Hearing this news, Dominic breathed a long sigh of relief.
His tightly strung nerves finally relaxed.
Ragnar was dead.
This brief nightmare, which had tortured him both mentally and physically, was finally drawing to a close.
He looked up and stared out the viewport of the bridge. In the pitch-black void of space, the vessels of the Imperial fleet were still flashing their signal lights. Although the Anna had been brought under control, the main Greenskin fleet was still closing in on the Karl II system.
The war was far from over. But at the very least, they had won the first phase.
Dominic took a deep breath, straightening his spine. He walked over to the central console of the bridge. Every officer and soldier stopped what they were doing and looked at him in silence. Their eyes were filled with respect and trust.
In the face of absolute despair, this young Rear Admiral had not flinched or surrendered. He had used his courage and persistence to lead them through a grueling battle to victory.
Dominic swept his gaze across the room, his voice ringing loud and firm:
"Soldiers! I am Dominic Ventris!"
"I hereby announce that I am safe! The Gemstone is secure!"
"The Greenskin Warlord, Great-Gulp Ragnar, has been completely eliminated by our forces!"
"But the war is not over! The main Greenskin fleet continues its charge!"
"The territory of the Imperium still demands our defense!"
"By my command! All units, maintain battle formations!"
"Prepare to receive the enemy's assault!"
"For the Emperor!"
"For Humanity!"
"For the Emperor!!!"
"For Humanity!!!"
Hearing the news of Dominic's safety, the soldiers erupted in cheers. Their previously flagging morale was instantly reignited, and a fiery determination blazed in everyone's eyes.
Dominic looked at these loyal soldiers, his gaze hardening. He would not allow anyone else to make a meaningless sacrifice. He would use all his power to protect this fleet and safeguard everything he carried on his shoulders.
Just as Dominic was rallying his forces, Raynor was moving rapidly through a concealed maintenance corridor aboard the Gemstone.
He needed to leave the vessel and head toward Karl II. The main Greenskin fleet was less than twenty minutes away from arriving, and he had to be ready before they dropped out of warp.
Right then, a cold system notification chimed in his mind.
[Ding! System has detected a status update for Bound Target 2 (Solene Vimlot).]
[New pursuable target unlocked.]
[Pursuit Rewards: Random Tyranid Gene Shard × 1, Psychic Affinity +5%, Physical Attributes +20%.]
Raynor's steps ground to a sudden halt. A rare expression of sheer bewilderment flashed across his face.
"?"
He wondered if he had misheard.
The system had added a new pursuable target? And it was a target for Solene to pursue?
The system wanted him to manipulate his own bound target to go romance and conquer someone else?
Wasn't this basically asking him to cuckold himself?
The corner of Raynor's mouth twitched. He had always assumed this was a standard, straightforward dating-sim system. He hadn't expected it to have such bizarre, voyeuristic tastes.
But then again...
Raynor rubbed his chin. He didn't have those kinds of feelings for Solene anyway. If the system wanted her to pursue someone else and would hand him massive rewards for it, there really wasn't any downside.
Raynor shrugged indifferently. He opened the system interface, curious to see who this new target was.
When he saw the name displayed on the screen, Raynor's eyes widened.
[Dominic Ventris]
Those words were boldly stamped across the very center of the interface, accompanied by a holographic photo of Dominic in full military dress. The Dominic in the photo was young, handsome, and resolute, radiating aristocratic pride and military grit.
Raynor: "..."
His feelings were incredibly complex right now. He had literally just told himself that there was nothing wrong with Solene pursuing someone else, only for the system to drop this bombshell.
Solene capturing Dominic?
Raynor pressed a hand to his forehead. He suddenly felt that the system's twisted sense of humor was a bit much.
Cold warp currents swept past the shuttle's viewports, condensing into a thin layer of frost on the glass.
Raynor leaned back in his seat, the surface of his purple bio-armor shimmering with a faint, pulsing light. He rested his head on his hand, mentally reviewing the upcoming battle plan.
The main Greenskin fleet was less than twenty minutes from the Karl II space station. The only reason the human fleet currently held an advantage was because they were using the station as a defensive shield. If Karl II fell to the Orks, the humans would lose their greatest tactical anchor.
Although the crisis aboard the Gemstone had been resolved, without the cover of Karl II, the battle could easily turn disastrous.
"The hive probes have been fully deployed. Real-time data of the Greenskin fleet is being synchronized," Sarah's cool voice echoed through their telepathic link.
While the humans and Greenskins had been slaughtering each other, Sarah's swarm had not been idle. She had seeded a massive number of Tyranid organisms onto drifting asteroids and space debris. When the Ork fleet passed through those coordinates, the organisms gathered intelligence or latched onto the hulls of the ships.
Every single movement on the battlefield was laid bare in Raynor's consciousness under this flawless net of surveillance.
