Shipping goods from the game to the World of Warhammer

Chapter 103 The Flexible Moral Bottom Line of the Human Empire

The torrent of mutated combatants crashed into the first physical barrier before reaching an elevator platform leading to the Central Nest Zone.

The Genestealers cult reacted faster than Rhodes had anticipated; after all, they had been operating this nest for nearly a century and were thoroughly familiar with the entire mobilization system.

The passageway in front of the elevator platform was blocked by steel plates that had been temporarily welded shut and overturned industrial vehicles, forming a makeshift roadblock. Behind the roadblock, more than twenty fully armed planetary defense soldiers were setting up heavy firing positions, with the dark muzzles of three heavy automatic cannons pointed at the direction of the passageway.

These soldiers' faces no longer resembled human features; the protruding skulls had cracked the padding of their helmets, and some even had their jaws protruding forward by nearly two centimeters. Yet, their movements remained disciplined and their coordination seamless. This was muscle memory left by decades of military training. Even with foreign genes flowing in their blood, the act of holding a gun and firing was etched into their bones.

The moment the first wave of mutated combatants rushed into the passage, all the heavy automatic cannons opened fire at the same time.

A dense barrage of bullets wove a deadly web in the narrow passage. The first dozen or so mutated beings were torn to pieces almost simultaneously, their bony appendages and twisted limb fragments scattering against the walls of the passage with a crackling sound. The mutated beings behind them continued to charge forward, stepping over the remains of their own kind, only to be felled by a second volley of fire.

A thick layer of debris quickly piled up on the ground of the passage, and dark green fluid formed a stream that flowed slowly down the slope of the passage.

"Well done! Maintain firepower!" A mixed-race officer-looking man shouted from behind the barricade, his right arm a full size thicker than his left, with irregular bony protrusions visible beneath the skin. "Don't let them get close to the barricade!"

But no sooner had he finished speaking than the ventilation duct covers on both sides of the passage were knocked off from the inside.

Seven or eight mutated combat beings emerged from the pipes and bypassed the roadblock head-on. They were still wearing the uniforms of the Lower Nest District Enforcement Team, but their upper bodies were now completely covered by bone spikes and tentacles, leaving only the standard enforcement team belt around their waists still hanging in place, with the communicator attached to it still lit up in green.

It pounced on the nearest gunner, its newly grown claws digging directly into the gaps in the gunner's shoulder armor. The gunner screamed and released his grip on the automatic cannon, instantly creating a gap in the line of fire.

More mutants immediately surged forward from the front.

"Flanking maneuvers! Watch out for the flanks!"

Chaos spread rapidly behind the barricades, but the decades of experience accumulated by the Genestealers cult were also revealed at this moment.

A blurry purple afterimage darted out from the shadows behind the barricade, moving so fast that it was almost impossible to see with the naked eye.

It was a pureblood gene stealer that had reverted to its ancestral form, two sizes larger than an ordinary human. Its four thick arms were covered with a smooth, purplish-gray carapace, and each hand ended in a set of sharp claws capable of easily cutting through steel plates.

Its head extended backwards with a long bony crown, and its four purple compound eyes gleamed with a chilling killing intent in the dim light.

Without making a sound, this purebred cunning chicken silently charged into the midst of the group of mutated creatures that had broken in from the flank.

The first claw swept across, severing the upper half of one mutant's body at the waist. The second claw cleaved downwards, tearing the head and half of the spine off another mutant's body. The remaining two arms struck simultaneously, their claws crossed, cleaving a third mutant in two from the center of its chest cavity.

Of course, in the eyes of other mixed-race descendants, this was undoubtedly their Star Child coming to save them.

Closely following nearby were several other atavistic beings, slightly smaller but equally ferocious. They pierced the mutated creature's flanks like sharp knives, their claws flashing, twisting limbs and dark green fluids splattering everywhere.

Compared to these pure-blooded beings who have reverted to their ancestral origins, the combat power of a single mutated combatant is simply insignificant. Those mutated beings, created from ordinary humans and offspring of lower generations of mixed blood, are far inferior to these pure-blooded combatants who have undergone generations of genetic optimization in terms of strength, speed, and reaction ability.

