Chapter 57 - FORGED

Prima floated in mid-air, exhaling smoke as a cloud bed, narrowing his eyes in enjoyment.

Blazkowicz looked at his unworldly appearance and couldn't understand. Was the taste of tobacco really that wonderful?

He had tasted Ancient Sage tobacco, but found it strange and nothing special.

This visit yielded very little.

There was nothing to be gained from the Ancient Sage; no knowledge could help the Emperor, and the methods to enter the Webway were few.

As for the Three Divine Artifacts—Heart of Plague, Ouroboros, and Tuqiucha—

Currently, the understanding of them was limited to their names, with nothing else known.

"What are the Three Divine Artifacts?" Blazkowicz pondered for a moment, then asked the Elder about the specific existence of the Three Divine Artifacts.

Although he knew nothing, understanding them now would prevent missing them in the future.

"The Heart of Plague is a device that corrupts dimensions, responsible for opening dimensional rifts. I don't know its specific form, but I heard Nurgle is very interested in it."

"Ouroboros is similar; it has no specific form and is an infinite energy device."

"Tuqiucha is an engine that possesses self-awareness, and its greatest function is positioning."

After listening to the Ancient Sage speak slowly, Blazkowicz felt he had gained nothing.

Among the three ancient divine artifacts, two had no specific form, offering no reference value whatsoever.

To attempt to find them in the vast galaxy based solely on three names was highly unrealistic.

Blazkowicz was not dejected or disappointed; he had not held much hope.

Resisting the Four Gods ultimately depended on humanity itself; external aid was merely icing on the cake.

"Elder, I must leave now." Blazkowicz stood up, bid farewell to Prima, and prepared to leave the Crystal Caves.

"I don't know when I'll visit you next; I'm going to participate in the Great Crusade."

"Humanity's Great Crusade is underway. Once we conquer the entire galaxy, opportunities to visit you will become fewer and fewer."

"It should be so." Prima slowly nodded. "As the Aeldari declines, humanity rises again from its fall, and it is fitting for them to wield the galaxy."

"Also, do you call this a visit?" Prima carefully scrutinized Blazkowicz, then rolled his eyes:

"A visit at least brings something. You're empty-handed; are you sure this is a 'visit'?"

The Ancient Sage's gaze made Blazkowicz a bit awkward. He raised a hand to his face, feeling genuinely embarrassed.

"Next time, definitely!"

Then Blazkowicz turned and left, not daring to face the Elder's contemptuous gaze, his hurried steps as if he were fleeing.

Seeing him leave, Prima watched as the gradually closing crystals obscured his retreating figure, then exhaled a puff of smoke, sat back on his bed, and pondered deeply.

He tapped the wall with his pipe, and the crystal wall split open again, revealing an ancient mark.

The mark was smooth and round, suspended in the air, with a faint glow in the center and two embracing crescent keys on either side.

"Forgive me, child." Gazing at the mark in his hand, Prima muttered to himself, his tone laced with apology.

Of course, Prima had a way to enter the Webway; as the last Ancient Sage, he possessed the accumulated knowledge of his race.

As successors, the Aeldari had the right to use the Webway, but didn't the Ancient Sage?

The answer was affirmative. The mark in Prima's hand could open all Webway gates.

It could even access the deep parts of the Webway, secret areas that even the Aeldari at its peak had never set foot in.

The mark contained a map, showing all Webway nodes scattered throughout the galaxy.

Prima sighed. Regarding the Webway, he had indeed concealed something from Blazkowicz.

Out of a selfish motive, the Ancient Sage did not want the Aeldari and humanity to become entangled; the destinies of the two races were different.

Or perhaps it was the Ancient Sage's ancient law: Life Forger Prima could provide enlightenment and some assistance to developing races.

But the Ancient Sage had swallowed bitter fruit from providing complete assistance.

The Ancient Sage's all-encompassing support led to the Aeldari, blessed by divine favor, ultimately awakening Slaanesh, who personally strangled the last Ancient Sage to walk the cosmos.

The boomerang of fate always comes back to hit oneself in the end.

Blazkowicz's destiny was not fixed; everything he did was a choice from within his own heart.

He was a Human, and naturally, his stance was with humanity.

Prima was an Ancient Sage, a high-ranking race with a broad mind, a patron of both humanity and the Aeldari.

To him, both were like children in the family. After the Ancient Sage's demise, it didn't matter which child inherited the legacy.

Giving the Webway key to humanity would inevitably squeeze the Aeldari's living space, and a "parent" could not show favoritism.

Prima's act of saving Blazkowicz and helping Argent Nur resolve its genetic degradation had already touched the bottom line.

Driven by a desire for revenge, pulling Blazkowicz back from the brink of death, this assistance to a powerful individual had already changed humanity's destiny.

He could no longer help humanity as a whole; the fate of their race should be guided by two powerful existences.

The trial of fate for a race should not be skipped.

Will they be reborn from fire, shedding their fragility to ascend as a superior race; or will they completely fall, sinking into eternal damnation, becoming playthings of the Chaos Gods?

It all depended on their own struggle and fight, to seize the right to survive from the hands of fate.

The Aeldari failed the test, heading towards the brink of destruction, a race in name only.

Humanity, which should have been destroyed, rose again because of a powerful existence, once more facing the trial of fate.

And from beyond the universe, for unknown reasons, a powerful existence drifted in and stood with humanity.

But fate was not helpless; the more powerful the race, the more painful and fierce the trial.

Humanity's Great Crusade was in full swing, with worlds being conquered and new colonies established every moment.

Humanity's shattered ruins of civilization re-emerged with vitality, just as when humanity first colonized deep space.

That vibrant vitality, that state of all things competing, was still vivid.

The real universe seemed calm, and the Warp's waves had subsided.

The Chaos Gods in the shadows, they never rested for a moment, brewing an even larger plan.

Prima had seen all of this countless times; the deep lake of his heart had long since become calm.

The real universe had its ebbs and flows, countless races rising and falling; the Ancient Sage had seen too many regrets.

Prima put the Webway key back, let go of his inner apology, and lay on the bed to sleep.

Blazkowicz walked through the crystal corridor, also understanding that the Elder surely held treasures that could open the Webway entrance.

He could seek help, state his request, but could not force the Ancient Sage.

The Ancient Sage's help was voluntary; not helping humanity was their prerogative.

Their race was already extinct, having long withdrawn from the galactic stage, merely spectators of history.

Just as the Warrior's Law taught—gamble with courage for the future, everything is created by oneself.

This statement applied equally to the Human race; the obstacles on the path forward needed to be overcome by humanity's own strength.

To avoid being bruised and battered, knocked down by reality, they must continue to advance, even if crawling.

In the cruel universe, only with unyielding spirit must humanity muster the courage to face the Four Gods and danger.

Blazkowicz walked out of the Crystal Mountains, looking at the pure sky in the distance, vibrant with colorful light, and he stood still, admiring it for a long time.

"Sophia, take me away."

As the light of transmission flared, he returned to the throne room of the Nur Ring, which was empty.

Blazkowicz and Harlan were on their way back and wouldn't arrive for a while.

Blazkowicz leaned back on the throne, closing his eyes to rest for five minutes, feeling unaccustomed to the idleness for a moment.

In the Throne World—Terra—he was never idle for a moment.

The Nur Stars had not been incorporated into the Imperium of Man, and Blazkowicz, as a Primarch, inherently held power.

Although he didn't hold an administrative position, Terra nobles constantly visited outside his residence, and he was tired of dealing with them.

High-ranking officers of the Space Marine Legions also frequently visited to discuss tactical arrangements.

mortals could be refused, but the Space Marine Legions had to be helped; they were the main force of the Great Crusade.

Helping them eliminate inefficiencies and reduce army casualties was a responsibility to their brothers who had not yet returned.

After returning to Argent Nur, Sophia, the Central Law, had dealt with most of the complex governance.

She had arranged everything meticulously, leaving him quite idle, even a bit bored.

In his boredom, Blazkowicz opened the holographic image to check on his gene-sons brought from Terra.

Their training had already been arranged; they entered the War College to learn Argent Nur's military code.

They also needed to learn martial arts; after the gene-seed implantation, their moves were sharp and powerful, and systematic learning would allow the Doom Slayers to advance further.

Blazkowicz couldn't help but curl his lips; Osiris and his brothers were currently stripped of their power armor.

Erica von Stern personally instructed them.

Her beautiful face was cold as ice, one hand on her hip, the other holding a whip, mercilessly striking the floor.

They stood on one foot on blade tips, with weapons folder ed between their toes, their bodies stiff and rigid.

"Snap~" The whip cracked in the air, and Erica's seductive voice rose as she incessantly admonished: "Stretch your bodies, use skill, not brute force!"

"Your strength is undeniable, but relying too heavily on the techniques carried in your genes, you must resist your instincts."

Erica stood with one hand on her hip and a whip in the other, her blue eyes serious as she scanned the tall warriors in training.

