r18novel Chapter 58 Destroyed Spaceship
Chapter 58 Destroyed Spaceship
The makeshift camp at the junction of the passageways was dark, with only the faint red glow of the servitors' optical lenses and a few tactical lights. Veterans were checking weapons, servitors were distributing ammunition boxes, and Kara stood near the fork in the passageway, facing the way they had come.
The communication panel was completely black. The Black Pearl's signal had been completely cut off hours ago. The sediment layers on the wrecked hull and thousands of years of subspace corrosion had shielded all radio frequency signals.
Liu En walked to the fork in the road, his consciousness extending outward. The direction of the passageway within a five-kilometer radius, the location of the cabins, and the moving entities hidden in the shadows all unfolded in his perception. Those green-skinned creatures appeared as blurry outlines in his consciousness, a combination of information from the space they occupied, their movement trajectories, and the subtle disturbances they generated when interacting with their surroundings.
The traces of Greenskin activity were sparser on the left than on the right, but there were several gathering points, possibly Greenskin temporary camps. The middle section of the right passage had collapsed, and the Bee Servant hadn't explored it before. He chose the left side.
He said in the garrison channel, "Go left. The first group of greenskins is around the corner, three of them." Then he stepped into the passage. Fifty Casterland mechs followed closely behind, and a hundred armed servitudes formed a column. Kara, with two companies and five hundred servitudes, followed behind, closing the distance to five hundred meters. The metallic footsteps of the mechs and servitudes were arranged in an orderly fashion on the edge of his consciousness. The repulsive grid of the mechs was almost invisible in standby mode; only the electrostatic patterns at the seams of their armor drew subtle dark lines in the darkness as they walked.
The passage was narrow but passable. He reinforced the areas where they had been compressed and deformed beforehand, and silently decomposed the radioactive deposits. His consciousness covered the entire area, and he "watched" the battle behind Kara the whole time—the greenskins poured out of the hidden passage at the fork in the road, the sound of large rifles pounding like pile drivers pounding steel plates, and the heavy explosive shells of the garrison exploding in the narrow passage. The greenskins' roars could be heard through several layers of bulkheads: "WAAAGH! Shrimp! Kill all the shrimps!" Low-frequency hydraulic hammer-like shockwaves slammed into the bulkheads with each impact.
He didn't withdraw. The rear was still within his perception range. Supplies were plentiful, and ammunition was being issued according to high-intensity firefight standards. In the narrow passage, the Greenskins' numerical advantage was suppressed—the passage was only so wide, and those who fell in the front ranks hadn't even gotten up before the rear were blocked. The garrison advanced section by section along the passage, the machine gunners' firepower continuously covering every firing window, and the Greenskins couldn't advance more than two hundred meters before being pushed back.
Dr. Liz was in the middle of the group. She was usually unassuming, not participating in tactical discussions, nor firing from the front lines; she spent her time in her medical bay organizing medicine cabinets, checking equipment, and preparing first-aid kits. But at this moment, she was crouching in a recess in the side wall of the passageway, her power armor visor open, a hemostatic spray gun in her left hand, and stitching up a wounded soldier's wound with her right. Shrapnel had cut into the shoulder seam of the power armor, slicing through the upper arm muscle, but hadn't damaged the bone. However, in the environment of a wrecked ship, any wound needed to be treated as quickly as possible.
Kara covered the rear. Heavy explosive rounds were replaced time and again, the barrel's cooling fins glowing a dark red halo of high temperature on the thermal imaging. She reported ammunition consumption several times over the channel, and the service servitors followed from the rear carrying ammunition boxes, distributing them one by one from the back ranks. The recruits huddled behind the veterans. Some men's hands trembled so much they couldn't hold the magazines; a veteran glanced back, didn't scold them, and handed them his own loaded magazine. "Here, load it yourself next time." After several rounds of fighting, his hands stopped trembling.
