Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Huron is unworthy!

"The Red Pirates' tax collectors robbed us first, and then Lawson robbed us; they both deserve to die!"

"At least Lawson has taken it all and left, but Huron will come back to bleed us dry! Who's going to pay him?!"

"From today onwards, whoever has the gun is the rule!"

In another outer ring of Star City, a pirate captain severed the head of a Red Pirate officer left behind, hung it on a broken antenna mast, and loudly proclaimed that the outer ring of Star City belonged to him from that day forward.

Half an hour later, another, more powerful pirate group arrived and beat the captain and his men to a pulp, once again declaring the area their own.

Two hours later, the third pirate group launched a gunboat attack on the outer berth. Their reasoning was that this area was their "traditional mooring zone." In the Whirlpool, "tradition" usually meant whoever had the largest cannon caliber had the final say.

The remnants of the Dark Mechanicus were also beginning to stir. Taking advantage of the Red Pirates' command structure being paralyzed, several traitorous engineers seized a semi-abandoned shipyard, claiming all the undamaged mechs as their own. Nearby pirates immediately objected, and a fierce firefight ensued. Mechs were shredded by chainsaw swords, pirates were burned through by plasma weapons, and another layer of the remaining half of the shipyard's outer shell collapsed.

Some wanted to grab berths, some wanted to grab low-value metals that hadn't been moved by Lawson yet, and some simply tried to steal people.

Because everyone in the vortex is scheming, Huron will definitely not be able to return anytime soon.

Even if he returns, he will no longer be the Red Pirate Overlord who possesses the "Destroyer Ghost," an endless treasure trove, the complete Star City tax network, and absolute prestige.

"Huron let Lawson steal his house." This phrase will become a shameful joke that will circulate in the Vortex for a century.

On the bridge of the Ghost of Destruction, T-001's cold voice continued to report:

"The chaos index in the Great Vortex region has risen sharply. Multiple pirate groups are fighting each other, and the command structure of the remaining Red Pirates has been shattered. Power struggles have broken out in at least thirteen Star Cities or Port Areas, and the remnants of the Dark Mechanicus have begun to seize undamaged equipment on their own."

Lawson leaned back on his throne and nodded in satisfaction.

This is the ultimate result he wanted.

He never expected to completely destroy the Great Vortex with a single expedition. This place was too big, too chaotic, and too conducive to the growth of such a malignant ecosystem.

But his single strike was enough to completely paralyze the vortex.

This isn't just about stealing; it's about strategic strangulation.

The goal is to make the enemy rush back excitedly only to find, in despair, that they have no resources left to clean up the mess.

The whirlpool resembled a wounded beast with its belly ripped open, from which a pack of hungry hyenas emerged.

They first licked the blood from their wounds, and then, in order to get a little more meat, they began to tear each other apart frantically.

When Huron returned to the Great Maelstrom, Lawson's plundered fleet had been gone for a full nine standard days.

For the rigid imperial bureaucracy, nine days was only enough for a report to be sent from the first floor to the third floor of the governor's mansion, only to be returned after being stamped incorrectly.

But for the Great Vortex, nine days is enough for a vast pirate empire to grow rotten flesh and maggots from its wounds.

As the returning fleet passed through the outer storm, the engines of all the warships slowed down hesitantly.

No one dared to believe what the detectors and the naked eye saw.

The great whirlpool of the past is also chaotic.

This place has never been a clean place.

Everywhere were wrecked ships, slaves, black markets, decaying docks, floating corpses, and steel debris licked by storms. But the chaos was a "orderly chaos" under Huron's oppressive rule. All the pirates cursed Huron behind his back, but on the surface, all the pirates had to obediently pay taxes to Huron.

Now, that layer representing rules has been peeled away.

Rusty Star Wharf is now just half a charred shell, like the skeleton of a giant beast whose belly has been ripped out.

The lower berth was completely breached by the promethium explosion, and the half-melted hull hung from the broken trusses. A group of pirates in tattered power armor were rummaging through the ruins like wild dogs, searching for unburnt fuel canisters.

