Chapter 102: The Emperor Sent Me a Dream

“May the Emperor protect us.”

On Laixi, the Grand Abbess Magda stared in stunned silence at the notebook sent from Asford.

After flipping through a few pages, Grand Abbess Magda was stunned by the astonishing detail of its contents.

“Unit: Lictor”

“Armor: Chitinous carapace, chromatic carapace”

“Carried armaments: Rending claws, scythe-like talons, spined flesh-hooks.”

“Description: A frontline scout and assassin among Tyranid organisms; it can move silently through the densest terrain, its chromatic carapace allowing it to conceal itself effortlessly.”

“It can remain motionless and hidden near its prey for days, waiting until the prey reveals an opening. Lictors can also gain intelligence by consuming the brains of living beings.”

“Moreover, you cannot truly kill a Lictor, for upon its death, its memories and ‘consciousness’ are uploaded to the Hive Mind, to be downloaded again when it is recreated.”

“Threat level: Moderately dangerous”

“Recommended response: Look behind you—it may already be there.”

Abbess Magda drew in a sharp breath.

Lictor—she knew the Lictor, and had fought one before.

She had faced the Tyranid swarm twice, when she was young and still inexperienced.

During both encounters, she was targeted by Lictors, yet Magda ultimately defeated and killed both.

No, not two.

Grand Abbess Magda stared at the notebook’s description of the Lictor, her eyes widening slightly.

So that was it—no wonder she had felt familiarity during the second assassination attempt.

Those two Lictors were one and the same; its memories and consciousness had been uploaded to the Hive Mind, then downloaded again when needed.

Grand Abbess Magda’s expression grew slightly grave.

The contents of this notebook were indeed invaluable.

If what it stated was true, the swarm’s invasion of Laixi would very likely release that same Lictor to target her again.

Abbess Magda gently touched the scar on her cheek.

She was eighty-three now, no longer the naive twenty-two-year-old recruit.

Even if her body had aged, she would not lose this time.

“Unit: Brainworm”

“Armor: Chitinous carapace, psychic shield”

“Carried armaments: Short claws; primarily relies on psychic power for combat.”

“Description: A psychic unit among Tyranid organisms, engineered by the Tyranid swarm using Eldar genetic sequences; its brain occupies most of its body.”

“Though appearing frail, it possesses immense psychic power, sufficient to levitate and unleash psychic blasts capable of piercing adamantium.”

“Note: Brainworms typically appear in clusters; their leader is a subspecies known as the ‘Psycraving,’ whose psychic strength equals that of an Alpha-level psyker, aiding the Brainworms in regulating their psychic output.”

“Threat level: Extremely dangerous”

“Recommended response: Once the Psycraving is eliminated, the Brainworm may overload and burn out its own neurons due to uncontrolled psychic energy.”

Commander Aleksei sat in his lavish Venom Tank cockpit, staring blankly at the notebook sent from Asford.

“Alpha-level psyker?” Commander Aleksei’s voice rose sharply.

A powerful Alpha-level psyker could flip his Venom Tank inside out with a single gesture—and twist Aleksei into a pretzel.

He felt some distrust toward this notebook.

Grand Abbess Magda sensed Aleksei’s skepticism.

She spoke: “The contents of this notebook are highly detailed; some match exactly what I know, yet are far more comprehensive.”

“Commanders, Lord Zhou Yun is indeed an expert on the Tyranid swarm.”

“Moreover, this notebook suits us perfectly—it does not waste words on Tyranid anatomy, physiology, or habits, but focuses on their weapons, armor, and combat performance.”

“It is extremely valuable. I even wonder—could Lord Zhou Yun be a hidden Bio-Sage?”

At Magda’s question, Zhou Yun’s lips twitched slightly.

He omitted details on Tyranid anatomy because he truly did not know them.

Zhou Yun’s knowledge of the Tyranid swarm came almost entirely from memories of his past life—he understood only their combat behaviors.

Deeper knowledge of anatomy and physiology? He knew nothing.

