Warhammer: Empire Reboot

The hunting route on Line C, which extends southward and approaches the deep deck, sent back intelligence during the second day's patrol that put everyone on edge.

At the end of Line C, about two and a half kilometers from the base, No. 3 and No. 9 discovered an unusual area.

Lawson saw Number 3's perspective through the consciousness exchange.

The corridor floor, walls, and ceiling were covered with a semi-transparent, spider silk-like sticky substance.

Lawson recognized it: the nest silk of the gene thief.

It's not just a territory marker, but a network of biosensors, with each thread connected to the chieftain's mental network deep within the nest.

Stepping into an area covered by nest silk is like ringing the doorbell at the door of a gene thief.

Numbers 3 and 9 have stopped at the edge of the nest silk and have not moved forward.

Well done.

Just as Lawson was about to issue the retreat order through the communication between their minds...

A shadow flashed past at the end of the corridor.

Extremely fast.

It was so fast that, with normal human visual reaction speed, only a blurry purplish-gray outline could be captured.

A pure-blooded gene stealer.

It has four arms, with a pair of large, serrated claws at the ends of its upper limbs. It has a smooth, earless head with a retractable ovipositor above its mouth.

The pureblood appeared at the end of the corridor for less than half a second before disappearing around the corner.

"Everyone retreat."

"The end of Line C is marked as a restricted area. All patrol routes will be moved back 500 meters to the north."

Number 3 and Number 9 retreated silently and disappeared into the shadows of the passage.

About thirty seconds after they left, the pureblood reappeared at the corner of the corridor.

It tilted its smooth head, gazing at the empty corridor, its two pairs of arms slowly opening and closing, the egg implantation tube trembling slightly above its mouth, as if savoring the lingering human scent in the air.

Then it disappeared too.

Lawson shut down the third-line communication channel for mind sharing in the base and took a deep breath.

A pureblood's melee capabilities can rival those of an Astartes Space Marine in some aspects. And there won't be only one in a lair.

With his current strength, venturing into the Gene Stealer's lair would be pure suicide.

But Lawson's mind had already started working on another plan.

The gene-stealer's lair is deep on the south side of the wrecked ship. The Greenskins' main area of ​​activity is on the north side and in the center.

There will inevitably be ongoing friction and conflict between the two forces.

If he could find the battle zone between the two sides and pick off the enemy's flanks during the firefight, it would be an extremely efficient way to acquire resources.

But he needs more suicide soldiers and more firepower. He'll consider this move once he has more than fifty suicide soldiers.

Lawson stood atop the highest point of a half-collapsed gantry crane in the outpost.

From one man with a knife to eighteen fully armed Qatachwan warriors and a well-defended stronghold.

A very faint smile appeared on his lips.

His first territory on this wrecked ship was formed.

Chapter 22 Skill Master Workshop

Lawson surveyed the entire battlefield through telepathic communication.

Thirty suicide soldiers.

Six teams of five people each.

Two days ago he was still using six people to fight a guerrilla war, but now he is holding a precision-operated harvesting machine.

A green-skinned patrol of over forty farts, led by three orc boys, was moving south along a main corridor.

Squad A and Squad B set up a fire blockade line directly in front of the patrol team.

Six bomb guns and four laser guns aimed at the corridor from behind cover on both sides.

The five assassins from Squad C had already circled around to the rear of the Green Patrol Team through the overhead ventilation system and were now lying prone at the duct exit, awaiting orders.

Dingban set up a roadblock at the exit of a branch passage to the right of the green patrol team, blocking their only possible escape route.

"Encircle."

The moment Lawson gave the order, all four squads opened fire simultaneously.

Class A and Class B, facing the front, launched the first attack.

Ten guns simultaneously unleashed deadly ammunition, with explosives and laser beams weaving a dense, impenetrable network of fire in the corridor.

The two orc boys at the front were knocked down almost simultaneously.

The third orc boy reacted a little faster, instinctively raising the tattered riot shield he had ripped from the corpse of an Imperial soldier in his hand, trying to block the frontal fire.

But it forgot what was behind it.

Class C jumped down from the pipe.

Five Katachon's Fangs and two chainsaw swords simultaneously slashed into the rear of the Greenskins.

Before the orc boy with the shield could even turn around, a chainsaw sword slashed down his spine from behind.

The rapidly spinning chain teeth pierced through the cheap iron armor, crushed the spine, and carved a terrifying ravine down its back from the nape of the neck to the tailbone.

The orc boy lunged forward, his shield slamming into the ground with a dull metallic clang.

The sycophants were devastated.

"Run! Run!"

Shrimp are everywhere!

They fled frantically toward the only right-hand branch passage that was not blocked by fire.

Then they ran into Dingban.

Five suicide soldiers from Squad D crouched behind cover on either side of the branch tunnel exit, their guns already aimed at the narrow exit.

As the first batch of fart-loving demons screamed and rushed out of the tunnel, they were met with a near-perfect crossfire.

Not one escaped.

From the moment the first shot was fired until the last bastard fell, the entire annihilation battle lasted less than forty-five seconds.

Three orc boys and over forty farts.

Total annihilation.

Lawson frowned slightly.

Efficiency is declining.

It's not combat efficiency; on the contrary, combat efficiency is continuously improving.

What has decreased is the frequency of encounters with green-skinned animals.

In the first two days after the outpost was established, each hunting route encountered an average of one or two greenskin patrols per hour.

Now it takes three or four hours to find one, and the scale is also shrinking.

The density of greenery in the vicinity is decreasing significantly.

Lawson's initial reaction was suspicion; he had killed so many Greenskins that he should have attracted the attention of the Greenskin army long ago.

It's impossible for a tribe of three million greenskins to remain unresponsive to the continuous losses within its territory.

Orcs are not human.

Human armies, after suffering continuous losses, may choose to strategically withdraw, reassess threats, and adjust their deployments.

But the orcs only had one reaction: more orcs rushed over to fight.

However, such a retaliatory counterattack never materialized.

Lawson leaned against the support of the gantry crane inside the stronghold and slowly figured out the problem.

The answer actually lies in the information provided by Imp Fizex before his death.

This wrecked ship doesn't just have green skin.

The deep decks are inhabited by demonic entities and Chaos Rebel Space Marines.

The core area contains a nest of gene-stealers.

The three forces continue to fight, with none willing to yield.

There is only one explanation for the decrease in Greenskin density: the main force of the Greenskin army is fighting elsewhere.

It's not that the green-skinned people don't want to come, but that they can't spare the time.

These small green-skinned units left to patrol the perimeter were nothing more than scattered soldiers emanating from the main battlefield.

"This is both a good thing and a bad thing," Lawson silently analyzed in his mind.

The good thing is that he doesn't have to face the full-scale siege of the Greenskin army for the time being.

The bad thing is that the prey is decreasing.

Moreover, when the battle on that main battlefield ends, whether the Greenskins or the Demons win, the victor will inevitably turn their attention to other areas of the wrecked ship.

By then, those who flock in will no longer be scattered soldiers.

Lawson needs to develop his power to a level sufficient to cope with that moment before it arrives.

time does not wait.

He needs more prey.

"Expand the hunting range."