Upon hearing the iconic roar of the Red Pirates' returning fleet's engines, their first reaction wasn't to kneel down and welcome the Pirate King, but rather to frantically stuff the things they had just dug up into their own arms.

A young pirate, carrying half a barrel of promethium, turned and ran, but after only two steps, his companion shot him in the knee from behind.

"Damn it!"

"Your legs are broken, and you still want to steal it?!"

The two men wrestled on the filthy deck, and behind them, the red pirate flag that once symbolized absolute power was burned to a charred corner.

The bastions on the east side of the ruined star city were in an even worse state. Those giant turrets that once struck fear into the hearts of countless smuggling ships and made them obediently pay taxes were now like a mouthful of broken, rotten teeth, crookedly stuck in their shattered bases.

The fire control core was gone, the power supply coupler was gone, the aiming array was gone, and the people of Lawson even took the heat dissipation copper pipes!

Several Red Pirate garrison soldiers, covered in dust and dirt, stood guard beside the ruins of the fort. They hadn't died at Lawson's hands, but were about to die at the hands of their own comrades.

Because a small pirate crew stubbornly believed that there was a layer of high-molecular alloy hidden inside the turret's outer shell that could be sold for a high price.

The Red Pirate garrison issued a stern warning: this is the property of Lord Huron.

Upon hearing this, the leader of the pirate crew burst into unrestrained laughter.

"The Overlord?" He pointed to the empty core anchorage in the distance. "Where are your Overlord's ships?!"

Then came a barrage of explosive gunfire.

Huron stood in front of the observation window of the temporary flagship, watching everything.

The officers behind him held their breath, afraid of disturbing this lion on the verge of going berserk.

The communications officer's trembling voice finally broke the silence: "Overlord... Overlord, the summary reports from all districts are being received."

Huron didn't turn around: "Read it."

The communications officer swallowed hard. "Rusty Star Docks: the lower berths are destroyed, over 90% of the fuel storage is lost, and all remaining stored supplies are missing. The eastern battery complex of the abandoned star city is completely inoperable; the fire control, energy, and targeting cores have been precisely dismantled..."

The communications officer paused for a moment.

Everyone on the bridge knew there was even worse news.

But Huron had already swallowed the most devastating news in the warp. The moment the "Destroyer Ghost" was taken away by Lawson, the main vault, the Blackstone reserves, the Mechanicus casket, STC-related clues, high-value hostages, and the crucial Gene Seed Vault had all changed hands!

What the communications officer truly dared not read aloud was the logistical list that declared the Great Vortex's foundations severed:

"My lord... the backup treasure trove in Broken Star City has been emptied. The core technology components of Dark Mechanicus's Warehouse No. 3 have been transferred. The Red Bone Market ransom ledger vault has been emptied. Seven major fuel anchor points have been destroyed. Twelve Star City command nodes have been completely paralyzed. Some of the remaining pirate groups... have already begun firing on each other, fighting for the remaining territory."

Huron did not speak immediately.

The loss of these logistical infrastructure facilities is more chilling than losing a treasure trove alone. As long as the base remains, as long as the outer star cities, shipyards, fuel depots, vassal fleets, and black market tax network are still intact, he can use his methods to reunite the Red Pirates and slowly recover over a hundred years.

Now, Lawson has also crippled his regenerative abilities.

He not only stole the throne, but also, while Huron was away, he cut open all the remaining blood vessels of the Great Whirlpool, drained the blood he could carry, and blew up the flesh he couldn't take.

Huron's armored claws gripped the metal bars of the observation window tightly.

The thick, fine gold railings emitted a tooth-grinding sound as they gradually bent and deformed.

He growled in a low voice, as if chewing on bones: "Lossen... he used my Great Whirlpool as his self-service warehouse."

Huron slowly turned around, walked to the communications officer, and patted him on the shoulder. The communications officer's tense nerves instinctively relaxed for a moment.

