18: The cold winds of the North could not extinguish the Emperor's wrath.

[Incubation Period · Phase Three: Expansion and Purification]

The star map on the holographic screen slowly rotated. The system's cold prompt tone accompanied three crimson skull icons, appearing like a death warrant.

[Theme Description: The growth of civilization is not merely about survival, but the absolute domination of living space. Please select your expansion target and thoroughly incorporate it into your territory.]

Li Cang sat in the command chair, his finger hovering over the edge of the holographic projection. His gaze swept over the three options as his mind rapidly calculated costs and benefits.

[Optional Target A: Pan-Pacific Tribes]

Type: Loose nomadic alliance.

Resources: Abundant water sources, large baseline human population.

Threat Level: Low (T0-T1).

Tactical Assessment: This is a perfect 'beginner village' target. Sending a single detachment would be enough to herd them into the Empire's territory like sheep, quickly replenishing the population base.

[Optional Target B: Urals Forge]

Type: Warlord controlling an old-era forge complex.

Resources: Crude steel, heavy machinery, primary gunpowder weapon production lines.

Threat Level: Medium (T1-T1.5).

Tactical Assessment: Can provide stable industrial capacity, solving the equipment shortage problem for the Mortal Auxiliary Army.

[Optional Target C: Nadvak Ethnarchy]

Type: Gene-hegemony force entrenched deep within the Caucasus Mountains.

Resources: Adamantium veins (extremely rare), Psychic samples, Ur-Khasis gene sequences.

Threat Level: Extremely High (T2+, red skull marker).

Tactical Assessment: The enemy possesses biochemical technology inherited from the Dark Age of Technology, with established legions of gene-monsters and Clone soldiers.

Li Cang's finger hovered over 'Pan-Pacific Tribes' for half a second, then swept past without hesitation, finally landing heavily on the bright red skull.

For most civilizations in the incubation period, the safest choice at this point is to first consume the easy target, expand the population base, and steadily climb the technological ladder.

But Li Cang had no time.

His 'Astartes Project' was like a bottomless black hole that could never be filled.

Pre-research had begun, but the subsequent nineteen surgical implants, the cultivation of gene-seed, the neural interface adaptation of the black carapace—each required massive, high-precision genetic data as support.

That was something money couldn't buy.

And these things were only in the hands of that toughest nut to crack—the Nadvak Ethnarchy.

"If you want to create demigods, you must first hunt devils."

Li Cang's gaze was icy, tinged with a desperate madness. His account now held only three-digit funds. If this battle was lost, or even a pyrrhic victory, he wouldn't even have the money to repair power armor.

"Moreover, only by facing the strongest enemy can we test the Mk II Crusader pattern power armor and early Bolters to their limits in actual combat."

"Target locked: Caucasus Mountains, Nadvak Fortress."

"Full army, advance."

...[Simulation Epoch: M2 Caucasus Mountains Wasteland]

A gale howled, carrying razor-sharp ice crystals.

The environment here was extremely harsh, with temperatures perpetually maintained at minus forty degrees.

The thin air was permeated with a nauseatingly sweet, metallic smell—the 'Hallucinogenic pheromones' used by the Nadvak Ethnarchy to control slaves and stimulate gene-monsters into frenzy.

Ordinary gas masks could not fully filter this molecular-level biochemical toxin.

A gray tide of steel silently marched through the blizzard, plowing a deep track across the snowy plain.

Arik Taranis walked at the forefront of the column.

After undergoing Phase II modifications and equipment upgrades, his frame was even more massive than before, like a moving iron tower.

The brand new Mk II Crusader pattern power armor encased him completely. The fully enclosed 'Angry face' helmet isolated the outside world's lethal toxins and extreme cold.

Unlike the crude Mk I, the Mk II employed a more advanced design of layered, segmented armor plating.

The armor plates on his legs slid flexibly with each step. The servos no longer emitted that death-rattle whine, but a low, powerful hum.

