The battle was not yet over. The ice plains were littered with burning mechanical wreckage and routing Greenskins. Solene leaned against the battlements of the Forbidden Wall, her gaze sweeping across the battlefield before settling on the purple figure suspended in mid-air in the distance. She let out a soft sigh.
The downfall of Big Mek Erko was entirely within her expectations. The Greenskin race had always been thus: the Waaagh! field that fueled the savagery of their entire army required a living, sufficiently powerful Warboss to act as its anchor. Once the Boss died, the field that made the Boyz stronger would instantly dissipate, and their morale would take a devastating blow.
These once-ferocious xenos immediately reverted to a disorganized rabble capable only of infighting and fleeing. The scene on the ice plains at this moment was the perfect testament to that. The Orks, who had previously been fearless in the face of death, were now either wailing over severed limbs or sprinting away with their choppas in hand. Some were even brawling with one another to scavenge a single tooth—the Greenskin currency. Occasionally, a few Nobz attempted to rally the troops, raising their axes to shout half a "Waaagh!", only to be instantly submerged by the coalition's concentrated fire.
In contrast, the situation on Raynor's side was entirely different.
Solene turned her attention back to the floating purple figure and recalled the "ripper" on his shoulder. Tyranids were, in essence, the perfect tools of war. They possessed no individual will, no fear, and no concept of betrayal; their sole mission was absolute obedience to the hive mind. And that "thing" beside Raynor possessed power so immense it made her spine tingle.
Killing Erko? For that ripper and Raynor, it was likely as simple as kicking a stray dog to death by the roadside. Solene felt a chill as she remembered the purple beam that had pierced the heavens.
She had chosen to yield to Raynor's intimidation rather than resist to the end. Now, she wasn't sure if her decision was the right one. Had she brought hope to Brevis, or something far more terrifying than the Greenskins?
In mid-air, Raynor maintained his "Emperor's Chosen Descending" posture. His purple eyes looked down upon the white ice plains below, his body surrounded by lingering psionic aftershocks, radiating an inviolable majesty.
But in reality, only one thought occupied his mind.
Damn, I'm drained.
That shot of "Annihilation" had indeed been incredibly stylish. The purple beam had disintegrated everything in its path, instantly melting through an ice mountain and vaporizing Erko, even plowing a kilometer-long trench. But looking cool came with a price. Raynor felt as if his body had been hollowed out; his limbs were weak, and his head felt heavy.
Although the energy for that psionic strike had been supplied by Sarah, he—as the firing platform—was essentially a human cannon barrel. The tearing sensation of high-pressure psionic energy flowing through his physical meridians, combined with his current exhaustion, was more grueling than any pain he had ever endured.
"Are you alright, Raynor?" Sarah's voice came through the conscious link, her cold tone carrying a hint of concern.
"I'm... fine." Raynor gritted his teeth and endured. A man couldn't admit he was "done."
In truth, his calves were trembling, and his vision was swimming with black spots. Millions of eyes were watching him from below. He was the spiritual pillar for everyone here; he could not afford to collapse now.
Raynor held his position for a few more minutes until the cheers erupted and the Greenskins had completely routed. Only then did he slowly descend. The moment his feet were about to touch the ground, his knees buckled and his body pitched forward. He quickly used his scepter to prop himself up, the metal tip piercing the permafrost with a clack as he stabilized himself.
No one noticed that the hand gripping the scepter was shaking violently. Sarah sensed his predicament and sent a faint pulse of energy through the link. Raynor felt a warmth in his heart and used that borrowed strength to slowly straighten his back.
The battle was no longer in doubt. With Erko dead, the remaining Greenskins were like headless flies, hunted down by the wildman cavalry like sheep. Green limbs and discarded weapons were scattered everywhere. Leo, encased in his power armor, charged with his chainsword, drenched in Ork blood. Hammond stood atop the Forbidden Wall, calmly coordinating the clean-up.
With them present, Raynor didn't need to worry about mopping up the remnants. His only thought now was to go back, lie down, and get a good night's sleep.
The news of Erko's death took only a single day to reach every corner of the Brevis Hive. From the estates of the upper-tier nobles to the worker dwellings in the mid-tier, and down into the sub-levels of the dregs, everyone was talking about the young Governor.
First, he slew Mountain-Fat Guga; then, he slaughtered "Public Enemy" Erko. The elites might not have understood how difficult it was to defeat them, but they understood one thing: this new Governor actually had some real power.
But more than admiration, what rose in the hearts of most nobles was unease and panic. Following Erko's death, every action Raynor took challenged the system of belief they had held for years. He had recruited the two great wildman clans, migrated tens of millions of refugees to the inner banks of the Wide River, and used the "Servants of the Frost Dragon" to hunt down the remaining Greenskins.
Doubts began to circulate among the aristocracy.
"What will the refugees eat?" "Will those wildmen start a riot?" "The Governor's military power is too great; what if he has ulterior motives?"
These voices grew louder, and some even formed secret alliances in an attempt to pressure Raynor. However, these voices were quickly suppressed by the Ecclesiarchy.
Three days after Erko's death, Arch-Cardinal Goodwin held a public sermon at Brevis's largest altar. Facing tens of thousands of Imperial citizens, he raised the holy icon of the Emperor:
"The Emperor's Chosen has his own considerations, guided by the Emperor's will." "To doubt the Chosen is to doubt the Emperor Himself. That is heresy!"
Goodwin's words were like a boulder thrown into a lake, instantly silencing all dissent. No one dared to publicly question the Emperor, and no one dared to continue doubting Raynor while wearing the label of a "heretic."
While everyone else was preoccupied with their own agendas, the happiest man was Carter. The man who had spent twenty years in the position of Chief Executive had long been mocked as the "Governor's Loyal Dog." He was diligent in his duties, but he had never been able to hold his head high.
But lately, in the Upper Hive Council Hall, he was like a different person. In past meetings, he had always been pushed to the most remote corner to sip tea in silence. When the nobles discussed grain distribution or power allocation, they never sought his opinion. The representatives of the Twelve Star Families often mocked him for having strength but only knowing how to attach himself to useless Governors.
But now, everything had changed.
One morning, Carter pushed open the council doors. The noisy hall instantly fell silent as every noble's gaze converged on him. The mockery and disdain were gone, replaced only by awe and flattery. Some of the more guilt-ridden elites even stood up instinctively, only daring to sit back down after Carter made a gesture for them to do so.
"Lord Carter is here! Please, take the seat of honor!" A noble who had frequently mocked him in the past jumped up immediately, fawningly leading him toward a seat near the center of the hall.
"Lord Carter, this is the grain allocation plan for the week. Please take a look." "Lord Carter, regarding the resettlement of the refugees, we have some ideas we'd like to consult you on."
Listening to the respectful greetings rising from all sides, Carter remained expressionless as he walked to his seat and sat down. He took a sip of the tea a servant offered him, then looked up to scan the room.
"Weren't you all quite talkative before? Why are you silent now?"
The hall fell into a dead silence.