Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 198 - 199: Can We Be Redeemed?

Boom—Boom—Boom—

Massive tanks rumbled forward, crushing the pavement beneath their treads.

These were the "Poisonfang Harris Mk III" super-heavy tanks.

Each of these monstrous war machines stood nearly five meters tall, armed with high-caliber Poisonfang cannons and multiple heavy machine gun emplacements.

Every single Poisonfang tank was a walking fortress, capable of wiping out an entire enemy battalion on its own.

Wherever they appeared, destruction followed.

Entire city blocks had been reduced to rubble under their bombardment.

People had come to fear them as the steel devils of war.

Now, the ragtag rebel forces found themselves completely surrounded by these steel devils.

Worse yet— there was no cover.

Nowhere to run.

Despair gripped their hearts.

For a brief moment, no one knew what to do.

Click, click—

The Poisonfang tanks adjusted their cannons, aiming directly at the rebels.

The dark, gaping barrels of the main guns stared at them like the eyes of a devil.

Boom!

A Poisonfang cannon fired, landing in the midst of the rebel ranks.

The explosion sent shrapnel flying in every direction—

Those closest to the blast vanished in an instant, torn to bloody pieces.

Those further away collapsed, screaming in agony as jagged fragments ripped through flesh and bone.

Dozens of shells rained down on the rebel formation.

"Aaaaahhh!"

The screams of the dying filled the air.

Terror spread through the ranks.

With the tyrant's towering hologram watching over them and the unstoppable tanks bearing down on them, the rebels began to break.

It felt like divine punishment—the retribution of the tyrant for their betrayal.

Some even turned to flee.

Boom—

A sudden explosion shook the street.

One of the super-heavy tanks erupted into flames, its metal carcass smoking in ruin.

On a Balcony Overlooking the Street

A massive, bare-chested man stood holding a smoking rocket launcher.

It was Brown.

Moments ago, he had fired an anti-tank round—hitting the Poisonfang directly in its barrel.

The tank had detonated from within.

Brown had an uncanny instinct for battle, always finding unexpected ways to destroy the enemy.

He had single-handedly wiped out entire armored platoons in past battles.

That was why he had risen so quickly as a leader of the rebellion.

Some whispered that he might one day become a new legend of the Imperium.

For a brief moment, the battlefield fell silent.

All eyes turned to the burning wreckage of the super-heavy tank.

A moment later—

Hope rekindled.

The steel devils were not invincible!

Brown raised his voice in a thunderous roar:

"For the Savior!"

His cry echoed through the streets.

One by one, the rebels joined in the chant.

"For the Savior!"

Their fear melted away, replaced by a renewed fighting spirit.

They charged forward once more, pushing toward the heart of Central Avenue.

From the surrounding buildings, rebel gunners emerged—armed with anti-tank weapons.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Multiple Poisonfang tanks were struck and destroyed by concentrated fire.

Boom!

Brown fired another rocket, taking down yet another tank.

But as he ducked to reload—

A terrible sense of danger washed over him.

His instincts screamed.

Without hesitation, he activated his jump pack and launched himself into the air.

The moment he moved—

Boom!

A barrage of artillery shells obliterated the balcony he had just been standing on.

The entire building collapsed into rubble.

Even though he had escaped in time, the blast radius was wide.

Shrapnel filled the air, hurtling toward him.

In a split second, Brown activated a device on his wrist.

A faint energy shield flickered into existence, deflecting the deadly fragments.

"Damn... that was close."

He exhaled sharply.

This wasn't the first time he'd been in such a life-or-death moment.

But it never stopped his heart from racing.

Thank the Savior for energy shielding.

These force field generators had been given to the rebels by the Saints.

Though simplified and mass-produced, they were lifesaving.

Even though they had limited duration and had to be manually activated, they were still priceless survival tools.

Most elite assault troops were now equipped with them.

Brown and his shock troops pressed their attack on the remaining tanks.

But there were too many.

The repression forces launched a counteroffensive, backed by their armored behemoths.

The rebels were forced back.

They had been so close to breaking through—but now, they were being pushed back step by step.

Worse yet—

They were surrounded.

There was no escape.

Brown watched as the enemy tightened their encirclement.

His hands clenched into fists.

The enemy was too strong.

Above them, the towering hologram of Tyrant Harris loomed over the battlefield.

A silent, mocking specter.

It seemed to laugh at their foolish defiance.

Even the hologram remained untouched.

Brown had ordered his troops to destroy the projection system—

But it was protected by multiple energy shields.

Their attacks had been useless.

Behind the Enemy's Frontline

Inside a heavily armored command vehicle, a fat, smug high-ranking official lounged in comfort, watching the battle unfold.

Victory was certain.

The rebels had fallen into his trap.

Already, he was thinking about how to claim credit before Lord Harris.

He had personally executed cowardly officers.

He had deployed the Poisonfangs without hesitation.

He would be the one to eradicate the largest rebel force in the city.

With a lazy wave of his hand, he issued his next command:

"Order a full charge. Have the commissars execute anyone who hesitates."

The repression troops were demoralized and tired of this war.

They lacked the will to fight.

But fear could drive them forward.

And so, under threat of execution, the imperial soldiers charged.

The rebels collapsed further, losing a quarter of their forces in mere minutes.

Victory was assured.

The fat official smirked.

He picked up his personal communicator, preparing to report his success.

But—

There was no response.

He frowned.

But after a moment, he relaxed.

The Tyrant was probably... busy.

Perhaps indulging in his pleasures.

He could wait.

On the Battlefield

The rebels fought desperately.

But they were losing ground.

Yet, despite everything, they held on to hope.

They prayed for the Savior's arrival.

They remembered the words from the Sacred Codex:

"In the darkest hour, keep faith, and the Savior shall appear."

Brown rejoined Fran, the Saint.

He looked at him, his voice filled with doubt:

"Saint... do you think we can still be saved?"

Fran slowly opened his eyes.

Moments ago, he had received a message from the hive's network.

He turned to Brown and nodded firmly.

"Yes. We will all be saved."

The moment his words fell—

The central plaza changed.

The towering hologram of the Tyrant flickered.

Its voice distorted into static.

The air was filled with a shrill, unnatural noise.

For the first time—both sides stopped fighting.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.

The Dreamweaver had hacked the broadcast system.

A new image appeared on the hologram.

The hymns of the Savior echoed across the city.

Inside his armored vehicle, the fat official froze.

His smug face twisted in horror.

"NO! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"

He grabbed his commander, shaking him violently.

"Destroy it! NOW!"

The Poisonfang tanks adjusted their cannons, aiming at the hologram projector.

Boom—Boom—Boom—

They fired.

(End of Chapter)

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