The "Gene-Children" of the current King Nowick, inheriting the divine power of the Primarch, were like unpolished jade.

"The power within your gene-blood refines you into powerful warriors, but the instinct for killing is far from enough."

"You are currently rough steel, hard but prone to breaking. I need blades that are both tough and resilient."

"Don't tense your muscles!" Erica's voice was sensual but cold as ice. She raised her thin whip and struck the Doom Slayer's well-defined thigh.

Her strike was just right, causing a sting without breaking the skin, leaving a red mark on his bronze muscle.

The warrior's thigh twitched, and he immediately released his toes, bringing both feet to the ground simultaneously.

He shook his head, reflecting on why he failed, then, summarizing his experience, stepped onto the low stool, clamping the edge of the blade with his toes, thinking about how to relax his muscles.

With a sharp blade clamped between his toes, his body's sense of danger resisted; a slight slip would cut him.

If he didn't keep all his muscles taut, how would he exert force?

The previous instructor had demonstrated it once, and he had indeed managed it, clamping the blade with his toes while keeping his body completely relaxed and natural.

Erica nodded slightly. Although the warriors before her were powerful, few were arrogant; they were willing to learn more techniques.

These powerful warriors were taciturn, their mental state clearly that of seasoned veterans, yet King Nowick said they were greenhorns.

Their muscles were taut and stiff, their souls like quenched steel, with explosive power hidden within their forbearance.

"Do not be dominated by instinct. Only by overcoming your own protective instincts can you become even stronger."

"Imagine the swords beneath your feet as a stage, and you are performing a dance."

"You possess great strength; every exertion of force is an all-out effort, a release of your power."

"I don't want your full strength. Control your posture; first, relax your mind, only then can you grasp the key."

"Thud~" One warrior failed; the moment he tried to relax his muscles, both his feet landed on the ground.

"Everyone, come down." Erica's expression grew even colder as she exhaled a breath.

"I will personally demonstrate to you how to control your muscles." She turned and left to change into more suitable attire for the demonstration.

The Doom Slayers all landed, standing on either side of the blades, awaiting the lady's demonstration.

After a while, Erica returned, dressed in a brown, form-fitting bodysuit.

The bodysuit was exceptionally thin, allowing every subtle muscle movement to be clearly seen as she walked.

Having shed her pristine instructor's robe, the warriors finally noticed the lady's slightly bulging abdomen, clearly indicating her pregnancy.

Erica had married a warrior ten years ago, fulfilling the important task of procreating.

Most Sentinels, especially those wounded in the "War of Truth," were assigned by Blazkowicz to the academy to serve as instructors and continue to contribute.

With her long hair tied back with a simple knot, Erica had grown it out during her long absence from the battlefield.

Her sapphire-blue eyes swept over everyone, and she sternly reminded them, "Watch closely, warriors, what I am about to demonstrate for you."

With that, Erica bit her ponytail, performed a front flip, and landed gracefully on the swords.

She gripped the blades with her bare feet, her calf muscles showing no tension, her body seemingly weightless.

Erica felt no instinctive nervousness; she even closed her eyes, took steps, and precisely clamped each blade with her toes.

Memorizing the position of the blades was not difficult for a Sentinels or a Doom Slayer; the challenge lay in trusting oneself to precisely grip the blades.

This confidence was a composure that transcended mere self-assurance and even arrogance.

Just as she had said, beneath her feet were not dangerous blades, but a stage belonging to her.

An ordinary human, knowing that sharp swords were set upright beneath their feet, would instinctively look down, even when walking on a bridge, to confirm its safety and whether they were off course.

A trained person could disregard the sharp edges, knowing they were in a safe zone, and thus cross the bridge quickly.

Erica, however, went further. She overcame humanity's primal instincts, having no subconscious fear, and confidently displayed her skill.

The lady's elegant figure danced upon the blades, like a nimble snake gliding on an edge, her posture sharp yet without an ounce of excess.

Backflips, side spins, rolls, and even handstands where her thumb and forefinger pinched the blade—she moved with a fluidity that seemed otherworldly.

The graceful and agile dancer, performing on the blades, showcased astonishing control over intricate details.

The Doom Slayers held their breath, their pupils contracted like hunting owls, their vision as precise as a high-definition camera, recording every detail they saw.

With their extraordinary memory, they recorded the details the lady demonstrated, every stretch of her muscles.

Her master-level movements far surpassed those of ordinary instructors; every detail was worth analyzing and learning.

For a full ten minutes, Erica demonstrated her muscle control, sweat carrying her confidence, sprinkling onto the field of blades.

Finally, with a backflip, like a gymnast completing a routine, she landed lightly on the ground.

Erica was drenched in sweat, her breathing rapid upon landing, her fingertips trembling slightly from exertion.

She rubbed her lower abdomen with one hand, her magnetic voice tinged with a hint of regret: "If not for this little one, I could do even better."

A warrior draped a robe over her, preventing the lady from experiencing hypothermia after such profuse sweating.

"Do you understand now?" Erica nodded in thanks, her face flushed from the intense exercise: "Giving your all is important, but you must apply your strength in the right places to achieve the best results."

"Precisely controlling muscle exertion, controlling physical strength, and suppressing psionic instinct is a bit difficult for you."

"Do not become engrossed in instinct; be an observer of yourself, let your soul be calm and undisturbed, and you will succeed in overcoming instinct."

"Even Harlan Ogilvy, the Champion Swordsman of the Sentinels, he masters instinct, rather than being dominated by it."

After speaking, Erica stepped aside, signaling the warriors to try again while she observed.

"We will try our best." The Doom Slayers were impressed by the lady's skill, and they deeply understood the superiority of Argent Nur's martial arts.

Their Gene-Father sent them to learn, and the warriors did not want to disappoint him, eager to master their skills and join the Great Crusade as soon as possible.

"Do not be impatient; impatience is a great taboo. You are future generals and commanders; impatience will not win victories."

"Control your strength, suppress your primal instincts, and master the anger you were born with."

Erica nodded in approval, then immediately shook her head, seeing the eagerness in the warriors' eyes: "Your Gene-Father, King Nowick, understands this more profoundly; you don't need to rush."

"Since you have come to the War College, the best way to repay him is to calm your hearts and focus on your studies."

"Your potential is immense, but remember not to abuse your talent. Strive to the extreme in all things, and your rewards will await you at the end of the path."

"We understand, Lady." Osiris, as their representative, solemnly promised Erica: "We will remember your teachings."

Erica's expression softened, the frost on her face melting into a kind smile: "I look forward to your performance."

Training at the War College continued, and Blazkowicz watched the holographic images, nodding in approval.

At the War College, every teacher taught with full dedication, holding nothing back.

The status of skill transmission was very high in Sentinels culture, representing immense recognition and honor for a teacher.

Powerful warriors, to prevent their skills from being lost, painstakingly sought out apprentices to inherit their mantle.

In the past, when the population was dwindling, teachers willing to pass on ancestral skills had to give students an "apprentice gift."

They needed to convince the apprentice's parents, because talented children often came from warrior families with inherited family techniques.

Learning other techniques meant cutting off one's own family's legacy, so naturally, few families would do so unless it was for the most top-tier warriors.

As for learning both, that was even more impossible.

Genes were in continuous decline, each generation weaker than the last; mastering one ancestral technique was already a sign of exceptional talent.

Occasionally, a few children with atavistic genes should even less learn other family techniques; promoting their own was best.

Due to various reasons, the War College's sword art exhibition hall displayed countless combat technique projections of powerful warriors, waiting for future generations to uncover them.

How much the Gene-Children could learn and how much effort they were willing to put into embracing Argent Nur culture depended entirely on their own attitude.

The War College's library and various exhibition halls would not disappoint any student willing to explore them.

As for Erica, she was indeed a strict teacher, serious yet not lacking in encouragement; Siran's choice was correct.

She was the most qualified to serve as the Dean of the War College.

Other capable and qualified individuals were not as calm as she was in teaching students.

The other masters, ever since Argent Nur ventured into the stars, were busy conquering worlds, reclaiming lost territories, and slaying enemies far and wide.

Blazkowicz casually brushed away the holographic image. He commanded the Doom Slayers to hone their combat skills, analyze their inner selves, and tame their rage.

In the future, they would also need to complete leadership courses; every Doom Slayer must become a master of all aspects of war.

He tapped the desktop again, opening the Nur Stars armaments summary, compiling the results of the past thirty years.

The population steadily recovered, and with abundant resources over thirty years, the Nur Stars finally reached a hundred billion—eighty percent of whom were young.

This was unavoidable, as the initial population base was simply too small, and the human pregnancy and childcare cycle was too long.

Technology could still maintain its current level. Musala's team of Iron Men continuously excavated ancient technology to establish the current scientific system.

Within the War College, referring to the "Code of War" written by Blazkowicz, a million Mortal Auxiliary Army soldiers had been trained.

