32: Chapter 32 The Orcs' Iron Torrent

Skullcrusher Mogg stood before the bridge window of the "Da Kill-Ship," his single eye fixed intently on the tactical panel.

On the panel, the green dots representing the Ork Boyz were vanishing in large numbers.

This was not the normal attrition of battle; it was as if they were being wiped off the screen by something, disappearing in massive swathes.

Since he had ordered the 500,000 Orks to land, assemble, and charge, the war had been going on for three days.

But the red triangle symbols representing the enemy not only hadn't decreased, they were constantly increasing—like some kind of malignant metallic plague, taking root and sprouting wildly across the ruins.

"Two hundred and eighty thousand..." Mogg's thick fingers clicked his power klaw, tapping against the console with a dull "clank."

"We've lost two hundred and eighty thousand Boyz, so how come there are forty more defense towers?"

This was impossible.

In Mogg's war career, the death of Boyz inevitably meant the enemy had been smashed flat, territory had been occupied, and it meant the WAAAGH! energy would snowball larger and larger.

But here, the deaths of his Boyz only resulted in more iron scrap appearing on the other side.

Beside him, the Mekboy—the Ork clan's senior engineer, covered in scrap metal and metal gears—cautiously edged up to Mogg.

"Boss, those iron scrap things... they regenerate..."

"I see that!" Mogg roared, a dangerous red light flashing in his single eye. "But why? Why do they grow back after being taken apart? And why do they grow back faster than they get taken apart? Where exactly are those iron scrap things popping out from?"

The Mekboy shrank his neck, his face full of confusion.

In his logic, there were only two concepts: "taking things apart" and "building things."

But the idea of "automatically growing more after being taken apart" was completely beyond his comprehension.

If it were any other clan's Warlord—like Gork's bad temper, Evil Sunz's greed, or Snakebites' superstition—they would only be throwing more troops into the meat grinder at this moment, trading the deaths of more Boyz for a sliver of a chance at a breakthrough.

But Mogg was different.

He was from the Blood Axe Clan.

The Blood Axe Clan was the most "abnormal" group among the Orks.

They learned human tactics, conducted ambushes, and even traded with other races.

In the eyes of other Ork clans, the Blood Axe Clan was a disgrace among the Orks.

But only the Blood Axe Clan themselves knew that such "abnormality" was the only way to survive longer in war.

Mogg fixed his gaze back on the tactical panel, beginning to use that brain which other Orks considered "too useful," thinking rapidly.

Everything before him exceeded all his tactical knowledge.

He knew in his heart: if he kept charging mindlessly like this, his Boyz would sooner or later all be dead, while those iron towers would only continue to multiply.

"One more charge." Mogg's voice was as low as muffled thunder. He could clearly perceive that the Ork race's WAAAGH! field was constantly weakening.

The Orks had begun to feel bored—no flowing blood, no pleasure in smashing the enemy; this war wasn't "WAAAGH!" at all.

All that was left was one-sided harvesting, and those being harvested were themselves.

Mogg clenched his power klaw and issued a deep-voiced order: "This time, use the giant beasts—the Squiggoth."

"Concentrate all firepower and smash one point."

"I want to see if those iron scrap things have legs? Let's see if they can run!"

On the fourth day, earth-shaking roars came from the battlefield assembly area.

Two hundred Squiggoths slowly walked out, each one like a moving steel fortress.

Their armor plates were randomly riveted tank wrecks and ship plating—there were Astra Militarum Leman Russ tanks, Space Marine Land Raiders, and even a few pieces suspected to be from Chaos Dreadnoughts.

From the gaps in the armor, green machine oil and unidentified viscous liquids oozed, emitting choking exhaust fumes.

On the back of each Squiggoth was welded a crude but terrifying cannon, loaded by several Gretchin operators—those Gretchin were welded directly onto the gun positions to prevent these cowardly fellows from running away during battle.

The caliber of these cannons was frighteningly large; in Ork legends, they could even pierce the armor of Imperial cruisers. The only downside was that their accuracy had always been terrible.

But the Orks didn't care, because the sound when firing was loud enough, the flames when shooting were fierce enough, and it was "WAAAGH!" enough. It hit the nail on the head for the Orks' aesthetic.

This time, Mogg had learned to be smart.

He didn't let the Squiggoths charge separately; instead, he concentrated all his power on a single node on the left flank of the defensive line.

That was a weak point in the Icarus industrial city's defense towers, and also the direction with the fewest defense towers at the moment.

Now, it was time to smash a path to the core of the industrial zone with a dense net of firepower.

The Squiggoths advanced slowly.

Ork Boyz clung to the Squiggoths' armor, roaring excitedly, frantically banging on the armor with crude iron plates. The "clanging" sounds merged into an increasingly loud WAAAGH!

For the Orks, the appearance of Squiggoths meant happiness—bigger, stronger, and endless fights, a constant stream of WAAAGH! energy, and perhaps the blessings of Gork or Mork.

The moment the Squiggoths approached.

High-frequency laser towers turned simultaneously.

Missile defense towers fired immediately.

The Squiggoths' armor gradually turned red, melted, and deformed under the continuous laser fire.

Missiles landed on the armor, exploding in a sky full of fire and debris.

The attacks were effective, but they could no longer instantly kill a Squiggoth with concentrated fire like before.

