33: Chapter 33 I am a barbarian.

In the "Cheng Tianyi" system's frontier defense zone, both sides were at each other's throats.

[Respected Eldar lady, what did we do wrong to provoke your anger and cause you to launch a crusade against us?]

In the communication channel, several governors of the "Cheng Tianyi" system lowered their posture.

No joke, Countess Dukaria had brought hundreds of millions of troops and thousands of generals this time. Just the sky-blotting, monstrous war galleons numbered as many as nine or ten, while mid-to-small vessels were simply too numerous to count.

Because two of the monstrous giant ships had incorporated Ork-like clever designs, allowing the two strange vessels to combine.

[I am a barbarian!] Aria was too lazy to explain. Having now tasted the sweetness of power, her entire temperament had undergone a massive change, transitioning from a self-proclaimed pure-hearted emotional scammer to a raving mad space warlord. [Give me a straight answer, are you surrendering or not?!]

[Dukaria, I even had dinner with you once, remember?] One of the planetary governors suddenly recognized Aria. Back when Aria was a drifter in the surrounding sectors, this governor had treated her family to a grand feast and given them red envelopes—a form of "civilized law enforcement," essentially asking these Eldar pirates to show mercy and go plunder elsewhere.

[Attack!] How could Aria let him bring up the dirty laundry of her past? That was her shameful origin story; she could talk about it herself, but others absolutely could not.

[Heavens, what is that?!] A planetary governor cried out in shock. As Aria issued the order to attack, the fleet of the Ducalia Territory bared its true fangs.

Countless crude, twisted, monstrous ships that looked as if they were cobbled together from scrap metal emerged from the darkness, revealing their bizarre and massive hulls to form an offensive front stretching for thousands of kilometers.

They had no uniform livery, no emblems of honor, and not even an elegant design that conformed to the laws of physics.

They were merely a sanity-shattering tide of steel, made of sheer, overwhelming numbers.

There was no tactical sophistication to their method of attack; there was only the most primitive form of drowning the enemy.

A single volley from the Imperial fleet could destroy hundreds of the monstrous ships, but the latter retaliated with thousands of slightly weaker but far denser laser beams and solid-projectile fire.

Individually, these attacks could not even effectively penetrate the Void Shields of the Imperial ships, but they never ceased, battering the vessels like an endless sandstorm weathering rock.

Under the continuous onslaught, the Void Shields overloaded, flickered, and finally collapsed.

Once the shields vanished, those tiny attacks began to gnaw away. Armor plates were peeled off layer by layer, and gun turrets were blown apart one by one.

[Hahaha! The sky is high and the air is crisp, a perfect day to kill for fun! When bored out of my mind, battle is my pastime!] Aria sat cross-legged on her command throne, laughing like a complete psychopath.

What the Imperial military feared most was the enemy's boarding actions.

Countless small assault craft—or even raw drop pods—were launched via some sort of pneumatic propulsion device, swarming toward the Imperial ships like locusts.

Ignoring casualties, they used ramming and suicide explosions to tear breaches in the armor of the Imperial vessels.

Then, a tide of infantrymen with nearly identical faces poured inside.

The interiors of the Imperial ships turned into bloody slaughterhouses.

The crew and naval armsmen formed defensive lines with Bolters and Lasguns, but the enemy did not care about casualties at all.

They advanced over the corpses of their comrades, overwhelming every firing point with sheer numbers, and dispatched isolated crew members with archaic rifles or even melee weapons.

The corridors and compartments of the warships were rapidly lost, and the engine rooms and weapon batteries fell silent one after another.

...

[Countess Dukaria, you are too brutal!] the supervising officer, Ivankov, bellowed in anger. [His Majesty's decree was for you to conquer territory and seize populations! If you kill them all, do you intend to leave nothing but barren, empty lands for His Majesty?!]

[Tch.] Aria was extremely displeased but did not dare to vent her anger. She ordered, [Slow down the offensive. Ask them once more if they will surrender. This is their final chance.]

This final surrender demand sparked a fierce debate among the governors of the "Cheng Tianyi" system.

[Let's surrender. We can't fight on anymore. There are too many of them; our defensive line will collapse sooner or later.]

[We cannot surrender! I have already requested aid from the Sector Governor's Palace. Reinforcements will arrive in three Terra days!]

[Wire the front-line commander: hold the line at all costs! If we hold out, there will be a way!]

...

In the void, the brief silence was completely shattered.

The ships of the Corpse Emperor Empire reorganized into an impregnable Gothic battle line. Macrocannon batteries unleashed devastating Lances, and Nova Cannons erupted in searing spheres of light capable of vaporizing asteroids.

Torpedoes, like a pious choir, lunged toward their targets trailing plumes of fire, bursting into brief, holy flames in the darkness.

Each cruiser resembled a mobile fortress, with the Emperor's Aquila fluttering on the bridge. The crew fulfilled their duties to the Corpse Emperor amidst the devout hymns of the priests and the tense commands of the engineering crew.

[Refusing my mercy, are you? Kill them all!] Aria roared, and this time, even Ivankov could not stop her.

The largest Imperial battleship became the focal point of the battlefield.

Every flash of its massive Lances carved out a brief path of vacuum through the enemy fleet, but it was quickly filled again by even more monstrous ships.

Soon, however, it was completely surrounded and covered by tens of thousands of enemies, like a praying mantis covered by a swarm of ants.

Its gunfire gradually thinned and finally fell silent completely, its hull slowly disintegrating amidst countless explosions.

The scales of victory tipped not because of superior technology or tactics, but were crushed by the purest, most brutal mathematics.

For every enemy the Imperial fleet destroyed, they had to face ten new ones.

Their ammunition was depleting, their shields were decaying, their soldiers were exhausted, and their souls were wailing, yet the enemy's numbers seemed as infinite as the universe itself.

Under the impact of this silent and terrifying torrent of numbers, the line of the Imperial fleet was inevitably and slowly heading toward collapse.

The outcome of the war was already decided.

...

[War. War never changes.]

On Cheng Yu Planet, the original body of Cheng Yu was also observing the situation on this battlefield.

The casualties on both sides exceeded his expectations, which made him very dissatisfied.

Since humanity first picked up wooden clubs and stone spears on ancient Terra, the slaughter had never stopped, and perhaps it never would, until the very end of the universe.

But war was merely a means; politics was the end. If slaughter exceeded its limits, the killing itself would become a drag.

[Transmit Imperial Decree: After the war, pardon all ordinary enemy soldiers, tech-sergeants, and slave laborers. Execute all nobles and Ecclesiarchy priests, and pile their heads into skull pyramids to deter all quarters. As for those foolish governors, exterminate their three clans, leaving not even a dog or chicken alive, and sacrifice all their souls to the Lord of Pleasure.]

[Understood!]