The Throne of Shadow's Sovereignity, Throne of the Monarch.
Arsena manipulated the control staff, projecting a holographic image of the second planet of the Wheel of Fire system.
"Scan results show this planet is rich in mineral deposits."
"Its structures still retain some characteristics of human architecture."
"The greenskins have taken mankind's hive cities and factories, turning the world into a fortress planet, covered in strongholds and forges."
Nareth sat upon the Black Throne, listening to his aide's report.
"There's also a massive orbital structure around this world," Arsena continued.
"Scans indicate it was once a human-built starport."
"The greenskins now ship their weapons up there and then trade them off-world."
Turning to the assembled court, Arsena laid out his reasoning:
"According to the information you provided, my lord, the Orks maintain a crude trade system. They use teeth as currency."
"The Bad Moons clan, whose teeth grow faster than any others, are thus the wealthiest of all clans."
"Based on the glyphs we observed on the Attack Moon, I judge that the Warlord of this Ork empire may well hail from the Bad Moons."
He shifted the focus back to the second planet.
"Augur arrays scans reveal five massive fortresses, all of them once human hive cities."
"The largest lies directly beneath the orbital starport."
"Expanding the holomap," he said, adjusting the staff, "the other four fortresses form a ring around it, linked by a circular causeway."
"The ring-road was probably built upon human foundations, crude, but one hundred and fifty-two kilometers wide."
"By calculating the frequency of traffic, we conclude it functions much like our own high-speed transit arteries."
The "Student of Ratiocination" laid out his deductions before the court.
Inside the grand hall, one thousand five hundred and forty-two Honor Guard sat in formation: seven hundred and three from the Seventh Chapter, and one hundred and fifty-four Apothecaries.
Nareth, recognizing the scale of the coming campaign, had expanded the Honor Guard accordingly, with extra emphasis on the Seventh Chapter and the Apothecaries, who would soon deploy to Catachan.
Wilshire, once seated at the back, now occupied a forward row, beside Pell Koschelny.
On the display, Wilshire watched the fortresses: countless crude cannons, jagged barrels like spears pointed skyward, belching black smoke.
'The greenskin defenses are formidable. This will be a hard fight.'
As he thought, the Primarch spoke:
"Tell me your thoughts. How do we wage this war?"
James, Chapter Master of the Second Chapter, answered first, his tone shaped by past battles against the Atatck Moon and in void-combat.
"Father, we should strip away the outer defenses, then move on the fortresses themselves…"
Nareth said nothing. Diana Pauline, attending in her "Spectator" role, judged silently.
'True to James's cautious style.'
Then Mersen, Lord of the Eleventh Chapter, spoke up:
"Father, I suggest striking the orbital starport first, drawing the orks to its defense. When they come, we strike them down."
The "Spectator" assessed again.
'Bolder than James, more predatory in his gaze.'
Nareth listened, then turned to the Honor Guard behind them.
"Wilshire. What is your view?"
Under the scrutiny of the Primarch, the Chapter Master, and all present, Wilshire did not falter.
"Father, the void of the Wheel of Fire is ours. The starport has lost much of its strategic value. As bait, it is weak."
"But the ring-road linking the five fortresses, that is the true lifeline."
"Whichever warboss holds it commands unmatched mobility and the power to move armies across the planet."
Nareth nodded, satisfied. He had not been mistaken about Wilshire.
"Good."
The "Spectator" felt the weight of that single word. The warmth in his tone, the gleam in his eye, clear approval. She felt her chest melt.
Wilshire's heart soared at his father's recognition.
Then Nareth's gaze shifted to Pell.
"And you, Pell?"
Pell smiled confidently.
"Father, Wilshire is right, but his plan can be improved."
"I studied the data you provided. The Orks thrive on infighting."
"On this world, are a clan of the most greedy kind, the Death Skulls."
He stepped forward to the screen, pointing out ork glyphs: a blue horned skull, hanging from many warriors.
"The Death Skulls will scavenge anything. If an opportunity arises, they'll even loot from their fellow orks."
"That starport, it is a treasure trove to them. Irresistible."
"If we seize it and crash it into the surface, scattering wreckage between the central fortress and the four others…"
"…the Death Skulls' scavvies will descend in droves, fighting one another to claim the debris. Their greed will consume them."
Nareth considered carefully. Pell's grasp of ork psychology, of their crude order and self-destruction, outstripped the Chapter Lords and even Wilshire.
'Yes… he is well-suited. A "Lawyer." A perfect fit for the Black Emperor's pathway.'
The "Spectator" caught the flicker in Nareth's eyes, recognition of something more. A kinship.
She trembled, as if stars inside her cracked apart.
Nareth gave his order:
"Pell. You will lead five hundred Honor Guard to seize the starport."
"Then crash its remains upon the planet, between the fortresses."
"When the Orks are at each other's throats, we strike all four simultaneously."
"James and Mersen, you will lead the Second and Eleventh Chapters."
"I myself will lead five hundred Honor Guard against the largest fortress."
"Wilshire, you take the smallest. Pell will reinforce once the orbital battle is won."
The court dispersed, Pell swiftly handpicking his five hundred warriors. Stormbirds screamed into the void, missile trails blazing as they slammed into the ork starport.
Explosions tore open a steel causeway. Stormbirds swooped down, disgorging Honor Guard into the breach.
Five abreast, bolters raised, they advanced in perfect cross-cover formation.
Greenskins charged in packs, roaring. Explosive bolts ripped them apart, flesh and bone shattering.
The Guard swept through a quarter of the ring before a thunderous tread shook the corridor.
A hulking figure emerged, encased in a patchwork of scrap-iron plates, daubed in blue paint.
The Death Skulls' superstition, blue for luck, to ward off harm, was well known. None were surprised to see him clad so.
Bolter fire thundered, explosions rattled the tunnel, steel fragments raining down.
Yet through the smoke the giant surged forward, alive, axe raised.
He swung, cleaving one Shadow of Order in half, momentum carrying the blade toward another.
Pell roared, fury blazing. He donned the War Mask.
Rage surged through him, but his mind remained clear, detached, as if guiding his own body from afar.
He raised his power sword, channeling years of discipline into a single strike: the Seventh Form of the Otsberg-Vaya.
Time seemed to freeze. The blade flashed down, charged with lethal force.
It sheared through the Orkish brute, splitting him clean in two.
...
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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