Chapter 110: The Silver Skeleton Cloaked in Flesh and Skin

“A good start,” General Drostron rubbed his bony fingers over his eyes.

He was one hundred and eighty years old, having witnessed countless wars, yet the war on Asford still exhausted him.

Had it not been for Zhou Yun’s performance in District Thirteen, he would have been even more drained.

“The artillery I stationed along the Fortress Belt held back the Tyranid reinforcements for a long time, giving us—and you—your chance.”

General Drostron said in a low voice:

“The main Tyranid force landed on the nest outskirts; Lord Zhou Yun led his troops to intercept them. By the time they retreated, the Tyranids had gained nothing but an empty district—a bitter lesson for the swarm.”

“Besides, we were targeted by a Lictor.”

At the mention of “Lictor,” Sister Magda’s heart clenched.

She spoke in a low tone: “It will come again, again and again, relentless in its assassinations.”

Sister Magda had such a Lictor as her adversary.

Since she was still a novice nun, it had relentlessly hunted her.

Just now, she had killed it again.

“It won’t,” Zhou Yun said flatly.

“Won’t?” Sister Magda blinked in surprise.

She wanted to tell Zhou Yun that Lictors could resurrect again and again,

but then she remembered—it was Zhou Yun who had told her that very thing.

“You… truly killed a Lictor? Its consciousness didn’t return to the Hive Mind?”

Sister Magda could not suppress her shock.

She could not fathom how Zhou Yun had done it.

Zhou Yun merely smiled faintly and shook his head—he alone could accomplish this; Sister Magda had no chance to replicate it.

Sister Magda could only sigh.

“We still hold forty percent of the lower hive districts and have thus repelled the swarm’s first wave. What of you?” General Drostron asked.

Sister Magda sighed: “Thanks to the Emperor’s grace, it is at least good.”

“I persuaded the local nomads—those who did not worship the Imperial Cult. The Cult had originally approved my right to purge them if necessary.”

“But now I am their protector. Their massive crawler-mechs and our Rhino transports form a convoy, moving and holding back the Tyranids falling from the sky—but there are too many of them, and our artillery is insufficient.”

“In the end, my Seraphim squad had to leap into the air with jump packs and engage the Tyranid flyers.”

“Fortunately, we barely held the line and began withdrawing toward the starport.”

Here, Sister Magda Grace’s weathered face broke into a bitter smile:

“It’s ironic—I was seen killing the Lictor by the nomads.”

“It matched exactly their legend of the Saint slaying the Color-Changing Dragon.”

“Now they call me Saint Grace, Saint Grace the Slayer of the Color-Changing Dragon.”

Sister Magda couldn’t help laughing at the irony:

“Can you believe it? Not long ago, they called me butcher, reviling and distrusting me.”

“Now they fully believe in me, with not a trace of resentment.”

When I asked them to worship the Emperor, they responded with frenzy. For a long time, I tried to break their superstitious beliefs—but I never expected it to work exactly at this moment.

“Perhaps it is the Emperor’s design,” Lei Na suddenly spoke.

Coincidentally, she too had been guided by a chain of strange coincidences to found the Ark Sect, now fighting alongside the Imperial Guard in the lower hive.

These gang members evacuated civilians, aided in combat, guided Imperial troops through labyrinthine alleys, and pointed out hidden tunnels that might be infiltrated.

“Then it must be the best arrangement,” Sister Magda’s lips curved slightly: “Regardless, I will protect these nomads.”

“What of the others? How are they faring?”

Sister Magda was asking about the condition of the garrisons on other planets.

General Drostron could only shake his head helplessly: “I don’t know.”

“I failed to establish communication with the soldiers on other worlds.”

“Except for Pertita—that death world—”

General Drostron paused, giving Sister Magda time to recall Pertita’s details. Pertita was the outermost planet of Asford, a frozen death world with barely breathable air, its cold enough to kill all life.

It had no inhabitants and was originally worthless to the Tyranids.

But Zhou Yun played a trick—he advised General Drostron to gather all the death-row convicts from Asford and dump them all onto Pertita.

The ravenous Tyranids would not pass up such rich biomass; part of their fleet would be drawn there.

The garrisons on other worlds would face less pressure.

