Warhammer: Empire Reboot

It's been two months.

The tribe did not come to negotiate, did not exchange prisoners, did not send a prophet to contact Lawson, and did not even send a proper psionic message.

She kept telling herself that this didn't mean she was being abandoned. Saim-Han needed time; the Eldar were judging Lawson's intentions. The Eldar wouldn't act as recklessly as humans.

But the silence has lasted too long.

So long that she would occasionally wake up at night and recall Lawson's casual remark, "Has your people forgotten you?"

She hates those words because the wound they pierced still hasn't healed.

Ilancia turned and walked toward Lawson.

"What intelligence?"

Lawson reached out and pulled her over.

Ilancia did not anticipate this move.

Her center of gravity was pulled to the side by his strength, and in the next instant, her waist was grabbed by a hand, and she fell onto his lap.

Lawson's thighs are very hard.

The sensation of sitting on it is more like sitting on a piece of fine gold that has been warmed by body heat.

Ilancia's first reaction was to push him away.

She braced her hand on the edge of his breastplate, her fingers touching the warmth of his body beneath the armor plates. Humans have a higher body temperature than spirits, and the heat transmitted through the thin armor made her fingertips recoil.

"Let me go!"

Lawson's hand did not move from her waist.

The pressure from the five fingers wasn't heavy, but the position was very clear: they were hooked at the narrowest part of her waist, just enough to pin down her struggling fulcrum.

"Stop joking around, what you want to see is more important than your face."

He used his other hand to turn the tactical board in front of her: "If you twist again, I'll hand you over to the Keepers of the Secrets."

Ilancia clenched her back teeth.

She knew he meant what he said.

Ash Velos, the Slaanesh archdeacon, was chained, but that didn't stop it from scrutinizing every woman who approached Lawson with a chilling gaze.

She stopped struggling.

The pressure from the hand on my waist immediately lessened a bit.

It's as if it's saying: If you listen to me, I won't use any force.

The screen on the tactical board unfolds.

Yilancia glanced at it once, and all the anger, shame, and struggle in her body froze.

The outer shell of the crimson ark.

The outline of the clan tower. The arc of light from the spirit bone dome. The silhouette of a red ship flying around the ark.

Saim-Han, her home.

Our home is burning.

Six enormous arks approached from different directions, and hundreds of chaotic warships surrounded the outer channel.

Saim-Han's fleet continued to resist, red ship shadows cutting through the gunfire and penetrating the enemy lines time and again—but there were too many of them.

Even more terrifying are the breaches in the ark's hull.

Zoom in on the image.

The Chaos Landing Pod crashed into the Third Dock Ring. Space Marines from the Black Legion and the Nameless Warband advanced through the Bone Conduit. A Ghost Guard was sliced ​​in half by a Gaussian beam.

The undead warriors emerged in formation from the green phase beams and opened fire on both the Chaos and Eldar simultaneously.

Inside a dwelling dome, a Dark Eldar raider is towing away a Saim-Han man entangled in a net gun.

On the purple bow, the Slaanesh demon's flute transformed into a psionic grappling hook, snatching away soul stones from the battlefield that couldn't be retrieved in time.

Ilancia's pupils shrank to pinpoints.

She saw the battle flag of the Crimson Moon Clan.

Outside the Ancestral Corridor, ghostly constructs formed a defensive line. A female rider dragged a Soulstone Recycling Box, running between the undead and Slaanesh demons.

The footage shows clansmen falling one after another.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the tactical board, and Lawson's hand was still on her waist, but she could no longer feel it.

"When was this footage captured?"

"Latest update. Delay no more than seven minutes."

"How could you have..."

"I have my own channels."

What did you do?

Lawson looked at her as if she were an unsolved equation.

"What you should be asking now is how long your community can hold out."

Ilancia's face was bloodless.

Lawson tapped the outer defensive netting in the image with his finger.

"Without external intervention, your race will be wiped out."

Ilancia turned her head abruptly.

They were too close together.

When she sat on his lap and turned her head, her face almost brushed against his chin.

"You are talking nonsense."

Lawson pushed the tactics board toward her.

In the footage, another landing module smashes through the outer shell of the spirit bone.

Saim-Han's clan warriors moved in to fill the gap, but were pierced through the flank by undead immortals that appeared on the other side.

An Eldar prophet attempted to seal the rift in the Web, but was stabbed in the back by a poisoned blade from the Dark Eldar. Before falling, she channeled her soul into her Spirit Bone Veins, forcibly closing the rift.

Ilancia recognized the pattern on the robe.

Outer ring members of the Prophet's Guild.

Her lips were trembling uncontrollably.

Why aren't the other arks providing support?

"Where are Usvi? Where is Iyanden? Where is Aletok?"

Lawson picked up his coffee and took a sip.

Ilancia slapped his cup away.

Coffee spilled on the edge of the tactical board, and the brown liquid flowed down the base of the holographic projection.

Lawson wasn't angry. He looked at the hand she was using to slap the cup; her fingertips were trembling.

"You're very nervous."

"answer me!"

"I won't comment on the unity of your Elven race."

Lawson's tone was relaxed: "He can tell riddles better than anyone else in normal times. But when it comes to risking his life, he first consults the fortune teller, then assesses the risks, and only after that does he consider whether it's too late."

"Shut up!"

"Doesn't it sound good?"

Ilancia's eyes reddened: "They will come."

Lawson looked at the screen on the tactics board and didn't respond to that sentence.

Silence is more cruel than any rebuttal.

Ilancia's heart sank little by little.

She knew that every word Lawson said was true.

The Eldar will always have a reason. They will always have prophecies, they will always have routes, they will always have a greater future, and they will always have another node that they must defend.

Kosaim Khan is bleeding.

The Soul Stone is being taken by Slaanesh.

The Dark Eldar are dragging the wounded away.

She stood up from Lawson's lap.

She stared at the screen, her mind racing... What could she do? She was on a warning planet! A prisoner! No ships! No network access! No communication with the Prophet Corps! No clan guards!

Where are the reinforcements?

She looked up at Lawson.

The person sitting in that chair can save Saim-Han.

Ilancia knelt down on one knee.

Her race does not have a tradition of kneeling before other races.

The kneeling of the Spirit Clan is reserved only for ancestral spirits and clan temples.

"Losen, please provide support to Saim-Han."

“I can indeed save Saim Han,” Lawson said, “but by what means?”

“Your tribe sent people to stab me a while ago. I’m already being quite lenient by not kicking you when you’re down.”

Ilancia's fingers clenched tightly.

She knew he was right; from any ruler's perspective, the siege of Saim-Han was advantageous to Lawson.