The ring-shaped heat dissipation vents on his back expelled white exhaust, trailing a long plume in the icy wind.

He no longer moved with the heavy, painful steps of before.

Now, his movements were fluid and lethal, like a precisely tuned killing machine.

"Halt."

Arik raised his gauntleted hand, clenched into a fist.

The tactical command was instantly transmitted via the built-in comms channel.

The thirty Thunder Warriors behind him halted in unison, their movements perfectly synchronized without any extraneous sound, as if they shared a single consciousness.

And behind them were two thousand Mortal Auxiliary Army soldiers, clad in crude cold-weather gear, shivering uncontrollably.

Jon was among them.

He clutched his autogun tightly. The heating unit in his cold-weather suit had long since exhausted its power.

Exhaled breath condensed into thick frost inside his old gas mask; every inhalation came with a stinging pain in his lungs.

He looked at the backs of those giants ahead. The heat waves radiating from the reactors on their power armor were the only source of warmth on this frozen plain.

"What... is that?"

Jon squinted, pointing at the distant horizon, his voice trembling from the cold.

The blizzard abated for a moment, revealing the distant scene.

At the edge of sight, a massive fortress constructed from bone, permafrost, and some kind of writhing biochemical flesh stood on the mountain ridge like a malignant tumor.

On the fortress walls hung thousands of flayed corpses.

They swayed in the icy wind, their frozen limbs clacking against each other with a bone-chilling, desiccated sound, like a macabre wind chime playing a deathly tune.

"Nadvak."

Arik's voice came through the Mk II's high-fidelity speakers.

No longer crackling with static, it carried a metallic timbre—deep, authoritative, piercing through the wind and snow.

"Scum who survived the Long Night. They dabble in gene-sorcery, turning humans into livestock and monsters."

He turned. The cold gaze projected through the red tactical lenses swept over the Mortal troops behind him, who were on the verge of freezing into unconsciousness.

"Listen."

"For the coming battle, no prisoners are needed."

"These beings are no longer human. Their genes are polluted, their souls corrupted. Mercy would be an insult to them."

"There is only one thing for us to do."

*Chk-chk.*

Arik drew the heavy early-pattern Bolter from his waist, racked the slide, and chambered the first .75 caliber bolt shell.

The massive muzzle pointed towards the profane fortress.

"Purification."

...[Holographic View: Nadvak Fortress Interior · Biochemical Hall]

This was a palace of flesh filled with madness and distortion.

The walls breathed, the floor writhed, even the lighting fixtures were some kind of glowing biological organ.

The air was thick with the smell of formaldehyde mixed with rotting flesh.

The ruler of Nadvak, the gene-tyrant known as the 'Flesh-Weaver,' sat upon a throne stitched together from the limbs of dozens of living humans.

His body was highly mutated, possessing four arms. His skin was pale and translucent, clearly revealing the green blood flowing beneath.

In his hand, he toyed with a newly cultivated, malformed creature with three eyes and a face resembling a human infant's.

"Alert! Alert!"

The fortress's biological radar—a massive, mutated brain floating in nutrient fluid—emitted a piercing psychic shriek.

A holographic screen unfolded before the tyrant, displaying the approaching Imperial army.

The tyrant looked at the screen and let out a grating, shrill laugh. The sound was sharp and slick, like wet tentacles sliding over glass.

"More fools come to die."

"It seems the destruction of the Pan-Europa warlords did not teach them reverence.

Do they think our fortress walls are as fragile as those scrap-iron bastions?"

"My lord, high-energy signatures detected."

A mutated attendant with compound eyes covering half its face reported, a hint of confusion in its tone.

"The vanguard of the enemy force... their vital signs are anomalous. Their basal metabolic rate is five times that of a normal human, and... their genetic sequences are very ancient, very... pure."

"Oh?"

Intrigued, the tyrant narrowed all four of his eyes, his pupils contracting to pinpricks.

"Fivefold metabolic rate? Pure, ancient genes? Wouldn't that make them excellent experimental material?"

