49: Chapter 49 Ancient Military Routes

Locke advanced along that ancient marching route for an entire week.

Every supply point, every possible ambush location, and every retreat route was clearly marked. As Locke advanced along this route, there were almost no adjustments needed—danger zones marked during the Great Crusade remained danger zones ten thousand years later.

The Ultramarines' marching plan on the map was nearly flawless: every supply point, every possible ambush location, and every retreat route was clearly marked. As Locke advanced along this route, he found no need for adjustments—danger zones marked during the Great Crusade remained danger zones ten thousand years later.

The precision of this map made everyone wonder the same thing: What happened to the Ultramarines officer who planned this purge route? Did he ever actually execute this route? Did he live to see the results?

During the advance along the ancient marching route, the Expeditionary Force encountered several small-scale Ork resistances—unorganized wandering Orks that seemed more like stragglers abandoned by the main force. Locke didn't waste time clearing them out, instead bypassing them to continue pushing deeper into the Green Sector. He judged that these stragglers were not a threat—the true tens of thousands of Orks were still deeper in.

The chaos attention level climbed steadily. Not because of these small-scale skirmishes—but because the Expeditionary Force's actions had formed a significant enough ripple in the Warp to make certain larger entities begin to notice this direction.

Not because of this small-scale skirmish—but because the Expeditionary Force's actions had formed a significant enough ripple in the Warp to make certain larger entities begin to notice this direction.

During the march, Locke received a communication from Lin Mo in Blackstone Town. The message was short: The first draft of the autonomy plan is complete. The logistics supply line has been calibrated. Once the first task is finished, the latter two can be pushed forward simultaneously. Locke didn't reply after reading the message. He folded the note, put it in his pocket, and continued leading the team forward.

He would only occasionally pull the note out of his pocket during rests to take a glance, confirming the words hadn't been blurred by sweat, then fold it and put it back. That tone on the note—"calibrated," "complete," "can be pushed forward simultaneously"—was all too familiar to him. It was Lin Mo's "everything is under control" tone. But Locke had worked with him in Blackstone Town long enough to know that this tone usually meant he was handling several things at once and hadn't slept enough for several days. During the march, Locke took a brief moment to use the Raven's communication equipment to send two sentences to the Intelligence Center. First sentence: I'll split the next two tasks when I get back. Second sentence: Have you slept?

A marching route drawn on a map from ten thousand years ago,

Was being retraced by a militia captain who had never attended a military academy.

The marching records left by the Ultramarines garrison officer triggered different reactions within the Expeditionary Force. Marcus believed the precision of this route proved that the Empire's military capabilities during the Great Crusade far exceeded current levels—he spent about fifteen minutes lamenting this fact. Locke's reaction was more practical—illegibly transcribing every supply point coordinate from that route onto his own map, while marking the current status of these coordinates: available, needs exploration, or possibly abandoned.

The entire Expeditionary Force spent about half a day dividing the coordinates. After finishing, Locke tucked the marching record into his file bag. He focused his attention on one question: if that Ultramarines officer could draw a perfect purge route ten thousand years ago, where was he now? The way the record cut off—it didn't look like the mission was completed, but rather like something had suddenly happened during the march that forced him to stop.

On the seventh day of advancing along the ancient marching route, Locke discovered a coordinate marked as an anomaly. The Ultramarines officer hadn't noted any information about this point on the map—he had simply drawn a tiny symbol next to the marching route. A circle with a dot in the center. It wasn't any standard symbol in the military map system.

Locke stopped at the corresponding terrain of that coordinate and searched for several hours, eventually finding a cave entrance beneath an inconspicuous rock wall—it was sealed with rubble, but a faint draft leaked through the gaps. Wind was blowing out from within. This passage might connect to deeper structures internally, having some connection to the surface thermal signals discovered earlier. Locke stood at that entrance for a long time before finally doing one thing—he resealed the entrance and carved a symbol into the rock wall above it. A circle with a dot in the center. Then he led the team and continued forward.

Locke believed in one thing: there are no perfect plans on the battlefield, only perfect habits. Therefore, his way of training recruits wasn't teaching them how to execute tactics, but making their bodies remember what to do even when they were too exhausted for their brains to function. Changing magazines, crawling forward, judging cover—these actions had to be practiced until they could be done without thinking. Because Chaos won't wait for you to be ready before attacking. They appear at the moment you are most fatigued, most lax, and most wanting to give up. What Locke had to ensure was—when that moment arrived, everyone in Blackstone Town would have bodies faster than their brains.

