349: Chapter 351 The Military Order Before Dawn! Pamenio's Last Night

The top floor of the octagonal tower had no windows.

There were only four walls sealed off by armor plates and a holographic projection table occupying the center of the room.

A three-dimensional map of the Parmenio warzone hovered above the projection table.

Blue markers for friendly forces. Red for suspected enemy zones. Gray for unknown areas.

The light points were densely packed.

Roboute Guilliman stood at the head of the table.

The armor of fate shimmered with dark gold trim under the cold white light.

The Emperor's Sword hung diagonally at his waist.

He did not sit.

There were no chairs in this command room.

At least, none that could bear the weight of a Primarch.

Hector was the first to arrive.

The veteran walked in with the precise, rhythmic tread of military boots.

His Cadian-style flak coat was still stained with oil from the heavy factory.

His red bionic eye scanned the room, he stood still before Roboute Guilliman, and struck his chest with his right fist.

"General." Roboute Guilliman nodded slightly.

Marcus and Phaethon arrived almost simultaneously.

The mechanical appendages of the two Grand Masters nearly collided at the doorway.

Phaethon stepped aside.

Marcus walked to the left side of the projection table without glancing aside.

His mechanical prosthetic limbs emitted a low-frequency hum beneath his deep red robes.

The data port on his head flickered with a faint green light.

Cyrus arrived last.

His yellow armor was particularly conspicuous among the mortals and the Adeptus Mechanicus priests.

He attended in place of Foros, who was still resting.

"How is the Chapter Master?" Roboute Guilliman asked.

"The Primaris transformation is complete," Cyrus replied.

"The recovery period is estimated to be six hours."

"He will make it in time for tomorrow's battle."

Roboute Guilliman did not press for more details.

Mathieu was the most inconspicuous one.

He sat on a folding chair at the very end of the conference table.

The hood of his coarse robe was pulled down low.

Prayer beads slid silently between his fingers.

No one noticed him.

This was exactly what he wanted.

When Zhang Yuan pushed open the door, everyone's gaze gathered on him.

It was not because of him.

It was because of the person behind him.

A tall figure followed half a step behind Zhang Yuan into the command room.

He was nearly two and a half meters tall.

Wearing a set of gray combat armor without any insignia.

A mask.

A matte silver mask that covered his entire face.

No expression. No mouth. No eye slits—visual signals were acquired through a sensor array on the inside of the mask.

The red light in Hector's bionic eye constricted sharply.

He instinctively placed his right hand on the hilt of the power sword on his shoulder.

"Who is this?"

"My Chief of Staff." Zhang Yuan walked to the right side of the projection table and stood still.

His tone was as flat as if he were discussing the weather.

"Just call him Frank."

Hector stared at the mask for two seconds.

That physique.

That gait.

The stride of every step was precise to the millimeter.

The distribution of his center of gravity was too perfect for a mortal.

Hector was of Cadian origin.

He had seen too many Space Marine gaits.

This "Frank's" gait—it was even more fluid than a Space Marine's.

"Chief of Staff." Hector released the hilt of his power sword.

The probing in his tone was deeply hidden.

"Which military academy did you graduate from?"

"I never attended a military academy." The voice from behind the mask was processed through a voice modulator.

Low. Steady. Devoid of any emotion.

"I am self-taught."

Hector's bionic eye flickered.

He did not press further.

But the hand resting at his waist never fully relaxed.

Marcus glanced at Fulgrim, his own bionic eye lens adjusting its focus three times in an instant, attempting to penetrate that armor.

"Unable to read life signs," he whispered to Phaethon using the internal cant of the Adeptus Mechanicus, his voice hissing with static, "His armor... is shielding everything. Even thermal imaging is just a blur."

The probes at the ends of the four mechanical arms behind Phaethon flickered with analytical light, and he replied: "This is not shielding; it is camouflage. The signal is not being blocked, but rather tampered with into a meaningless white noise. This kind of technology... I have only seen theoretical descriptions of it in certain Aeldari equipment."

The two Grand Masters exchanged a meaningful data pulse.

But neither spoke to question it.

Roboute Guilliman's gaze rested on Fulgrim for less than a second.

Then he moved it away.

"Let us begin."

The Regent rested his hands on the edge of the projection table.

His blue-gray eyes swept over everyone present.

"The decisive battle for Parmenio cannot be delayed any longer."

His voice was not loud.

But in this enclosed, armored room, every syllable was piercingly clear.

"The latest astropathic communication has been confirmed."

