184: Chapter 188 Using the System's Sword to Slay the Opposite Official

At the edge of the Death Galaxy, the Eternal Star Crown Federation's Vanguard Reconnaissance Battalion is slowing down.

This formation, consisting of twelve Moon Song-class Star-patrol Ships, has an exterior like polished white porcelain. They have no bulky exhaust pipes; their thrust originates from Wind-element Psionic Arrays inscribed on the hulls.

The fleet Commander is a high-level Astral Mage. He stands on the bridge covered with a soft carpet, looking down through the crystal porthole at that Death Star Fortress riddled with holes.

In the Federation's standard tactical models, the most effective way to deal with such low-level barbaric fortresses built with brute force and iron shells is long-range psionic brainwashing and matrix cutting.

'Lock onto the opponent's core engine bay.' The Elf Commander raised his staff, which was embedded with pure stellar energy, his voice carrying an innate arrogance. 'Initiate high-dimensional mental piercing; let those bugs digging in the trenches go mad on their own.'

The order was given. The bows of the twelve Star-patrol Ships simultaneously lit up with blue Arcane halos.

However, before the chanting of the magic matrix could reach its peak, the radar operator let out a pitch-shifted exclamation of surprise.

In the deep crater at the equator of the Death Star Fortress, no counter-attacking Lances were fired.

Instead, hundreds of metal objects resembling giant, blackened iron pillars were violently launched into space by a most primitive catapult, accompanied by the deafening roar of solid gunpowder explosions.

Boarding torpedoes.

With no navigation and no deceleration engines, they relied purely on chemical propellants ignited at the base to pull trails of foul-smelling black smoke through the vacuum, heading straight for the Elf fleet.

A flash of disgust crossed the Elf Commander's eyes. He waved his staff.

'Deploy the Arcane Blocking Wall and vaporize all this trash.'

A deep blue light shield formed in front of the fleet. This kind of shield had easily blocked full loads of high-explosive missiles in previous conflicts; any physical entity touching the light membrane would be directly decomposed by the elemental annihilation rules attached to it.

The first pitch-black torpedo slammed head-on into the light membrane.

The Commander expected to see a cloud of dissipating ashes. But what he saw was a defensive line suddenly collapsing.

On the shell of that torpedo, a massive Double-headed Eagle Skull Warhammer Emblem was crudely painted with pungent blood and murky engine oil. It was the prayer seal of the Inquisition before boarding.

When the seal of faith representing absolute fanaticism and anti-psionics in the Warhammer universe collided head-on with the Arcane shields that the Elf Race took pride in, a clash of idealist realms occurred.

The light shield made a sharp cracking sound, like brittle glass struck by a heavy hammer.

The heavy torpedo penetrated the defense without hindrance and, carrying terrifying kinetic energy, plunged headlong into the broadside armor of the Federation flagship.

The dull thud of the impact caused the entire warship to shake violently.

The Elf Mages hastily gathered outside the penetrated hatch, lightning whips and frost spears of startling destructive power condensing in their hands. They prepared to deliver the most lethal magical strike to the barbarians rushing out.

The airlock was kicked open with a roar amidst thick white smoke.

The first to step out were not ordinary infantrymen carrying guns.

A dark red cloak fluttered under the influence of artificial gravity. The Inquisitor's mechanical bionic eye, flickering with a fierce light, locked onto the group of Elves ahead who were emitting magical fluctuations. Behind him, three thousand mutated Astartes, their bulging muscles even causing their power armor to crack, surged in like a black tide.

'Xenos.'

Two words spat from the Inquisitor's withered lips.

A high-level elite Federation mage took the lead. He chanted complex syllables, and a high-temperature Plasma Chain, strong enough to melt an armored vehicle, whipped straight toward the Inquisitor's face.

The Inquisitor did not dodge. He tore that brass seal from his chest and held it high above his head.

The moment the Plasma Chain, which had gathered high-level Arcane energy, touched the anti-psionic field emitted by the brass seal, it evaporated without a trace, like a water droplet falling into a boiling iron pot.

