"How long will the repairs take?" Raynor asked. This was currently his most pressing concern.
"At least two months," Alderman sighed, a look of despair on his face. "And that's the most optimistic estimate. We are severely lacking in both manpower and materials."
"The current engineering team consists of fewer than two thousand people, and we only have about a hundred thousand servitors. We can barely keep up with clearing the rubble, let alone repairing such a complex system. We need at least twenty thousand professional engineers, a million servitors, two million tons of steel, and all sorts of precision electronic components and piping. Unless Brevis can immediately dispatch a professional maintenance fleet with sufficient supplies, then..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear. Without reinforcements, Karl-2's power and defense systems would never be restored.
Raynor rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. This was exactly what he feared. Karl-2 had been taken, but in its current state, it was a riddled, defenseless mess. Without a functional defense system and a stable power supply, the difficulty of holding it against a counterattack from the Orks of Dolido was self-evident.
There were over a billion Greenskins on the agricultural world of Dolido. With a single order from Ragnar, they could organize an army of tens of millions and swarm over like a tide. With the meager forces currently stationed on Karl-2, holding out would be a struggle.
"I have already dispatched a messenger fleet to return to Brevis with the news of victory and a request for reinforcements," Raynor said. "But as you know, navigation is currently full of uncertainty due to the influence of Warp turbulence. At the earliest, it will take a week for reinforcements to arrive."
There was something Raynor didn't say: the abysmal administrative efficiency of the bureaucracy. Once away from the operation of the grassroots Genestealers, efficiency dropped off a cliff by a factor of five; even a simple matter could be dragged out for ages.
"A week?!" Alderman's eyes widened, but he soon let out another sigh. The efficiency of the Imperial administrative system was legendary; Alderman quickly accepted reality.
"Rest assured, I will leave the majority of the fleet and ground forces behind," Raynor interrupted, his voice carrying a steady, reassuring tone. "The Peak Obsidian, along with most of the frigates and destroyers, will remain. Five million ground troops will be stationed at every key node."
"Before reinforcements arrive, I will ensure the safety of Karl-2. Your task now is to lead the engineering team and do your absolute best to repair the power and life-support systems in the core area first. Fix what you can."
"As for the defense system, prioritize the anti-aircraft guns at the port so we can at least intercept Greenskin landing craft."
"Yes... My Lord." Alderman nodded. Though still worried, there was no other way. He gathered his blueprints, saluted Raynor, and hurried off to arrange the repair work.
Raynor was left alone on the bridge. He walked to the window and gazed out into space again. In the magnificent void, the warships of the Expeditionary Fleet floated silently like steel guardians. The flickering void shields in the darkness provided a strange sense of security.
But Raynor knew how fragile that security was. He had to stabilize the situation on Karl-2 within a week and wait for reinforcements from Brevis.
However, fate always loves to play the cruelest jokes at the most critical moments.
On the morning of the second day after the messenger fleet had departed, piercing alarms suddenly rang out across the fleet.
"Warning! Warning! Unidentified target detected, approaching rapidly. Distance to Karl-2 is less than ten thousand kilometers!"
"Radar currently cannot identify the target. The opposing side has not responded to our communication requests!"
"All ships enter Battle Readiness Level 1! Repeat, all ships enter Battle Readiness Level 1!"
The once-calm fleet became a hive of activity instantly. Warship engines roared to life, and weapon turrets turned toward the unidentified target. Fighters launched from hangars, forming combat patterns in front of the fleet.
Raynor arrived at the bridge of the Peak Obsidian immediately.
"What's the situation?" Raynor asked grimly.
"My Lord, look here." The radar officer pointed to a blip on the screen. "An hour ago, this target suddenly jumped out of the Warp and is heading toward us at extremely high speed. We have tried to contact them multiple times, but there has been no response."
Raynor stared at the blip, his brow furrowed. Greenskins from Dolido? No, Ork ships couldn't be this fast, nor would they be so small in scale. A Chaos fleet? Unlikely; Chaos ships are usually accompanied by intense Warp energy fluctuations, and this target's energy signature wasn't that violent.
Just then, the communications officer shouted: "My Lord, the other side has responded."
