MTLNOVEL Chapter 3: chapter 3
Chapter 3: First Firefight
Bucky once suspected that he and the legionnaires were trapped in an illusory dream created by some abominable alien.
What they witnessed was too bizarre.
When the mortal who called himself Bucky disappeared through the wall, emitting light and shadow, the Astartes realized that he was just some kind of illusory projection.
Superhuman observation abilities could not distinguish between truth and falsehood.
However, the feeling of imbalance caused by the complete failure of their power armor and being controlled by a mere mortal made the Iron Hands warriors fall silent.
The mechanical modifications they were so proud of seemed fragile in the face of the opponent's data invasion.
What was even more shocking was that several mechanical arms extended from the surrounding cabin walls. The light spewing from the tips condensed into solid matter in midair, printing out steel components, fragrant food, and drinking water—as if these things had been created from thin air.
"This is... a component of power armor?!"
Wayland's electronic eyes flashed green. In less than thirty seconds, he witnessed a set of armor that looked exactly like the Iron Hands Legion's power armor being printed out from the void.
Even the numbering and engravings were identical to the one he was wearing.
The printed power armor fell to the ground with a dull sound. It was clear that its weight matched the requirements of the Astartes.
Wayland took a few steps forward in disbelief, his fingertips running across the new power armor. An unfamiliar texture was fed back to his brain through the sensors—this was undoubtedly a material different from ceramic steel.
"God of Arms..."
Relying on his Iron Hands intuition, Wayland was sure that the defensive capabilities of this armor were far superior to the one he was currently wearing. When more than a dozen sets of power armor were placed before the Astartes, everyone fell into a strange silence.
"Iron Father, this kind of forging technology is far beyond our imagination. I don't understand what kind of existence we are encountering."
An Astartes warrior murmured. Even on Medusa, the homeworld of the Iron Hands, or Mars, the heart of the Mechanicus, they had never seen such miraculous craftsmanship.
The creation of a set of power armor required a complex process. Each component needed to be carefully cast and even anointed with sacred oil to bless the machine spirit. Typically, it took over a decade to complete a single set.
And yet, in just a few moments, all the warriors had new armor ready to wear.
The months of guerrilla warfare on Isstvan V had taken a severe toll. Their armor was battered and barely holding together.
During that one-sided war, bombardments from Titans and orbital strikes from warships annihilated most of the Legion's forces. The betrayal had left them isolated and without support.
No supplies. No repair materials. No respite.
Even for Nycona Sharrowkyn, the most agile among them, his armor bore deep scars from explosions, his chest plate and pauldrons damaged despite his best efforts to evade.
Tiefu wasted no time. With the help of his battle brothers, he removed his broken armor. As he felt the new servo system activate, a realization dawned upon him.
The warriors of the Iron Hands had always maintained a close relationship with Mars and knew more about fragmented pre-Long Night records than other legions.
According to ancient texts, long before the Age of Strife and the Iron Man Rebellion, human civilization had once been in an era of enlightenment, prosperity, and unparalleled technological advancement.
The STC systems, which the Adeptus Mechanicus sought at all costs, were remnants of that golden age.
But after the Long Night and centuries of darkness, those treasures of human ingenuity were either lost or shattered. Even a fragment of an STC could drive Tech-Priests into a frenzy.
This was likely a starship from that lost age—an artifact of the Golden Age of Humanity, possessing technology beyond comprehension.
After the Astartes donned their new armor, they quickly consumed the food materialized through the printing technology. Their enhanced taste sensors detected no difference between this food and the rations they had eaten aboard Legion warships. If anything, these meals were fresher and more flavorful than the processed industrial food from agricultural worlds.
They ate in silence.
Long-term malnutrition had left them starving. No matter what was happening, maintaining peak combat readiness was the best course of action.
Through holographic projection, Bucky observed every move of these genetically modified warriors. At the same time, he reviewed the information the ship's AI had obtained when infiltrating their data systems. Some of it was simply unbelievable.
"A bunch of lunatics with religious fanaticism and mental instability. Look at what they're saying—'Machine God'? Why do they worship machines? Humans are the creators of machines. How can the creator worship the creation?"
"What kind of genetic brainwashing did that so-called Emperor do to them? Has humanity regressed into a feudal monarchy?"
Bucky, waking from a deep slumber, felt like his sanity was being repeatedly tested.
Looking at these modified warriors calling themselves Astartes, their physical augmentation was indeed impressive, but no matter how strong the body, could it compare to the Iron Men—machines designed purely for war?
A power sword with molecular disintegration capabilities? It was the 31st millennium, yet they still fought in melee combat with cold weapons?
And those massive Gothic-style warships… why were they designed with broadside cannons instead of rotating turrets? What kind of absurd reasoning led their engineers and shipbuilders to create battleships that resembled relics from the Age of Sail?
The sight of it all made Bucky feel as though time and space had twisted around him. These people wielded advanced technology yet fought like primitive barbarians.
In just a few seconds, the Red Alert broke through the nuclear-dusted atmosphere and entered the void above Isstvan V, leaving behind a supersonic shockwave.
Missiles from the Iron Warriors' ground fortresses followed soon after.
Inside the Fourth Legion's fortifications, alarms blared. The scanning arrays detected an unidentified ship breaking through Isstvan's crust and rising into orbit.
"Damn it, where did that warship come from? How did it appear out of nowhere? How did it overcome the planet's gravity and maintain structural integrity?!"
"Destroy it! If we don't, Father will have our heads!"
The commander of the Iron Warriors crushed a mortal slave next to him in his fury. Blood and brain matter splattered, but neither the surrounding Iron Warriors nor their mortal auxiliaries reacted.
Lobotomized servitors immediately moved in to clean the mess.
The fleet launched a salvo of macro shells and missiles in an attempt to destroy the elusive starship.
The Red Alert's AI effortlessly evaded the primitive, sluggish projectiles. Bucky merely stood by and watched, even opening a few observation ports for his new passengers so they could witness the situation outside.
The Red Alert was only one kilometer long—minuscule compared to the vast enemy warships that loomed around it.
The largest battleship in the enemy fleet was eleven kilometers in length, flanked by several strike cruisers forming a deadly blockade.
The Iron Warriors' vessels fired their massive macrocannons, hurling explosive shells and spears of light, anticipating every possible evasive maneuver.
Inside the cabin, even Wayland and the others felt a chill. The overwhelming enemy firepower made escape seem impossible.
But this ancient warship—the Red Alert—was the one variable between survival and annihilation.
They could only pray that its speed and void shields were strong enough.
Yet in the command room, Bucky remained unfazed.
To him, these enemy warships posed no threat.
The sheer technological divide between them meant an absolute, insurmountable gap.
"No need for fancy counterattacks. Let's just ram them."
(End of chapter)