The Auxiliary Army received elite education, were proficient in various war directives, had clear and precise war thinking, and were equipped with mortal power armor and advanced weapons.

This million-strong army, in cooperation with the Sentinels, operated under the command of the Doom Slayers.

The three had clearly defined ranks, with high, medium, and low-tier troop types, specifically responsible for crusades in the void.

Within the Mortal Auxiliary Army, a large number of automated mechs were deployed, treated as expendable assets on the battlefield.

Blazkowicz's war philosophy was simple: the loss of talent was more heartbreaking than the loss of industrial products.

Training a qualified Auxiliary Army soldier required ten years of upbringing by a mother and over ten years of training at the War College.

Yet, the enemy only needed a single bullet to take their lives.

Compared to human lives, the automated mechs produced by the Forge Worlds seemed exceptionally cost-effective.

The Argent Nur Mortal Auxiliary Army Legion followed an elite path and was not afraid of getting bogged down in wars of attrition.

In addition, Argent Nur's various war machines were equally diverse.

On the Nur Stars homeworlds, the Planetary Defense Force was even larger, numbering in the tens of millions.

The Defense Force had a dedicated "Defense College," specializing in planetary defense and combat, responsible for safeguarding the Nur Stars.

They primarily learned to utilize defensive facilities and coordinate with various types of machinery to construct defense systems.

Furthermore, the public security forces were also substantial, responsible for maintaining order within the planets.

With the Nur Stars' allegiance, and political separation for thousands of years, many worlds had been under the shadow of violence for a long time, making a public security force essential for maintaining stability.

Whether it was the Mortal Auxiliary Army, Planetary Defense Force, or public security forces, all were equipped with appropriate power armor and weaponry suited to their professional needs.

There were too many Forge Worlds in the Nur Stars; most were activated, confirmed, and then put back into dormancy.

Currently, the Forge Worlds responsible for individual armaments in the Nur Stars were operating at full capacity, capable of arming every resident to the teeth.

Besides human troops, Argent Nur had an Iron Man public security team, formed spontaneously by retired Iron Men, to prevent highly intelligent AI crime.

They enjoyed tranquility, were willing to take on corresponding responsibilities, and were willing to protect peaceful lives in specialized fields.

Blazkowicz quickly scanned the information; his extraordinary brain was calculating, comparing it to the development strategy he had set thirty years ago.

He nodded continuously; it was indeed worthy of the central law of the Nur Ring, the digital life of the Ring of Dominion.

Sophia was not the strongest in any single aspect; her strength lay in her comprehensiveness.

She was a digital life, and also a strategist adept at numerical deduction, a super coordination master.

Resource scheduling, resource allocation, information management, and prioritizing tasks—she handled everything meticulously.

Under her management, the Nur Stars flourished, mortals lived in peace and contentment, and society was harmonious and orderly.

To prevent abuse of power, Sophia's terminal intelligence participated in all functional departments.

Everything was going according to plan.

The blueprint Blazkowicz designed thirty years ago had largely become a reality, meeting his strategic expectations.

The holographic data before him scrolled at high speed; let alone ordinary mortals, even a Space Marine would be unable to discern the data displayed.

Only a Primarch, whose brain could process vast amounts of data, could perform detailed analysis.

Gradually, the data displayed on the desktop showed discrepancies, not meeting the initial plan.

Blazkowicz quickly scanned it; it was the navy's construction, which couldn't keep up with the rapid development of the Nur Stars.

His expression remained normal; he did not summon Sophia to inquire.

He knew the reason internally; naval construction was simply like that, a slow and steady process that couldn't be rushed.

There was a saying on Old Terra—"Five years for the army, ten years for the air force, a hundred years for the navy," which showed the difficulty of naval construction.

Even for a single world, a qualified navy required the collective efforts of several generations of naval personnel.

If it was so in primitive times, the difficulty of building a navy soared exponentially on a cosmic scale.

With the help of the AI Iron Men, and the advanced nature of the ships, fighting some small battles was still feasible.

However, if they encountered an equal opponent and their fleets engaged in a naval battle, Argent Nur's chances of victory would be pitifully small.

Fleet battles were brutal, a contest of technological strength, courage, and wisdom.

An excellent fleet commander could often lead a weaker fleet to victory against an enemy several times its strength.

The AI Iron Men were powerful; once connected to the warship control system, they could precisely control the warships.

But this was far from enough; the strategic direction of fleet combat was superior to minor tactical advantages.

Argent Nur's navy did not lack ships; it lacked qualified professional naval personnel, lacking captains and fleet commanders.

This was not something Space Marines or the Sentinels could solve.

Since the AI rebellion, fewer and fewer ships were active between the Nur Stars, and the tradition had been broken for a long time.

Building a navy from scratch was not as simple as merely constructing ships and then filling them with sailors.

The navy was the branch of service that most required accumulated experience; for every unexpected situation, corresponding experience reserves were needed.

For example, Sophia had suggested whether to change some ship designs to adapt to the current Argent Nur.

Blazkowicz refused after careful consideration.

He understood a principle: some functions and designs of ancient ships might seem unreasonable, but they were experiences summarized by predecessors with their lives.

Before fully absorbing Argent Nur's legacy and establishing a corresponding technological path, it was best not to alter it.

The current Argent Nur navy was merely a firepower transport fleet carrying warriors, all show and no substance.

For this, Blazkowicz had specifically sought out the Imperial Navy, requesting some experienced commanders and generals to teach at the Argent Nur Naval Academy.

He put aside his pride, tempting the Imperial generals with benefits to make them settle permanently in Argent Nur.

Unfortunately, the Imperial generals were resolute, displaying strong personal devotion and vowing to follow the Emperor to their deaths.

Helpless, Blazkowicz could only think of other solutions, but so far, he had not found any good ones.

As he reviewed the navy's recent situation, Blazkowicz's inner frustration surged, and a faint bitter smile appeared on his radiant and heroic face.

He saw from recent military conflicts that the Sentinels and Doom Slayers had completely abandoned fleet battles.

Blazkowicz always boarded enemy ships to destroy them in every battle, showing initial path dependence.

Harlan was the same; ever since being boarded by the Fifth Legion, he also extensively used boarding tactics.

Boarding combat spread like a plague through the Argent Nur fleet, with other Sentinels Master Lords scrambling to imitate it.

As he scrolled through the data, one person, in particular, made Blazkowicz's eyes light up.

Racing Master—Elton Senna.

This fastest man in Argent Nur, serving as a royal messenger, found a new direction in the void.

The fleet he led was relatively normal, and its combat methods were also standard fleet operations.

The only unusual point was that the Racing Master's tactics, with high-speed penetration as his specialty, leaned towards harassment and maneuver warfare.

Blazkowicz analyzed it: Senna's tactics were excellent, utilizing mobility advantage to harass and wear down the enemy.

"Notify Elton Senna to write a war report and record tactical teaching videos for the Naval Academy upon his return."

The command received no immediate reply; Sophia had already recorded it and would relay it at the appropriate time.

Blazkowicz quickly finished reviewing the main briefing data; Sophia had handled the remaining miscellaneous items very well.

He rubbed his temples, rapidly digesting Argent Nur's recent developments.

The Nur Stars were now orderly, and the army was strong, but their war potential could be further exploited.

Blazkowicz's eyes narrowed—it was time for a crusade!

The fledgling's wings were gradually full; it could no longer enjoy the warmth of the nest but had to enter the cruel wilderness for tempering.

Without the baptism of the battlefield, warriors would not transform; even the best armament would be mere show.

Whether to spread their wings and soar through the sky or fall from a height and shatter to pieces depended entirely on them.

On the cruel battlefield, the brave would receive their exclusive reward—to live.

"Sophia."

Blazkowicz called out in a deep voice, placing his hands on the armrests of the throne, sitting up with kingly majesty.

Sophia's blue figure appeared, her hand on her chest, her slender form kneeling on one knee, "Please command."

"Mobilize and prepare for war! Let Argent Nur's sharp blades be unsheathed and join the Great Crusade to hone their edge!"

Blazkowicz pressed his hands on the table, all holographic projections activated, and a flood of light and shadows enveloped him.

Argent Nur's current armaments, the number of war machines, and the total void fleet were all digitized.

With a slight smile, Blazkowicz recalled a holographic game he once played.

He was indeed playing a game, a fleet team-up game, selecting suitable warships to form a Void Fleet for an expedition.

He opened the warship overview, all warship data was clear, with operational and maintenance statuses displayed separately.

Blazkowicz filtered out the combat-ready ships and, according to his will and ideas, assigned them to different fleets.

His fingers danced on the tabletop, precise like a conductor, issuing various commands.

In just three minutes, Blazkowicz, through careful selection, assembled four fleets of identical specifications.

Each fleet possessed considerable strength and a high number of warships, but the personnel configuration was quite average.