"They say they are from the Brevis Governor's Palace and have urgent military intelligence to report to you!"
"The Brevis Governor's Palace?" Raynor was stunned, his heart skipping a beat. A ship from Brevis? Has the home front been taken?
"Tell them to dock at Port 3 immediately. Dispatch a company of soldiers to escort them to see me," Raynor ordered.
Ten minutes later, a young official in a black formal suit, pale and soaking wet, was brought to the bridge by soldiers. He had clearly run the whole way; he was panting heavily, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat. His suit was torn in several places, and he had scrapes on his face, looking utterly wretched.
"Lord... Lord Raynor!" The young official didn't even stop to catch his breath. He grabbed Raynor's arm and said urgently, "Something terrible has happened! The Tithe Collection Fleet... the Tithe Collection Fleet is about to arrive at Brevis!"
"The Tithe?" Raynor's brow furrowed deep once again.
"Yes, My Lord!" The young official nodded vigorously, speaking as fast as a machine gun. "When I departed, they were less than three days' voyage away from Brevis! By now, they've likely entered the planet's orbit. Chief Consul Carter ordered me to notify you immediately at all costs."
"He wants you to return and take charge of the situation before it's too late! To save time, we risked a Warp jump; the hull is severely damaged, but by the Emperor's grace, we arrived safely."
They had truly risked their lives to get here.
Raynor leaned his head against his hand and let out a helpless sigh.
This was Warhammer 40K. You didn't just have to face powerful enemies; you had to constantly guard against this decaying and cruel Imperium of Man.
You fight bloody battles on the front lines, surviving by the skin of your teeth to capture a key location, waiting for reinforcements and supplies. You think you'll receive recognition and rewards from the Imperium.
But what arrives is almost never reinforcements. What arrives is usually the Imperial Tithe.
The Imperium did not care how Brevis was faring. They did not care that Brevis had just endured a massive Greenskin invasion, nor did they care that its population had been slashed by a third. They cared even less that Brevis's grain reserves were nearly empty or that it still faced a colossal threat from the Orks of Dolido.
They cared about only one thing: whether you had paid the Tithe on time and in full.
If you failed to pay, what awaited you was the judgment of the Inquisition and the wrath of the Imperial Navy. The entire planet would be declared a "Rebel World" and subjected to Exterminatus.
"That grooved Imperium!" Raynor cursed under his breath, his tone filled with a mix of fury and helplessness.
He knew exactly what the Tithe meant. The Imperial Tithe was varied, incredibly harsh, and the standards often shifted based on the whims of the Administratum or the resources required by the local sector. For a Hive World like Brevis, the most fundamental requirement was the Troop Tithe. Every year, each Hive World had to surrender one-tenth of its population to serve as recruits for the Astra Militarum.
In the world of Warhammer, humans were always the cheapest "commodity." Raynor could grudgingly accept this part. A large reason for the Vanguard's massive recruitment and preliminary training recently was to provide suitable soldiers for the Tithe.
However, Raynor had heard that due to other reasons, the Tithe fleet hadn't arrived on schedule last year. This meant he had to pay two years' worth of Tithe at once. Thinking of this, Raynor rubbed his temples again. It was a massive headache.
But what Raynor truly worried about was that they might collect other resources besides soldiers this time. After all, their Calixis Sector was located in the Segmentum Obscurus. At this point in time, the "13th Black Crusade" had begun. The Cadian Gate was destroyed, the Great Rift had opened, and the entire Segmentum Obscurus was likely embroiled in fierce warfare.
Therefore, it was "normal" for the Administratum to squeeze Hive Worlds for additional resources: grain, minerals, industrial goods, armaments, or even psykers. These were the things that would truly break Brevis's back.
Grain was exactly what Brevis lacked most. Following the Greenskin harassment, Brevis's primary source of food—Dolido—had been completely occupied. Now, the planet relied on the food production lines held by the upper aristocracy to barely maintain operations. If the Tithe Collector demanded a large quantity of grain, a massive famine would erupt immediately. The number of people starving to death would be incalculable.
