Sarah's voice instantly echoed in Raynor's mind, filled with unprecedented vigilance and disgust.
"Raynor, the humans on that ship... they are dangerous."
"Their presence makes my psychic essence sting."
"The Hive Mind's will and their aura are completely antithetical. I cannot penetrate anywhere near them."
Raynor's eyelashes fluttered slightly as he responded internally: "I know. They are the Sisters of Silence. The Black Ships of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica have arrived."
"The traces on the ice plains..."
"I've already had them cleared," Raynor's calm tone reassured Sarah. "Don't worry. As long as we don't actively expose ourselves, they won't find anything. But for the time being, you and all Tyranid units must suppress all psychic fluctuations. You must not show yourselves under any circumstances."
"Understood." Sarah's voice faded, though her guard remained high.
Just then, a deafening roar of engines erupted. The Victory-class battleship Gemstone, clad in dark gold and burgundy, glided into the largest docking berth of the main starport.
Raynor's hypothesis regarding the fleet leader's origin grew more certain. Seeing this behemoth at close range, the sense of oppression magnified tenfold. The macro-cannon muzzles, with their terrifying diameters, were not lessened by their exquisite exterior; they remained instruments of total destruction. The luxurious gemstone decorations on the hull did not weaken its warlike atmosphere; instead, they highlighted the bottomless wealth and power of its owner. Few families in the entire Segmentum Obscurus, or even the entire Imperium, could afford to forge a mainline battleship in this fashion.
The heavy pressure doors hissed open with a massive "psshhh," venting white gasses from both sides of the hatch. A rhythmic, metallic stomping echoed out. A dozen elite guards, clad in dark-gold master-crafted power armor, stepped out first. Their armor featured the same gemstone inlays as the Gemstone, every detail polished to perfection. Yet, at critical points, they were covered in thick adamantium plating—a perfect fusion of luxury and combat utility. The quality of the power armor worn by these guards alone surpassed the master-crafted set specially commissioned for Raynor by the combined guild masters of Brevis.
They held bolters with synchronized precision, their gazes steady as they quickly established a security perimeter on either side of the hatch. An aura of iron and blood from long-fought campaigns washed over the area. Even Raynor's most elite Vanguard veterans seemed to pale slightly in comparison to these guards.
Next, a young man stepped slowly out of the hatch. He wore a set of magnificent master-crafted power armor in the same color scheme as the Gemstone. His helmet was removed, tucked under his left arm. He had hair as red as fire, handsome features, and fair skin, yet he possessed none of the frailty common to noble scions. His eyes were sharp and proud, carrying the indifference of one long accustomed to high status, combined with the martial vigor of a general who had seen much slaughter. He stood tall; even without the power armor, one could see a physique tempered by a thousand trials.
At his side stood a woman in solid black master-crafted power armor. She was tall, with a signature topknot extending from her helmet and trailing down her back. Her face was hidden behind a faceplate, leaving only a pair of cold, emotionless grey eyes visible. She radiated a chill that seemed to freeze the soul—the unique trait of a "Blank." Her mere presence caused the atmospheric pressure to drop several millibars.
Beside Raynor, Isuld could feel the psychic energy within her body surging and recoiling uncontrollably, as if facing a natural predator. Even her connection to Sarah's true body weakened. Fortunately, the method used to link this "doll" was highly specialized, and the observer detected no anomalies.
Raynor instantly confirmed her identity. A Sister of Silence, the commander of the Black Ship: Alpha, the End-Hunter.
He took a deep breath, suppressed his emotions, and stepped forward. In the face of such a staggering power gap, any display of pride was a path to self-destruction. He bowed slightly in a standard Imperial noble salute, his tone calm and respectful.
"Welcome, lords, from your long journey. I am the Planetary Governor of Brevis, Carey Von."
Having finished his greeting, he reached out his hand, intending to show friendliness through a handshake. However, the red-haired young man only gave the outstretched hand a brief, indifferent glance, showing no intention of responding. His eyes were filled with disdain and apathy for a governor of a remote sector. In his view, these governors perched on the edge of the galaxy were merely vermin who rose through connections and cared only for pleasure. They were not worthy of standing as his equal, let alone a handshake.
His voice was magnetic, carrying an unquestionable tone of iron and pride. "I am the supreme commander of this Tithe Collection Fleet, Tithe-Collector of the Administratum and Rear Admiral of the Imperial Navy, Dominic Ventrillia."