Argent Nur faced a predicament: technology, production capacity, and armaments were all readily available, but what was lacking was the manpower to operate them!

The Void Wanderer had been long docked; unless necessary, Blazkowicz rarely boarded it.

Currently, Argent Nur had too few personnel; the active deck area of the Void Wanderer was less than one-thousandth of its total functional area.

With a hull reaching 500 kilometers and ten thousand layers of decks of varying heights, it was equivalent to ten thousand continents stacked together.

If all functional areas of the Void Wanderer were activated, it could accommodate at least a hundred billion people.

Fortunately, with the assistance of the Iron Man, all automated machinery could operate; otherwise, with Argent Nur's current population, it wouldn't even be able to start its propulsion engines.

"Sophia, please prepare as quickly as possible; the fleets will depart sequentially." Blazkowicz quickly completed the arrangements, including the directions of the fleet's conquests.

Of the four fleets, he planned to lead one himself and join the Empire's Great Crusade.

The other three fleets would be led by Harlan, Blazkowicz, and Senna respectively, continuing to conquer scattered star systems and extending Argent Nur's influence into the Halo Stars.

The million-strong Mortal Auxiliary Army was divided into four, with each fleet receiving two hundred and fifty thousand, along with a large number of war machines.

Within the fleets, there were also Iron Men, responsible for providing technical guidance.

Since Argent Nur re-conquered its homeland, the Iron Men had gradually returned; they were the best technical personnel.

And the Iron Man, highly automated Argent Nur warships, could not be without their participation.

"The First Fleet will depart first," Blazkowicz clicked on the star map, choosing to head north of Argent Nur: "I will personally lead it to conquer the stars in deep space."

"The Second, Third, and Fourth Fleets will strike out from other directions, expanding simultaneously on all four fronts."

The main fleet's advance route was rich with star clusters, containing many habitable star systems.

"My lord, in your plan, the Third and Fourth Fleets will depart three months later?"

Sophia's eyes flashed with numbers; her master's planned departure times differed slightly.

She had to confirm the details, plan the procedures, allocate resources, and prepare personnel, pushing forward the mobilization in an orderly fashion.

"Yes." Blazkowicz nodded, stating his reason: "In three months, the newly trained Doom Slayers will also complete their training."

It took Blazkowicz and the first batch of warriors arriving at Argent Nur three months to complete their initial training, and the second batch of warriors would not be far behind.

They were Astartes, with extraordinary minds, astonishing memory, and powerful learning abilities.

Three months were enough for them to complete their initial training and embark on a new journey of conquest.

As for mid-to-late stage training, the Doom Slayers would be provided with storage devices and assigned teachers to accompany the army for instruction.

There was no other way now; Doom Slayers were incredibly powerful high-end combat forces, and even more so, rare command-type talents.

"I understand." Sophia bowed, her figure disappearing before the throne; she immersed herself in the information center, rapidly distributing various commands.

She had always been present in the Throne Hall, merely visually absent, not daring to disturb her master's thoughts or line of sight.

The dispatch of "small" amounts of troops and supplies was extremely simple for her, not even requiring a picosecond of calculation.

"By the way, write down my plan and send it to the senior officers for reference…"

"Forget it!" As soon as he finished speaking, Blazkowicz frowned and quickly canceled the previous instruction.

"Your writing command has been revoked." Sophia's rational voice came, and she recalled the already sent plan.

"Very good. Thank you, Sophia." Blazkowicz nodded towards the empty space in the Throne Hall.

He wanted to give the expeditionary forces more references, but after a brief thought, he ultimately gave up.

Blazkowicz keenly perceived that excessive interference in the expedition would instead create obstacles for the fleet.

His single reference opinion might be taken as gospel by stubborn military personnel, interfering with the fleet's normal operational planning.

His extraordinary mind realized that delegating power to trusted subordinates must be done thoroughly, merely indicating a direction for advance.

Let them conquer, and only after seeing the final results of the expedition should a conclusion be drawn.

Although this decision might lead to significant sacrifices for the expeditionary fleets, or even the failure of the expedition.

But Blazkowicz had to let go—the future fleet scale would far exceed today's, and he couldn't personally handle everything.

Young eagles must leave the nest, endure the trials of wind and rain, and soar through the heavens.

Blazkowicz further believed that the several fleet leaders he had chosen were by no means reckless individuals.

Their abilities were extraordinary, merely overshadowed by his brilliance; giving them opportunities was the best encouragement.

Blazkowicz was the best example.

Controlling the self-interest and aversion to harm deep within human nature, he conquered dozens of worlds without shedding blood.

Blazkowicz divided the two hundred Astartes into four groups, fifty per group, and assigned them to the four expeditionary fleets.

The existence of Chaos was a concern for him; the Four Gods were lurking in the shadows, coveting.

Doom Slayers had absolute suppressive power against Chaos, and while serving as high-level commanders, they also protected the fleet from Chaos threats.

Blazkowicz strived to perfect every detail; he arranged for Psykers to join the fleets, and the rigorously trained Psykers were sufficient to handle emergencies.

Like a father preparing his son's luggage for a long journey, Blazkowicz, like an old father, considered every possible situation and preempted them from the start.

After everything was done, much time had passed, and the sunlight from the ringworld was obscured by Argent Nur.

Warm lights lit up in the great hall, and attendants served tender steaks from large livestock of an agricultural world.

After enjoying the meal, Blazkowicz sat silently on the throne, awaiting the return of Harlan and the others.

However, there were two unexpected visitors, one tall and one small, who slowly walked into the great hall.

Blazkowicz rose from the throne, a loving smile on his face, and went to meet them.

"Uncle King~" The girl with golden hair and blue eyes called out softly and sweetly, running towards the tall figure.

"Marie!" Blazkowicz knelt down and picked up the girl, gently stroking her pink, tender cheek with the back of his finger: "Did you come to visit me?"

He smiled very happily, holding little Marie in her blue princess dress, and kissing her fair, rosy cheeks.

"You can't spoil her too much; she's completely out of control now."

Flano had a smile on his face, but his words were a gentle chiding, reaching out to take his daughter.

"It's fine." Blazkowicz took a small step back, not intending to let his little niece leave his embrace:

"She's still young; if she doesn't play now, after she learns etiquette, there will be no time for play."

Flano's brown hair swayed slightly, his blue eyes full of helplessness. Blazkowicz couldn't understand how troublesome a child's antics could be.

Blazkowicz let little Marie ride on his neck, held her small hand with his large one, and turned to ask Flano: "Brother, have you received your appointment?"

"I have received it." Flano nodded, the order from the throne precisely transmitted by the Central Law.

"Chief Grand Swordsman, royalty has held political positions before, and my swordsmanship is not bad, so it's a suitable post."

Knowing his brother had no objections, Blazkowicz nodded, signaling Flano with his eyes to follow.

They walked side by side to the throne platform.

With a doting expression, Blazkowicz ignored Flano's warning gaze, placed little Marie on the throne, and turned to open the wooden box on the table.

"The oath crown!" Flano's eyes narrowed slightly; he walked closer, carefully picked it up, and meticulously examined the details: "I thought it was lost during the demon attack."

"Father entrusted it to Siran for safekeeping."

"So that's it," Flano nodded knowingly, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes: "Father ultimately chose you, and you did not disappoint his expectations."

"Yes." Blazkowicz involuntarily puffed out his chest; receiving his family's approval deeply encouraged him.

He looked at his brother seriously and said earnestly to Flano: "But now, it belongs to you."

"What?" Flano was startled, looking at his brother in disbelief, and quickly put the oath crown back in the box.

He repeatedly waved his hands in refusal, fearing that his brother might misunderstand him or be testing something: "I never dared to hope."

"The throne has never suited me; only Big Brother and you can wield it."

"Brother, I have no other meaning." Blazkowicz's eyes were bright, and he said seriously: "I am serious."

With his brother's face overflowing with sincerity and not a hint of falsehood, Flano twitched his nose slightly and asked in a deep voice, "Why?"

During his tenure, Blazkowicz had undoubtedly done very well. He was incredibly powerful, and longevity was not an issue for him.

Flano didn't understand why his brother, who had always been wise and sagacious, would make such a decision.

"I must plan ahead as early as possible to avoid future troubles," Blazkowicz said with a solemn expression. "The Great Crusade is fraught with peril; unknowns and terrors await me."

"Time, space, the laws of physics—every aspect of our journey harbors danger."

"I must make arrangements so that the people of Argent Nur always have someone to pledge their loyalty to, avoiding division and power struggles."

Blazkowicz spoke with great gravity, sharing his concerns with Flano to completely eliminate any unexpected events.

Should anything happen to him, the authority of the oath crown would establish the leader of the Nur Stars.

"Why not your gene-sons?" Flano asked again. He knew clearly that those tall warriors were his brother's gene-sons, and their abilities were equally outstanding.

"Brother," Blazkowicz frowned, his eyes piercing Flano's heart as he stated a firm reason:

"We are sons in name, but in reality, we are tools—tools of the Great Crusade created by the Emperor."