He casually crushed the malformed creature in his hand, green fluid dripping over his palm.

"Dig out their gene glands intact. I want to see what kind of structure can support such a metabolic rate. Perhaps it can be used to perfect my 'Thirteenth Creation'."

He waved his hand and issued the command.

"Open Gate 3."

"Release the 'Flesh Hounds'. Let my children greet the guests and see if their bones are hard enough."

...[Battlefield Perspective: Jon]

The earth was trembling.

At first, it was just a slight tremor, as if something was turning over underground.

But soon, the shaking turned into a rhythmic roar, causing the snow on the ground to fly up.

Jon felt his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

"Look ahead!"

A veteran beside him shouted in terror.

From the fortress's gaping steel gate, which resembled a giant beast's maw, a red tide surged forth.

They were countless skinless monsters. Their bodies were twice the size of mutated wolves from the wasteland, their muscle tissue directly exposed to the air, contracting violently as they ran.

They had no eyes, only a massive maw that took up half their head, filled with razor-sharp fangs and dripping with toxic green saliva.

Flesh Hounds.

Nadvak's most basic, yet most lethal, bio-weapon.

"Fire! Fire now!"

The Overseer brandished his electric whip, roaring hoarsely.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat—!

Two thousand autoguns fired simultaneously. Dense solid projectiles wove a metallic net through the wind and snow, blanketing the charging beast tide.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Bullets struck their targets, splattering bursts of blood.

But what filled Jon with despair was that those monsters did not fall.

Their muscle density was extremely high. Ordinary lead-core bullets hitting them felt like sinking into thick rubber, and were even squeezed out by the muscles.

Unless they hit a joint or the mouth, they simply couldn't inflict fatal wounds.

Instead, the pain enraged their ferocity.

"Roar—!"

The beast tide's speed suddenly increased, like a red lightning bolt, instantly crossing the two-hundred-meter kill zone.

"Ah—!"

A front-line Auxiliary Army soldier was pounced on.

Before he could even raise his autogun, his throat was instantly shredded by that massive maw, his blood staining the snow.

Then came the second, the third.

Screams rose one after another. The defensive line, like paper, instantly crumbled under the assault of these gene-monsters.

Jon despairingly squeezed the trigger until the firing pin clicked empty.

A Flesh Hound had already charged right before him, its foul breath hitting his face, its fangs mere centimeters from his neck.

It's over.

At this critical moment.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

A series of heavy, deep, thunderous gunshots, like the hammer of a thunder god, swept over the heads of the Mortal troops, painfully vibrating Jon's eardrums.

It wasn't the crisp 'rat-a-tat' of autoguns.

It was the roar of heavy artillery.

Thump!

The Flesh Hound about to bite through Jon's neck suddenly had its head explode like a watermelon stuffed with explosives.

Red and white fragments sprayed all over Jon. The headless corpse, carried by momentum, slammed into him, pinning him to the ground.

Terrified, Jon pushed the corpse away and looked up.

He saw those thirty grey giants.

They weren't panicking like the Mortals, nor retreating like them. They formed a sparse yet unbreakable skirmish line, their black firearms rhythmically spitting tongues of flame.

Bolters.

Each .75 caliber mass-reactive shell ignited its miniature rocket motor the moment it left the barrel.

Trailing pale flames, they accelerated through the air, carrying kinetic energy sufficient to pierce light armor, and drilled precisely into the beast tide.

This weapon was designed from the outset to deal with such tough, thick-skinned targets.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The bolts drilled into the monsters' muscles, and then, a millisecond later, their internal high-explosive charges detonated.

Whether it was resilient muscle or hardened bone, it was meaningless against the power of an internal explosion.

Every shot could blast a monster into scattered chunks of flesh.

The red beast tide, so arrogant moments ago, seemed to hit an invisible wall before this volley, its offensive instantly halted.

"Mortals, fall back."

Arik strode past Jon.