These Squiggoths were stronger, larger, and the protection of the WAAAGH! field was also stronger. As long as the Orks believed in its strength, it was truly strong.

The Squiggoths immediately launched a counterattack, the cannons on their backs roaring in unison.

The shells dragged trails of black smoke, smashing densely toward the Icarus defensive line, kicking up clouds of mud and dust that obscured half the sky.

Although accuracy was a concern, with hundreds of heavy cannons firing at once, some shells were bound to hit their targets.

Several Gauss Machine Gun Towers were hit directly; the towers were severely twisted, and the barrels snapped on the spot. Missile defense towers were struck by shells and instantly detonated, and the high-frequency lasers collapsed in an instant.

Some conveyor belts were also broken, and some defense towers lost their ammunition supply and ceased fire immediately.

More and more defense towers were destroyed...

In just three minutes, twenty-eight defense towers in the current direction's defense matrix were completely destroyed.

Mogg's single eye lit up instantly, he stood up abruptly, and roared: "Now! Boyz, WAAAGH—!"

But before he could finish, he froze.

From behind the defensive line, the core area of the Icarus industrial city, a low hum suddenly came, as if some massive machine had been instantly activated.

The blue light of the city, which had always been bright, instantly turned into a dim yellow.

The operational status of all buildings became sluggish: conveyor belts slowed down drastically, drones hovered in mid-air on standby, and the operation of factories almost ground to a halt.

The next second, beams of blinding white light shot out from the depths of the city.

It was the Fusion Cannon!

Icarus had allocated all the city's energy supply to the Fusion Cannon!

Titanium alloy armor-piercing shells flew out of the Fusion Cannon's muzzle at 64 times the speed of sound, carrying shockwaves that pierced the air, hitting the Squiggoths.

There was no explosion, only penetration.

The projectile punched through the front, melting a perfect, charred-edged hole in the front armor, passing straight through the Squiggoth's body.

The remaining kinetic energy blew a huge hole in its back, flesh and metal fragments splattered everywhere, and the projectile, its momentum still not exhausted, plowed a deep groove into the ground before vanishing into the distance.

The Gretchin in the armored turrets didn't even have time to scream before they were instantly vaporized by the high temperature brought by the armor-piercing shell, leaving not even a trace.

Every single titanium alloy armor-piercing shell could accurately take out one Squiggoth.

Those Squiggoths that the Orks used Ork Logic to make particularly tough and capable of taking a beating, were as fragile as apples being shot by a Bolter in front of the Fusion Cannon (Warhammer actually has that, I thought it was just corpse starch when I was a newbie).

In just 3 continuous volleys, two hundred Squiggoths were precisely erased.

Immediately afterward, the Battlefield Analysis Station used Construction Drones to perform spatial salvage, teleporting them back to the rear, turning these giant beasts into new production raw materials.

The industrial city's energy supply recovered fifteen minutes later.

Icarus adjusted the energy supply protocol again, energy was reallocated to production modules, the city lit up with blue light again, conveyor belts resumed operation, and production was restored.

And the left flank defense node that Mogg had just broken through, under his gaze, began a complete reconstruction.

It was a complete reconstruction.

The wrecks of the machine gun towers, missile towers, and laser towers that had been blasted into scrap were jumped to the rear, broken down into materials, and entered the production cycle.

White loss markers in the shape of defense towers appeared where the defenses had vanished, new defense tower blueprint phantoms appeared, Construction Drones quickly positioned and confirmed over the phantoms, new defense towers jumped out from the spatial warehouse, and new conveyor belts instantly locked and linked.

The entire defensive node was restored to its original state in a short amount of time.

No, it wasn't just restored to its original state—there were more than before.

Twenty-eight defense towers had been destroyed, but thirty-three were rebuilt.

Five more than had been destroyed.

An Ork Boss beside Mogg couldn't help but widen his eyes, staring at the tactical panel and muttering: "By my mother... how can this thing reproduce faster than us Orks?"

Mogg did not answer.

He just stared fixedly at those newly born defense towers, and for the first time, a strange emotion appeared in his single eye—confusion.

At this moment, Icarus's battlefield data summary appeared in real-time on the Skitarii's tactical panel:

[Urbanization Parameters Updated]

Orks destroyed defense towers: 42 (cumulative)

Icarus rebuilt defense towers: 78 (cumulative, including 36 added)

Net growth: +36

Note: They take apart 28, we build 33.

Mogg fell into a brief silence.

The next second, he turned his head abruptly and roared at the surrounding Mekboys: "Find out for me! Where exactly is the energy for those iron scrap things coming from!"

The surrounding Mekboys were so scared they trembled, hurriedly pulling up the scan data, and said tremblingly: "Boss... the materials those iron towers use... it seems like they are recycling our corpses and our equipment and using them again..."

"On the battlefield, not a single corpse of our Boyz or Squiggoths was left behind, and even the damaged equipment has all disappeared."

Mogg was silent for a long time; only the hum of the console remained on the bridge, along with the confused whispers of the Ork Boyz outside.

Finally, this Warlord of the Blood Axe Clan whispered something that none of the Ork Boyz could understand:

"We Orks have fought wars our whole lives, grabbing territory, grabbing resources. But now, we've met someone who grabs us... What exactly are we fighting against?"

No one could answer his question.