"Space Marines are not rulers, and the ultimate fate of Primarchs is still unknown."

Blazkowicz knew very well what role he played in the Imperium of Man.

He was not a fool; on the contrary, he was one of the smartest people in the galaxy.

The plan revealed by the Emperor, all his efforts, were ultimately to save humanity.

Primarchs and Space Marines, the sons and superhuman warriors created by the Emperor, were tools to conquer the galaxy.

Through his contact with the Emperor, Blazkowicz understood that while the Emperor treated him differently, he still essentially regarded him as a tool.

The Emperor needed to fight the Four Gods, and Blazkowicz was the best tool.

Having a deep understanding of the essence of his existence, Blazkowicz never felt sad; instead, his heart felt much lighter.

Therefore, his attitude towards the Emperor was always one of equality, never naively demanding so-called "filial piety."

Blazkowicz was happy to accept the identity of a tool, identifying with the Emperor's grand endeavor to save humanity while weakening the Four Gods.

He observed the Emperor and Malcador, discovering that everything they did was for humanity.

In other words, the Emperor considered himself a tool, and Malcador and Valdor were also tools.

The Emperor, while seemingly humane, was essentially a cold machine, rational to the extreme, precisely calculating investment and return.

Everything, in his eyes, had value; humanity and human lives were quantifiable things.

Everything in the Imperium of Man was a tool in the Emperor's hands, used to save humanity.

"The Great Crusade will have an end, and I will eventually slay the Chaos Gods to avenge my father and mother." Blazkowicz's smile carried comfort as he knelt on one knee to meet his brother's gaze:

"What fate will ultimately await us then, I do not know."

Blazkowicz thought of the War Council, composed of mortals on Terra, and his heart grew even firmer.

The Emperor's final choice, he would surely return power to Mortals; this was foreseeable.

Space Marines and Primarchs, after completing their historical mission, would withdraw from the Human World with glory and splendor.

This was inevitable.

Even if the Emperor never mentioned it, Blazkowicz, by observing the minutiae of the Imperium of Man, could deduce this conclusion.

Terra's governing bodies were entirely composed of mortals, with no Space Marines in sight.

"The oath crown must be inherited by the Novick Dynasty," Blazkowicz's authoritative words resonated, leaving no room for Flano to refuse:

"I also believe that the bloodline of the Novick Dynasty will continue a wise rule."

"One day, I and the superhuman soldiers will recede, and the future will certainly belong to mortals."

Flano looked dazed, for a moment not knowing how to respond, and a brief silence fell over the great hall.

Marie sat on the throne, her emerald eyes wide, curiously watching her tall uncle and father.

She didn't understand their conversation, but she could feel a kind of suppression that made the human child feel very uncomfortable.

"No need to hesitate." Blazkowicz handed the wooden box to Flano: "It's bound to happen sooner or later; it's best to arrange it early to avoid major problems in the future."

"Which will arrive first, the future or an accident?"

"I understand." Finally, Flano raised his hands and solemnly accepted the carved wooden box.

His hands trembled slightly; a small square wooden box made Flano feel as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

The responsibility and burden within it made him hold his breath, and he even felt the urge to put it down.

The Nur Stars were no longer just the simple Argent Nur World.

Their sphere of influence spanned nearly two hundred light-years, encompassing over a hundred worlds and a population exceeding a hundred billion.

As his brother's Great Crusade advanced, its influence deepened, more worlds embraced Argent Nur, and its sphere of influence continued to expand.

Flano's breathing became a little uneven for a moment; his brother's expectations put immense pressure on him.

"Giggle ~ giggle ~"

After receiving the crown, the serious atmosphere in the great hall eased slightly, and Marie's heart lightened, giggling as she sat on the throne.

Her innocent laughter dispelled the last vestiges of seriousness.

Blazkowicz smiled, stood up, and held Marie, gently rocking and teasing her.

His daughter's laughter made Flano's eyes light up. He looked at the wooden box in his hands, and a brilliant idea came to his mind.

The galaxy is vast; it spans one hundred thousand light-years and contains countless worlds.

With the Imperium of Man launching the Great Crusade and the Nur Stars conquering the stars, it would be difficult to conquer the galaxy within a century.

If there were no accidents, the Human Emperor would complete his work, and Blazkowicz would complete his revenge, optimistically estimated to be after a hundred years.

Blazkowicz's reign would last at least another hundred years.

As for after a hundred years?

Flano was secretly laughing inside, his eyes mischievously looking at Marie, and he also thought of his young son at home.

Wasn't this a ready-made successor?

Thinking of this, Flano became invigorated and full of drive, and the box in his hand instantly felt lighter.

The royal tutors of Argent Nur had ample experience in raising two successors.

If that didn't work, he could always try harder and have a few more children with his wife; there would always be a suitable heir.

Blazkowicz naturally saw his brother's mischievous gaze, fixed intently on Marie in his arms.

He shook his head helplessly, understanding the emotions and meaning conveyed, and stroked Marie's soft hair, saying, "I will not interfere with how you arrange things."

His attitude was clear; Blazkowicz never hid anything from his family. How Flano arranged his children was his freedom and right.

If everything went as smoothly as the Emperor planned, one day power would be returned to the people, and after the transfer of power, he would have even less say.

Argent Nur belonged to the Novick Family, inherited by the family bloodline, and the Sentinels fully supported them.

"I shouldn't have come to visit you," Flano sighed. His daughter insisted on seeing her uncle, and he couldn't refuse.

As a result, he hadn't fully processed what had just happened.

Blazkowicz smiled and shook his head, his tone quite relaxed: "If you didn't come to see me, I would have gone down to see you."

"It's bound to happen sooner or later."

"I need to go back to Argent Nur and plan for the future," Flano said, reaching out and taking his daughter from his brother's arms.

He held Marie in his left arm and the wooden box in his right, nodding to Blazkowicz: "Be careful on your Great Crusade."

Although he knew his brother was powerful, whenever they parted, Flano couldn't help but remind him to take extra care of his safety.

"I will," Blazkowicz accepted the sincere concern, nodding gently and reminding him: "You too, take care of yourself, and witness the revenge."

The two brothers exchanged a smile. Flano knew his brother's obsession well and turned to leave with his daughter in his arms.

"Uncle ~" Marie raised her chubby hand, waving and saying goodbye in a soft, sweet voice: "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Blazkowicz was amused by her innocent cuteness, waving goodbye to his niece: "Next time we meet, you might be a big girl."

Watching the father and daughter's figures disappear, another worry in Blazkowicz's heart was resolved.

He had always valued the inheritance of the Novick Family. Now that the oath crown had been transferred, and the oath and responsibility inherited, it was a complete success.

"Lord." A rational and calm voice echoed in the quiet royal hall; Sophia reappeared: "Lord Blazkowicz and the others have already arrived at the Nur Ring."

"Have them come see me immediately."

Blazkowicz's expression became serious. He sat upright on the throne, ready to summon his warriors.

"I understand." Sophia slowly retreated to the side, standing gracefully beside the throne.

As her voice fell, a teleportation circle lit up in the great hall. Amidst the flashing white light, three tall figures emerged from the teleportation light.

"My King!"

"Gene-Father!"

They knelt on one knee, performing the warrior's salute, their voices sincere and resonant, filled with passion and respect.

"Rise," Blazkowicz nodded slightly, his movements majestic, while also revealing a satisfied smile.

The three warriors stood side by side, their bodies ramrod straight, awaiting their king's command.

His keen eyes first fell on the tallest, Blazkowicz, his gene-firstborn.

Since their parting on Terra, he had now completed his initial training, and his temperament had undergone a profound change.

Blazkowicz returned from the void, devoid of any killing aura, appearing unremarkable.

Blazkowicz nodded to himself; the tactical training had been remarkably effective, and the Doom Slayers could now control their rage.

They were once like highly flammable promethium, a single spark capable of igniting a furious power.

After three months of training, they had shed their superficial manifestations and mastered their rage; now, they were like a deep, calm ocean.

The serene surface seemed peaceful, but beneath the abyss, hidden currents surged.

His short black hair stood erect, his black eyes mirrored people's hearts, and his gaze was sharp yet restrained.

Blazkowicz's lineage originated from Old Terra's Europa; his physical features were distinct: black hair, black eyes, blade-like brows, an underlying sharpness in his gaze, thin lips, and white teeth, all adding a touch of elegance to his face.

He wore pitch-black Adamantium battle armor, and a golden-inlaid book box, with gold thread patterns intertwined and a Destroyer mark engraved in the center, was attached to his waist chain, with different colored gems set in each corner.

Blazkowicz had reviewed all the records of his sons and knew that the book box contained the eternal genealogy of the Blazkowicz family.

However, the Adamantium black armor he wore was different from his Terra-era armor; it seemed to have been improved.