The heavy armored boots of the Mk II power armor crushed the ice on the ground and the corpses of the monsters.

The Bolter in his hand was still smoking, while his other hand had already drawn the reinforced Chainsword.

"First Company, charge."

The command was simple, direct, cold.

The thirty Thunder Warriors clad in fully enclosed power armor did not continue firing. Instead, like a grey steel dam, they charged forward against the remaining beast tide.

This was their most proficient way of fighting.

Zzzzzrrrr—!

The sound of Chainswords cutting into flesh instantly drowned out the howling wind and snow.

This wasn't a fight.

This was a slaughter.

But not of humans by monsters.

But of monsters by humans.

Arik kicked away a lunging hound. The hydraulic assist from the Mk II Power Boot directly crushed its ribcage, causing its entrails to spew from its mouth.

Without a glance, he backhanded his sword. The high-speed teeth of the Chainsword severed the spine and half the body of another monster attempting a sneak attack.

His movements were brutal, direct, without any superfluous flourish. Every strike aimed for a vital point.

"For the Emperor!"

The Thunder Warriors roared in their comms channel.

Their eyes blazed with fanatical light. The [Pain Conversion] module within their bodies was operating furiously.

Every scratch left by a monster's claws on their power armor, every impact-induced tremor, was converted into a continuous stream of adrenaline and strength.

They grew stronger the more they fought.

Jon stared dumbfounded at this scene, even forgetting to wipe the blood from his face.

He watched the monsters that had once terrified him to the point of suffocation turn into shattered pulp beneath the Thunder Warriors' feet.

He watched that grey giant, like an immovable mountain, standing before all the Mortals.

An unprecedented emotion burned in his chest, dispelling the cold.

It was no longer simple fear.

It was... worship.

Worship of this absolute, pure, violent power.

Worship of the 'Emperor' who could command such power and shelter them in this desperate world.

Before this power, things like Nadvak, like gene-monsters, seemed so insignificant.

"For the Emperor!"

Jon scrambled up from the ground, raised the autogun that seemed like a toothpick compared to the Thunder Warriors, and following the backs of those giants, let out the loudest, most fanatical shout of his life... [Era League · Judge Group 103 Live Stream]

Isabelle watched the instantly reversed battle situation on the screen, gently took off her glasses, and wiped them with a silk handkerchief.

"Nadvak is finished."

She made the judgment, her tone calm.

"This isn't just a tactical victory. This is a generational gap in crushing superiority."

"Their prized gene-monsters are weapons based on biological instinct.

But Li Cang's Thunder Warriors are war machines based on industrial assembly lines, genetic engineering, and tactical logic."

"The Bolter is the ultimate answer to biological targets.

The Mk II power armor provides all-environment combat capability.

Before these, those beasts that only know how to bite are like puppies that haven't grown up."

Karen beside her nodded, but his gaze wasn't fixed on the Thunder Warriors. Instead, it fell upon the Mortal Auxiliary Army soldiers following behind the giants, shouting and charging in frenzy.

"Look at those Mortals."

Karen pointed at the screen, his brow furrowed, his tone complex. "Their eyes have changed."

"Ten minutes ago, they were slaves forced to fight, ready to flee at any moment, cannon fodder. But now... they've become believers."

"This Commander, he is reshaping these Mortals' worldview with one absolutely violent, crushing victory after another."

"He doesn't need Political Commissars, doesn't need brainwashing broadcasts."

"He only needs to let these Mortals see that by following him, they can survive. By following him, they can trample those arrogant monsters underfoot."

Isabelle put her glasses back on. A flicker of deep thought passed through her grey-blue eyes.

"Yes."

She said softly, as if prophesying a certain future.

"The Thunder Warriors will age, will break down. They are non-renewable consumables."

"But this faith... this fanatical faith in the 'Emperor' and 'human supremacy', once planted, will grow like weeds gone wild on the wasteland."

"It will be more contagious than any gene-virus."

"Until... it ignites the entire galaxy."