"Excellent," Raynor replied in his mind. "Focus your monitoring on their command structure and fleet formations. Ragnar is dead, so their Waaagh! field should have collapsed. We should expect massive chaos and internal power struggles shortly."
"We can use this window to concentrate our fire and break their vanguard."
This was a fundamental biological trait of the Greenskins. When a mighty Warboss died, the Waaagh! field that bound the tribe together would instantly shatter. Stripped of their spiritual leader and the psychic amplification of his presence, the Orks would descend into anarchy, with lesser Bosses immediately butchering each other to claim the throne. The unified fleet would splinter into squabbling factions.
This was precisely why human commanders favored decapitation strikes against Orks. Raynor was absolutely certain of this rule. He and Sarah had personally obliterated Ragnar, leaving not a single strand of genetic material behind. No living being could survive that kind of psychic collapse, let alone an Ork.
Yet, as the data from the hive probes synthesized in Raynor's mind, his brow furrowed deeply.
On his mental map, the red icons representing the Greenskin fleet were so dense they resembled a plague of locusts blotting out the stars.
Just as Raynor had predicted, the exact moment Ragnar died, the Ork fleet had experienced a brief spasm of anarchy. Many ships drifted off course, and several vessels had actively turned their weapons on one another. Yellow lights denoting infighting flared across the star map.
But this chaos had lasted for less than ten minutes.
After ten minutes, every single yellow indicator vanished.
The chaotic Greenskin fleet had somehow reorganized itself back into a flawless battle formation. The vanguard, consisting of dozens of cruisers and escorts, was burning its engines at maximum velocity, heading straight for the Karl II space station. The main fleet behind them was following in perfect, disciplined lockstep.
There was no mass retreat. No ongoing civil war.
Everything was orderly—as if Ragnar's death hadn't affected them in the slightest.
"Something's wrong."
Raynor's voice turned grim.
"This is far too strange."
Even the most elite Astra Militarum regiment of the Imperium would require at least an hour to re-establish a chain of command after their commander was suddenly killed in action.
Let alone Orks, who were chaotic by nature and worshipped raw violence.
Historically, countless Ork invasions had utterly crumbled due to the unexpected death of their Warboss. Some would even descend into internal power struggles, slaughtering each other down to the very last Ork. Never had any Ork tribe restored calm and continued their operational duties within ten minutes of their Warboss's death.
This completely contradicted Ork biology.
"The data is correct," Sarah's voice remained calm, though it also carried a trace of confusion. "The Swarm's observations show that the Ork fleet's Waaagh! field did indeed experience violent fluctuations and collapse."
"But just now, the collapsing Waaagh! field began to re-coalesce."
"Though its intensity is only half of what it was before, it is indeed growing steadily."
"Re-coalescing?"
Raynor's pupils shrank slightly.
The Waaagh! field was a product of the Orks' collective subconscious. It only formed when a sufficiently powerful Warboss emerged to unify the disparate Orks' wills.
Ragnar was dead.
Who possessed the capability to re-coalesce the entire Taste-Great Clan's Waaagh! field in such a short time?
Even if there was a second-in-command who had long coveted the Boss's seat, they couldn't have suppressed all the other Warbosses so quickly. An Ork transfer of power was always accompanied by bloody slaughter and countless severed heads. Without days of internal fighting, it was impossible to determine a victor.
An extremely absurd yet uniquely logical thought flashed through Raynor's mind.
Just then, Sarah's voice spoke up again, voicing the exact theory he dared not dwell upon.
"Could it be... Ragnar isn't dead?"
Raynor's body stiffened. He was startled by the thought.
"That's completely impossible!" Raynor instinctively retorted. "We watched him get utterly annihilated by the psychic collapse with our own eyes."
"And Sarah, you performed a genetic scan. You didn't detect any residual life signals."
"Even his genetic fragments were broken down into dust. How could he still be alive?"
"I know it seems improbable," Sarah's voice was placid. "But all signs currently point to this single conclusion."
"Aside from Ragnar himself, no one could re-coalesce the Taste-Great Clan's Waaagh! field in such a short span of time."
"And no one else possesses the prestige to make those unruly Ork warlords cease their infighting."
Having spent so much time with Raynor, Sarah's understanding of Orks had reached an unimaginable depth.
Raynor fell silent. Sarah was highly likely correct.
Orks only submitted to the strong. Only the Warboss who personally beat them into submission and led them to victory could make them willingly obey orders. A new boss would have to prove their strength with their fists. And three minutes wasn't even enough time for a single brawl.
Raynor's gaze gradually turned sharp. He remembered the bizarre, giant mouth on Ragnar's stomach. He remembered his extraordinary resilience. He remembered the name Ragnar had cried out before being struck by the psychic spear.
"The Bacon God..."
Raynor whispered those three words. A chill rose from the depths of his chest.
He had initially thought this name, which sounded like some minor dark god, was just Ragnar's dying delusion. But now it seemed things were not as simple as he had thought.