A composite shoulder cannon had been added to his left shoulder, and while the power armor's exterior remained unchanged, its internal components must have seen significant improvements.

His gaze continued to sweep across, and Blazkowicz looked at Harlan Ogilvy; his old friend had grown taller and considerably more robust.

"How do you feel?" His face was solemn, and his voice low as he asked his old friend about his condition: "Khorne's blessing, he seems to have taken a liking to you."

"No immediate effects, for now." Harlan felt the gaze, shrugged, and showed a helpless expression: "Chaos God's stuff, no chance to refuse, forcibly bestowed the blessing."

"I often perform self-analysis, examining my mind and thoughts, but I haven't detected anything abnormal."

"You've worked hard." Blazkowicz nodded, expressing understanding for Harlan's situation.

Khorne's primary target was Blazkowicz, but his blessing was difficult to bestow upon his body, so he changed targets and gave it to Blazkowicz's sworn guardian.

"Racing Master, how does it feel to gallop through the universe?" He finally looked at Elton Senna, the man who mastered speed.

Senna's stern face showed a hint of helplessness, and he said regretfully, "The resistance in space is very small, and the battleship's speed continuously increases, yet I can't feel the tangible sensation of the wind on my body."

Senna's stern face showed helplessness, his brown hair neatly combed back, and the melancholy in his brows made him resemble a disheartened poet.

His eyes were dim as he spoke of his feelings: "Just like our desires, infinitely expanding on a cosmic scale, yet struggling to find that initial simple satisfaction."

Blazkowicz pondered deeply after hearing Senna's heartfelt words.

The people of Argent Nur initially wanted to break free from their shackles, then to reclaim their homeland, and now they continue to conquer, with endless expeditions in the future.

Just as the Racing Master said, desire expands infinitely, without end.

"We have no choice, Master." Blazkowicz sighed slightly: "Humanity must occupy living space, just as organisms evolve to seize ecological niches."

"The stars of the universe are infinitely beautiful; they await conquest, and humanity must conquer them."

"There are countless beings in the galaxy, and aliens will also rise; once they have occupied all the ecological niches, humanity will be the one to be eliminated."

"I understand." As a warrior, Senna never doubted the path ahead: "It's just that the scenery along the way has greatly disappointed me."

"Then go further." Blazkowicz continued his words, touching a button on the throne to show the three warriors the expedition.

A projection lit up before the three, clearly showing four fleets, attacking from all sides of the Nur Stars to conquer the star sea.

The formal expedition stirred the hearts of the three, finally no longer just random conquests.

Being able to stand here meant they were recognized and would lead the fleets into battle.

Upon careful observation, they found that the holographic projection only showed routes, without other annotations, as if it were a last-minute decision.

"Everything depends on yourselves." Blazkowicz's voice rang out, explaining the doubts in the three's minds: "There is no plan, only a direction."

"The fleets are in your hands; you are trustworthy, and how you conquer depends entirely on your own abilities."

At these words, the three immediately felt the pressure.

"Everything depends on yourselves," five simple words, represented the devolution of power.

The commander of an expeditionary fleet wielded immense power, with the life and death of countless worlds resting on his judgment.

Such immense power also symbolized an incredibly heavy responsibility on their shoulders.

Blazkowicz noted the conquest route, a hesitant expression on his face, with indecision hidden in his eyes.

"Junior," Blazkowicz's perception was powerful, sensing his hesitation, the wavering indecision in his heart: "Speak freely."

Junior opened his mouth to explain, fearing his reasons would be rebuked by the Gene-Father and condemned as weakness.

After quick thought, he knelt on one knee, like a child who had made a mistake, and though he did not speak, he sought forgiveness with his actions.

"Gene-Father," though Junior had hesitation in his heart, when the words reached his lips, there was no hesitation, and he clearly expressed his thoughts: "I wish to remain by your side."

He lowered his head, awaiting the rebuke from the throne above, the scolding for his weakness. He knew his current appearance was like a child about to leave home, afraid to face the future, pleading to stay by his father's side.

Such a weak act was unworthy of his armor and a betrayal of the Gene-Father's arrangement.

Only he knew the specific purpose of remaining by the Gene-Father's side.

Since the Gene-Father's return, as the eldest son, he had never had much interaction with the Gene-Father.

He wished to remain by Blazkowicz's side to learn the Gene-Father's thoughts and deeply understand the one who bestowed divine power upon him.

Harlan exchanged glances with Senna, and the two immediately retreated to the side; this was a "family matter," and they would interfere as little as possible.

"Get up." The anticipated rebuke did not come; instead, it was a soft call.

The voice's inflection was steady, and its majesty, like a large hand, pulled Junior up from within.

"Anyone can ask to remain by my side, but not you." Blazkowicz did not hesitate, rejecting Junior's request.

His words were so sharp that the three in the hall changed color, and Junior was even somewhat flustered.

Junior felt a pang in his heart; he had thought of scolding and reprimand, but never such a stern refusal.

He was about to kneel again, not understanding if his actions had caused the Gene-Father to feel disgusted.

Just as he was about to kneel, Junior felt a blur before his eyes, and a tall figure instantly appeared, standing before him.

Blazkowicz placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his knee, forcefully stopping Junior's movement.

When everyone reacted, the person on the throne was close at hand, and his voice was calm and resonant: "No need to panic."

Blazkowicz offered gentle reassurance with his eyes, slowly helped Junior up, and looked directly into his eyes: "Your request, I cannot fulfill."

He pointed to the heavy Adamantium book box at Junior's waist and said to him, "You still bear a mission, do you not?"

"Your ancestor was one of the greatest men."

Blazkowicz spoke slowly, articulating clearly: "Along the way, you have endured much hardship, all to find an opportunity."

"I have seen your records, and the records of the gene-sons; I remember each and every one of you."

"You abandoned everything, yet you still cannot let go of your ancestor's glory, wishing to revive his prestige."

"Now the opportunity is at hand, why do you not seize it?" Blazkowicz earnestly asked Junior, his encouraging words filled with tolerance and confidence: "Brinng back glory to your name'"

Their eyes met, and Junior's eyes gradually became moist; he was deeply encouraged and moved.

He had thought the Gene-Father's refusal might be due to displeasure, a negation of himself.

His own heart was still narrow; how could one not be utterly convinced when following such a broad-minded person?

The Gene-Father had always cared, remembering the mission of each brother, the reason they survived the trials.

"Complete your mission, then return to my side." Blazkowicz gently patted Junior's shoulder, encouraging his eldest gene-son with a genuine action, then turned and walked towards the throne.

"I will not disappoint you! The name of Blazkowicz will resound throughout the universe!"

Blazkowicz knelt, filled with deep respect, performed a warrior's salute, and swore with a solemn tone.

"Go." Blazkowicz waved him away, to rendezvous with the fleet and proceed in the planned direction: "The Second Fleet is yours."

Junior said no more; his gratitude was inexpressible.

With a resolute expression, he took one last look at the giant on the throne, bowed, and slowly retreated, and after expressing sufficient respect, turned and left the great hall.

"What about you two? Any opinions?"

Junior disappeared from the hall, and Blazkowicz asked Harlan and Senna: "If you have any thoughts, speak them; once the fleet is ready, I will board at any time."

"No objections."

The Champion Swordsman and the Racing Master, two outstanding warriors of Argent Nur, naturally followed King Nowick's arrangements.

They had been looking forward to this expedition for a long time.

The conquests before this were merely a warm-up; now was the time to achieve great deeds and leave their names in history.

Blazkowicz nodded with satisfaction; seeing that the time was right and the fleet was almost ready, he needed to board immediately.

He glanced at Harlan, took Siran's letter from under the table, and placed it on the clean tabletop.

"Heh ~ heh ~" Blazkowicz cleared his throat twice, saying with feigned seriousness: "The table is dirty; Harlan, stay and wipe the table."

Harlan's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth agape, a look of incredulity on his face, pointing at himself.

His bewildered expression froze on his face, as if asking: Me? Clean up? Wipe the table? Are you serious?

"Yes, wipe the table." Blazkowicz stood up, and the light of teleportation glowed at his feet; he vanished from the hall.

Senna clasped his hands behind his head, a gloating expression on his face as he left, returning to the Argent Nur Worlds.

The Third and Fourth Fleets, because they had to wait for Destroyer training, had a preparation time of three months.

Personnel deployment was handled by artificial intelligence, so he had ample time to rest, returning to Argent Nur to ride his flying motorcycle and speed a few times.

"Is he sick?" Harlan cursed silently, his face helpless as he walked to the throne, his gaze swept across the tabletop, and his eyes suddenly narrowed:

"This is…?"

Old man Siran's notes; he would never mistake them, never in a lifetime.

"Good brother!" Harlan instantly understood that Blazkowicz wanted to give him the letter, but for some reason, he couldn't hand it over directly.

Blazkowicz teleported into the bridge, a mischievous smile on his heroic face.

