Chapter 444

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

They could only watch helplessly, watch this millennia-old warship, watch the defiant steel soul, bit by bit gnawed by plague, rotting, stepping one step at a time toward a slow death.

A massive sense of powerlessness pressed on everyone's hearts like an iron block.

Dominic stood outside the ring, his uniform crisp, yet his back revealed a fatigue he could not conceal.

He gazed at that throne whose rust stains grew heavier and heavier, his eye sockets slightly swollen.

From the Lianggenna assault, to the Nurgle Fleet's arrival, to the Death Guard boarding the ship, he had held on through round after round.

But this time, it seemed he truly could not hold on any longer.

His spirit grew hazy under days of high pressure, the alarm sounds by his ears becoming distant.

Just then, in the corner of his eye, an extremely faint silver-red glow flashed and vanished in the shadows of the temple's side door.

Like a mote of floating stardust, weak, yet extraordinarily familiar.

Dominic snapped back to his senses fiercely.

It was her.

That Inquisitor who had appeared twice in desperate straits, that mysterious figure who always delivered a warning at the most critical moment.

Almost instinctively, he lifted his foot and walked toward that patch of shadow.

His heart beat inexplicably faster by a few degrees, and even he could not say why.

Clearly the other party's identity was unknown, origins a mystery, yet as long as he saw that streak of silver-red, the dam in his heart that was about to collapse seemed to have gained another pillar of support.

He passed through the side door, entering the maintenance passage behind the temple.

The light grew dim, the humming of pipes replacing the clamor inside the temple.

Sorin stood in the shadows at the passage's end, silver xenos light armor outlining a slender figure, hood pulled very low, a speck of silver-red spiritual energy glow flickering at her fingertip.

Same as the previous two times, clear and cold, detached, as if she never belonged to this mortal world.

"You have a way, don't you?" Dominic spoke first, his voice carrying a trace of urgency he himself had not noticed.

Sorin did not answer immediately.

Her consciousness, at this moment, was communicating with Lin En through that wondrous system link.

Just a few minutes ago, she had synchronized the James Tong's machine soul being corrupted by the Rust Plague to Lin En in the underground battlefield.

Just as Lin En was also feeling a headache, the next second, a line of brand-new prompt popped up before his eyes on the system interface.

【Detected interactive consciousness entity: James Tong Machine Soul】

【Status: Damaged, corrupted by Rust Plague】

【Executable operation: Remote Domination】

【Prerequisite: Since the host himself is not present, requires a soul deeply bound with this machine soul to act as intermediary, execute domination ritual】

Domination.

Not "strategy/guide", but naked "domination".

The cannon fire of the underground third floor still echoed in his ears, Lin En gazed toward the direction of the structure ruins, yet the corner of his mouth hooked a curve of comprehension.

So that's how it is.

He had previously found it strange, why this system insisted on using the form of "strategy/guide", even Tyranids and Green Skins could be "strategized/guided".

Now it appears, "strategy/guide" was never the purpose, only a means.

Alter cognition, reverse will, the ultimate essence, is domination.

From thought to soul, from individual to group, even cross-species consciousness entities.

As long as there is self-will, all are within the system's control range.

Machine souls, naturally count as well.

And the soul deeply bound with the James Tong machine soul, in the entire star system there is only one most suitable candidate.

Dominic Wentilia.

This warship's captain, the clan's generational inheritor, the one who has been with the machine soul day and night, the person with the deepest soul resonance.

In the passage, Sorin lifted her head.

Under the hood's shadow, pale pink lips parted lightly, voice clear and cold, like ice beads falling on metal:

"There is a way, but it requires your cooperation."

Dominic's breath abruptly caught.

The air inside the Mechanicus Temple was even colder than the Brevis ice plains.

Under the brass dome, nearly a hundred exhausted priests and pastors sat or knelt, sweat soaking their robes, the burnt smell of holy oil after burning mixed with the bloody stench of iron rust permeating every inch of space.

That suspended machine soul throne at the center had long lost its former defiant brightness, dark green mold spots like bone-clinging gangrene crawling over the pure steel structure.

The originally rampaging blue-white arcs became sparse and dim, each pulse dragging a sickly dark green tail trace.

The reading symbolizing machine soul purity froze at 76%, still dropping at a slow yet irreversible speed.

Three high-ranking priests surrounded the console, data streams constantly refreshing on optical lenses, one purification command after another issued, again and again neutralized by the corrosion power.

Bishop Wenka stood at the ring's edge, the rose rosary in his hand rubbed hot, his gray-white mustache trembling slightly.

He had lived nearly a hundred years, presided over hundreds of purification rituals, never as powerless as today.

Plague is not contamination floating on the surface, it is a toxin root pierced deep into the machine soul's consciousness depths.

Dominic stood with his back to the crowd outside the warning line, his rigid military bearing exuding an indescribable fatigue.

His fingertips tingled faintly; days of fierce battle and successive heavy blows hammered his nerves like war hammers, yet he could not step back.

Behind him were the officers and crew of the whole ship, his clan's thousand-year faith; one step back meant irretrievable ruin.

Just then, the hydraulic shaft of the temple side door emitted a soft sound.

Everyone instinctively looked toward the sound, only to see Major General Dominic step aside half a pace, and a figure cloaked in a pure black gown walk in slowly.

The hood was pulled very low, covering most of the face, revealing only a cold, sharp jawline and a touch of pale pink lips.

A few strands of silver-grey hair showed at the hood's edge, catching a fine gloss under the bronze light; it was clear she was a woman.

She walked unhurriedly, her footsteps light as falling snow, yet an indescribable sense of detachment radiated from her.

As if the surrounding rust-corrosion miasma, the scent of holy oil, the noisy voices of people, were all separated from her by an invisible barrier.

"Major General Adult, this is?"

The leading senior priest recovered first, a flicker of doubt flashing across his optical lens.

The Mechanical Temple is the warship's most core sanctuary; aside from clergy and authorized technicians, unauthorized persons are strictly forbidden entry, let alone a black-robed person of unknown identity like this.

Bishop Wenka also frowned, stepping forward one step:

"Major General Dominic, the Mechanical Soul is in dire peril; within the temple, no..."

"She can save the James Tong."

Dominic spoke, cutting him off; his voice was not loud, yet carried certainty.

He turned his head to glance at the black-robed figure beside him; the other did not speak, only nodded slightly, the gaze beneath the hood passing over the crowd and settling directly on the distant rust-corroded Mechanical Soul Throne.

No one knew who this mysterious black-robed woman was, nor did anyone know what method she used to save a Mechanical Soul deeply corrupted by the Rust Plague.

In fact, even Sorin herself did not know the specific operation path.

Just ten minutes ago, when Lin En's voice reached her mind through the consciousness link, the solution was simple to the point of near rashness.

Have Dominic make close contact with the Mechanical Soul Throne, using his soul as an anchor point, and leave the rest to him.

Sorin's first reaction was ridiculous.

Mechanical Soul corruption is a Warp-layer curse; even the Mechanicus's high-ranking priests and State Religion Bishops working together were helpless.

Relying solely on a mortal captain's soul contact could reverse the situation?

That sounded even more absurd than the whispers from the Warp.

But the words reached her lips and she swallowed them back.

She recalled the Tyranids on the Brevis ground that obeyed him, recalled this person producing inconceivable solutions time and again in desperate straits, forcibly turning dead ends into life.

As if before him, the three words "impossible" never existed.

Doubts lingered only on the surface of consciousness; what remained in the end was a trust she herself had not noticed.

So she came, standing in the heart of this thousand-year warship.