Despite her progress, Tyranid logic remained fundamentally different from human thought.
As she witnessed Raynor burying himself daily under mountains of paperwork, presiding over interminable meetings, bickering with the Hive nobility, and soothing the temperaments of various factions, Sarah finally couldn't help but ask:
"Raynor, they are all so troublesome. Why don't I just eat them all?"
"Direct removal is more efficient."
In her view, the internal friction and diplomatic maneuvering of humans were meaningless. The laws of the Hive were always simple and direct: remove obstacles, the strong consume the weak, utilize resources rationally, and evolve with maximum efficiency.
Raynor set down his documents. His fingertips gently stroked the mini Ripper on the table, his tone gentle but firm. "Sarah, I cannot do that."
"Why?" Sarah was perplexed.
"First, there is the limitation of strength," Raynor explained. "Although the scale of your swarm is growing, it is currently insufficient in both quality and quantity to confront the entire armed forces of Brevis head-on. The Knight houses possess powerful mechs, the Ecclesiarchy has potential psykers and fanatical believers, and there may even be hidden assets of the Inquisition. Once we engage in a mass slaughter of humans, we will become the enemies of the entire planet. The gains would not outweigh the losses."
He paused, his voice softening. "More importantly... they are my kin."
"Kin?" Sarah repeated the word, filled with confusion. To her, "kin" under the Hive Mind's control were nothing more than delicious biomass.
"Human 'kin' are different," Raynor said softly. "Even though there are many among them who are ugly, greedy, or foolish, there are also many who are kind and innocent."
"I cannot, for now, commit mass slaughter against my own kind. This is what we call a human conscience."
"Conscience?" Sarah chewed on the word repeatedly. For her at this stage, such abstract concepts were still difficult to grasp.
"Furthermore, I am currently their Governor. This title brings not just power, but responsibility."
"Just as you guide your swarm to consume biomass and avoid danger, I am attempting to save them—to make life better for the people of Brevis. This is a 'responsibility' born from human nature. You will understand in time."
Sarah fell silent. Her compound eyes flickered with complexity; she understood parts of it, yet felt distant from others. In the world of the Tyranids, there was no "responsibility," only survival and evolution. But she remembered Raynor's words: You cannot just eat them.
On another occasion, Raynor personally led troops to clear a pocket of Ork remnants hiding in an ice cave. After the battle, as they watched the flamethrower squads incinerating the green corpses, Sarah suddenly asked:
"Raynor, for Orks and other xenos, you kill them all."
"I am also a xeno. Why are you so good to me?"
Raynor, who was wiping green gore from his power sword, froze mid-motion. He looked out toward the distant horizon of the ice plains, where the blizzard continued to ravage the land.
"Because we once tried to coexist with xenos," his voice was low, carrying a trace of imperceptible weight. "During the Dark Age of Technology, we shared knowledge with other intelligent xenos, drew borders, and lived in peace."
"But when disaster struck humanity—when we were at our weakest—those xenos did not hesitate to launch wars, slaughtering 99% of our colonies. From then on, humanity learned a lesson."
The Ripper tilted its head. "What lesson?"
"The only safe xeno in this universe is a thoroughly purged xeno."
"Oh..."
He looked down at the mini Ripper, his eyes tender. "But you are different. Our fates have been bound together since we met in the sewers of Necromunda."
"You have become a part of my life. As for the final answer... I will leave that for you to discover yourself."
Sarah was silent for a long time, asking no more. "Fate" was a concept too profound, exceeding her current capacity for understanding, but she could feel the sincerity in Raynor's tone. She and those slaughtered xenos were indeed different.
A feeling called "secret joy" surged within her. She felt that she was a "special" existence in Raynor's heart.
Meanwhile, Inquisitor Solene Vimlot's surveillance never ceased.
She was hidden at a concealed observation post outside the temporary command center. Through high-tech telescopes and psionic detectors, she closely monitored Raynor's every move. Recently, Solene believed she had made a major discovery.
She noticed that Raynor often talked to himself. Sometimes he whispered to thin air; sometimes his fingertips would gently brush against his collar or cuff, as if communicating with an invisible presence. Furthermore, whenever he "communicated," he always wore a silly, contented smile. It was all wrong.
Coupled with the unique psionic fluctuations she had observed during his fight with the Warboss and his interaction with the suspected wildmen leaders, she felt his power was neither the corruption of Chaos nor the holy light of the Emperor. Instead, it felt... strangely cold?
Solene increasingly suspected that Raynor was entangled with some novel Warp entity or another xeno race. But she was also caught in a deep contradiction.
Raynor was a publicly certified "Emperor's Chosen" by Arch-Confessor Goodwin. In fact, the Arch-Confessor had privately hinted to her in no uncertain terms that she should stay out of it. Moreover, all of Raynor's public actions to date—fighting Orks, stabilizing the Forbidden Wall, settling the ice clans, and integrating the army—were all in active fulfillment of his duties as Governor. He was doing a better job than any of his predecessors.
Without concrete evidence, she could not prove he had lost his loyalty to the Emperor. Solene decided to remain in hiding. She needed undeniable proof—especially "smoking gun" evidence directly linking Raynor to the "Tyranids" or "Chaos."
She adjusted her position, becoming even more hidden, like a lethal serpent waiting for the chance to deliver a fatal strike.
In the following days, Raynor's workload only intensified.
The Fourth Legion of the Vanguard Army arrived at the Forbidden Wall. This force consisted primarily of newly trained Hive Worlders. Their combat power was limited, but their numbers were massive—totaling five million men.
Raynor had to reorganize this force, assigning defense zones based on physical fitness and weapon proficiency. He had to coordinate their relationships with the original PDF units and the private noble militias to avoid conflict. He had to handle even larger logistical supply issues, ensuring food, ammo, and medical supplies were provided on time.
Furthermore, he had to maintain contact with Carter in the Hive to deal with the obstructions and skepticism of the Council of Nobles. He often worked late into the night; the light in his office was always the last to go out in the command center.
When exhausted, he would lean back in his chair, close his eyes, and feel the cool touch of Sarah—it was his only form of relaxation.