He had never actively given Harlan a letter; it was Harlan who "accidentally" discovered it while cleaning.

As for Siran and Harlan, Blazkowicz didn't care what would happen between the two of them later.

The fleet assembled at the "Gate of Far Travel," a stable Mandeville Point in the Argent Nur system, and the ancient Star Gate was reactivated after repairs.

He was about to set sail, commanding the fleet on a distant expedition into the void aboard the Gloriana Queen-class Battleship.

She was once named the Fortress of Destruction.

The Gloriana Queen-class Battleship, gifted by the Emperor, was jointly constructed by Mars and Saturn, a thirty-kilometer-long warship.

Since her arrival at Argent Nur, she had been moored at the Nur Ring shipyard for refitting.

Except for the keel, all equipment was removed and replaced with Argent Nur's advanced systems.

The Gloriana Queen-class Battleship, gifted by the Emperor, was redesigned by Sophia and Iron Men Musal, a custom-built fleet flagship.

Her current appearance, if she were to reappear before the Adeptus Mechanicus, they would never recognize her without checking the keel number.

The original weapon array was completely dismantled, replaced by Argent Nur's lance and macro cannon systems.

The battleship's external armor was redesigned, with all weapons concealed beneath a streamlined mesh structure, presenting an overall sleek and deadly elegance.

The hull's main color was blue, symbolizing the Argent Nur Royal Family.

Golden lines outlined the hull, with a triumphal floral bas-relief adorning the port side and the Mark of Destruction carved on the starboard side.

After being refitted by Argent Nur, the Gloriana Queen-class Battleship symbolized majesty and nobility, with both might and reason.

Blazkowicz chose her—the Royal Majesty—as his flagship for this expedition, to sweep away enemies in the void.

The Void Wanderer was too magnificent, inconvenient for expeditionary tasks, and remained at Argent Nur for continued outfitting.

The bridge adopted the style of Argent Nur warships, spacious, comfortable, clean, and bright, with higher informational and visual displays.

As Blazkowicz teleported into the bridge, the throne immediately rose, awaiting its master's seating.

"My Lord, it is an honor to see you and fight alongside you." Everyone on the bridge knelt, welcoming their king.

"Rise." Blazkowicz looked around; they were all familiar faces, and the personnel accompanying him on the expedition had all arrived.

The fat Iron Men Viktor, with his shining bald head and a beaming smile, was responsible for providing technical support, including the maintenance and management of the ship.

Iron Man Gates floated in the air; it had only a saucer-shaped head with no facial features, blue streams of light rotating along its disc-shaped edge, and a dozen mechanical tentacles trailing beneath it.

Iron Man is a general term encompassing all highly intelligent automatons; their forms are not fixed.

Navigator Fransisca entered a sleep pod, her consciousness sinking into the Warp to observe the ship's course.

"My Lord, please indicate the specific location; we are about to set sail." Sophia's figure appeared, curtsying with a tug of her skirt.

Blazkowicz raised his left arm, teasing Sophia, "Do you like where you're staying?"

The armguard gifted by the Necron was very user-friendly, with expandable internal space for functional enhancements.

Blazkowicz implanted a "super intelligent chip," replicating Sophia's AI to bring her along as an advisor.

"I feel very good. The AI-specific intelligent chip has powerful computing power and doesn't hinder my functional operations."

Sophia's expression was lively as she spoke, completely unaffected.

She flashed, her blue figure appearing in the center of the bridge, successfully connecting to the battleship's intelligent core: "This place is also very good."

With a wave of her delicate hand, the bridge's holographic projection opened, and a star map was presented in three dimensions before them.

Blazkowicz carefully examined the flowing galaxy before him, pointing to a star-dense region he selected: "Head here."

"Fleet, set sail!"

With quantum communication, fleet communication was swift; at the flagship's command, frigates and scout ships entered the Star Gate first.

Their smaller size and equipped reconnaissance and early warning systems allowed them to depart first to scout the path for the main fleet.

Soon, the fleet, one after another, passed through the Star Gate and entered the Warp, heading towards the location marked by Blazkowicz.

The fleet entered the Warp, and the journey was calm and uneventful.

A Doom Slayer teleported into the bridge; he was taller than his usual brothers, his body like a towering wall.

Even through his helmet and armor, Blazkowicz still recognized him—Obelisk.

Obelisk was not good with words; he saluted Blazkowicz through their psychic link, then silently stood to the side.

For this expedition, he was responsible for guarding the bridge's security, protecting everyone except the Gene-Father.

Blazkowicz carefully observed Obelisk; he noticed that his shining gold power armor also had a composite shoulder cannon mounted on his left shoulder.

His weapon had also changed; it was no longer a physical spear but an unlit dimensional spear.

"A few small upgrades." Sophia appeared beside him, bringing up the upgrade projects and presenting them to her master:

"Gifts for your Gene-Sons; they can become even stronger, so as not to waste their talents."

Following Sophia's guidance, Blazkowicz quickly reviewed the items, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

The armament upgrades made jointly by Sophia and the Iron Men deeply met with his approval.

The exterior of the shining gold armor remained untouched, but the interior had undergone a complete transformation, with a total redesign and integration of its internal systems.

It was fitted with Argent Nur's electronic muscle fibers, woven at an atomic level, maintaining the same weight and quantity but doubling the output power.

The armor's joint rotation motors were made using remnant technology, ensuring they would never wear out, perfectly suiting the Doom Slayer's rapid movements.

Thanks to the Doom Slayer's imposing size, three cold fusion cores were injected into the inner back of the armor, ensuring ample energy supply.

Argent Nur crystals were embedded in the belt, reflecting a dimensional shield to provide ample protection.

Blazkowicz grew more and more satisfied; just the dimensional shield alone was commendable, truly ensuring the safety of his Gene-Sons.

Beneath the dimensional shield, there was also a layer of force field shield, providing multiple layers of protection.

To protect these precious warriors, Sophia and the Iron Men artisans went to great lengths, miniaturizing the force field generator and embedding it within the shining gold armor.

This no-expense-spared investment elevated the Doom Slayer's survivability by several levels.

"You worked hard!" Blazkowicz said to Sophia sincerely, then turned to thank Iron Men Viktor: "Thank you for your efforts."

"We dare not take credit." Both bowed, flattered.

Continuing to read, the power armor's upgrade projects were numerous, utilizing Argent Nur's highest technology.

Nano-repair, aim deflectors, advanced life support systems, emergency medical systems.

The most powerful upgrade was the implantation of a super intelligent chip.

The intelligent chip connected to the warrior's nerves via the power armor interface, calculating in real-time and assisting in controlling the composite shoulder cannon.

Inside the triangular cannon body, three cannons were arranged in a "pin" shape, capable of handling various situations with astonishing destructive power.

The Incinerator Cannon was for biological enemies, its incinerating ray instantly igniting flesh; the Disintegration Cannon had increased power and firing efficiency, easily dealing with lightly armored enemies; the last, a Melta Ray Cannon, was specifically designed for heavily armored foes.

In the middle of the three cannons, a "Y"-shaped dividing section also had a slender energy outlet, firing crystal cutting rays.

It was precisely these three cold fusion cores that output massive energy, providing power support for weapons and shields.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Blazkowicz showed a rare display of excitement, repeating "good" three times.

He had originally planned to upgrade the Doom Slayer's armaments, making them even more formidable.

He never expected that Sophia and the Iron Men artisans would do such a thorough job, far exceeding his own upgrade plans.

The crystal weapons in the Doom Slayer's hands had undergone precise improvements and upgrades, with strictly controlled energy output.

The over three-meter-tall warriors wielded custom-proportioned handles; in addition to firing cutting rays, the length of the light blade could be adjusted, extending up to three meters and maintaining it for a long duration.

Blazkowicz secretly gasped; he had never thought of these upgrades. Now, the Doom Slayer was truly "armed to the teeth."

He straightened his body, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, eager to witness their performance on the battlefield.

Though somewhat childish, Blazkowicz was very impatient, anxious to receive news from the scout ships.

Where were the xenos and enemies?

"Form a ten-man squad." He gave the command through their psychic link, instructing his Gene-Sons to team up.

In the next battle, Blazkowicz would definitely deploy them.

He wanted to see how mighty the strongest warriors, equipped with the sharpest weapons, truly were.

Time passed in waiting; Warp travel was exceedingly monotonous.

Blazkowicz's gaze roamed through the bridge's viewport, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of his throne, awaiting the next Astropathic communication.

"Sophia." He softly called his advisor, a light flashing in his eyes as he remembered a crucial matter: "Have the Astropathic Choir send a message back to Argent Nur, prepare ten thousand dimensional shields."

"Where do you intend to use them?" Sophia was diligent; she didn't ask why they were being prepared, only where they would be used.

"They won't be used in Argent Nur's combat sequence; I have my own uses for them." Blazkowicz briefly explained, but did not reveal the specific purpose.

