Chapter 113

Three streams of biochemical plasma surged from the biological mega-cannons mounted on the back of the ion-cannon beast.

This ferocious Tyranid behemoth was a specialized assault unit forged by the Hive Mind, its searing plasma cannons capable of burning through any armor and shattering any line.

The Hive Mind saw Zhou Yun’s figure through the eyes of its Tyranid creatures.

Zhou Yun suddenly appeared in the exact center of the street, like a phantom.

He shattered the surrounding Tyranids with some form of psychic power and pulled a crimson cloak from nowhere.

Zhou Yun held the cloak like a matador, standing before the Tyranid horde.

Crackling lightning roared through the street as the plasma surged like a tidal wave.

Both the Hive Mind and the Astra Militarum soldiers behind the lines watched this scene.

Zhou Yun lightly waved the crimson cloak in his hand.

The cloak collided with the plasma streams.

The cloak was so thin, it looked like a child’s toy draped over his shoulders.

Yet the plasma, roaring as if to burn the entire street to ash, struck it as if hitting layers of thick void shields.

Waves of air rippled outward, but not a single spark of lightning crossed beyond the cloak in Zhou Yun’s hand.

The plasma piled up before Zhou Yun, nearly forming a dazzling wall of light.

Zhou Yun stood like a dam before the flood, unyielding.

Even General Droster, commanding from the high barricade, wore a look of bewilderment.

How the hell did Zhou Yun do that?

Some psychic power? An ancient technological artifact? Or an alien relic?

“Get used to it, Hakimi,” Leina said in a voice laced with strange syllables. “God knows where Zhou Yun found all these bizarre tech relics.”

“Could he really be some hidden Grand Omnissiah of the Mechanicus?” General Droster muttered under his breath.

At that moment, Zhou Yun in the street’s center sharply swung the rebounding cloak.

A hurricane erupted from the cloak, sending waves surging across the plasma streams.

BOOM!!!

As Zhou Yun swung the cloak, the plasma streams were violently flung back toward the Tyranid horde.

Countless low-tier Tyranids frantically clustered together, piling into layers of flesh walls.

But the Hive Mind’s carefully designed anti-line plasma streams were too powerful—even they couldn’t withstand them.

The sizzling sound of burning flesh never ceased; the flesh walls formed by low-tier Tyranids turned to ash in an instant.

The larger, slower Baonveshou and ion-cannon beasts had no time to dodge.

Their massive bodies slammed head-on into the plasma streams they had fired.

Under the torrent of lightning, even their thick chitinous armor burned through in an instant.

As the crackling current faded, three Baonveshou and three ion-cannon beasts lay dead at the street’s end, their charred corpses.

Beneath their carbonized chitin, their corrosive flesh had been burned black and crisp.

With the Baonveshou ’s long-range armor-piercing fire silenced, the Leman Russ tanks of the Astra Militarum quickly regrouped and rolled forward.

Fire and shells concentrated on the last two Executioners, then rained down on the remaining horde—flesh flew everywhere.

Zhou Yun flashed away, stuffing the corpses of the Tyranid behemoths into his fourth-dimensional pocket, then reappeared atop the barricade in the same motion.

“How are things in the other districts?” Zhou Yun asked as he approached General Droster.

Since this district had been attacked by Tyranid behemoths, the others must have suffered similar fates.

That was the nature of the Leviathan Hive Fleet: it adapted tactics swiftly to exploit battlefield conditions, leaving opponents no time to react.

After yesterday’s failed swarm tactics, the Leviathan Hive Fleet had switched today to behemoth assault.

It had struck right at the Astra Militarum’s weakest point.

The Astra Militarum reinforcements sent to Asford suffered from severe manpower shortages, forcing them to rely on narrow terrain to form defensive lines.

If the lines collapsed under Tyranid behemoths, the Cadian Shock Troops could not possibly hold back the endless hordes.

“Terrible,” General Droster replied, his expression grim. “Many districts’ lines have already been shattered by Tyranid behemoths.”

“We need to fall back.”

Zhou Yun nodded slightly—it was exactly what they had anticipated.

The Lower City holding out this long was already at its limit.

Originally, General Droster’s plan had been for the Lower City to fall on the first day.

Surviving this long was already a miracle.

Now, shrinking the front and concentrating the scarce Cadian Shock Troops to defend the Upper City was the wiser strategy.

Taking advantage of the slain behemoths and the temporary suppression of the horde, the Cadian Shock Troops executed an orderly retreat.

The face of Saint Guilliman was gentle and kind, as if burdened by all the sufferings of humanity.

Zhou Yun stood at the three-way intersection, gazing up at the stone statue that had stood there for ten thousand years.

At its base lay many candles, some extinguished, others still glowing with faint, hazy orange light—collectively forming a sea of stars at Saint Guilliman’s feet.

These lit candles were the faithful prayers of Asford’s citizens, begging Saint Guilliman to protect them.

Some were offered by Astra Militarum soldiers, praying for Saint Guilliman to bless their weapons and grant them victory over humanity’s enemies.

Above the flames, the stone statue of Saint Guilliman held a spear, pointing toward the former location of Old One-Eye’s Spear Tavern.

