Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Outside, the Huron fleet unleashed its second salvo.

At that very instant, the Geller force field completely closed.

A dark blue barrier enveloped the ship's hull.

The laws of physics were torn apart, and a massive subspace rift ripped open in front of the Destroyer Ghost.

The entire ten-kilometer-long superflagship, like a star monster that had broken free of its chains, dragged its damaged void shield and burning outer armor as it plunged into the warp rift.

The second salvo of fire swept down, but only hit the optical afterimage it left behind before disappearing, and the energy vortex left when the subspace engine ignited.

The Ghost of Destruction disappeared from the core anchorage of the Great Vortex.

Huron stood on the bridge of the makeshift flagship.

He braced his hands on the control panel, remaining motionless.

A few seconds later, his body swayed violently.

The heart spasms are amplified within the chest cavity, and the genetically modified organs issue an overload warning.

A mouthful of black blood spurted from his mouth and splashed onto the holographic tactical board.

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Chase after them."

No one moved inside the bridge.

They didn't know where to go next.

The subspace rift has closed.

The Great Vortex is the area where the etheric storm is most intense.

The warp trajectory of the Ghost of Destruction was doubly interfered with and covered by Lawson's swarm network computing power and the ship's residual energy, making it impossible for the outside to lock onto its coordinates.

Huron turned his head and fixed his gaze on the chief navigation officer not far away.

"I said, go after them."

The navigator knelt on the ground: "Overlord, the flight path code is incomplete. The vortex storm is tearing apart the contrail. Model building will take time to calculate..."

Huron stepped off the command platform, walked over, and gripped the navigator's shoulder with his heavy iron claws.

"You have three minutes." The fingertip tightened, piercing the flesh. "If you can't calculate it, you die."

The navigator screamed and immediately lunged at the control panel, frantically operating it.

After the Ghost of Destruction disappeared, the vortex remained still for a moment.

This star field ravaged by etheric storms is never short of voices.

The dull thud of heavy machine gunners pounding on armor plates in the dock, the screams of butchers hawking mutated organs and young laborers in the slave market, the clatter of gears meshing and electrical sparks exploding in the dark mechanical workshop, the mournful cries of nameless wreckage colliding deep in the ship graveyard, the roars of gamblers tearing at each other in the pirate tavern over half a piece of moldy synthetic starch cake, and even the demonic whispers that echoed in my mind as the warp tides pounded against the boundaries of the real universe.

But at that moment, all sounds seemed to be cut off by an invisible hand.

The Red Pirate Lord's ten-kilometer-class flagship has been taken away.

At the core anchorage of the vortex.

Under the watchful eyes of hundreds of star city defense clusters, thousands of pirate ships, the Dark Guild's transit stations, and countless smugglers and slave owners.

Lawson drove it into the subspace right under Huron's nose.

This event itself was more absurd and subversive than any report of defeat for an imperial expeditionary force.

The giant whirlpool exploded.

All unencrypted public communication channels, the shortwave bands of the pirate black market, and even parts of the hijacked Imperial Mechanicus communication network were simultaneously overwhelmed by massive amounts of information.

"The Ghost of Destruction was stolen?"

"Who the hell has the guts to steal Huron's throne?"

"I heard it's Lawson!"

"That insane Marker Agrippina? How the hell did he sneak in? Is his warp storm eye blind?"

"Where's Huron? Didn't he take a ship out to a meeting?"

"Huron is back! The fleet has arrived, but he can't get into his flagship!"

"You're talking nonsense! Stop drinking that cheap Amasek!"

"I swear on my mechanical eyes! I saw with my own eyes the Star City turrets in the core anchorage firing at the Ghost of Destruction! Huron was giving the order to fire!"

The chaotic information spread between galaxies like highly toxic spores.

Some pirates laughed wildly on the communication frequency, mocking Huron's incompetence.

Some pirates were cursing and swearing, fearing that the situation would spiral out of control and affect them.

Those seasoned pirates who had spent years licking blood from the edge of a knife and were masters of opportunism immediately ordered the berth gates closed, cutting off all connections with the outside world, fearing that Huron might go berserk and take his anger out on all living creatures.

But there were some lunatics whose eyes gleamed in the dim bridge.

The Ghost of Destruction is Huron's throne, a symbol of power.

But it is also the fattest and most tempting piece of meat in the whirlpool.

No one dared to touch it in the past, not because the pirates followed any bullshit moral code.

On the contrary, countless people have fantasized about firing a shot at that colossal ship that was worth more than a country.

Some of them were driven by hatred for being exploited by the Red Pirates.

Some of it is pure jealousy.

In the various underground pubs and brothels of the Great Vortex, "to have sex with Huron's big darling" was a widely circulated lewd joke.

It has a rather unseemly meaning and is often used to tease those who boast and are inexperienced. Usually, saying it will cause the whole tavern to burst into laughter.