"The Galatan Starfort has been intercepted by Typhus."

The atmosphere in the room suddenly sank.

Galatan Starfort.

It was the largest mobile fortress in the Parmenio warzone.

The reinforcements and supplies it carried were what everyone was counting on.

"Typhus's Plague Fleet has set an ambush on the Starfort's advance route," Roboute Guilliman continued.

"The Starfort has been boarded."

"The main structure is damaged. Multiple sectors have fallen."

Hector's fist clenched silently.

His troops—those Astra Militarum soldiers standing on the front lines in new armor—were exactly the ones waiting for Galatan's ammunition and personnel reinforcements.

"But the main control room is still under the control of the Novamarines Chapter."

Roboute Guilliman's tone did not change.

"And—"

He looked at Zhang Yuan.

"The Genesis Chapter we dispatched has arrived in time."

"On the way, they encountered the reinforcement fleet coming from the direction of Varak Hive City."

Zhang Yuan nodded.

"Swann's fleet."

"He is bringing three battlecruisers and reserve supplies from Varak Hive City, and is currently assisting the Galatan Starfort in stabilizing the situation."

Upon hearing this news, Hector's tightly clenched fist loosened slightly.

But only slightly.

"The Galatan Starfort is making every effort to reach Parmenio," Roboute Guilliman said.

"But Typhus will not let go easily."

"The Starfort's advance speed will be significantly reduced."

"From now on—"

He scanned the room.

"We must rely on ourselves."

When this sentence landed, the command room was silent for three seconds.

"Report your respective situations," Roboute Guilliman said.

Zhang Yuan turned his head to look at Fulgrim behind him.

"Frank."

"You do it."

Fulgrim walked toward the projection table.

His footsteps made almost no sound on the metal floor.

Those gloved hands reached toward the control interface of the holographic projection.

His ten fingers tapped on the virtual keyboard.

The speed was extremely fast.

So fast that Phaethon's mechanical bionic eye needed to increase its frame rate to keep up.

Hundreds of chaotic Astra Militarum light points on the holographic map began to rearrange themselves.

The entire process took less than ten seconds.

Hundreds of regimental units were precisely divided into four color blocks.

Blue. Red. Yellow. Gray.

Inside each color block, there was a clear echelon arrangement.

The pupil of Hector's bionic eye widened sharply.

He stared at that map.

Those regiments—he was familiar with every single one.

The 9th Terra Hammer Regiment, skilled in trench defense, held off three waves of Nurgle zombie hordes on the southern flank of the Hekaton Plains three months ago.

The 44th Cadian Heavy Regiment, adept at armored group assaults, but the Commander was killed in action the day before yesterday, now led by the adjutant, and morale is falling.

The 112th Kyrian Light Infantry Regiment, the entire regiment has fewer than eight hundred men, and the laser guns they are equipped with are so old that even museums wouldn't accept them.

This organizational information, which was so complex that Zhang Yuan had simply given up on it—this "Frank" had fully grasped it in twenty minutes?

"The original organization of the Astra Militarum involves hundreds of regiments."

The voice from behind the mask transmitted through the voice modulator, without a trace of superfluous embellishment.

"The equipment, tactics, and morale are uneven."

"I have reorganized them into four temporary battle groups based on their actual combat effectiveness."

His finger pointed toward the blue cluster of light points.

"Bastion Battle Group."

"Composed of regiments skilled in positional defense."

"Responsible for securing the rear defensive line and protecting supply lines."

"The core forces are the 9th Terra Hammer Regiment and the 23rd Valhallan Ice Warriors Regiment."

"These two regiments have the best performance data in war of attrition."

His finger moved to the red cluster.

"Iron Hammer Battle Group."

"Armored assault regiments."

"Advancing with the Titan Legion, responsible for clearing residual targets after the Titan firepower coverage."

"The vanguard is the 44th Cadian Heavy Regiment."

Hector frowned.

"The Commander of the 44th Regiment was killed in action," he interrupted.

"Adjutant Sergei has taken over, but he has never commanded a regimental-level assault."

Fulgrim did not pause.

"I have reviewed Sergei's combat records."

"He commanded an armored penetration of two companies on the eastern flank of the Hekaton Plains."

"He broke through the flank defense of the Nurgle zombie horde in thirty-seven minutes."

"The loss rate was eleven percent."

"In the situation of losing air support."

"What he lacks is not ability."

"It is authorization."

"Give him a temporary rank of Colonel and clear tactical objectives, and he can fight."

