Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 855 There are other ways to negotiate with the Elven race, such as -
"Multiple alien fighter jets detected, sir!"

Captain Bachte Vort, dressed in uniform, his black hair and beard impeccably styled, reported from the bridge command platform to the higher command deck—this captain had now successfully mastered the art of transforming his mechanically crafted humanoid form into a second life. Coiled muscles, hydraulic cables, circuitry, and bionic skin constituted his resemblance to himself. Aside from his significantly overweight weight and the need to carry the reactor for power when leaving the Ironblood, he was virtually indistinguishable from an ordinary person.

"I can see the alarm, Captain. What kind of aliens, how many fighters, their direction, all the data."

"It's been sent to your data panel," Captain Vought reported. "Monitoring data shows they're coming from inside this red giant; and while these fighters can't break through our defenses, they've been trying to fire some kind of unusual psionic wave at us, possibly in an attempt to interfere with our senses."

"Hmph." Malakin heard the ancient elder give a very human-like snort. "Wishful thinking. They can't possibly break through our shields. But perhaps we can hear some interesting things. Captain, set the filtering frequency to 3-1343-455499 gamma and begin identification. Once it's safe, play the jamming content they're trying to launch."

"Your command, sir."

What a refreshing dialogue.

Malakin Foros sat on the vice-commander's throne set up for him and Warren, lost in thought.

Warren Charaka, as the tenth company commander of the Flesh-Tearer Chapter responsible for homeworld defense and recruit selection, may not have much experience in fleet combat, but the Weeping Chapter, from which Malakin Forros originated, is renowned as a ship-based chapter, and they have been navigating and fighting in this galaxy for five thousand years.

Given such terrible luck, the fact that the chapter has survived to this day, and even outlived the unfolding of the Great Rift, naturally gives the Weeping Ones their own opinions on Void Warfare and fleets.

First of all, the ship's level of automation is very strange. Based on his observation, the way the equipment on the ship operates is likely either to be on the red line of the Crimson Protocol, or the warband has unearthed some ancient treasure that is extremely rich—such as some ancient treasury—and has luckily escaped being discovered by the Cult of Mechanics, but has enough manpower or ability to make use of it.

If it's the former, then it's naturally very dangerous, but as a warband that built the cursed army, Malakin doesn't really care that much about crossing the line in private; but if it's the latter, as long as the things dug out are purified enough and reliable enough, then it's a good thing for them no matter what.

—And then there's that sacred, promised-land dining hall…

So no matter how many suspicious little details Malakin observed on the bridge, he cleverly kept them to himself, without even telling Warren.

The alien fighters mentioned in the conversation were like tiny mayflies on the water compared to this behemoth. They swirled and crashed through the void, their iridescent and ever-changing appearances making them look more like a group of miniature butterflies painted with colors by children. They were trying to fly into the thick and sturdy protective shields of this behemoth like moths to a flame. If they failed to make contact, they would leap up again, performing gravity and speed stunts that were completely beyond the tolerance and brain structure of human pilots, nimbly flying away, and then looking for another place to strike.

"Imitating butterflies flitting among flowers?" Malakin heard Elder Cadomo beside him sneer. "These bloodsucking mosquitoes."

Oh. Indeed, while that metaphor isn't very artistic, it's certainly more fitting.

"Sir, we have deciphered and filtered the broadcasts from enemy aircraft that were trying to stop us from advancing."

"Play it."

"As ordered."

The bridge was completely silent. Then, a voice came from the player, with a hint of mockery in its tone, "Black lines intertwine with white lines, gold lines entwine with silver lines. Come, guests from afar, Dromlach is here as queen. Step into this light."

“That’s the first one,” Captain Vought said. “There’s another one.”

He tapped the panel a few times, and the same sound came from the player again. It seemed that no matter who was reciting this witty poem, at least the reciter was the same creature.

“It’s that foolish, broken promise of Crimson again!” The mocking voice carried a hint of annoyance. “The one who danced with Dromlah has already passed through this place, and the angels will once again experience death—Dromlah is the queen of this place.”