"Sarah." Raynor stood up abruptly. "Change course."
"We need to pay a visit to the Ork fleet."
"Are you sure?" Sarah asked. "Karl II's defenses are very weak. Without your command, they might not hold."
"I can't worry about that right now," Raynor's tone was resolute. "If Ragnar really isn't dead, then the battle at Karl II is utterly meaningless. We must find him and kill him completely before he fully recovers. No matter what, we cannot let him escape!"
"Understood. I will activate the contingency plan," Sarah didn't ask further.
"Good!"
The shuttle's engines roared, suddenly pivoting. The silver silhouette that was heading toward Karl II suddenly veered, charging directly toward the oncoming Ork fleet.
Time went back ten minutes.
At the center of the ruined grand ballroom.
The purple-and-gold sphere of psychic energy was expanding, distorting the surrounding space. Ragnar's body had begun to disintegrate, his dark green flesh turning to ash under the scouring energy. The intense pain made his residual consciousness tremble.
The shadow of death enveloped him.
"Bacon God! Save me!!!" Ragnar screamed frantically in his mind.
This was his last hope.
From their very first encounter, whenever he faced an insurmountable crisis, praying to the Bacon God always saw him through. This time, too, the Bacon God had granted him the ship that could devour all attacks, as well as an immortal body.
The Bacon God was his only salvation. His final trump card.
But this time, the massive mouth on his stomach was uncharacteristically silent.
The psychic energy had already reached his head. His vision began to blur.
"Bacon God, please! Save me!" Ragnar wept bitterly. Gone was his previous arrogance and brutality. Only bone-deep terror and despair remained.
"I'll give you the remaining two-thirds of the Supreme Bacon , all of it, just save me!!!"
The Supreme Bacon was Ragnar's most precious treasure. It was brewed from the flesh and blood of countless powerful enemies, combined with the most precious Ork ingredients from the planet Dorito. He valued it as much as his own life.
Now, to survive, he was willing to give up everything.
Yet, there was still no response. The psychic energy had devoured half his body. He could feel his soul being torn apart.
"No! I don't want to die!"
"I can do anything! Just save me, and I'll give you everything I have!"
"My fleet, my planet, all my Bacon —I'll give it all to you!!!"
Just a moment before his consciousness was about to fade completely, a greasy, heavy voice, sounding like a bubbling pot of thick meat broth, finally echoed in the depths of his soul.
"Deal."
HMMM—!
An indescribable power suddenly erupted from the giant mouth on Ragnar's stomach. This power actually managed to physically hold off the erosion of the psychic collapse. Immediately after, a dark green beam of light shot out from the mouth, wrapping around the last remaining sliver of Ragnar's soul.
Before the psychic energy could completely consume his body, the dark green light carried his soul, instantly vanishing into the void.
No one noticed this. Not even Raynor and Sarah detected it. They assumed Ragnar had been completely annihilated.
At the exact moment Ragnar's physical body dissipated.
Across the entire planet Dorito, and around the Ork fleet ahead of the Karl II system, the Waaagh! field, which was once so dense it could alter the laws of physics, instantly began to shatter like a pane of glass.
CRASH!
The most direct impact fell upon those colossal ships, cobbled together by the Orks out of garbage and scrap. Deprived of the Waaagh! field's reinforcement, these ships began to break apart in space. Large sections of armor plating peeled away, and the engines of several unfortunate vessels exploded, tearing the hulls in half.
Hundreds of thousands of Orks screamed as they were cast into the cold vacuum of space.
An inexplicable panic gripped the depths of every Ork's heart. They could feel that the Boss who had led them across the stars had vanished.
"The Boss is dead!"
No one knew who shouted it first.
The entire Ork fleet instantly boiled over.
"The Boss is dead! I'm the Boss now!"
"Sod off! I'm the Boss!"
"Get out of my way! Anyone who doesn't like it gets a krumping!"
The various Warbosses and lesser bosses drew their weapons. They began assembling their boys, preparing to decide the new leader with their fists. A bloody civil war spanning the entire fleet was on the verge of erupting. Some cowardly Orks had already begun piloting their ships to escape.
The entire Ork fleet descended into unprecedented chaos.
But right then, within the core sector of the Ork fleet, aboard a heavy cruiser belonging to the Taste-Great Clan, the Flatbread Meat-Roll.
At the center of the bridge, the massive throne-pot that had appeared out of nowhere suddenly underwent a bizarre mutation. This giant pot was Ragnar's throne, and the sole creation of the Bacon God. Normally, Ragnar would sit upon this pot, eating Bacon while directing his fleet's actions.
Now, the previously empty pot suddenly began to bubble with boiling heat. A rich aroma of meat and spices wafted from the pot. A pool of golden, glistening Bacon gravy materialized out of thin air inside the pot, bubbling and churning in the scalding broth.
Glug, glug, glug...