This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“......”

Tyberos silently nodded, accepting Rameses' arrangement.

The sharks instinctively spread out, silently finding the ancient warriors who were just as silent as them.

Nearby, Cahulangi carefully noted Rameses' words. He realized that the psyker master was obsessed with the number 13, always avoiding the numbers 6, 7, 8, and 9.

He pondered for a moment, feeling that he needed to suggest to Tyberos that the Flesh-eater Sharks' squads be expanded to thirteen, with each squad consisting of one hundred and thirty warriors.

“Akiya, and Shaer.”

Tyberos scanned the group and fixed his gaze on the two who seemed the most out of place, then spoke.

“You can’t go.”

“Ah?”

One of the ways bullying happens in Space Marine squads—if you're not fighting, you're not included.

“My lord!”

Akiya immediately rushed through the group with great speed and stood before Tyberos.

“The two veteran members of First Squad will replace you,”

Tyberos answered bluntly.

“You haven’t concealed your talents.”

“......”

Hearing this, Akiya couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

He had always been proud of overcoming his instincts, not letting the burning self of his bloodline control him. He never expected that now, this very bloodline would prevent him from stepping onto the battlefield.

“Let them follow me, I’m sure things will get loud on my end.”

Garna spoke gently.

He had never been fond of wearing a helmet, and his pale, handsome face was fully exposed to the light.

To Akiya, that face seemed almost angelic.

“But remember, don’t walk in front of me.”

Akiya and Shaer nodded quickly.

The formation didn’t matter, as long as there were xenos to slash.

The two members of First Squad, who had just been dismissed, reluctantly withdrew.

“Ready?”

Facing the passage ahead, now engulfed in shadows, Arthur asked, activating the disintegration field on his power sword.

The Dark Eldar were clever—they had cut the power, damaged parts of the passage, and created a battleground entirely for themselves, without provoking the Sage’s wrath.

They had successfully maintained this threshold, as the Great Sage only wanted these troublesome foes to leave, and the xenos were more interested in achieving their goal without bloodshed.

Both sides' mutual compromise had given the Transmigrators enough preparation time.

“Alright.”

Shaking off the droplets of water stuck to his hair, Romulus, slightly irritated, chose to put on his helmet.

Rameses pretended to press down on the coffin, guiding the special psyker deterrent of the Chaos demon.

“Do not look at me.”

From a psyker's perspective, the pink mist that emerged from the iron coffin’s seam was uncomfortable just to observe. It was suppressed within the coffin’s surface, brewing deadly fluctuations.

The passage had grown a bit colder.

Then, the precise holographic projections, which Romulus had prepared, were sent to each shark’s receiver, showing their unique paths.

“Garna will assault the core area, tear open the defense gap, seize the opportunity. Tyberos and Arthur will follow my designated route for high-speed cruising. Upon encountering the xenos governor, immediately disperse their accompanying forces. Each group will follow their respective route. The veterans will use lasers to guide you to the enemy's position. Each group...”

Every soldier quietly watched the data in front of them, listening to the sounds ringing in their ears.

The time spent studying the codex had not been wasted, as various tactical knowledge flashed in their minds, then transferred into the simplest professional terms, reaching the ears of the sharks who needed this information.

Such detailed task planning made the sharks feel a sense of security, mixed with a sense of novelty.

In the past, the sharks’ leadership was far less disciplined.

The goal, the location, and then the slaughter—all left to personal experience and improvisation.

But this was Romulus’ first time commanding on a real battlefield, though he didn’t feel much nervousness.

He had opened his ability to see through, simulated scenarios, and had the skills to suppress the enemy's stats. He also had a detailed battle plan and could monitor the battlefield at any time.

In theory, by following the imagined tactics, letting Garna’s three strongest squads tear three gaps, and then having the subsequent small squads form a situation of localized overwhelming firepower, they could eliminate the majority of the enemy’s fighting strength before the enemy could react.

Then, the rest would be pure slaughter. As long as there were no unlucky breaks or multiple Astartes appearing in one place, the sharks would easily crush these Dark Eldar.

Romulus believed in himself, his companions, and in the power of the Flesh-eater Sharks, forged from a sea of corpses and blood.

What he had to do was point the sharks in the right direction, plan every detail of the battlefield, and pass on this confidence of victory to everyone.

Because the warriors believed they were ancient war heroes, and now, they were indeed heroes of war.

“This is my first time commanding such a battle. Please let me witness your skill, let us learn from you, and please entrust your lives to my hands, without reservation.”

Romulus' voice rang in the ears of every shark, and the shadows of the Warp surrounded their souls.

There was no sound in the communication.

He felt calm.

The sharks' calm was like a ticking clock on top of volatile explosives, the storm about to drop from the dark sky.

Within every warrior’s closed mouth, their sharp fangs were sharpening against each other.

This was the best answer.

Romulus knew exactly what these warriors wanted to hear and understood what he needed to bring to them.

“Then, let us move forward. I will bring you victory and the chance to win again for the Emperor.”

Having chosen this identity, he had to bear its weight.

His voice was firm.

“Let me see if the Flesh-eater Sharks still fight as fiercely as their Terran ancestors.”

Just those few words raised the morale of the entire team to its peak.

Servo-skulls flashed, and the key facilities at the rear of the Ark were obscured by steel structures falling from the other end of the warship.

“May we not fail the blood of Saint Lias!”

A mighty roar echoed, and the dark angel led the charge, disappearing into the darkness at a speed so fast that even the Emperor's Angels couldn’t track him.

The horn of attack sounded.

From the psyker’s perspective, an invisible shockwave of deep pink quickly spread, passing through the equally invisible sharks.

Vroom—

The chainsaw roared, and Tyberos charged forward, dark shadows swirling around him, making the horrifying figure's sprint completely silent.

Hundreds of warriors, all at once, followed the route’s guidance into the shadows, their eyes, now covered in endless blackness, turning a chilling shade of white.

Let them kill the enemies in the quickest, bloodiest way, and claim victory once again.

This time, it wasn’t just for survival, nor just to destroy the enemy.

It was also to prove to the ancient ones, who had been absent from the galaxy for ten thousand years,

That they had the strength to guard humanity under the watchful eye of endless evil!