On the other side, Raynor also received the intelligence from Sarah.
"Greenskin psykers?" He repeated the term, his brow furrowing.
Generally speaking, while Greenskins possessed the reality-bending "Waaagh!" energy, they leaned more toward physical prowess. They were resistant to the Warp, but most individuals could not actively wield psychic powers—except for the extremely rare Weirdboyz. At this rate, the Greenskins on Karl-2 lacked for nothing. Once Karl-2 fully evolved into a Battle Moon, Brevis would be in dire straits.
"The Lictors can't get in," Sarah continued. "Their psychic sensitivity is too low. The Ymgarls can't do it either; they can deceive physical detection, but not psychic scans. Those Weirdboyz expose them the moment they scan."
Raynor nodded, realizing the situation was tricky. Although the Tyranids were masters of psychic manipulation, their current assets weren't suited for the specific environment of Karl-2. Lictors and Ymgarls were exceptional assassins with ways to mask their presence, but Sarah mentioned a powerful entity whose psychic strength rivaled her own. Even with the Shadow in the Warp, they couldn't achieve total invisibility in the eyes of such an opponent.
"Have them withdraw for now," Raynor said. "Forcing a way in is useless."
Sarah nodded. "Then what should we do?"
Raynor thought for a moment before an idea took shape. Sarah sensed the flash of inspiration in Raynor's mind and curiously asked if he had found a solution.
"Yes, but this method carries a cost in time," Raynor replied.
"What is it?" Sarah asked, impatient.
"What do you think is the best way to achieve perfect camouflage among a pile of Greenskins?" Raynor didn't answer immediately, playing coy instead.
"Researching a camouflage unit with zero emotional signature?"
"That's a good method, but too difficult to implement quickly." Raynor knew Sarah could likely do it given enough time, but that made the timeline uncontrollable and added too many variables.
"The best way to camouflage," Raynor revealed the answer, "is to actually become a Greenskin."
A Ripper scratched its head; Sarah didn't quite understand. Raynor simply patted the Ripper's head and smiled. "Just follow my lead."
Deep within the core of Karl-2, a massive figure sat on a throne made of scrap metal. Ironclaw Chandler had his eyes closed as if sleeping, but the air around him was thick with green psychic fluctuations.
Standing beside him was a slightly smaller Greenskin, looking somewhat like an ancient human shaman. His head was even larger than Chandler's, and his body was wreathed in green lightning. This was the second-in-command of the Karl-2 space station, the Warphead known as Bigfoot Siss.
"Boss," Siss spoke, his voice ethereal. "Those bugs ran off."
Chandler opened his eyes. His pupils were missing, replaced by a clouded, murky gray. "Ran off?"
"But those humies are mostly dead."
Chandler remained silent for a moment before replying, "Mostly?"
"Yeah. A few humies carrying the stench of Warp-spookery escaped. They can dodge my boyz' scans."
A giant metal claw swung down, smashing the newly repaired scrap throne to pieces. "Useless gits!"
"How did you promise me, Siss? Didn't you say not even a fly could leave the Core Zone?"
Siss lowered his head. "Don't worry, Boss. They didn't see nuthin'. If they dare come back, I'll catch 'em meself!"
With Siss's assurance, Chandler didn't fly into a further rage. He turned and walked out. Once Chandler was gone, Siss looked up toward the direction he had left, his expression dark and sinister.
Three days had passed since the last attempt to scout the Core Zone. Luna stood on the bridge of the Measure of Discipline, a persistent shadow of worry between her brows.
Three days. In those three days, she had tried everything: more Infiltrators, better-equipped squads, Chaos cultists with stronger psychic powers. She had even personally used spells to try and bypass the Weirdboyz' perception.
Every attempt had ended in failure. Those Weirdboyz were like cameras with 360-degree vision; any creature entering the Core Zone was instantly detected. She had already lost over two companies of Infiltrators. Meanwhile, that damnable Warboss remained hidden deep in the Core, never even showing a shadow.
"Lady Luna," her adjutant stepped forward cautiously. "Should we... perhaps withdraw and regroup for a bit?"
Luna gave him a cold look. The adjutant immediately shut his mouth.
Just then, the comms unit chirped. "My Lady! Urgent news!" The comms officer's voice carried a tremor. "On Brevis, the Governor's expedition fleet has launched!"
"What!?" Luna's pupils constricted sharply.
Brevis, the Spaceport.
The Peak Obsidian floated silently outside the port, its massive hull reflecting a cold metallic luster under the lights. This was the Gothic-class strike cruiser, over five kilometers long with a slender, predatory silhouette.
Rows of dense lance arrays lined its broadsides—all heavy-caliber models capable of delivering fatal blows to enemy vessels in mid-to-close range combat. Its prow was fitted with torpedo tubes, and its stern housed four sets of massive propulsion engines.
Unlike Luna's Tyrant-class and Moon-class vessels, the Gothic-class was better suited for close-range brawling. Its armor was thicker, its turning more agile, and its firepower more concentrated. In close quarters, it could unleash more terrifying lethality than Luna's cruisers.
However, it had its weaknesses: low efficiency against shields, insufficient long-range firepower, and high maintenance difficulty. To compensate, Raynor had paired it with thirty escort ships, primarily Firestorm-class frigates and Cobra-class destroyers. They were fast and hard-hitting, ideal for close-range dogfights and capable of stripping away ship shields quickly. He chose not to patch up the ship's weaknesses but to push its strengths to the absolute extreme.
The fleet also included twenty transport and supply ships, along with one mobile dock. Overall, its long-range firepower and recovery capabilities were inferior to Luna's fleet, but in close-range skirmishes and ambushes, Raynor's fleet would be stronger and more flexible.
Raynor stood on the bridge, looking through the massive floor-to-ceiling viewport toward Brevis. The grayish-white planet was rotating slowly. He could see the silhouette of the Primary Hive, the outline of the Forbidden Wall, and the places where he had fought.
"My Lord," the captain approached. "All systems checked. The fleet is ready. We can launch at any time."
Raynor nodded. He turned to look at everyone on the bridge—the elites selected from the Vanguard and loyal warriors infected by the Genestealers. These were people willing to follow him anywhere.
"Launch," he said, his voice firm and powerful. "Objective: Reclaiming Karl-2!"
"May the Emperor protect!"
"May the Emperor protect!" A synchronized echo rang out through the bridge.
The engines of the Peak Obsidian began to warm up. The fire from the thrusters shifted from red to a brilliant blue-white, and the massive warship began to move. It detached from the spaceport and sailed into the starry void.
Behind it, thirty frigates and twenty transports formed a neat formation, following their lead wolf like a pack of loyal hounds. Below them, at the Brevis Primary Hive, countless citizens stood at the closest points they could reach to the spaceport. They craned their necks, watching the receding trail of fire.
Some held holy icons of the Emperor, some waved the flags of Brevis, and others knelt in silent prayer. To them, Raynor's fleet was the only expedition that truly represented Brevis. He had fed them and led them to victory over powerful enemies—unlike that Regent Luna, who relied on the Mechanicus and was someone they had never even heard of.
"Blessings of the Emperor!" someone shouted.
"May the Emperor protect the expedition fleet!" more joined in.
The voices merged into a torrent, carrying powerfully toward the fleet as it vanished into the distance. Raynor stood on the bridge, listening to the voices coming through the comms channels. He remained silent for a long time, the corners of his mouth curving into a slight arc.