Now, this vulgar joke has suddenly found a real-world counterpart.

The Red Pirate Overlord's prized possession has truly been stolen.

There were indeed people, including Huron himself, who fired at it.

Huron himself stood atop his makeshift flagship, splattered with blood, and ordered a manhunt across the entire region.

Before long, Huron's urgent bounty order was broadcast via the highest-level broadcast system, covering all listening stations and warships in the Great Maelstrom that could receive the signal.

His voice, blaring from a rough speaker, was filled with extreme rage.

"All pirates, privateer captains, agents of the Dark Guild, slave traders, scavengers' guilds, and mercenary fleets, obey my orders."

"Whoever can find the warp jump trajectory of the Destroyer Ghost will be rewarded with a century of free berthing and tax exemption in a core star city."

"Whoever can provide accurate and effective coordinates will be rewarded with three standard armed cargo ships, five thousand strong slaves without implanted chips, one hundred thousand tons of refined gold, plus the protective flag of an entire Red Pirate squadron."

"The first person to catch the trail of the Destroyer Ghost and successfully physically mark it will be rewarded with a Moon-class cruiser."

"Those who directly participated in the battle to recapture the flagship and survived will be allocated 10% of the supplies from the Ghost Ship's vault based on their battle merits."

"But if anyone dares to conceal Lawson's course information, dares to secretly assemble a fleet to pursue him, or dares to try to steal what belongs to me in the chaos, once I discover it, I will dismantle his ship alive, nail it to the wreckage area on the outermost edge of the Great Whirlpool with long spikes, and let the warp storms slowly dry the bones of everyone on board. I mean what I say."

This reward is substantial enough.

The weight was so heavy that even the most self-proclaimed rational desperados found their breathing quicken instantly.

In a place like the Great Vortex, a century-long right of berthing and tax exemption for a core star city is equivalent to having an absolutely safe and legal outlet for selling stolen goods, a cheap supply point, and a large-scale slave market.

That's enough to start a family business.

Three armed cargo ships could instantly turn a small pirate crew on the verge of bankruptcy around and allow them to recruit more soldiers.

Five thousand ownerless slaves, one hundred thousand tons of refined gold, plus the Red Pirates' protective flag, were enough to make those shrewd black market merchants tear up all agreements on the spot and gamble their entire fortunes.

As for receiving a share of the treasure trove after reclaiming the flagship, it's more like a high-purity combat potion injected directly into the corrupt veins of the vortex.

Every pirate who has fought in a sea of ​​blood knows this perfectly well:

Huron, a stingy tyrant, might not actually share even a tenth of the treasure afterward. He would most likely turn on them and kill them to silence them.

Even if there's only a one in ten thousand chance of getting those things, it's enough to make someone risk their life for them.

The Destroyer Ghost's vault is said to be filled with alien technology, ancient STC templates, and gold.

That one percent of resources could transform a small pirate fleet that survives by scavenging into a large fleet overnight.

It enabled an unknown captain who couldn't even afford fuel to directly purchase the latest model of frigate.

It could make a greedy Dark Mechanicus tech priest kneel on the ground to install high-level weapon arrays that he could not afford at all.

This would allow him to rise from "a dog that pays protection money to Huron" to "a large wild dog that can sit at the negotiating table with Huron and bargain."

Dogs come in different sizes.

In the whirlpool, the big dogs eat meat, and the little dogs eat shit.

The pirates had a deep-seated understanding of this set of survival rules.

Thus began a hunt that swept across the entire star field.

In the dark mooring areas surrounding the whirlpool, pirate ships of various shapes and mottled paint started their plasma engines.

Some captains were die-hard Huron fans, or genuinely wanted to reclaim the flagship for their master out of fear of the Red Pirates' retaliation.

Some ships were trying to infiltrate the massive hunting fleet and take advantage of the chaos to make a quick buck.

Some ships simply wanted to get to the front lines and witness Huron's exasperated blunder firsthand.

Some neurotic, mad captains simply felt that having the chance to chase the infamous Ghost of Destruction in the Warp was enough to make them brag to demons in Slaanesh's harem even after they died.

Black Tooth Lake District.

A no-man's-land filled with the smell of cheap liquor and blood.

Several pirate captains, still unsteady on their feet after drinking synthetic alcohol, stumbled and jumped onto the bridge of a dilapidated frigate.

"Brothers! Time to get to work! Go after Huron's big treasure!" A blindfolded captain pulled out a bomb pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling.

"Bullshit, you warp fart!"

While checking the main gun charging, the first mate scoffed, "The way you talk is as if your useless pipe can fit into the reactor at the bottom of his ship!"

"If I can squeeze in, I'll come out with at least a few more boxes of Cadian gold coins!"

The captain chuckled and replied, "Who knows, we might even find a few beautiful battle nuns in Lawson's cabin!"