Even more troublesome and terrifying than grain were the psykers. Once a collector demanded psykers, the Black Ships of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica would follow. The Inquisitors and "Sisters of Silence" aboard those ships held the power of life and death. They would hunt every psyker on the planet like hounds, regardless of age or gender. Those who met the criteria would be taken onto the Black Ships and sent to Terra to be fed to the one on the Golden Throne, becoming fuel for the Warp's "Astronomican."
Raynor himself was not a psyker, but many Genestealers lurking on Brevis possessed psychic talents. Not to mention the "Frost Soldiers" on the ice plains of Brevis. Once the Black Ships arrived, they would be at constant risk of exposure. If that happened, not only would Raynor's plans fall through, but he, Raina, and everyone loyal to him would be thoroughly purged.
"I must go back immediately," Raynor decided on the spot.
While the situation on Karl-2 was tense, the Orks had been scattered for now. There wouldn't be a large-scale counterattack in the short term. As long as Dolido didn't launch a massive strike immediately, the garrison could hold out for a week or two if they defended properly.
But Brevis was his current foundation. If Brevis fell into chaos or the Tithe went wrong, all his previous efforts would vanish like smoke. He would lose everything and become a homeless drifter once more.
"Pass my orders," Raynor said into the communicator. "The Peak Obsidian, along with all destroyers and frigates, will remain at Karl-2 to assist in the defense. All ground troops will also stay behind. I will take the three Turbulence-class frigates—Lightning, Gale, and Thunder—and return to Brevis immediately."
"My Lord, returning with only three frigates? It's too dangerous!" a senior officer said in shock. "What if you encounter a Warp storm or space pirates..."
"There's no time," Raynor shook his head. "Every extra ship is a delay. Three Turbulence-class frigates are the fastest; that will be enough."
He walked to the star map and looked at the positions of Brevis and Karl-2. His expression was solemn. The Orks of Dolido would eventually learn that Karl-2 had fallen. They would surely strike back. The next week would be the hardest and most cruel test for the Expeditionary Fleet.
"Go and call Gaus," Raynor said.
Soon, Gaus walked in quickly. He wore a blood-stained Vanguard officer's uniform, his posture as straight as a pine tree. He had grown a thick beard that covered his once overly delicate chin, adding a rugged quality to his appearance. Those once clear eyes, which had held cowardice and confusion, were now deep and steady, filled with the hardened calm and ruthlessness of a veteran.
In just six short months, the once-unsuccessful "pretty boy" who had depended on a woman and was mocked by everyone had completely transformed. He had become a true soldier capable of standing on his own.
"My Lord, you wished to see me?" Gaus gave a standard Aquila salute, his movements crisp and clean.
Raynor looked at him and nodded with satisfaction. During this expedition, Gaus's performance had far exceeded Raynor's expectations. Most of the time, Raynor had been operating his Ork persona to stir up trouble and sow discord within the Greenskin ranks. The daily scheduling of the fleet, logistical supplies, and several key feint attacks were almost entirely handled by Gaus with Raina's assistance.
His military talent had been fully sparked through the baptism of blood and fire. He always made the right decisions at the most critical moments, securing the greatest victories with the smallest costs.
Even more precious was his loyalty to Raynor. According to the system, Gaus's favorability had reached a full 30 points. This value might not seem high, but its weight was immense. Raynor had observed that the favorability of ordinary Expeditionary Force soldiers was mostly between -10 and 0. Even the civilians on Brevis who had survived because of his policies only had favorability around 10. In this dark and desperate world, breaking into positive values was already considered extreme loyalty.
After all, when he first met Raina, her favorability was -55 points; she had wanted to devour him alive.
Raynor handed Gaus a cigar and lit one for himself.
"How long have you been with me?" Raynor asked casually, taking a puff. His expression was somewhat blurred in the curling smoke.
Gaus took the cigar, lit it, took a drag, and then answered respectfully: "Reporting to My Lord, six months and seven days. Not a day more, not a day less."
He remembered it clearly. From that day on the Canticle, his life had changed completely.
Raynor smiled, exhaled a smoke ring, and then suddenly looked up into Gaus's eyes, asking bluntly: "Hmm... regarding what happened on the Canticle, do you still hate me?"