"I understand." Sophia didn't press further; she was a clever lady and naturally understood the general purpose.

If not used by Argent Nur, then only the Imperium would use them.

The ship's holographic image lit up, and a message came from the reconnaissance vessel ahead, reporting the discovery of an alien species ravaging the Human World.

The briefing was short: a reconnaissance ship, equipped with a "Stealth Field," had discovered a lost Human World at the edge of a black hole cluster known as the Star Cemetery.

They were being plundered by aliens, and a war was erupting between the invaders and the guardians.

Argent Nur's reconnaissance ship, covered by a "Stealth Field," masked the ship's electromagnetic and infrared signals and reduced the engine's glow.

Once the field was activated, the warship became visually invisible, allowing it to approach silently for reconnaissance.

Unfortunately, the Stealth Field consumed too much energy, and the entire system was too massive, resulting in the reconnaissance ship having pitifully few armaments and no means of fighting back.

The miniaturization of the Stealth Field was progressing slowly; otherwise, all of Argent Nur's ships would be silent assassins lurking in the void.

"Head to the Star Cemetery. Upon arrival, the fleet will immediately exit the Warp and attack the aliens, helping humanity drive them out," Blazkowicz ordered.

The fleet immediately veered off course and headed towards the coordinates provided by the reconnaissance ship.

Time passed, and more and more astropathic communications were received, with information becoming increasingly dense.

The unknown alien technology was advanced; their ships manipulated gravity to tear continents from the orbits of Human Worlds.

While plundering populations, they also took away planetary land, extracting high-value mineral resources.

The humans of the lost world resisted sporadically but tenaciously; facing the alien plunder, they had not yet surrendered and fought back fiercely with weapons.

"Reality anchor complete, we are about to exit the Warp," Fransisca's clear voice rang out on the bridge.

As the fleet's Warp engines shut down, the frigates were the first to exit the Warp.

Blazkowicz sat on his throne, his eyes fixed on the holographic projection as Royal Majesty slowly emerged from the Warp.

"Maintain fleet posture, approach the alien ships."

The fleet appeared at the edge of the star system. Cruisers, accompanied by destroyers, detached from the main fleet and moved to encircle the plundering aliens.

Approaching from the edge of the star system, they used the shadows of the system's planets to obscure their engine glow.

Soon, the augury array completed its star system readings and released the summarized data.

There were six planets in the star system orbiting a bright yellow star, and four showed signs of human life.

All data indicated that this place was once prosperous.

The augury did not detect any enemy ship signatures; on the scan array, apart from the First Fleet, no other warships were present.

The approaching reconnaissance ships had indeed seen enemy vessels through their telescopes, and the returned holographic images were clearly visible.

Eight alien ships, ranging about ten kilometers in length, mostly butterfly-shaped or elliptical, were suspended in the void.

The unknown ship material was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the dazzling stars of the void; were it not for the engine's exhaust, it would be very difficult to spot them visually.

"There is an artificial gravitational field around the enemy ships; scan waves are being blocked by the gravitational field." Iron Man Gates manipulated the holographic image with his mechanical tentacles, quickly reaching a conclusion.

The edges of his butterfly-shaped body glowed, flickering continuously with his cold mechanical voice: "The gravitational field is very strong; please proceed with caution."

"Because of the gravitational field, conventional weapons will be largely ineffective," Iron Men Viktor immediately warned.

His shiny face was solemn as he cautioned Blazkowicz: "The gravitational field around the enemy ships is like a small black hole; conventional weapons such as lances and macro-cannons will be deflected by gravity."

"However," Viktor grinned fiercely, "they've encountered us."

"Our fire control systems are equipped with sure-hit devices; once within firing range, their gravitational deflection will be useless."

"Augury facilities adjusted; we see them now." Sophia quickly completed the adjustments, recalibrating the augury.

Since communication with the Empire, many of Argent Nur's specialized names had been changed to Imperial terminology for mutual convenience.

After readjusting the scan variables, eight alien ships appeared on the augury array; they were gathering.

"We've been discovered!"

The alien fleet was gathering, indicating they had detected a threat. Where did the threat in the star system come from?

The answer was obvious.

No sooner had Blazkowicz finished speaking than a communication request came through the comms channel; the alien's communication probe arrived swiftly.

Blazkowicz gave Iron Man a look. Gates gently stroked with his tentacles, displaying the alien communication through the holographic image.

A never-before-seen creature appeared, resembling an ancient Terra slug. Its body was composed of transparent gelatin, with its internal organs clearly visible.

It was like a composite of a mollusk and a vertebrate, with a spine extending from its head to its tail within its translucent body.

Its semi-solid body swayed, and several blue energy glands flickered within its body. The alien did not have obvious visual or auditory systems.

"Humans?"

The slug's voice, though it had no visible vocal organs, was slick and hollow. It seemed to pause when it saw Blazkowicz.

It hadn't expected that the organized fleet appearing in the star system belonged to humans.

"Yes! Humans." Blazkowicz slightly raised his chin, a look of disdain in his eyes, proudly acknowledging his species' identity.

"Then there's nothing to discuss." The slug did not hesitate, cutting off the communication with a harsh threat and contempt before it ended: "We are the Horanian, children of the abyss, the superior species to humans."

The Horanian showed no expression, its slick tone filled with extreme arrogance, viewing itself as the superior species to humans, and demeaning the human race.

"Filthy, soft-bodied aliens, if the human race were to casually sprinkle sodium chloride, not even your corpses would remain!"

Blazkowicz showed no weakness, returning the insult with words, expressing his contempt for the aliens.

"We'll see, monkeys!" The alien's energy glands flowed faster, its emotions clearly agitated, its voice filled with hatred.

The universe was vast, and there were many soft-bodied creatures. The Horanian clearly understood, and also knew the lethal power of sodium chloride against slugs.

"Wait until I come over and stomp you all to death, snot-worms." Blazkowicz's expression was arrogant, his verbal assault undiminished.

Then the communication was cut, and the holographic image disappeared, setting the tone for this encounter.

Both sides understood that there was only one outcome now—an unending struggle!

The aliens were plundering human populations and resources; their crimes were clear for all to see.

The Horanian knew very well that with the arrival of the human fleet, they would surely face retribution.

Argent Nur's fleet had a clear objective: in this first battle of the expedition, they would make the aliens realize the terror of humanity once more.

"Fleet scatter, charge weapons, and give these opportunistic aliens a good beating!"

Blazkowicz sat firmly on his throne, ordering the fleet to assume an attack posture, ready to engage the alien ships charging towards them.

The eight alien warships abandoned their plunder of the Human World, forming a combat formation to cover each other.

Data from the augury showed that as the Horanian warships drew closer, their gravitational fields interfered with each other, creating chaos around them.

Ordinary lances and macro-cannons, firing lasers and shells, would be deflected from their trajectories by the mutual pull of the gravitational fields.

The aliens were confident, seemingly well aware of human attack methods, and their warships closed in on the fleet's center.

The bright surfaces of the eight warships emitted ripples, like waves on water.

"Gravitational fluctuations detected." Gates' report was urgent, his mechanical voice simultaneously pinpointing the gravitational disturbance.

The First Fleet's augury array detected anomalies in the alien warships and distortions in the gravitational field of space.

The Horanian launched the first attack, creating a gravitational field in front of the First Fleet to drag the human fleet into collisions.

"Recommend adjusting the output of gravity weapons to neutralize the gravitational anomaly ahead of the enemy," the Stone Man suggested.

Viktor's internal bio-computer reacted extremely quickly, immediately finding a countermeasure.

Blazkowicz nodded in agreement; his technical experts and advisory team were highly professional, providing endless reassurance.

A cruiser received the command, its hull grids opened, revealing a strange device that emitted a burst of spatial fluctuations.

Soon, another gravitational point appeared in front of the First Fleet.

The two artificial miniature black holes perturbed each other, spinning and consuming one another, eventually exhausting their energy and annihilating in the void.

"These humans who suddenly appeared, we cannot take them lightly."

After a simple probe, the Horanian saw the strength of the human fleet and sent a warning signal to its kin.

Both fleets were closing in, their engines glowing like stars, propelling the warships to accelerate continuously.

"Shatter them!" Blazkowicz's expression was emotionless, his tone cold as he ordered the fleet to utterly destroy the aliens.

The command was transmitted via quantum communication. The eight main cruisers of the First Fleet opened all their broadside weapon ports and began to charge their energy.

The Horanian observed the humans' actions; the glowing particles in their energy glands pulsed, and their emotions surged with contempt.

They had harvested humans for millennia, experienced the fiercest resistance, and understood the performance of human warships.

Shells posed no threat to their warships; the gravitational field would deflect anything approaching, including the sharp lance beams of humans.

The fleet commander's mood was sinister; he was eager to tear apart the human fleet with minimal forces.

After defeating the humble humans, he would collect that tall human, thoroughly humiliating and punishing his arrogance.