The Elf Mage's pupils constricted sharply, his flawless face filled with incomprehensible shock. This kind of pure physical resistance and faith immunity completely destroyed their cognitive system.

They were given no room to reorganize a second round of spellcasting.

The Melta-sword in the Inquisitor's hand was already raised. The mutated Astartes behind him disregarded any formation, charging down the magnificent corridor like hellish hungry dogs that had broken free from their shackles, howling as they went.

The high-frequency boring motor sound of the Chainswords drowned out all magical chanting.

A tall Astartes, enduring the weak frost strikes hitting his chest, smashed through an Elf guard's ribs. He shoved his Bolter almost directly into the opponent's mouth and pulled the trigger.

There was no sense of artistry in this close-quarters slaughter. There was only pure speed, power, and the merciless destruction of alien life.

Luxurious robes were torn apart by chain-saws, and staffs embedded with gems were turned into powder under the trampling of heavy magnetic boots.

It was a completely one-sided slaughterhouse. The Elves were used to kiting opponents with absolute firepower from hundreds of kilometers away; once approached by these meat grinders clad in heavy iron armor, they lost all ability to resist.

At this very moment.

Deep inside the heavy armored command module of the death star no. 3 fortress.

Li Cang leaned back comfortably in his shock-absorbing chair, holding a cup of freshly filtered recycled water.

A layer of thick, transparent pressure-resistant glass completely separated him from the chaos outside. On the holographic big screen in front of him, the massacre inside the Elf flagship was being broadcast clearly from multiple angles.

He didn't need to move a single finger.

The genesis points panel in the bottom right corner of the screen was jumping upward joyfully. Every time an Elf high official was beheaded by a chain-saw, a generous 'Xenos purge' payment would come in.

This was pure freeloading.

To punish him for his overstepping operations, the system spent 200,000 points to spawn a Purge Squad. In the end, he used two lines of radar camouflage code to hire them as the most fearless mercenaries in the universe without spending a single cent.

Not only did he not lose a single soldier, but he also used this guillotine hanging over his head to neatly slice away those annoying flies outside.

'This setting called the Inquisition is quite useful.' Li Cang took a sip of water, a mocking curve spreading across his lips as he watched the Inquisitor on the screen, who was covered in mutated sarcomas while highly praising the greatness of the God.

He didn't need to personally manage battle losses, nor did he need to command formations.

The core advantage of the Warhammer universe lies in the fact that as long as you find a target for these believers, they will throw their own lives and the lives of their enemies into the grinder together.

In less than fifteen minutes.

Inside the twelve porcelain-white Star-patrol Ships in the sky, all the lights turned a dying blood-red. The engines stopped one after another, floating in space like dead fish with their souls drained.

Before taking his last breath, the Elf Commander struggled to press the emergency transmission key on the console. A chain of fragmented, blood-stained image data escaped the Astartes' destruction through a quantum void rift and sped toward the Federation's home planet.

Li Cang noticed that escaping data stream on the screen. He did not order an interception.

He knew very well what was in that footage.

It didn't contain that battle axe heavy cruiser that could tear through the system framework, nor any masterful tactical layout. It only contained images of iron-clad lunatics with deformed and disgusting appearances yet full of holy dogmas, slaughtering noble mages with extremely low-brow melee methods.

On the Eternal Star Crown Federation Capital Planet, hundreds of light-years away.

The Chess Player sat before this fragmented footage, staring at the Inquisitor's red-flickering bionic eye on the paused screen.

A massive Supercomputing Matrix roared behind him, attempting to analyze the underlying composition of this suddenly emerging power.

The conclusion given was a screen full of self-contradictory red-lock error reports:

It possessed both the characteristics of deeply mutated Chaos Creatures and a kind of indestructible high-dimensional faith immunity; its technology was as crude as that of primitive people from tens of thousands of years ago, yet its killing efficiency was so high that the Federation elite were powerless to resist.

In the depths of The Chess Player's calm eyes, a layer of unyielding frost finally formed.

For a controller who seeks to include all variables in their calculations, this kind of Mad Dog Civilization—which cannot be understood, calculated, and does not communicate on the same frequency—is the truly bone-chilling nightmare.