Chapter 41: Victory

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Clash!

A sudden impact from behind pushed the Shark back; several venomous crystals shot forward, deeply embedding themselves into the steel wall.

The ancient warrior who had pushed the Shark aside raised his gun and fired.

A beam of light streaked across as they recognized the alien form flashing through the shadows. The sound of venomous crystals piercing the ceramic steel echoed, and the murderous intent erupting in their minds reached its peak.

With thunderous footsteps, the air filled with howling explosions as three Sharks left behind pale trails.

Kill!

One raised his foot and kicked fiercely, forcing the enemy to block.

Another grabbed the alien’s limb, restricting its movements.

Then the last one leapt high and cleaved through its skull with an axe.

“!!!”

Tearing apart the treacherous marksman, the Sharks turned back, filled with grief and frustration.

Several hundred meters away, the ancient warriors quickly raised their hands to signal all clear. The Sharks finally relaxed and, following the tactical gestures given, swiftly charged toward their next prey.

The group formed a relatively tight formation. Besides the two Sharks responsible for the main assault, there was always one guarding the ancient warrior.

They had to be more vigilant, more cautious—such mistakes could not be repeated.

The Sharks swept through the alleys with cold, lethal intent, silently cleansing any hidden enemies.

Unlike their savage slaughter, the Sharks’ squad was silent; after tearing apart their prey, they vanished quickly into the pitch-black ocean.

The attacking Man-Eater Sharks possessed an elusive, incredible speed, their bloodline entwined with shadows serving as perfect camouflage. They revealed their fangs only when striking, slicing, and crushing any who dared oppose them.

Like the apex predators of Terra’s oceans in days long past, their prey could glimpse the gaping maw beneath the deep blue only in their final moments.

“Slow the pace. Proceed to the next node in three seconds.”

Romulus’s voice sounded in their ears, allowing the focused Sharks to spare a glance at the veteran who still watched the shadows intently.

Excellent eyesight let them see the piercing wound across the raven mask, from which only a trickle of blood had dripped—clearly, the soldier had turned his head just in time to avoid a fatal blow.

To be the first to detect these creatures in the dark spiritual realm, to point out targets and even predict enemy attack trajectories—such experience—

The Sharks took pride in their silence and lethality but could not help admiring the cunning and precision of the ancient warriors.

“An incredible impact.”

The relay station projected video feeds from various squads. Using x-ray vision, Romulus carefully adjusted the pace of each group, searching for every opportunity on the battlefield and seizing them.

From initial clumsiness to gradually becoming adept.

The battle was entering its prime.

Watching those soul projections, like puppets at his fingertips, vanish amid the encirclement; watching their combined might violently shattered by the fierce individual strength of Karna and others, then devoured by the endless Shark swarm—

These enemies were mere playthings.

The most inscrutable tactic on the battlefield was controlling the enemy.

At this moment, Romulus held that unique advantage.

“I finally understand why Horus always liked to use the Pale Nomads for the first wave of attacks.”

Romulus said.

If he couldn’t command the war dogs, he would do the same.

Though sending troops for the initial charge was a reckless disregard for their lives.

But this pure numerical elegance—

“The efficiency is simply too high.”

Ramses, maintaining the psychic domain and granting allies a god’s-eye view for precise micromanagement, couldn’t help but comment.

Only a commander could appreciate the deadly nature of the Man-Eater Sharks. Their charge combined with shadow talents was terrifying; even when charging head-on, you might not react in time.

And this method of slaughter...

That was why facing these fearless dark spiritual beings, it wasn’t yet obvious. But in conventional battles, if the enemy’s troops were just slightly inferior or morale faltered, their lines would break instantly.

“I think I can rank Dark Raven’s solo combat ability just behind Thousand Sons.”

“And where do you put the Dark Angels?”

Romulus fixed his gaze on every frame relayed from the battlefield, sorting through the visions from the Emperor’s Fist.

“If we’re ranking top combatants, why not include the Emperor’s Fist?”

Ramses, having enhanced several powerful enemies with soul suppression, watched the subspace movements and replied with a hint of sarcasm.

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“That topic was cut off by Sigismund.”

The atmosphere between them was relaxed, as the battle was unfolding exactly as anticipated. That feeling of complete control was immensely satisfying.

They even had spare time to focus on micromanaging individual actions, taking on the risk of injury instead of the Sharks.

After all, if their own flesh-and-blood soldiers died, they were gone, but the Sharks were living beings. Even under the Emperor’s watch, they couldn’t be sacrificed lightly.

Romulus’s operational ceiling was fixed; the number of soldiers was limited, though replacements were always possible.

Training a veteran Shark took at least a hundred years. He knew well what was more valuable.

“This must end.”

His gaze fixed on the corridor, on the target where the soul power was most intense—the center of the killing net—and the movement paths of Karna and two other killers overlapped precisely on the image.

There, at the very heart of the assault fleet, stood the Praetor.

The Praetor’s attendants had been exhausted through repeated assaults; their desperate group struggles in the abyss were futile.

After ordering Arthur to repeatedly confirm all hidden traps, Romulus found that this fellow hadn’t even had time to activate the explosives meant for a last-ditch effort.

It was unclear why the enemy hadn’t set up a remote detonation system, leaving Ramses’s soul shock prepared but without a good chance to unleash it.

“Stop cruising. Main assault teams enter the inner circle in batches. Outer forces regroup at marked nodes. Provide fire cover along the main corridor...”

Absorbing information from all squads, Romulus issued orders.

He tightened the noose representing death. Over a hundred members inside the battlefield began changing formation with unprecedented coordination, following detailed commands.

This battle would naturally end in a predetermined manner.

That is—

They came!

The ground trembled faintly, then surged violently like an earthquake—as if a train barreled down the corridor toward them.