Hector opened his mouth.

Those data—he knew them.

But he had never connected Sergei's company-level combat record with regimental command capability.

This "Frank" was not just reading data.

He was reading people.

Fulgrim's finger continued to move.

"Blade Battle Group."

Yellow light points.

"Light infantry regiments."

"Responsible for flanking maneuvers, cutting off the retreat of Chaos forces."

"They do not need to engage the Nurgle zombies head-on."

"Their mission is to penetrate behind enemy lines and destroy the Chaos beacons."

"Without the beacons, the zombies will lose control."

"It is much faster than killing them all."

Zhang Yuan raised his eyebrows slightly upon hearing this.

He hadn't thought of this approach.

He had been considering using the ultra-long-range firepower of siege tanks to destroy the beacons.

But Fulgrim proposed a more ingenious plan—while the Titans crushed them from the front to attract attention, let the light infantry infiltrate from the flank.

Two-pronged approach.

Redundant design.

If one path fails, the other remains effective.

This is strategic thinking at the Primarch level.

"Reserve Battle Group."

Gray light points.

"Regiments with excessive battle damage."

"As the general reserve."

"Responsible for rotation and rear guard."

"If any battle group on the front line suffers an unexpected collapse, the reserve group can reach any gap in the defensive line within ninety minutes."

"The prerequisite for completing deployment within ninety minutes is—"

He pointed to several marked points on the map.

"Pre-deploy rapid transport nodes at these locations."

"I suggest using the Commander's SCV engineering teams to complete construction tonight."

Fulgrim withdrew his hand.

Stepped back.

"The above is the Astra Militarum reorganization plan."

"Detailed documents on rotation systems, supply line planning, and defensive depth adjustments have been sent to your data terminals."

The command room was silent for several seconds.

Hector stared at the four clear battle group formations on the holographic map.

He went through the position and mission of every regiment in his mind.

No loopholes.

Every regiment was placed in the position most suitable for it.

Even the "nearly scrapped" 112th Kyrian Light Infantry Regiment was precisely slotted into the Blade Battle Group—their equipment was rotten, but they were light, they were fast, they had fought ten years of urban warfare in Hive Cities, and infiltration was their specialty.

Hector looked up at the silver mask.

The red light of his bionic eye flickered twice.

This is not something that can be learned by "self-study".

This is talent.

It is a strategic instinct carved into the bones.

He had only seen this instinct in one person.

Roboute Guilliman.

Hector's Adam's apple moved.

He swallowed that dangerous thought back.

"The plan is feasible."

Hector only said these four words.

Roboute Guilliman nodded slightly.

His gaze swept over Fulgrim's mask.

Lingering for less than half a second.

Zhang Yuan read a great deal in that half-second.

Roboute Guilliman recognized that gait.

Recognized that method of strategic deployment.

Recognized the ability to calculate hundreds of variables in the mind simultaneously.

Because Roboute Guilliman himself was the same.

But he said nothing.

He merely nodded.

"Marcus." Roboute Guilliman pushed the topic to the next person.

Marcus straightened up.

The Titan Legion emblem on his mechanical prosthetic reflected a cold glint under the lights.

"Titan Legion ammunition resupply has been fully completed."

His voice was dry.

"Oberon Legion, full ammunition, all combat units ready."

"Fortis Legion, full ammunition, two Reaver Titan-class completed engine maintenance."

"Atarus Legion, full ammunition. Flagship Titan 'Star-Falling Hammer' main gun calibration complete."

"Half of the Firehawk Legion—" He paused.

"All warhound scout titan units are ready."

The data report was finished.

But Marcus did not return to his position.

He stood where he was.

Looking at Zhang Yuan.

The gaze was still complex.

But Hector noticed—it was no longer the hostility from before.

That hostility of "I want to detain you for investigation" had vanished.

It was replaced by something more tormenting.

The expression of a believer, devout for two hundred years, discovering that something not recorded in the scriptures truly existed.

"The energy cores for the Volcano Cannon produced by your factory."

Marcus spoke.

Every word seemed to be dragged out of his mouth with pliers.

"The performance is stable."

He paused.

The muscles on his face—the remaining organic tissues—twitched unnaturally once.

For a Grand Master who had held the "Mars Orthodoxy" as the golden rule for two hundred years, every word he spoke next felt like a minor apostasy against the omnissiah.

"... Better than the batch produced under the personal supervision of the Fabricator-General of Mars."

These words fell into the command room.