The roars of the greenskins echoed from afar, coming from more than one place. "What a load of crap!" "WAAAGH!" Occasionally, from further away, even louder roars would break the silence, different in tone, rhythm, and volume. Those were orc thugs—the "bosses" of every orc tribe. Deep within some unexplored passage, at least one massive figure was roaring. Was it organizing the greenskins' defenses, calling for reinforcements, or simply venting its anger? It was uncertain. The sensors couldn't scan that far, the bee-like servants couldn't get in, and his consciousness couldn't reach that depth.
Liu En continued walking. The passage began to slope downwards, and the liquid seeping from the cracks in the pipes pooled into shallow streams on the floor, glowing with a dark green fluorescence under the searchlight.
His consciousness stretched forward, scanning the distance through the bulkhead to find possible supply depots.
The Casterland mechs fired a barrage of bullets from the corner of the passage. Several green-skinned corpses fell at their feet, and the mechs continued forward, crunching over the debris. Armed servants followed behind, their laser guns firing at a steady rate. The mechs' repulsive grids deflected stray bullets; occasionally, a bullet would strike a grid node, igniting a brief arc of sparks, followed by a short rise and fall of a buzzing sound.
Fifty meters ahead in the passage, his senses detected a large space. The bulkhead structure differed from ordinary cargo holds, being twice as thick, likely conforming to the standard specifications of a military supply depot.
Then he caught a glimpse of an outline—different from the typical green-skinned creature, larger and more robust, perceiving it as a moving iron tower. A Great Technician.
Liu En's consciousness probed outwards. The outline's features surfaced—a size two sizes larger than the average green-skinned kid, its rough green skin covered in old scars, its heavy synthetic apron crammed with wrenches, welding torches, and various unidentifiable tools. Its left arm was a crudely made mechanical prosthetic, with rough welds, exposed hydraulic pipes, and a circular saw roaring and spewing out high-temperature exhaust fumes. A large, rugged assault rifle—the Death Storm Super Rifle—hung at its waist, composed of multiple triple-barreled rifles, its firepower enough to tear through light armor. Even more terrifying, a force-field traction explosive cannon, still operating at low power, was welded to its right exoskeleton, its energy coil emitting an unstable purple glow. It was a true heavy engineer, a walking war factory. The wrecked ship was littered with parts and scrap metal, everywhere were mechanical creations it had hammered, welded, and modified. This area was its territory, its workshop.
Liu En slowed his pace. The silhouette of the Great Tech King paused briefly before moving towards the passage, accompanied by a dozen or so smaller silhouettes—the Buttlings—carrying ammunition boxes and parts bags, stumbling and scrambling behind their master. At the corner of the passage, the Great Tech King's long, thin, grotesque figure appeared. Much taller than the average green-skinned kid, his left arm's circular saw spun rapidly in the air, emitting a piercing whistle; the multiple barrels of the Death Storm Super Rifle hanging at his waist gleamed coldly in the dim light.
The Great Technician saw the Casterlan mechs, saw rows of sophisticated, complete, and still-functioning machines. Its roar instantly changed—from anger to greed. "Good parts! Mine! All mine!" The circular saw on its left arm spun to its limit. It charged towards the Casterlan mechs, each step causing the bulkheads to vibrate and hum. The smurfs ran alongside it, the bullets from its muskets tearing through the tunnel walls.
The mech's repulsive grid withstood the first wave of bullets. The Great Tech Tyrant's Death Storm Super Rifle roared, its six barrels simultaneously unleashing a barrage of bullets far denser than a regular rifling gun, instantly merging the bullet holes in the tunnel walls. The repulsive grid of the leading mech flickered violently under the explosive fire, arcs exploding into blue-white sparks at the grid nodes. The mech stepped forward to regain its footing, its explosive gun pressed against the Great Tech Tyrant's chest, firing continuously—the bullets embedded themselves in the thick muscle, blasting charred holes beneath the skin, thick green fluid gushing from the bullet holes, but the Great Tech Tyrant showed no sign of stopping. Its right arm swung out violently, the low-frequency hum of the force field-guided explosive cannon suddenly becoming piercing—an invisible force field gripped the shoulder armor of the mech beside it, pulling it off the ground and slamming it heavily against the tunnel wall. The terracotta armor dented significantly under the massive impact, and the energy feedback of the repulsive grid instantly dropped to zero. With a swift motion, the Great Tech Boss brought down its circular saw with its left hand, the saw teeth cutting through the mech's outer shell, sending fragments flying and nutrient solution and hydraulic oil gushing out.
