Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 824, 08.823: 'The Passing of Life'

A light transport ship, Caravelle, finally got on the towline and began towing the nearly crippled attacked cargo ship, its engine groaning under the strain.

It laboriously increased its cumbersome speed from almost a standstill to 12 knots—a near-stationary, desperate speed in the vastness of space.

They struggled to keep up with the Charter fleet as it moved along, like walking corpses being forcibly dragged forward by their teammates in a marathon.

The engine emitted a persistent, physical wail as it teetered on the brink of stalling, and scorching plasma burst from the exhaust, forming a brief, angry comet tail.

The deep vibration pierced through the void, like a lingering sigh.

Task Force RX-0371, a steel island group consisting of more than fifty kilometer-class giant cargo ships and escort ships, is currently speeding toward the next Mandeville point at its maximum cruising speed.

The entire fleet crawled slowly among the stars like a somber funeral procession.

This 310,000-kilometer journey, which would normally take only a week, now seemed incredibly long and dangerous under the shadow of an invisible threat.

Why is Mandeville so far away?

Captain Horatio Cochrane sat atop his towering command throne. Instead of turning around, he peered through the faint light reflected from the main observation window of the bridge at the isolated area separated by a shimmering energy field—the navigator's sanctuary.

In the Imperial Navy's voyages, the Mandeville point, located 310,000 kilometers away, is extremely rare, and could even be considered an ominous sign.

The longer a merchant fleet is exposed in the real universe, the more likely it is to become a target for predators lurking in the shadows.

The Navigator Patriarch, an ancient figure from the illustrious Crosby family, responded to the sound.

His withered, thin body, slightly hunched from years of exposure to warp energy, slowly turned toward Horatio, supported by an ornate staff carved with the eyes of the Imperial Aquila and the Navigator family.

His eyes, completely covered by a milky-white film and lacking pupils, seemed to penetrate the barrier of matter and gaze directly into the captain's soul.

His voice was dry and hollow, with echoes that overlapped from multiple dimensions, as if resounding directly in the listener's mind.

"The convergence of celestial bodies has torn the veil of reality apart..." he reported in an almost prophetic tone, "The shadow and lightning of the expansion of the Colonus star system have polluted the western edge of the entire hazy star system, including this desolate area we are in, known as the 'Corona of the Stars'."

Horatio's brow furrowed, and a slight stinging sensation came from the neural plug interface on the command throne—the ship's soul's response to his emotional fluctuations.

"You mean the Calissis sector and the Colonus sector are experiencing a severe subspace storm?" His voice carried a hint of gravity.

"This storm is an ominous sign, Captain, please be careful!"

The navigator chieftain's voice suddenly turned shrill, and his third eye, hidden by a veil, seemed to twitch violently. "It was this that blocked several Mandeville points that were once located near our flight path."

Now, I can only see that faint light 310,000 kilometers away through my spiritual vision. It flickers and fades in the psychic storm, like a candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

“…I understand.” Horatio took a deep breath, the cold, circulating air mixed with the scent of nano-aromatherapy and holy oil filling his lungs, which he then slowly exhaled, turning into a cloud of white mist.

He stared out of the main observation window of the bridge into the deep darkness that seemed to harbor countless malices.

It was not an empty void, but a hostile ocean.

“Choose the spot you mentioned.” He finally made up his mind, his voice resolute. “May the God-Emperor protect us. Archie, relay my order: the entire fleet shall implement strict signal control and enter ‘silent navigation’.”

Each ship uses close-range encrypted communication and flag signals to coordinate; we absolutely cannot allow any aliens roaming the area to know the exact location of our escort fleet.

“Yes, Captain.” First Officer Archie Cuthbert Collingwood’s voice came from beside him, brief and reliable.

Horatio's considerations were ruthless and pragmatic.

Currently, the exact number of enemy warships is unknown, and they have not yet launched a large-scale attack on the transport convoy, suggesting that they are still probing or waiting for their main force.

If they rashly sought help from the Empire via interstellar communication at this moment, the distorted psionic signal would likely be detected first by these alien raiders.

The raiders and slave traders from Comoros will arrive at their side much faster than the fleets of the human empire.

By not seeking help for the time being and instead keeping it as a last resort, they exploited the weakness of the Dark Eldar's faction's tendency to operate independently.

These aliens, entrenched in the network city of Comoros, are a loose alliance of countless treacherous political entities.

They scheme against each other, never sharing their spoils with other factions, and even turning against each other to weaken their rivals.

Even if this bloodthirsty conspiracy group discovers the RX-0371 transport fleet as a lucrative prize, they will only think about how to monopolize it, and will not summon their own kind.

Compared to actively exposing himself, this was Horatio's only option, and also his most dangerous gamble.
-
As the watchman inside the cathedral gave the order, an armed sailor rang the bell beneath the heavy bronze clock. The clear chime echoed under the vaulted ceiling below the commander's throne, announcing the passing of yet another standard Terra day (24 hours) during the long voyage.

The entire fleet was shrouded in a tense and suffocating atmosphere.

Anxiety, like a slow-acting poison, seeped into the very marrow of every crew member.

Inside the cold metal bulkhead, exhaustion and fear were quietly brewing.

Horatio showed no signs of fatigue; he seemed to be pinning his body to the command throne with sheer willpower.

His nerves and thoughts remained taut like a bowstring, as he intently examined the scan results sent by the various ships via short-range data links.

The air on the bridge was thick with the smell of disinfectant and strong Reca coffee, an effort to keep the officers alert.

Horatio discovered a strange pattern.

The attack by these Dark Eldar raiding ships suddenly stopped, but they did not leave.

These ghostly ships always maintain a poised and eager posture, intentionally or unintentionally appearing at the edge of the radar's scanning range, like sharks toying with their prey.

Their signals appear and disappear intermittently, and their energy characteristics are as elusive as ghosts, making it difficult for the Empire's divination arrays to pinpoint them.

But whenever the escorting warships turned around in an attempt to drive them away, they would immediately accelerate and, using their maneuverability far exceeding that of Imperial ships, disappear into deep space in an instant, leaving only a long, mocking trail of energy.

(End of this chapter)