The red light of Hector's cybernetic eye froze.

The tapping rhythm of the four mechanical arms behind Phaethon suddenly doubled.

That was not recording data.

That was suppressing some emotion.

Marcus Aurelius.

Grand Master of the Titan Legion.

Mars Orthodox.

A man who had spoken of "the will of the omnissiah" for two hundred years.

Had just personally said "better than Mars'."

If these words were sent back to Mars—at least three Grand Masters of the Forge Temples would jointly request a faith investigation into him.

But he had said it.

Zhang Yuan looked at Marcus.

No complacency, no mockery.

He merely nodded.

"Thank you."

Marcus quickly looked away.

As if looking for one more second would cause his logic hub to crash again.

"Governor Zhang Yuan's technology data has all been recorded." His tone returned to a mechanical flatness.

"The message has been sent to Mars via an encrypted channel."

"Awaiting the ruling of the Fabricator-General of Mars."

Phaethon moved slightly behind him.

His lips parted and closed silently a few times.

Zhang Yuan saw the movement.

Phaethon wanted to say something.

But he held back.

He chose the same path as Marcus—burying the conclusion in the data, letting Mars face it itself.

Cyrus's report was brief.

"Three hundred and fifteen warriors of the Lamenters Chapter are all ready."

"Chapter Master Foros has completed Primaris transformation and will complete recovery before the battle begins."

"Requesting to integrate the Lamenters into the vanguard assault sequence."

Roboute Guilliman looked at him.

"Approved."

On Cyrus's yellow shoulder armor, the teardrop emblem shimmered under the lights.

He returned to his position.

Mathieu did not say a word from start to finish.

He sat at the very end.

His hood was pulled very low.

Prayer beads slid one by one through his fingers.

But his eyes were constantly moving.

From Zhang Yuan to Fulgrim.

Then from Fulgrim back to Zhang Yuan.

Then back to Fulgrim.

When Fulgrim reported, Mathieu's fingers paused for a beat on the prayer beads.

That silhouette.

The mask covered the face.

The voice changer altered the tone.

But it could not hide the skeletal structure.

It could not hide the ratio of shoulder width to height.

It could not hide the aura unconsciously emitted when standing before the holographic projection—

The sense of command.

Not the sense of command of a general.

A general's sense of command comes from experience and rank.

That sense of command came from bloodline.

From the authority granted by the creator, carved into the genes.

Mathieu had seen this before.

He had seen it in Roboute Guilliman.

He saw it every day.

His fingers started twisting the prayer beads again.

The speed was a bit slower than before.

A thought was growing wildly in his mind.

But he suppressed it.

Suppressed it tightly.

Now was not the time.

He lowered his head.

His eyelids drooped.

On the surface, he was just a sleepy chaplain.

But inside his robe, the weight of the data pad pressed against his ribs.

"Parmenio Gospel—Redeemer Record, Volume 1."

He added a note in his heart.

A note he would not write on any paper.

"Frank."

Investigate this person.

Roboute Guilliman straightened up.

The joints of the armor of fate emitted a low sound of metallic friction.

"Tomorrow at sunrise."

His voice drowned out all the mechanical noise in the room.

"Full-scale offensive."

On the holographic map, the 3D terrain of the Hekaton Plains was enlarged under Roboute Guilliman's manipulation.

Terrain data superimposed the enemy and friendly situation.

Nurgle's toxic fog area was marked in green, covering more than seventy percent of the plains.

The estimated locations of the chaos beacons were marked with red diamonds.

There were seventeen in total.

Every beacon was a plague source.

As long as the beacons were still running, Nurgle zombies would continuously generate from the toxic fog.

"The Adeptus Mechanicus Titan cluster and the Iron Hammer battle group will form the spearhead."

Roboute Guilliman's finger drew a thick red arrow on the map.

From the rear positions, pointing directly into the depths of the Hekaton Plains.

"Frontal breakthrough."

"Tear open the gap at all costs."

He looked at Zhang Yuan.

"Your ground troops will follow the Titan advance."

"siege tank units will provide ultra-long-range fire support."

"At the same time—"

His gaze swept to Cyrus.

"The Lamenters and my Ultramarines assault company will form the second echelon."

"Once the Titans open the gap, the Space Marines will be responsible for the deep assault."

"The target is the enemy command node."

His finger pointed to a location on the map.

The deepest part of the Hekaton Plains.

The place where the toxic fog is thickest.

There was no red diamond mark there.

But all beacon distributions radiated from that point as the center.

