59: Chapter 59 Border Reconnaissance

The raven reconnaissance drones have discovered an abnormal pattern during their recent patrols.

In several star systems on the periphery of Hope Star, the frequency of Chaos activity is decreasing—not disappearing, but shifting to more distant regions. After studying the communication logs, Marcus reached a conclusion: the Chaos Forces are not retreating; they are regrouping. They are moving to a strategic vacuum zone between Lin Mo and Guilliman's fleet, preparing to establish a new rallying point there.

Lin Mo marked the latest active areas of Chaos communication signals on the map in the Intelligence Center. He discovered that connecting these areas formed an arc—the inner side of the arc pointed toward Hope Star, while the outer side pointed toward the current location of Guilliman's fleet. Chaos was not fleeing—they were adjusting their formation, preparing to sever the connection between Blackstone Town and the Ultramarines fleet.

He sent this discovery to Cassius to be forwarded to the Ultramarines' tactical analysis department. Cassius's reply came quickly: the Ultramarines' reconnaissance data had also observed similar Chaos Forces movements—they were currently assessing the threat level. However, the assessment would take time.

He didn't wait for the results of that assessment. He had Marcus and the raven crew fly a long-range reconnaissance mission to photograph the specific coordinates and troop densities of the Chaos assembly areas. Using this data, he mapped out a new threat distribution and hung it on the wall of the Intelligence Center, right next to that ancient Ultramarines marching map. He said to Locke, "If the assessment takes time, then we'll do our own assessment." Locke glanced at the map, said nothing, and turned toward the warehouse to inventory the ammunition.

Chaos is fleeing—but their retreat route isn't a rout; it's a reorganization. Lin Mo didn't like this style of retreat.

The night wind blew again. This gust was cooler than the last, carrying a scent of mixed metal and earth. He wrapped his frayed coarse-cloth coat tighter around himself—it had been given to him by the villagers and was much warmer than the T-shirt he had been wearing when he crossed over.

The chaos attention level continued to drop—not because the threat had weakened, but because Chaos was concentrating its forces instead of engaging in scattered harassment. Lin Mo didn't like this silence. Silence usually meant the opponent was making a major decision. And he needed to make a decision on his side as well—before the Chaos encirclement closed, he had to make the first move. He walked to the map and drew a red arrow at the midpoint of the arc—pointing outside the arc, toward the furthest coordinates he could think of.

The inner side of the arc points at us,

The outer side points at them.

The analysis of the Chaos activity patterns left him sitting in the Intelligence Center in silence for a long time. He had previously assumed that the Chaos gathering was spontaneous—various warbands fighting their own battles, only converging on the same area by coincidence. But the data analysis showed a clear synchronicity in the Chaos Forces' movements. They were in different locations, separated by several light-years, using different communication frequencies—yet they made similar tactical adjustments within the same timeframe. This was no coincidence.

Lin Mo looked over the data once more, then picked up a pen and drew a question mark at the starting point of the arc. Beside the arc, he wrote a line: "Who is in unified command?" This question wasn't written into any report, nor told to anyone. But he knew that finding the answer to this question was more important than winning any single battle.

During a long-distance patrol, a raven reconnaissance drone transmitted a set of data that silenced the Intelligence Center. The movement of Chaos Forces was not scattered—it was unit-based, organized, and had a clear direction. Lin Mo placed the data on the table and stared at the screen for a long time. He had previously assumed the Chaos gathering was spontaneous—warbands fighting independently and converging by chance. But the data showed clear synchronicity—at different locations, light-years apart, using different frequencies, they made similar adjustments at the same time. Not a coincidence.

The way time passed on this planet was different from Earth. There were no cell phones to remind him of meetings, no calendars to tell him what day of the week it was. There was only sunrise and sunset, battle and peace, life and death. He used vertical lines in a notebook to record the days, crossing through every five. This primitive counting method made him feel grounded—at least he knew which day he was on.

Lin Mo looked over the data again. He drew a question mark at the start of the arc and wrote a single word next to it: "Who." Who is in unified command. This question was more important than winning any battle. Because if Chaos could be unified under one command, it meant they had a smarter opponent behind them—an opponent with strategic thinking.