Ventrillia.
Upon hearing this surname, Raynor's pupils contracted slightly. He was right.
Ventrillia—the famous Gem World within the Imperium, a planet renowned for extreme wealth and extreme martial tradition. It produced the finest gemstones in the galaxy, which were top-tier materials for crafting laser weaponry. Through a continuous gemstone trade, they had accumulated wealth beyond imagination. Furthermore, through this trade, they maintained deep, intricate ties with the Mechanicus of Mars, allowing them to acquire top-tier war materiel.
The nobles of Ventrillia were outliers in the Imperial aristocratic circles. Unlike nobles of other sectors who indulged in wine and luxury, they worshipped martial prowess. Every noble scion underwent the most rigorous military training from childhood. Their culture was reminiscent of ancient Terra's Nordic regions, believing that scars and glory were the true markers of a man's dignity. If a Ventrillia noble sought only pleasure, he would never be able to hold his head up in his homeland. Only those who had served in the military, achieved notable war honors, and earned a few scars were qualified to sit at the table and boast upon returning home.
Thus, the Ventrillia Noble Guard was a "top-tier player" within the Astra Militarum—capable of both fighting and heavy spending. Their equipment was luxurious to the extreme, their soldiers were highly trained, and their combat will far exceeded that of ordinary Imperial Guard units. Raynor did not doubt the combat capability of the fleet behind Dominic for a second. Those warships were surely master-crafted pieces refurbished by the Mechanicus, and those soldiers were undoubtedly warriors of high morale. This fleet's true strength was anything but "flashy but useless."
Dominic ignored the shifting emotions in Raynor's eyes and continued in a cold voice: "I have come to collect the Imperial Tithe from the planet Brevis for the fiscal years M40.815, M40.998, and M40.999—a total of three fiscal years."
"The categories for collection include: manpower, weapons and armaments, grain, and all strategic materials produced on Brevis."
Three years?
Raynor's mouth twitched. He exerted a great deal of effort to keep his internal complaints from surfacing. He was already mentally prepared for the tithes of M40.998 and M40.999, as the previous governor had died in a Greenskin attack and the ensuing chaos prevented timely payment.
But where did the tithe for M40.815 come from?! That was an old debt from nearly two hundred years ago! The Administratum had actually dug up a bad debt from two centuries back—which year's Tithe Fleet must have gone missing for them to do this?
Dominic, seemingly oblivious to Raynor's darkened expression, stepped aside to reveal the Sister of Silence, Alpha. His tone remained flat as he introduced her.
"And this beside me is Lady Alpha, an End-Hunter from the Black Ship League of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica."
"She is the 'Mistress of the Black Ship' for this mission, responsible for collecting the psychic tithe from Brevis."
Alpha gave a slight nod but remained silent. Her grey eyes locked onto Raynor, as if trying to peer through his very soul. The icy aura of an "Untouchable" surged toward Raynor like a flood, causing the psychic traces within him to recoil frantically. Although Raynor could not use psychic powers himself, the presence of the "Yellow Weasel" and Sarah meant there was inevitably some psychic residue within him.
Dominic's gaze returned to Raynor, his tone carrying an uncompromising authority.
"Governor Carey Von, the situation in Segmentum Obscurus is currently unstable due to the large-scale invasion of Chaos fleets."
"War on the front lines is dire, and the Imperium requires more resources and manpower to combat the Great Enemy."
"I hope you will cooperate fully and understand the harsh standards of this tithe collection."
Raynor's face was as dark as it could get. Was this a request for "understanding"? This was a blade held to his throat, a direct order to "hand over the taxes." Facing this Ventrillian noble who held significant military force and a deep background, Raynor had no capital for open defiance. If he broke protocol now, this massive fleet could turn Brevis's hive cities into scorched earth within hours.
He suppressed his fury, bowed slightly, and maintained a respectful tone.
"Rest assured, Lord Dominic. I have always been loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium of Man."
"Regarding the payment of the tithe, the government of Brevis and I will fully cooperate with your work."
This response caught Dominic somewhat by surprise. He had traveled to many remote planets to collect tithes. Those governors usually cried poverty, made excuses, or even secretly conspired with Chaos to resist. This was the first time he had met a governor who agreed so readily.
