37: Chapter 37 The Boring War

Icarus provided an analysis report in real-time:

[ WAAAGH! Field Decay Analysis ]

Root cause: WAAAGH! is the collective subconscious resonance of the Orks; its core requirement is an "understandable enemy."

An enemy as understood by Orks: one that roars, charges, bleeds, and dies.

Current enemy: silent, static, infinitely regenerating, and speaks only through data and mathematics.

Collective subconscious resonance has failed; the WAAAGH! field is naturally decaying.

Tactical advice: continue to remain silent and maintain the existing defensive posture.

Skullcrusher Mogg clearly felt the decay of the field.

Because the Ork Boyz no longer believed.

Even the fleet's firepower gradually stalled, while Icarus's space fleet lacked any consciousness; they maneuvered and cruised in space, firing at destroyers, firing at cruisers, firing at battleships.

In a short time, the Ork fleet lost 9 destroyers and 2 cruisers, and other ships also sustained varying degrees of damage; the greatest loss was in transport ships, 26 of them, which amounted to nearly 400,000-600,000 Orks.

If the Orks believe "We will definitely win," if they can believe "We are more numerous than them," if they can believe in "Ork Logic," then they can succeed; as long as they WAAAGH!, all of this will come to pass.

But when they discovered the phenomenon of "we tear down one tower, and it grows two more," which defied all their understanding, they lost their "Ork Logic," the ability to believe, especially here, which was unlike any previous battlefield; there was no hand-to-hand combat, only cold ballistic weapons and laser searing, and they could no longer WAAAGH!.

This is not a battle.

This is... feeding.

Mogg suddenly understood something, and complex emotions welled up in his single eye.

"We are fodder," he whispered, his voice audible only to himself, "fodder fed to those iron towers."

He walked over to the Ork tactical panel, swatted the Gretchin operating it away, quickly scanned the battlefield data, and summarized in a deep voice:

The Ork Boyz on the ground had less than half remaining (about 240,000), while the opponent's iron towers had actually increased by 40 since they broke through the industrial city's defense nodes.

In space, they had been toyed with by the enemy for a full three hours; the enemy had only lost a dozen ships, yet their fleet size remained unchanged, while his own side had lost 38 ships.

"Boss..." the Mekboy approached cautiously, his voice trembling, "Are we still fighting?"

Mogg slowly turned his head, his expression deep.

Subsequently, a rare look of exhaustion for an Ork appeared on his face.

"Fight?" Mogg scoffed, "What's the point of fighting?"

He walked back to the bridge window and looked at the planet in the distance that was still operating steadily—the blue light of the industrial city was particularly striking in the night, like an indifferent eye, calmly watching the entire starry sky.

"I like to fight," Mogg began, as if talking to himself, "I like charging, I like hearing the roars of the Ork Boyz, I like the sensation of a chopper cutting into bone."

He paused, his tone full of disgust: "But I don't like this."

"Don't like what?" the Mekboy hurriedly asked.

"Don't like being toyed with." Mogg turned sharply, his tone firm, "Notify all ships, prepare to jump!"

"Jump?" the Mekboy was completely stunned, "Jump where?"

Mogg grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharp iron teeth: "Anywhere! Go fight somewhere else! This place... is boring, not WAAAGH! at all!"

The Mekboy and the other Ork bosses nearby nodded collectively, their faces full of relief.

When the war first began, they were all eager, wanting to be the first to land on the ground to enjoy the pleasure of WAAAGH!; but now, they were left only with deep regret and fear.

"There are no expressions of panic from the enemy here, no desperate screams, and certainly no sensation of a chopper cutting into bone, only cold hunks of iron and the roar of machinery."

For Orks who spent their whole lives pursuing the joy of "chopping them" and "shooting them," this kind of battle with no feedback and only mechanical execution was a fatal mental torture, boring to the extreme, and less interesting than fighting Gretchin.

If it weren't for the fact that they were the Blood Axe Clan, had undergone strict military training, and believed that "obeying orders is the only way to fight more and have a more satisfying WAAAGH!!!," they would have scattered long ago.

Now that the boss said they were to jump, for them, it was undoubtedly a relief.

The Ork fleet simultaneously activated their jump engines, and savage Warp tears bloomed in the void, green arcs of electricity jumping wildly, and the structure of real-space groaned under the strain.

One after another, the Ork ships were sucked into the Warp vortex and quickly disappeared.

The last to leave was the flagship, Da Kill-Ship.

Mogg stood at the bridge window, taking one last look at Vulcan-IV with his single eye, then turned and disappeared into the light of the jump.

Only Icarus's frigates and destroyers remained in space, still aimlessly searching for opponents.

On the ground battlefield, the Ork Boyz, having lost command and the support of the WAAAGH! field, suddenly stopped their charge.

The WAAAGH! field completely dissipated.

The Orks who had landed on Vulcan-IV saw their originally fanatical eyes become blank; they looked around, faces full of confusion—the boss was gone, the field was gone, why... were they not fighting anymore?

Only Icarus's drones and defense towers continued to ruthlessly harvest their lives without the slightest pause.

Gluck watched this scene from the observation post in disbelief, his optical sensors in the eye area magnified to the maximum.

"Sir..." the veteran next to him said, his voice trembling and full of disbelief, "They... stopped?"

"Orks stopped on the battlefield?" Gluck muttered to himself, his face full of absurdity, "What kind of hellish joke is this?"

At this moment, a combat status update popped up on his data pad:

[ Combat Status Update ]

Enemy: Ork space fleet retreat confirmed

Remaining on ground: approx. 140,000 (disorganized, WAAAGH! field completely dissipated)

Advice: maintain defensive posture, wait for the encirclement to complete.

Resource recovery: situation is favorable

Mathematical model: verification complete, combat efficiency meets expectations.

"They... ran away?" Gluck stood frozen, still unable to believe it.

Chimera #0037 sent a message via the data pad, tone full of confusion: "Gluck? Did they really run away? Orks would actually retreat in battle?"

Gluck did not reply; he slowly walked out of the observation post and returned to the trench.

The Skitarii in the trench did not cheer, did not celebrate; there was only dead silence—a silence of disbelief.

They had won, won a war that seemed impossible to win, yet facing the strange retreat of the Orks, not a single person could smile.