The lights of the Medical Station were always the last to go out in Blackstone Town. Lin Mo would sometimes pass by late at night and see the figure working with a lowered head reflected on the oil-paper window. He never walked in to disturb her—but he would slow his pace, confirm that the light was still on, and then continue back to the Intelligence Center. He didn't know if Alice noticed those slowing footsteps outside the window. But he knew that if that light ever went out, he would stand before the window for a long time.

—Locke's Marching Record, Day 5 of the advance along the ancient route.

The light coming through the window began to brighten. Lin Mo heard someone opening the Town Hall doors outside, the sound of footsteps flooding in along with the morning birdsong. He mentally prioritized the first task of the day.

Duran had led the mining team to discover an underground river in the southern mine pit. The water was icy cold, gushing from cracks in the rock layers and gathering into a small lake in a depression. This was the largest source of fresh water discovered since the founding of Blackstone Town—nearly five times the volume of the well they had previously relied on.

When the news reached the town, Wang Defu was watering the STC crops in the field. He put down his bucket and stood up, silent for a few seconds, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He didn't say "That's great"—he just glanced toward the south, then bent over to continue watering. But his movements were a bit lighter than before.

The first thing Lin Mo did after hearing the news was to have Old Tom design a simple water diversion pipeline system. He estimated—if the underground river's water could be brought to town, Blackstone Town's agricultural water problem could be at least thirty percent resolved. Thirty percent didn't sound like much, but for a frontier planet with unstable rainfall, thirty percent could mean no one would starve during the dry season.

The discovery of the underground river marked a turning point for Blackstone Town's agricultural prospects. Wang Defu went to the site that very afternoon—he squatted on a rock by the river, reaching into the water to feel the flow speed and temperature. The water was cool but not freezing—this meant the source came from shallow groundwater rather than deep magma-heated water. Shallow groundwater was better for irrigation—its mineral proportions were more suitable for plant root absorption. Wang Defu's knees clicked as he stood up, but his expression was the satisfaction only an old farmer feels when seeing good land. He flicked the water droplets from his hands and said to Lin Mo: "This water sustains life." Three words, more effective than any data report.

Night fell.

While Lin Mo was organizing notes at the Town Hall entrance, a young woman named Su Lin walked over and handed him a handwritten report—the preliminary plan for irrigation channels. Her handwriting was very neat, a rare sight on a frontier planet. She stood for an extra two seconds after handing over the report and said: "If any changes are needed, call me anytime. I live in the third row of Sector C."

Lin Mo took the report, said thank you, and looked down to flip through the contents. He didn't notice the young woman looking back at him twice as she left.

But Alice noticed. She happened to be walking over from the direction of the Medical Station, holding a cup of water—she saw the two extra seconds the woman stood there when handing over the report, and she saw the backward glance as she left.

Alice walked up to Lin Mo, placed the water cup on the windowsill next to his hand, and said: "Su Lin. Third row of Sector C. Did you remember that?"

Lin Mo looked up from the report, stunned for a moment: "What?"

"Nothing," Alice said, then turned and left. Her pace was a bit faster than usual.

Lin Mo watched her back, then looked down at the report in his hand, then looked back in the direction she went. It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened. Then he looked back down at the report—but his mouth twitched slightly. He didn't chase after her. But he finished the cup of water, every last drop. The lights of Blackstone Town went out one by one, leaving only the torches on the watchtowers flickering in the wind. He stood by the window for a while, then returned to his desk to continue writing his plan.

He mentally calculated: how many days of food reserves were left, how much ammunition had been consumed, and how many people were needed for the next patrol. These numbers meshed in his mind like gears, each number linked to three others—change one, and everything had to be recalculated.

Standing there, looking at everything before him, he suddenly had a very strange feeling—if someone had told him a month ago that he would be on a planet an unknown number of light-years from Earth, using high school chemistry to make gunpowder, university club experience to build guns, and product manager logic to plan a village's defense system—he would have thought that person was insane. But now he stood here, and every single thing was actually happening.

[How can the water be so clear? Because there is fresh water flowing from the source.]

—Zhu Xi, "Thoughts While Reading." Memory fragment from the mirror of the emperor.