Deep within the Chaos assembly area hundreds of light-years away, the bridge of a command ship was filled with dark red light. A figure wearing a pig-iron mask stood before a projection table, the star map focused on the twin flickering glimmers above Blackstone Town—Alice's psychic signal. Without turning, it spoke to the adjutant behind it, its voice as steady as if stating a foregone conclusion: "Compress the supply lines. Let their food run out first."

The adjutant hesitated: "But they recently transported a shipment of supplies back from the Green Sector—"

The Masked Commander raised a hand, cutting him off. It pulled off a glove, revealing a hand covered in burn scars. A finger slid across the projection table—beneath the northern mountains of Blackstone Town, the outline of an unmapped underground structure was traced. The edges of the outline were perfect geometric lines.

"I know," the Masked Commander said, a hint of something like emotion flickering in its voice for the first time—not anger, but something close to admiration. "He thinks he's defending. He's digging up my things."

It put the glove back on. "Once I reclaim that Psyker, the thing underground will naturally open to us."

The latest data from the raven reconnaissance drones confirmed one thing—the Chaos arc wasn't pointing at Blackstone Town itself, but at the shelter beneath it. The Chaos offensive path bypassed densely populated areas, aiming straight for the North Mountain Hills—the location of the metal wall. Their navigation wasn't based on maps, but on sensing underground energy signals within the Warp.

Lin Mo did not act immediately upon receiving this conclusion. He stood by the window of the Intelligence Center for a long time, weighing the risks and alternatives of his next move. Then he made a decision—he could not let Chaos know he had discovered their true target. He proceeded with the defensive deployment according to the original plan, without changing a single defensive line. But in private, he gave Yang Shitou a new task—to build a structure disguised as a granary directly above the entrance to the underground shelter.

The lights of the Medical Station were always the last to go out in Blackstone Town. Sometimes, passing by late at night, Lin Mo could see the silhouette working with head bowed reflected on the oil-paper windows. He never went inside to disturb her—but he would slow his pace, confirm 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 that window for a very long time.

In this universe, hope is a luxury. Not because it is rare, but because it is fragile—like a match burning in a sandstorm, liable to be extinguished at any moment. But he discovered something interesting: when you gather many matches together and light them, they don't go out so easily. Every person in Blackstone Town was one of those gathered matches. Pick any one up individually, and it might be snuffed out by the storm of Chaos in the next second. But together, the light and heat they emitted were already enough to force the surrounding darkness back a few steps.

— Lin Mo, Chaos Assembly Pattern Analysis Log

The communication relay station in Blackstone Town received a string of strange signals that day. The signals did not come from Imperial channels—but from the surface of Hope Star. The sender used an extremely ancient encryption protocol; Marcus had to scour the communication database to find a key that could barely decode part of it.

The decoded content consisted of only three words: Wall. Now. Open.

Lin Mo felt a chill down his spine when he saw those three words. Someone was watching them—not an enemy, because an enemy wouldn't need encrypted signals to warn them. But not a friend either, because a friend would use clear-text communication. This person—or organization—knew of the underground shelter's existence and knew the metal wall had been opened, yet chose to confirm it through this secretive method rather than open contact.

He marked a new question mark on the map. This question mark was different from all the others—it didn't represent a threat, but a person whose stance he had yet to figure out.

Lin Mo labeled that encrypted signal from the surface as "Unknown Source No. 1." He compared it with all previous external signals—there were no matches. The encryption protocol used by the sender was older than any current Imperial version, yet the decoded content was in modern language. This meant the sender was either an independent organization that had survived outside the Imperial system for a long time, or someone deliberately masquerading as an ancient signal. In either case, the party knew of Blackstone Town's existence and the status of the underground shelter but chose not to make public contact. This reminded Lin Mo of the page Cassius had torn out—some information doesn't just not exist; it is deliberately hidden. He needed to find the person hiding that information—before they found him.

Another day ended. The number of days he had spent on this planet was slowly becoming a figure he didn't dare think about too closely. But he was still alive each day—and that was enough.

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

[The moon is dark, the wild geese fly high; the Chanyu flees into the night.]

— Lu Lun, "Songs of the Frontier." Memory fragment of the mirror of the emperor.