"Ku'gath." Roboute Guilliman spoke the name.

"Great Unclean One."

"The demon lord sent by Nurgle."

"It is there."

"I will personally command the Space Marine assault."

The air in the command room became heavy.

Not with fear.

It was the stillness unique to the eve of a great war.

Everyone was doing the same thing in their hearts—calculating.

Calculating how long they and their people could survive after sunrise tomorrow.

"After this battle."

Roboute Guilliman's voice was devoid of inflection.

As steady as an inscription cast in metal.

"Parmenio will no longer be Nurgle's playground."

He scanned the room.

"Does anyone else have questions?"

Silence.

Hector said nothing. Everything he had to say was in the supplies moved back to the port area.

Marcus said nothing. What he had to say—that admission, more painful than pulling teeth—had already been said.

Phaethon's mechanical appendages calmed down. The data had been recorded.

Cyrus's hand rested on the combat knife at his waist. The Lamenters did not need to answer with words.

Mathieu lowered his head. Prayer beads turned silently.

Zhang Yuan spoke.

"No."

Roboute Guilliman took one last look at the room.

His gaze lingered on each person's face for less than a second.

Finally landing on Fulgrim's silver mask.

That pause was half a beat longer than the others.

But it was only half a beat.

"Then go prepare."

"Before sunrise, everyone in position."

Dispersed.

Hector was the first to walk out the door.

His pace was faster than when he arrived.

The sound of him growling into his communicator came from behind.

"All regiment Commanders, gather in my command tent within ten minutes."

"Latecomers will go dig trenches."

Marcus and Phaethon left side by side.

The two spoke in low, binary voices in the corridor.

Occasionally mixed with a few untranslatable Adeptus Mechanicus terms.

Cyrus looked back at Zhang Yuan before leaving.

Zhang Yuan nodded at him.

Cyrus turned and left. The yellow armor disappeared into the shadows of the corridor.

Mathieu was the last to leave.

When he passed by Fulgrim, his footsteps slowed by half a beat.

Only half a beat.

Then he quickened his pace and disappeared into the darkness at the end of the corridor.

Only three people remained in the command room.

Roboute Guilliman. Zhang Yuan. Fulgrim.

Roboute Guilliman looked at Fulgrim.

This time he did not look away.

"Your Chief of Staff—"

Roboute Guilliman's voice was very low.

"Is excellent."

Zhang Yuan heard the weight behind those two words.

Roboute Guilliman was not just offering praise.

He was confirming.

Confirming the tactical deployment method he had seen before the holographic projection.

Confirming the cognitive speed that only a Primarch possessed.

Confirming the shadow of his brother.

"He is trustworthy," Zhang Yuan said.

Roboute Guilliman was silent for two seconds.

"I trust your judgment."

He turned toward the back door of the command room.

He paused for a step when he reached the door.

Without looking back.

"Zhang Yuan."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow's battle—do not hide the doomsday."

"When it is time for everyone to see it, let them see it."

"The fact that an emperor-class titan has stepped onto the battlefield—is a weapon in itself."

The door closed.

Roboute Guilliman's footsteps faded away along the corridor.

Zhang Yuan turned to Fulgrim.

Fulgrim took off the mask.

On that face, perfect to the point of being unreal, there was no fatigue.

"That chaplain," Fulgrim said.

"Mathieu."

"He is watching me."

"I know," Zhang Yuan said.

"What has he recognized?"

"Not yet," Zhang Yuan walked to the door.

"But he is guessing."

"The direction of his guesses—is probably not far from the truth."

Fulgrim put the mask back on.

The silver matte metal covered his face.

"Do you need me to handle it?"

"No need."

Zhang Yuan pulled the door open.

The corridor was empty.

The port area in the distance was brightly lit.

The smelting furnace of the heavy factory was still running.

The last batch of cmc power armor components was taking shape on the assembly line.

"Mathieu is dangerous, but not an enemy," Zhang Yuan said.

"He is a loyal believer of the emperor."

Fulgrim followed him out of the command room.

The lips under the mask curved into an arc.

"You are becoming more and more like a politician."

"Shut up, Frank."

The footsteps of the two disappeared at the end of the corridor.

The lights of the octagonal tower went out one by one.

Parmenio's last night was counting down.

On the eastern skyline.

The purple-red Great Rift light band still spanned the sky.

But at the very bottom of that light band.

A line of extremely faint gray-white was seeping out from the horizon.

Dawn.

Was coming.