However, he did not lower his guard. Instead, he made a mental note of it. The more compliant they were on the surface, the more likely they were hiding something underneath. Governors of these backwater planets were masters of feigned obedience. He would see if this Carey Von was truly sensible or just putting on an act.
"Very well," Dominic replied curtly.
"Since the Governor is so cooperative, let us not waste time here. We shall find a place to discuss the specific details of the tithe."
"Of course." Raynor immediately stepped aside and made a gesture of invitation. "The VIP reception room at the starport has been prepared for you. The security is tight, and you will not be disturbed."
Dominic nodded and began to walk. Lady Alpha followed him closely, while a dozen elite guards fanned out, shielding the two of them in the center and scanning the surroundings with vigilance. Raynor walked to the side, half a step behind Dominic, maintaining a low posture.
On the way to the reception room, Alpha's gaze never left Raynor. That icy "Untouchable" aura clung to him like a leech. Raynor's inner vigilance grew. These Sisters of Silence truly lived up to their reputation. Just standing near her exerted such a powerful suppression. If a conflict broke out, Sarah's psychic attacks would likely be severely diminished in her presence.
More concerning was the Black Ship itself; no one knew exactly how many Sisters of Silence were on board. He could only hope that the Tyranid traces on the Brevis ice plains had been cleared thoroughly enough to leave no evidence.
A few minutes later, the group arrived at the VIP reception room. It was a luxuriously decorated room, originally intended for visiting Imperial nobles and high-ranking officers. However, compared to the opulence of the Gemstone, the decor here seemed almost shabby.
The doors and windows were immediately secured by Ventrillia's elite guards and the Sisters of Silence. Alpha stood in the corner of the room, her grey eyes still fixed on Raynor like a dispassionate surveillance monitor. The door closed, shutting out all external noise. Only Raynor, Dominic, and Alpha remained in the room, and the atmosphere instantly became suffocating.
Dominic sat in the main chair without any pleasantries. He pulled a thick roll of parchment from his coat and tossed it onto the table in front of Raynor.
"This is the collection list for this tithe. See for yourself." His tone was cold, leaving no room for negotiation.
"Within ten days, everything on this list must be prepared and delivered to the Gemstone."
"Missing one item or one person will be treated as tax evasion."
Raynor silently picked up the parchment and unrolled it. Lines of collection categories written in High Gothic densely covered the entire sheet. As he read further down, his brow furrowed deeper, and his complexion worsened. The requirements on the list could no longer be described as "harsh"; they were an attempt to suck the marrow out of Brevis's bones.
Under the manpower category, it was written in black and white: thirty percent of the young adult male and female population of Brevis must be gathered and sent to the transport ships within seven days.
Thirty percent? Are you joking?
This single clause alone would take half of Brevis's life. After the Greenskin invasion, the total population had plummeted to around ten billion; the proportion of young adults was just over three billion. Taking thirty percent meant draining Brevis of its entire future military reserves and primary labor force. Though, there was some room for maneuver here—padding the numbers with the old or weak was common practice.
The armament category required thirty percent of the production output of standard lasguns, bolters, Leman Russ tanks, Chimera armored vehicles, along with matching ammunition and parts, all to be ready in seven days. This part was actually the easiest. Brevis was classified as a Hive World whose primary role was providing manpower, so the armament quotas weren't impossibly high.
But what drove Raynor to despair was the grain category. The amount listed was something Brevis couldn't pay even if they emptied every silo on the planet. It was obvious that the other party had included the grain output of the agricultural world, Dorido.
Dorido was an agricultural world, but due to its small size and proximity to Brevis, it was historically placed under Brevis's jurisdiction. Thus, the Planetary Governor of Brevis effectively managed two planets. However, Brevis had lost Dorido two years ago. Grain production had plummeted, and currently, they were barely maintaining the hive cities' basic operations. If they handed over this grain, a massive famine would erupt immediately—affecting everyone from the Under-city to the Upper Spire.
Finally, at the end of the list, was the psychic tithe managed by Alpha. One thousand psykers who met the standards of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica after psychic grading had to be delivered to the Black Ship within ten days, regardless of age or gender. If there was any concealment or private harboring of rogue psykers, it would be treated as treason against the Imperium, and the Inquisition would intervene.
Raynor set the list down, took a deep breath, and looked up at Dominic. The respect on his face had vanished, replaced by an icy calm. He looked at the proud noble Admiral and spoke softly.
"Lord Dominic, the requirements on this list... Brevis cannot meet them."