The tavern was now empty; the last of its liquor had been given by Old One-Eye to the surrounding Astra Militarum soldiers.

This three-way intersection would be one of the last strongholds of the Cadian Shock Troops in the Lower City.

They would hold it, guarding the passage to the Upper City.

Two massive stone statues beside Saint Guilliman, their origin unknown, had been blown over; the rubble now blocked two roads, forming a barrier against the horde.

General Droster had even considered blowing up Saint Guilliman’s statue itself as a final defensive obstacle.

But he had abandoned the idea, fearing it would crush morale.

“Actually, blowing it up wouldn’t matter much,” said the winged figure within Bai Guang.

“I agree.”

“You’re not Saint Guilliman,” Zhou Yun glanced at him.

No matter what his connection to Saint Guilliman might be, the Divination Machine of Right and Wrong had confirmed he was not Saint Guilliman himself.

“I believe I am,” the winged figure in Bai Guang rebutted.

“What a magnificent statue,” said General Droster, walking up beside Zhou Yun.

He looked up at the towering statue of Saint Guilliman, his face weary yet reverent.

Zhou Yun nodded slightly; after so long, he had grown accustomed to the statue’s presence and rarely truly observed it.

Only now did he realize how exquisitely crafted it was.

Though carved from a single massive rock, the statue rendered Saint Guilliman’s wings with the lightness of feathers and his silk robes with the flow of liquid.

His face bore both mercy and authority, paired with the sharp spear—making Saint Guilliman appear as a noble saint who fought with compassion.

“No wonder he’s the Empire’s most popular Primarch,” General Droster sighed.

Outside the Ultima Segmentum, Saint Guilliman was the most venerated Primarch on most worlds.

Especially here in Asford, near Baal—this grand, exquisite statue clearly cost a fortune.

As for why he wasn’t the most popular in the Ultima Segmentum, one must mention a certain famous landmark on Macragge.

“Ha, a hundred thousand years ago, Guilliman was among the least popular of our brothers—barely more popular than Konrad and Angron.”

The winged figure in Bai Guang sighed.

“I never imagined that after a hundred thousand years, his popularity would nearly catch up to mine.”

“He’s got endless blue sons and grandsons,” Zhou Yun said.

It was inevitable: the Space Marines’ gene-seed was stable and reliable, their Successor Chapters countless—planets easily came to revere Guilliman.

The Blood Angels, while second only to the Space Marines in numbers, had an extremely unstable gene-seed.

Some of their Chapters, ravaged by its flaws, were too horrific to inspire reverence.

“Your offspring have many fine ones, but also many… tsk.”

Zhou Yun shrugged.

“Extreme slave-system enthusiasts, periodic massacres of their homeworld’s civilians, deceived by Chaos Daemons into blood-addiction, convinced their father was Guilliman, treating Black Rage and Bloodlust as divine gene-gifts…”

Zhou Yun listed the extreme behaviors of certain Blood Angels Chapters as if reciting familiar facts.

Each time Zhou Yun spoke, the winged figure in Bai Guang trembled.

Black Rage and Bloodlust had always been the curses Chanrao ing the descendants of Saint Guilliman.

After ten thousand years of his death, many Chapters had embraced these curses to varying degrees.

For example, many Blood Angels had revived the tradition of blood-drinking.

Yet some Successor Chapters, despite being deeply afflicted by their gene-seed’s curses, still upheld the noble ideals of the old Ninth Legion.

“Falling to Black Rage and Bloodlust isn’t entirely their fault,” the winged figure in Bai Guang said, his voice hoarse.

He felt it was his absence that caused these corruptions—and thus, he took responsibility for them.

Zhou Yun looked at the winged figure in Bai Guang and sighed softly.

He didn’t think it was anyone’s fault. If blame must be assigned… the flaw in the Ninth Legion’s gene-seed might have been intentional.

“You hate Guilliman, don’t you, because he had a mother?” Zhou Yun changed the subject.

Among the Primarchs, many had foster fathers—but few had foster mothers.

Many original bodies had adoptive fathers, but few had adoptive mothers.

“This is rumor—Rus doesn’t particularly like Guilliman, but Rus has his own she-wolf mother too,” the winged figure in the white light rebutted.

Leman Russ was raised on Fenris by a “she-wolf.”

“But there are no wolves on Fenris,” Zhou Yun shook his head.

Considering there are no wolves on Fenris, Leman Russ may be one of the Primarchs closest to having both parents alive.

“You seem to know far too many little secrets,” the winged figure in the white light couldn’t help saying.

“Zhou Yun, General Droste.”

Leina’s voice suddenly rang out as she hurried toward Zhou Yun and General Droste.

“You absolutely won’t believe what’s happened, Demacia!”

Her voice carried strange, meaningless syllables:

“The nobles—the nobles of the Upper Nest—have come with their private armies to support us.”

At these words, Zhou Yun’s expression flickered in surprise.

Nobles? All the nobles of Asford, under Viceroy Augustus Flax, had long since sunk into apathy.

These bastards had all hidden in their own shelters, trying to escape the disaster.

How had they suddenly emerged, actively bringing their private armies to support the Astra Militarum?

Zhou Yun’s eyes flickered slightly.

(End of Chapter)