But now, explaining this would be difficult.

“Recently, I dreamed of an old man dressed in black robes with brown hair.”

Zhou Yun’s lips moved slightly as he made up a story on the spot:

“The old man told me that Asford was destined for calamity, but he could not bear to see his children suffer.”

“Seeing me as a righteous man, he granted me this notebook and commanded me to deliver it to you all, to aid the Imperium against the Tyranids.”

The surrounding Astra Militarum commanders stared, dumbfounded.

Dreaming of an old man, black robes, brown hair, refusing to let humanity suffer, delivering a sacred book to the Imperium—

How increasingly fantastical this sounded.

General Drostron’s eyebrow twitched—he saw clearly that Zhou Yun was trying to attribute this to the Emperor.

But—

“Black robes, brown hair? Could it be the Emperor?” Grand Abbess Magda murmured involuntarily.

Grand Abbess Magda immediately believed Zhou Yun’s tale and linked it to the Emperor.

Seeing the Grand Abbess of the Holy Rose Convent accept Zhou Yun’s story, the other Astra Militarum commanders had no choice but to accept it.

They turned their attention to discussing countermeasures based on Zhou Yun’s notebook.

“The Brainworm is highly threatening—we should bombard it from a distance.”

“I’m worried about this ‘Toxic Maw’ thing, Commander Aleksei, watch out.”

“Gunworms… so they evolve different ‘ammunition’ depending on their needs.”

“Hive Saint… surely it won’t actually appear?”

“If it does appear, it’ll be in Asford—General Drostron, if it does, just accept it.”

The initial discussion focused on countering specific Tyranid organisms, and Zhou Yun could still offer many insights.

But soon, the conversation shifted to tactical details.

Zhou Yun realized he could not match these seasoned Astra Militarum commanders in tactics.

Compared to them, he understood the swarm better.

Bored, Zhou Yun quietly slipped out of the meeting, left the church, and arrived at the gathering of Lethians and Cadia soldiers outside.

Lethians are a human subspecies, typically shorter in stature.

Nearly all are masters of theft, gambling, shooting, and cooking.

General Drostron’s auxiliary forces included a Lethian contingent, rumored to have stolen the General’s prized wine flask.

When Zhou Yun glided over to them, these small figures were practicing shooting at tin cans.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

A Lethian with brown hair fired six rapid shots from his practice rifle.

Six tin cans at a distance toppled instantly.

The Lethians erupted in cheers.

“Current record still belongs to me, Hobien Bai Lu! Anyone else dare to challenge?”

The Lethian organizing the contest raised his hands and called out:

“Whether you’re Lethian, Cadia, or even Ogryn—if you can surpass Hobien Bai Lu, you win the grand prize of this contest.”

“And every Lethian will respectfully call you ‘Champion!’”

Not a single Cadia soldier stepped forward.

Zhou Yun watched the scene with interest.

“Cadia men are all crack shots.”

As Zhou Yun watched, Battle Sister Agelaid walked up beside him:

“But Lethians are even better. I’ve heard even young Lethians can hit a fly on a Glovian’s body from a hundred paces.”

“Since arriving in Asford, countless Cadia challengers have lost to this Lethian marksman,” Zhou Yun listened to Agelaid’s tale and nodded with amusement.

Finally, a Cadia soldier could no longer endure the provocation—he stood up, picked up a practice rifle, and stepped onto the field.

He shoved a pack of Lho cigarettes into the hands of the Lethian organizer, raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger.

All six cans flew into the air.

“Accurate—but too slow!” the Lethian checked his watch and grinned. “Our contest requires hitting all six cans in the fastest time.”

The Cadia soldier spat, scowled, and stepped back.

“Why did you leave the meeting room?” As the gunfire faded, Agelaid asked Zhou Yun.

“I came to make the Lethians respectfully call me ‘Champion,’” Zhou Yun shrugged.

His voice carried clearly. The Lethians all turned toward him like a swarm of startled rats.

“Are you from Asford?” the Lethian organizer grinned. “Then pick up your rifle!”