The problem is, you can't kill them all.

In the passageway in front of the barricade, the corpses of the mutants had piled up to nearly half a meter high, but the mutants behind them continued their charge, stepping over the remains of their own kind. New mutants were pouring out of the ventilation ducts, the cracks in the walls, and the maintenance passages beneath the floor.

The entire lower nest area was like a giant factory that had been activated, with every wall covered in mycelium incubating new combat units. The gray-green mycelial carpet had completely devoured the structure of the lower nest area, and metal and corpses were decomposed into nutrients under the action of bio-acids, and then resynthesized into biomass, continuously transforming into new mutated combat entities.

Kill one hundred, and there are still two hundred left. Kill two hundred, and there are still five hundred left.

After tearing apart hundreds of mutated creatures, the leading, atavistic pureblood finally realized the gravity of the situation. Its four arms were covered in dark green fluid, and its carapace bore several shallow scratches from bone spikes. It wasn't that a single mutated creature posed a threat; rather, there were simply too many of them.

Even pure-blooded gene stealers are skilled at surprise attacks and cannot withstand continuous high-intensity combat.

Moreover, these mutants are constantly becoming smarter.

At first, they would just rush towards the defensive line in a swarm, but now they have begun to coordinate tactical actions, with some drawing fire from the front and others flanking from the sides.

There is clearly a unified command behind them, and this command is rapidly learning and adapting.

Conversely, the progress of the alien beings was also firmly blocked.

There are only a few entrances to the Middle Nest District, and each one is heavily guarded by the Genestealer Cult. Heavy automatic cannons, crossfire from bolters, close-quarters combat from atavistic purebloods, and the narrow terrain of the passages themselves make them ideal for defense.

The numerical advantage of the mutated combatants is greatly diminished in this terrain, and their individual combat capabilities are indeed insufficient. A single mutated creature can clear an entire passage in seconds, while the barrage of heavy automatic cannons turns a frontal charge into suicide.

Especially the defensive line in front of the second elevator platform, the Genestealer Cult even brought in two infantry fighting vehicles. The firepower of the vehicle-mounted heavy bolters turned that passage into a meat grinder. The remains of the mutants piled up into small mountains in the passage, blocking it, and were then crushed by the subsequent surge of mutants. New remains piled up again, and so on.

Stalemate.

Rhode had seen the battle situation in each passage through the psionic link and already knew the situation.

The mutant combatants are essentially ordinary people who have been modified by the virus. They have a few bone spurs and tentacles on their bodies, and they still carry the same old broken weapons. It is unrealistic to expect them to break through this level of defense head-on.

He never intended for the mutants to be used as battering rams from the beginning. Their purpose was to exert pressure, wear down the enemy, and distract them.

But this stalemate cannot drag on for too long.

The longer it drags on, the more likely the other side is to call in reinforcements from the outside. And if they are desperate, the fluctuations in their psionic energy will eventually attract something they shouldn't.

Meanwhile, in orbit around the planet Craigen, inside the bridge of the Christina.

Aliya sat upright at the communications desk, the holographic screen in front of her displaying Craig's communication channel. Her expression subtly conveyed a hint of anxiety and impatience, but the calmness in her eyes was completely different from her outward demeanor.

"—This is the sixth time." Aliya's voice came through the communication channel, her dissatisfaction perfectly timed. "It's been a full thirty-seven standard hours since the Merchant Ronin last contacted us. I need an explanation, not your constant 'we're investigating'."

Across the communication channel, a middle-aged man with a fair complexion sat upright behind an ornate desk. He wore a well-tailored administrative uniform, his hair was neatly combed, and a perfectly appropriate apologetic smile graced his face.

If you don't look closely, no one will notice the unnatural bony protrusion in front of his skull, which is completely covered by his carefully trimmed bangs.

"Your Excellency, please understand that Craig is a hive world with a population of billions. Your Excellency, the Merchant Ronin, became separated from his entourage while visiting the Middle Hive District. In such a densely populated environment, the search will take time."