“I received word—the cargo hold carrying the death-row convicts has been deployed onto Pertita,” General Drostron said.

This meant Zhou Yun’s plan had succeeded.

A freezing gale sliced through the dry black rock mountains, stabbing Ivanca’s body as if a thousand gang thugs were slashing him with knives.

He curled up, huddled beside the wreckage of the cargo hold, trying desperately to preserve his body heat.

“Son of a bitch… who the hell did this?”

Even as the cold gnawed at him, Ivanca couldn’t help cursing:

“Throwing us here to draw the aliens’ attention—what a fucking bastard move.”

Ivanca knew his fate:

Either die in this icy wind, or become food for the aliens invading the Underworld System.

Ivanca felt like crying, but tears wouldn’t come.

He was just that unlucky.

Ivanca thought back—his misfortune began in Old District Eight.

!.read

He had been a minor gang boss in the hive, ordered by his boss to lead a crew to dig out the buried Old District Eight.

But then a cultist, shaped like a lion and terrifying beyond words, appeared.

He not only kidnapped Ivanca and carried him through the gang’s stronghold, but pulled out a strange golden ring and vanished into Old District Eight.

By the time Ivanca finally dug through and reached the PDF outpost inside—it was already empty.

Realizing his boss would never spare him, Ivanca immediately decided to flee.

He used old contacts to find a path to the lower hive, planning to escape there.

But before he could go, the Four-Armed God Emperor’s bishop and the mutant leader of the lower hive were both killed—the entire lower hive descended into chaos.

Even the old boatman assigned to meet him was mysteriously murdered.

Too damned unlucky!

Ivanca gritted his teeth and dared to sneak into the upper hive.

But District Nine had been placed under total lockdown due to some heretical corruption—even the churches were torn down.

Ivanca was terribly unlucky—he was caught red-handed by a Battle Sister named Ajeled.

Then he endured brutal interrogation, confirmed not heretical, and thrown into a prison reserved only for death-row convicts.

Utterly cursed!

Worse still,

Some depraved bastard had given the Imperial Guard general an idea:

Bundle up all the death-row convicts and dump them onto Pertita, this death world, to distract the aliens.

The worst luck imaginable!

Ivanca clenched his teeth.

He now wanted to strangle the bastards who ruined him:

The lion-shaped cultist, the one who killed the Four-Armed God Emperor’s bishop and the mutant leader, the one who triggered District Nine’s lockdown, and the one who suggested sending the convicts to Pertita.

These four bastards—Ivanca wanted to kill them one by one!

As Ivanca cursed, a freezing gale swept over him, like ten thousand knives piercing his body.

He hugged himself tighter, shivering in the corner of the damaged cargo hold.

Many such cargo holds had been dumped onto Pertita.

Some convicts with better luck had undamaged holds, offering partial shelter from the wind.

But Ivanca clearly had no such fortune.

He had always been this inexplicably unlucky.

Ivanca curled tighter—he wanted to cry, but the icy wind had dried his eyes, and no tears came.

He vaguely remembered his father, that humble hive worker.

Ivanca’s father had long severed ties with him—he refused to see his son become a gang thug.

Ivanca refused to become a sweat-drenched hive worker, then sire a child who would become one too.

But if he could choose again, Ivanca would rather be a worker.

In this freezing wind, he even began to miss the memory of the scorching factory.

He missed his father—the quiet, devout hive worker who worshipped the Emperor.

The tall, thin man who worked tirelessly for the Emperor and his family.

Tall and thin

Ivanca blinked, confused—he seemed to see several tall, thin figures in the distance.

They appeared and vanished in the bitter wind, yet their steps were unnaturally steady, as if the cold could not affect them at all.

Could these people be wearing cold-resistant clothing and gear?

Ivanka’s face lit up with relief,

Does this mean he’s still salvageable?

Ivanka hurried forward, afraid these people might not notice him,

“I’m here! Someone’s here!!!”

He waved his arms, shouting as he ran toward the figures,

As he drew closer, the dimly glowing, blurred figures gradually became clear,

Ivanka stopped in his tracks,

They were a group of skeletons made of pale metal, emitting an eerie orange-yellow glow, draped in human flesh caked with blood.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking unlucky.”

These were Ivanka’s last words, as a beam of light struck him.

(End of Chapter)