A second mech rushed forward, attempting to shoot it in the head with a bomb gun. The force field cannon on the Great Tech's right exoskeleton activated again—this time not for traction, but for blasting. An unstable purple energy beam slammed into the mech's chest armor, the repulsive grid twisting violently under the energy impact, arcs of electricity bursting out in blinding white light, and the mech was blasted backward, crashing into the ranks of armed mech servants behind it.
The mechs ahead continued firing, unleashing a relentless barrage of bullets, but the Great Technician's thick muscles and its tattered apron, welded with multiple armor plates, absorbed most of the damage. It advanced step by step through the hail of bullets, each step shattering the metal grating beneath its feet and sending dust plumes of dust crashing down from the tunnel walls.
"You piece of metal, you slut! I'll tear you apart!" it roared.
Liu En's field of vision covered the shattered remains of the mech. His consciousness reached it, and the decomposition command was issued. The remains transformed into a cloud of atoms that surged into the warehouse. The atoms were retrieved from the warehouse, and a new mech was reshaped on the spot, from its frame to its armor plates, looking almost identical to the original. Once the reshaping was complete, the mech stood up, its repulsive grid reactivated, and it once again stood before the Great Technique Overlord.
The Great Tech's circular saw paused in mid-air for a moment.
The Deathstorm Super Rifle was still smoking, and the coils of the Force Field-Driven Demolition Cannon were still humming, but its movements had noticeably slowed. It wasn't exhaustion—the Orks' stamina far surpassed that of humans. It was bewilderment. Technicians could disassemble, assemble, weld, and modify; they could rummage through scrap heaps to build a battle fortress from the wreckage—but they had never seen a machine cleaved in two grow back from the wreckage. This was beyond the Orks' comprehension. It didn't stop to think, but its steps had already slowed.
Liu En gave it no time to react. He raised his plasma pistol and pulled the trigger. The blue-white plasma burst struck the Great Tech Tyrant's torso, melting through its armor plates. Flesh vaporized in the intense heat, blasting a large, charred hole. The Great Tech Tyrant let out a painful roar, its remaining right arm swinging a machete as it staggered towards Liu En. The final barrage of bullets from the Death Storm Super Rifle swept through the passage, sending the mechs blocking its path flying in sparks.
A louder roar erupted from afar—"WAAAGH!"—the orc thugs deep within the passage responded, commanding and urging it to continue its charge. The Great Tech Tyrant's pace became even more frenzied.
Liu En fired two shots. The second plasma burst struck its left leg, melting the crudely made metal prosthetic into a lump of scrap metal in the intense heat. The Great Tech Tyrant collapsed to its knees, but its right arm continued to swing, its circular saw continued to spin, and the coil of its force field-guided explosive cannon continued to charge. The distant roar grew louder—"WAAAGH!"—slamming against the tunnel wall like a pile driver.
The third plasma burst pierced the Great Tech Tyrant's chest cavity, exploding through its spine. The Great Tech Tyrant finally gave way, its massive body crashing heavily to the ground. The circular saw of its robotic arm continued to spin idly, the cables of the arc cutter crackled at the severed ends, and the coils of the force field cannon emitted a piercing overload shriek before falling silent. Its eyes, still open and crimson, stared at Liu En; its lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.
Liu En stepped forward and issued the decomposition command. The massive body of the Great Tech Overlord, along with the Death Storm Super Rifle, the Force Field Traction Blast Cannon, and the crudely made mechanical prosthetics—transformed into an atomic cloud at the atomic level and surged into the warehouse. Information about the material composition unfolded in his consciousness: the special fibrous structure of the green-skinned muscle tissue, the alloy formula of the mechanical implants, the multi-barrel linkage mechanism of the Death Storm Super Rifle, and the core structure of the force field generator of the Force Field Traction Blast Cannon.
