful to us."

Morse smiled, pulled out a rattan chair from the air and sat down. "I'll accompany you."

Perturabo nodded seriously and leaned over to look at the pile of scrap metal. There is another condition that is different from his childhood, that is, he can trust Morse now, and the latter has already found tolerance equal to the years in the passing time.

"I'll go to the strategy room. A team needs to be sent to track this green alien based on the information provided by the sacrificed ship." Rogal Dorn said.

"Take a team of Iron Warriors, and select one person from the communicator of the Thousand Dust Sun to accompany you. Azak Ahriman, go to him in my name. Your team lacks psychic power." Perturabo said.

After a firm nod, Rogal Dorn left without any extra instructions for the communication between Morse and Perturabo.

As he said, he once had relatives. Deep in his cold character, human emotions are still the fundamental cornerstone of building Rogal Dorn's fortress.

——

After receiving the invitation order from Rogal Dorn, Fricks and his team members, led by the servitors, quickly passed through the hundreds of automatic hatches in the hull of the Phalanx and the protection of the outer deck, passed through the archive room where maintenance was suspended and the hall for the concentrated training of new recruits, and rushed to the strategic room of the Phalanx in an orderly manner. In that huge room, they obeyed the order of the Father of Genes and temporarily obeyed the command of Rogal Dorn.

"Kedomo Fricks." When Rogal Dorn spoke, Fricks saw the red-armored warrior next to the golden giant and knew that it was Ahriman who recommended him and his team to the Primarch.

He did not expect Ahriman to recognize him so much, but when he received a small nod from the scholar, Fricks found that he was not surprised.

"My Lord Primarch." Fricks greeted Rogal Dorn. "Captain Kedomo Fricks of the Fourth Squadron of the First Battalion of the Iron Warriors salutes you."

Dorn said, "An alien warship with the ability to teleport into the warp, unknown firepower, and the ability to board has looted the Imperial ship, robbed its building materials and killed the crew. Find it before it returns to the alien fleet, and decide whether to report its whereabouts, try to engage in fire and close-range boarding according to the actual situation, and prioritize your own safety. The Second Squadron of the 45th Commando of the Imperial Fists will act with you."

"I'm sorry, my Lord." Fricks said, "How can we pursue a warship that can sneak into the warp? The Iron Warriors cannot remotely prevent it from starting the warp engine."

"Azak Ahriman." Dorn said.

The red-armored warrior stepped forward. Ahriman's voice became a little strange because of the obstruction of the helmet, but Fricks could still recognize a hint of tension and fatigue in it that was different from the usual tone, which was proof that he used the prophetic psychic power of the Black Raven School.

Under the restrictions of Magnus, the Primarch of the Thousand Dust Suns, the Battle Prophecy has become a weapon similar to a hunter-killer missile, practical and efficient, but can only be used a single digit number of times in a period of time.

"Their warp engine has been scrapped." Ahriman said, without revealing his source of intelligence, "Green Orcs - the name of this race, can't stay away."

"We will set off immediately." Fricks had no more questions. "Please give orders, Master Primarch."

"Pursue the lone enemy ship, Captain." Dorn said. "Two light cruisers and the Imperial Fists squadron are waiting on the front deck."

"Never let you down." Fricks took the order and left with his squad members and Ahriman.