“Completely tasteless.” While Malakin was still pondering the meaning, Elder Cadomo spoke again in a rare, ancient, sacred, and fearless tone. “These two poems are, as always, worse than doggerel! They’re just like that thing, ‘The rose is red and the violet is purple,’ and they only deserve a doggerel in return.”

"Captain Water, translate and send my words: 'You're just making a mess of things, you clowns, keep your antics! My main guns are ready, I'll blast a thousand pieces to pieces in one shot!'" The Defiant Fearless sneered, "No wonder... it seems these clowns are indeed connected to you, Commander Malakin."

"A clown...? From the Spirit Race?"

"Exactly."

"But why do you say they are related to us? We have very little contact with these Eldar clowns. As far as we know, this alien group is often elusive, and we have no record of fighting them in the last thousand years."

"Yes. But it doesn't require that you have ever fought each other. They believe in fate and that what they are doing or who they are waiting for is the preordained play arranged for them by their laughing god—or I could say that they are actors acting according to a script, only that the script was written by their gods."

"So they knew we were coming, and now they're reciting... a prophecy?"

"Actually, they've just figured out who's here again. They're reciting their lines before the play starts."

Elder Cadolmo corrected, "Because the two of you are currently in the navigator's position, you can be said to be the only ones on the entire ship who can slightly glimpse the route, so they will use divination and prophecy to believe that the approaching beings are Holy Blood Angels or angelic offspring, and that's all."

"Your ship's shields are incredibly powerful... This is the first time I've ever seen such a strong shield force field."

“Of course, just watch. See how they react. I just had Walter send out the message in Ida language. They’ll definitely understand it.”

As if to verify Elder Kedormo's words, the Eldar fighters that had been flying with laser beams began to regroup and cautiously retreat.

"Sir, we have received another communication from the other party."

"Play."

The voice cheered again, "It's hard to find the aiming point with a cannon, it's just for show!"

"Oh?"

From that convoluted "oh," Malakin seemed to see the elder of the Defiant Fearless raising an eyebrow—it's truly amazing! Is this the powerful, exquisite, and high-tech artifact of the Sacred Defiant Fearless Ancient Relic...? I really hope our group can have the opportunity to let our seriously wounded lie on such a wonderful thing...

"Wow, coordinates 263-521. Main gun charge at 4%, muzzle moved 5 centimeters to the left!"

While connected to some of the ship's instruments, Malakin glanced at the coordinates Elder Cadormo had given him. There was only a void and a hazy nebula glow in the far distance, nothing else. Judging from Malakin's eyesight, there was nothing within at least several light-years.

However, the captain clearly trusted Kedormo's command immensely. Not only did he not raise any issues with the extremely energy-intensive act of firing the main gun into the void, but he even executed the order immediately. In a shockingly short 0.5 seconds, Captain Vort reported that the main gun was fully charged and the angle had been adjusted.

Only 0.5 seconds? The shield energy doesn't seem to have diminished at all? As a former chapter commander who once commanded two large battle barges and several powerful and beautiful warships, Malakin was completely mesmerized. What a magnificent ship! If only their chapter had had such an ally or such a capital ship back then…

A chilling energy, unnoticed, twisted and meandered into Malakin's heart along with his unbearable memories of the Badab War. Just as he dazedly tried to get up, a sudden, intensely warm sensation emanated from the throne connecting him to the ship, and the pipes connecting him to the ship began to heat up. This warmth quickly rose through his limbs and into his mind, extinguishing the chilling energy.

"!!!"

"What's wrong?" Warren Charaka looked at Malakin Forros with a puzzled expression. "Did you just shiver? Are you alright?"

"It's nothing. Strange. Just some unpleasant memories of fleet battles. Look!"

Malakin looked up and saw the magnificent sight of the ship's main guns firing.

One moment, only the faint glow of stardust lingered in the black void; the next, the main cannon blazed like a supernova explosion, a torrent of platinum energy tearing through the void like a celestial whip lashing at a distant nebula. Wherever the blade of light touched, asteroids ranging from several kilometers to tens of kilometers in diameter were reduced to specks of instantly cooled magma, as if a golden bridge, adorned with clusters of magma blossoms, had been erected in the void, leading directly to—

and many more.