The next second, Huron's iron claws pierced into the gap at the back of his power armor's neck with lightning speed, and with a sudden tug, he brutally tore out the entire spine, still attached to flesh and blood!

Blood splattered radially across half of the Thinker's control panel.

The communications officer collapsed, his body convulsing violently.

Huron casually tossed the still-warm, bloodied spine onto the adamantite floor: "I don't like bad news. Get someone who can read good news instead."

The bridge was eerily quiet.

The new communications officer practically tumbled to the control panel, his hands trembling as if he'd been electrocuted.

Huron turned around, his usual coldness returning that of a tyrant:

"Gather the fleet."

"Assemble at the main anchorage."

"Send word to all vassal pirate groups, black market fleets, privateer captains, and agents of the Dark Mechanicus to come to me."

"Anyone who dares not come, I will personally visit him. Anyone who dares to take even a single thing from me, I will hoist his entire ship into the outer ring of a storm and let his crew learn how to pay taxes in a vacuum!"

After the order was issued, strange disturbances began to occur in the ruins of the Great Vortex.

Huron wanted to stabilize the situation with an iron fist.

He had to kill the highest-jumping hyena with the most brutal speed, and then use extreme fear to force the rest back into the cage.

This method had worked every time for the past century. But now, the hyenas have become accustomed to eating human flesh and have caught the whiff of blood.

The temporary meeting at the main anchorage was held in the armored hall of the ruined star city.

This place was originally the Red Pirates' hub for dividing loot and collecting taxes. Now, a terrifying hole has been torn in the ceiling, allowing a direct view of the raging subspace storm outside. Half of the Red Pirates' battle flag on the wall has been burned off, and huge bomb craters remain on the ground from the clearing operations of the Lawson Combat Order.

The hall was packed with leaders of large pirate groups, representatives of black market fleets, privateer captains, slave market brokers, agents of the Dark Mechanicus, and several Chaos Space Marine warband leaders wearing patchwork power armor.

They couldn't stand each other; one had just robbed the other's warehouse yesterday, and the other had skinned someone else's adjutant alive the day before. But now, they were all standing here, because Huron, the Grim Reaper, had returned.

Huron sat on the makeshift throne, surveying the hall from his elevated position.

Many people lowered their heads in fear.

But Huron keenly caught what was in the eyes of those who did not bow their heads: greed, resentment, probing, schadenfreude, and even a murderous intent eager to strike.

Huron spoke coldly: "Your things are gone. Mine are gone too. Lawson stole my flagship, emptied my treasury, blew up my dock, and dismantled my gun emplacements."

He spoke with extreme calmness, as if he were reciting a bill that had nothing to do with him.

"Therefore, the Great Vortex is now entering a period of wartime readjustment. All fuel, shipyards, weapons, slaves, and repair materials will be forcibly requisitioned by the Red Pirates. All privateer fleets are prohibited from leaving port. All star cities will resume full taxation. All vassal groups will renew their oaths to me."

Huron paused, then issued his ultimatum: "Everyone, hand over 30% of all your current assets."

The hall was deathly quiet.

Then, someone suddenly burst out laughing.

The laughter came from a fat black market boss with cheap metal teeth and a neck full of stolen noble rings, though now only half of those rings remained, the other half having been taken by Lawson's cornerstone sequence along with the safe.

After laughing, he spread his hands exaggeratedly: "Overlord, do you think we still have 30% of the profits left to squeeze out for you?"

Immediately, someone nearby muttered curses under their breath: "Even my secret stash hidden in my crotch has been completely rummaged through by those imperial dogs."

Another privateer captain chimed in sarcastically, "They wouldn't even look at the rags in your pants."

A burst of undisguised, lewd laughter erupted in the lobby. Someone at the back of the crowd whispered, egging them on: "At least Lawson didn't charge us for our beds."

"Shut up, do you want to die?!"

Huron's icy gaze swept over him as if it were a physical entity, and the laughter subsided instantly, but it didn't disappear completely like it used to.

This means that the chains of fear have developed a fatal crack.