The passageway fell silent for a moment.
Carlos's voice came through the garrison's channel: "Captain, how's the situation on your end?"
"It's alright, it's already been taken care of," Liu En said.
The little devils scattered and fled. Casterlan mechs gave chase through the tunnels, their bomb guns mowing down the creatures. Gunfire continued from behind the garrison.
Liu En walked to the warehouse door and probed the hatch with his consciousness. It deformed, the locking mechanism jammed. A field of energy enveloped the hatch, and a terracotta frame grew out from within the deformed frame. The locking mechanism disengaged, and the hatch slowly opened with a hydraulic push. He didn't rush in, but simply extended his consciousness inside. A superficial perception—the shelves were neatly arranged, and the sealed metal boxes were marked with the Astronomical Army's insignia and military supply numbers. Ammunition boxes, explosive rifle magazines, laser gun charging packs, as well as folding standard shovels, canteens, first-aid kits, and compressed rations. The equipment specifications were much lower than his garrison's, but the ammunition was plentiful.
Kara's voice came through the channel. "Captain, we've arrived. Is it cleared up over there?"
"It's all cleaned up. The warehouse entrance," Liu En said. "Come and check the ammunition."
When Kara arrived at the warehouse entrance with two companies, Liu En stood by the hatch and pointed inside. "Astral Army ammunition boxes, bomb magazines, laser gun charging packs, grenade boxes. A large quantity."
Kara glanced at the densely packed sealed crates on the shelves, then looked back at the exhausted soldiers and servitude behind her. Several rounds of fighting had depleted their ammunition reserves; the heavy explosive crates were mostly empty. Resupply was necessary, but not in large quantities.
"Move the ammunition, only the ammunition," Liu En said. "Don't leave the food and water; even if they're not expired, we don't need them. We have enough for ourselves. Don't leave the equipment either; we won't use it. We'll need to move it on the return trip."
The pack-type servitors surged into the warehouse, weaving between the shelves, unloading ammunition boxes and stacking them on their backs or carrying them by hand. These included bullet gun magazines, charging packs, and grenade boxes. The pack-type servitors moved quickly, their six legs, specially designed for carrying heavy loads, steadily shifting across the warehouse floor. Once fully loaded, they moved out of the aisle, forming a line to transport the loads towards the camp.
Liu En stood at the warehouse entrance, his consciousness encompassing the entire area. No new green-skinned soldiers approached within a five-kilometer radius, and the transport convoy behind him was operating normally. Kara led the veterans in establishing a perimeter around the warehouse, the muzzles of their heavy explosive rounds pointed deep into the passageway.
Hundreds of ammunition boxes were moved. The transport vehicles formed a long line in the passageway, their red beams from the optical lenses forming a continuous line in the low-light illumination. Kara said on the garrison channel, "Enough ammunition."
Liu En glanced around the warehouse; the ammunition boxes on the shelves were at least two-thirds full. That was enough; they wouldn't need that many. He sprayed another mark on the warehouse door. Then he had the servant close the hatch, the locking mechanism snapped shut again, and the hatch returned to its twisted and deformed state, looking no different from its surroundings.
"withdraw."
The detachment returned along the original route, with the pack-type mechs in the middle, and the veterans and Casterlan mechs on both sides as guards. Occasionally, the mechs' repulsive grids were triggered by stray bullets during the return journey, arcs of sparks forming intermittent bright lines in the dimly lit passage. From the depths of the passage came the occasional shouts of the green-skinned soldiers: "The shrimp got away!" "WAAAGH!" They were separated by several layers of bulkheads, not close by.
The timer showed that nearly thirty hours had passed since they entered the wrecked ship. Ammunition had been replenished, and Dr. Liz's first-aid station had treated several wounded soldiers; those with minor injuries had already returned to their units.
The howls of the greenskins echoed from the depths of the passage, but there was no sign of them approaching. The roars of the orc horde had ceased sometime earlier. They hadn't been driven back—they were regrouping. A tribe wouldn't crumble just because it lost a great master.