It was him, the Black Angel.

His vanguard barely had time to react; before they could even raise their guns, they were cleaved like straw, blood spraying everywhere.

Ah, the Crimson Butcher, and the Silent Knight as well.

The magnificent spectacle of life fading unfolded before them; the Praetor vowed to remember these majestic figures.

If given the chance, he would send these warriors to the arena of Queen Lilith to witness their deaths under the gaze of all Komoro.

Meanwhile, he stopped moving, as if surrendering, listening to the relentless pounding of iron boots as he smiled at the approaching Angel.

At the instant the Praetor smiled triumphantly, the metal floor before Karna suddenly bulged.

Boom—

A nearly four-meter-high Engine of Agony burst forth, swinging its limbs—God only knew how such a massive beast maneuvered within the narrow drainage channel.

The metal was shredded into fragments by its complex limbs, flying like thunderbolts with each motion, sparks flying everywhere.

Yet Karna remained unflustered, raising his hand.

Stab, lift, slash!

His astonishing martial skill unleashed, the Engine of Agony flew like a struck ball, and before landing, the serpent mercenaries that emerged alongside it were reduced to a puddle of sludge.

Facing forward, staring at the Praetor who aimed his gun, the Black Angel made no move to dodge. His spear thrust upward, piercing through the still-airborne Engine of Agony.

Thud, thud!

The dull sounds merged as the disintegrating weapon hammered the Engine’s back, carving away large chunks of flesh. Even Karna had to retract his partially bitten spear blade and then fling the Engine aside.

Clang!

A massive body hurtled forward, blocking the Praetor’s sight.

Then the towering Angel pounced, his power spear smashing down.

Clang!

The ground split open in a long crack.

Like teleportation, the Praetor appeared behind Karna and began a rapid dash.

A trump card. A Praetor commanding a Komoro raid fleet always had a trump card.

This was not his first escape.

His guards, his knowledge of the environment, and his mastery of high technology were the capital for his repeated escapes from encirclement.

But the Praetor would not choose to flee endlessly and await death.

Before dying, he would teach these apes a painful lesson in his own way.

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‘Just mindless pursuit.’

Breaking off the overloaded teleport device and feeling his flesh burn, the Praetor relied on speed far exceeding that of an interstellar soldier to widen the gap. He thought sarcastically.

The roars behind him faded, the remaining guards faithfully fulfilling their duty, pulling the Crimson Angel away.

During the chase and blockade, the experienced assassin had long detected the fatal flaw in the encirclement.

That flaw was the Angel’s recklessness.

The Praetor did not know how he had been locked on. The intimidation from the Lady of Hunger forced him to ignore certain thoughts.

If his adversaries were indeed her followers, he wasn’t sure he could summon the courage to resist.

Of course, the forces hunting him were extraordinary—efficient and powerful enough to be among the elite hunting squads even in Komoro, a place teeming with strong warriors.

But it was the Angel’s mindless pursuit and slaughter that revealed this hunting squad’s greatest weakness.

The initiative to choose the battlefield belonged to him.

Listening to the cold, steady wind in the corridor, the Praetor was certain the Angel was retreating once again.

Others might care about traps, but this fierce and strong Angel walked right into them again and again.

Clearly, this warrior lacked the ability to detect traps.

Even as the environment changed, he remembered clearly the areas where the dark matter bombs were placed.

He only needed to disguise his intentions with a desperate flight. The forces surrounding him would inevitably step into the trap woven by this escape, offering their lives as his burial tribute.

A perfect plan.

A cruel smile curled at the Praetor’s lips.

A bunch of fools wasting their gifts; only I am the master of the conspiracy.

The only pity was that he had to race against time, unable to bid a calm farewell to these captivating warriors.

Ah, perhaps I should have trusted my underlings a little more; otherwise, I wouldn’t be rushing to detonate the bombs myself.

“As long as... as long as I reach that place...”

Ignoring the alarm from the Thinker, the Praetor swung his Blade of Agony, slicing a gap and using his powerful body to smash through the sealed isolation door.

Then he stopped.

“……”

The Silent Knight stood quietly in the corridor’s center, resting his shield on the ground, black sword resting on his pauldron, facing him in a relaxed stance.

It was as if mocking him.

The Praetor did not act rashly, for he had often used such tactics to deceive reckless attackers; the corpse at the Knight’s feet stood as proof.

‘Think carefully, Ashton, think carefully. The door and passage on the left—I can go that way, though it’s a bit out of the way.’

Clutching a plasma grenade, the Praetor raced through a series of plans in his mind. But before he could act, the heavy claws tore open the left door.

Whoosh—

A crimson blood mist spread as the towering Tyberos appeared. Through the gaps of that massive figure, the Praetor could only see the floor churned into minced meat and the blood filling the entire corridor, still seeping outward.

‘Looks like I have to turn back. That Angel is still entangled with the serpents, certainly drawn away. I must trust my judgment.’

The Praetor turned around.

Behind him, the blood-stained Crimson Angel walked steadily. The belated war dogs swung their axes, devouring the struggling, twitching corpses, cleaning up the battlefield’s remnants.

Buzz!

A reverberating shock arrived from afar, fiercely tearing through the Praetor’s faceplate defense.

Clang!

But in his momentary distraction, the black sword left a lingering afterimage in the air, severing his left arm that held the grenade.

The giant great-toothed shark endured the blade’s strike, closing in and violently crushing the Praetor’s limbs.

The Angel approached. The fury in his eyes faded, and looking at the arrogant alien, a sardonic smile graced his handsome face.

Three pairs of eyes silently fixed on the Praetor, watching this fallen dark spiritual being.

How dare you be smug with your one-sided pride?

You have always been caught in the net.