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Zhou Yun smiled, pulled a pack of Lho cigarettes from his fourth-dimensional pocket, and tossed it to the Lethian.

Then he raised his rifle and aimed at the six tin cans before him.

Gunfire rang out in an instant; before those present could react, Zhou Yun lowered his gun, and a can toppled over.

The Laitrin people around him exchanged glances, then burst into loud laughter seconds later.

“Only hit one can—sorry, friend, your marksmanship doesn’t deserve the title of champion.”

The Laitrin man hosting the contest bowed to Zhou Yun:

“But we thank you for your lho cigarettes.”

“Is that so? Then I thank you for your prize,” Zhou Yun chuckled, stepping forward to pick up the can.

He tossed the can back to the Laitrin.

The Laitrin caught it, bewildered—the can bore only a single bullet hole.

Then he shook the can a few times, and his eyes widened.

Ignoring the stunned stares around him,

he quickly retrieved the prize, walked respectfully to Zhou Yun’s side, and offered it to him.

It was a metal wine bottle engraved with patterns, seemingly filled to the brim with liquor.

“Champion,” the Laitrin said respectfully.

Zhou Yun took the flask, gave a slight nod, and turned to leave.

The meeting inside the church was about to end; it was time for him to return.

Whether the Battle Sister Ajelede, the Laitrin, or the Cadia people, all stared at Zhou Yun with dazed expressions.

They still didn’t understand what had happened.

Even Ajelede couldn’t suppress her curiosity and moved closer to see what had occurred.

“Old Bai Lu, were his remaining five bullets fired into your hook?”

“Yes! He shot fast, but only hit one can—why did you give up?”

“Show us the can!”

Seeing the crowd gather around him, the Laitrin host raised the can and shook it vigorously.

A rattling clatter came from inside the can.

A moment of silence filled the air, then the crowd erupted in shocked exclamations.

Clearly, the can held more than one bullet.

Yet the can’s body bore only a single bullet hole.

“Six bullets—all inside the can!”

The Laitrin host solemnly raised the can high:

“But only one bullet hole!”

“We have a true champion!”

The onlookers erupted in cheers and admiration.

Ajelede couldn’t help but gasp.

It meant Zhou Yun had fired six shots in the blink of an eye.

After the first bullet struck, the remaining five all passed through the same hole into the same can.

It was nearly divine skill!

Even she, a Battle Sister, could never accomplish this.

Neither could the Cadia or Laitrin men around them—all expert marksmen.

“Champion!” Ajelede couldn’t help but join the Laitrin and Cadia in shouting.

Outside the church, only the roar of celebration remained.

Zhou Yun returned to the church, the wine flask full of liquor in hand, looking pleased.

The meeting inside the church was nearly concluded.

The commanders on the laser communicator noticed Zhou Yun’s return, gave him a slight nod, and then severed their connections one by one.

“The general strategy has been settled—we will abandon over sixty percent of Asford’s districts.”

General Droster stood and looked at Zhou Yun.

“Necessary,” Zhou Yun nodded slightly in agreement with Droster’s reasoning.

Only three million Imperial Guard existed across the entire star system, even fewer on Asford.

These men could not hold a planet with thirty billion inhabitants.

“Ferdia City will be the main battlefield. The districts we hold will be those currently under your full control.”

Seeing Zhou Yun’s approval, Droster continued:

“We’ll discuss the detailed deployment for each district later.”

“The key now is evacuating the Undercity’s residents. Sister Ajelede will assist you.”

As he spoke, Droster’s gaze flickered slightly.

He noticed the patterned wine flask at Zhou Yun’s waist.

Zhou Yun grinned, lifted the flask, and shook it toward Droster. “My spoils.”

“Just won it back from a group of Laitrin.”

Hearing this, Droster’s face twitched—part pain, part anguish.

He instinctively reached out, clutching his chest.

“That flask… is the one stolen from me by the Laitrin… it contains my precious Amasek…”

This chapter combines two parts, four thousand characters.

(End of chapter)