His tone was gentle and polite. "Our law enforcement agencies are fully engaged in the search, and are also reviewing CCTV footage from all public areas —"

"Thirty-seven hours, and you haven't even found a single useful clue?" Aliya interrupted him, raising her voice slightly. "Should I remind you that the Vandrick Dynasty's merchant ronin holds an Imperial Merchant Ronin Trade Certificate? If you cannot provide a satisfactory answer within a reasonable timeframe, I will have to activate the flagship's sensor array to conduct a full scan of your planet, while simultaneously requesting assistance from the nearest Imperial naval patrol fleet."

This statement carries significant weight. A full scan means the merchant ronin's flagship will obtain detailed topographical data and population heat maps of the planet, and the involvement of the Imperial Navy is the last thing the Genestealers cult wants to see.

The smile on the administrator's face froze for a moment, but quickly returned to normal.

"Sir, I fully understand your concerns, but unnecessary actions could cause panic among the citizens, which would be detrimental to the search operation. We are coordinating all available resources. In addition, I have just received information that some security issues have arisen in the Lower Nest District, which may temporarily affect our search progress, but please rest assured that everything is under control."

When Aliya heard the words "security issues in the Lower Nest area," her eyes blinked slightly, but her expression turned anxious and dissatisfied.

"Security issues? What do your security problems have to do with us wandering merchants? I don't care about your internal affairs, I just want a result."

"Of course, of course. We will give you a clear answer within 24 standard hours, that's my personal commitment."

Aliya paused for a few seconds, as if considering the suggestion.

"Twelve hours."

"—Eighteen hours?"

"Twelve hours, no bargaining. If the time limit is exceeded, I will consider it hostile behavior, and the Christina will take all necessary measures to ensure the safety of the merchant ronin."

Fine beads of sweat appeared on the forehead of the administrator on the other end of the communication line, but he still maintained his polite smile.

"Okay, twelve hours. We will definitely give you a satisfactory answer."

Communication was cut off.

Aliya leaned back in her chair, the anxious expression on her face vanishing the instant the communication channel was turned off, replaced by a calm tinged with amusement.

Twelve hours is enough time for the boss to turn the place upside down.

On the abandoned platform, Rhode watched the images transmitted back through the psionic link.

At another elevator platform, two infantry fighting vehicles were blasting his mutated combat creatures into pieces with their heavy bolters. Although the number of mutated creatures was still increasing, their numerical advantage was being completely suppressed by this level of heavy firepower.

The old-style passage was in slightly better condition, but the presence of those few pure-blooded creatures turned it into a meat grinder, where every meter the mutated creatures advanced came at the cost of countless pieces of their remains.

There's nothing we can do.

Rhodes sighed inwardly.

Anyway, this place has been infected by cunning people from top to bottom, so it's not unreasonable for him to create a bug nest, is it?

Although there was a famous joke in his original world, "Aliens die for the country, and cunning guard the borders," it meant that some cowardly pureblood gene stealers would try to resist the assimilation call of the Tyranid swarm to avoid being digested into biomass. Those cunning ones were resisting being eaten, not resisting paying taxes or working.

But his Zerg hives can also pay taxes, and their output might even be higher than the system run by the Cunning Cult. At least he doesn't have to worry about them suddenly exploding one day and attracting the tentacled fleet of the Great Devourer.

Moreover, in terms of loyalty, his Zerg are a Gestalt society. As long as he, the central controller, is still around, every unit in the hive will behave itself, work obediently, and won't do anything like sneaky infiltration. They can even help fight the Zerg.

As long as it benefits the human empire, that big guy sitting on the golden toilet probably wouldn't mind having a little more in his empire.

With that in mind, Rhodes opened the shop and confirmed the redemption.

A flash of white light, and a round worker bee appeared on the platform. It wasn't large, about the size of a medium-sized dog, with a smooth, grayish-brown carapace covering its back. Its abdomen was bulging, containing glands that converted nutrients into bio-acids and organic mucus for building. Its head had several pairs of short, round eye sockets, which swayed gently in Rhodes' direction.

Rhodes reached out and touched the worker bee's smooth little head.

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