Malakin stopped speaking just as he was about to praise the magnificent sight.

Against the cosmic backdrop, distant nebulae began to flicker and distort, as if someone had thrown a large chunk of sodium into a calm, mirror-like lake.

Then, a large amount of debris ejected from the "lake" erupted, like an active volcano suddenly erupting in the universe.

The alien communication voice that was still connected suddenly became tense, sharp, and rapid, and it no longer cared about rhyming.

"Stop!!! You have no idea what an exquisite and precious relic you are firing at! You will destroy it and kill us all!"

“Look,” Elder Cadmore turned to the two sons of Saint Gilles, “that’s how they suddenly start talking properly and stop playing riddles.”

Malakin could only respond with a polite smile, while Warren grinned broadly, indicating that he appreciated this method of negotiation.

“Now,” Elder Cadmore seemed to have examined what was revealed after the psychedelic field dissipated, “I think I know. Let’s go out and meet this clown of the Laughing God.”

He then sent the other party a message arranging a meeting—using the most formal Eldar clown writing style and format, which once again aroused the other party's suspicion.

--------

After the camouflage field that had been obscuring this strange floating continent was blasted away by the Ironblood's main cannon, everyone was now able to see the area normally and board a Stormbird to travel there. Malakin and Warren were unfortunately not granted permission to accompany them, which meant that Elder Cadormo clearly had his own reliable team.

In short, when the buffoonish Siriak arrived at the physical "central land" of this continent, filled with ruins and wrecked ships, whether by luck or misfortune, what he saw was...

"A trap! You damned bastard!"

Upon seeing the magnificent lineup of Peturabo BC, Left Ruth, Right Fugrim Pallas, the clown uttered horrified incoherent words about the fate of what he had witnessed, then leaped up and turned to flee into the depths of the ruins, leaving only a small cloud of dust at his feet.

"This place has an atmosphere and a gravity generator. It's most likely his lair, and he won't be running onto the aircraft anytime soon."

Perturabo BC stood still, arms crossed. "Only one prey. Three or six, wolf or phoenix, whose eyesight is sharper? Whose claws are sharper?"

The two brothers, who were more than ten thousand years apart in age and were also uncle and nephew, slowly looked at each other. They both saw a wild joy of hunting and a hint of unwillingness to admit defeat in each other's eyes.

"Although it's a bit of a jerk to say that."

“We shouldn’t make you laugh at this.”

"But if we stake our legion's name on it, then I will be the sole victor!"

Two afterimages, one gray and one silver, shot out, heading in the direction where the clown had disappeared.

---------

"What exactly do you want?!"

A moment later, the Eldar, carried back by one on each side, screamed in despair and were thrown onto the ground in front of the Iron Feet of Peturabo BC, stirring up dust from who-knows-how-many years ago and revealing the blurry road paving stones beneath the earth.

The Spirit Clan member had all his facial features and limbs intact, but it seemed that he was pulled quite hard when he was captured, as both his arms and legs appeared to be dislocated or even torn.

"Hiryak, my name, loyal and devoted to protecting you, Xi Gaoqi, Xi Gaoqi, how could my fate not have brought me such a calamity!"

“That’s hard for him to know. I see he’s quite busy right now.” Perturabo BC spoke coolly, his words as precise and beautiful as if a Eldar prophet himself were speaking. Even the allusions and subtle transitions that only the most demanding performers could discern were pronounced perfectly, as if poetry were being sung.

"Who are you! Why do you speak the Spirit Race language..." The clown instantly realized a possibility, his narrow eyes widening, a look of disgust spreading across his unusually handsome face. "Could it be that this crude mechanical creation of the Corpse King contains a part of one of our unfortunate people..."

"The problem with you pointy-eared guys is that you use your brains too much, not too little."

Peturabo BC switched to High Gothic, rudely interrupting the other person's divergent thoughts.

"I ask you, were the visitors to this Ark World ruins before us a group of Holy Blood Angels?"

The clown's instantaneous reaction indicated that Peturabo BC had guessed correctly.

(End of this chapter)