Chapter 21: Hels No. 3, the Great Melee Begins!

By the time Chen Xing looped back from the system edge, the Ork fleet had closed on Herkes III.

Orbital defenses fired desperately.

Cosmo-minefields activated.

Through visual organs, Chen Xing watched Ork junk-ships charge the minefield—sparking, exploding into fireworks.

WAAAGH roars flooded vox—hypnotic.

“All fleet, strike enemy right flank—all weapons fire!”

Katalya led her orbital squadron into the fray, crossing fire with star-forts and platforms.

Ork scrap-heaps shattered, reverting to drifting junk.

Chen Xing watched from afar, then slipped to the spaceport for buffet round two.

Aquila-marked umbilicals locked.

Tens of thousands of refugees surged aboard.

Luna Bella’s cultists—now in crew uniforms—directed flow with autoguns and shotguns, maintaining order.

This run: 150,000 crammed in.

Floating in the virtual pod, Chen Xing burped.

“Rogue trader.” Katalya’s vox crackled. “My fleet holds the star-fort—no escort for evac. Your ship armed?”

“Escort them to system edge. Please. I’ll do my duty here!”

“You still owe me a favor.”

“Greedy trader. Navy won’t forget. Spire will remember. Gothic Fleet will repay.”

Chen Xing rolled eyes internally.

Spire—God-Emperor’s Chosen, Primarch of the Navy, Lord High Admiral.

Snatched two relics from Abaddon, crushed Orks in Gothic, befriended Eldar corsairs, ended the 12th Black Crusade.

Can I even cash that favor?

But she wouldn’t refuse.

28 transports, over a million souls.

No escort, no warp, no weapons.

All hers.

Tch—jackpot!

“Understood, Golden Fleece assumes fleet command.”

“Good luck, Rear Admiral Katalya.”

“Don’t disappoint me, trader—or I’ll kill you.”

Threat harmless.

Chen Xing saw it: Katalya would die here.

Sacrifice is the Imperium’s foundation.

Under Katalya’s cover, Golden Fleece led 28 transports out.

An Ork raider squadron tried to intercept—blocked by Katalya.

Using planetary gravity slingshot, Chen Xing broke orbit.

Long haul to system edge began.

Transports: unarmed, slow, no warp.

Against her armed bio-ship—can’t fight, can’t run.

Virtual pod: white loli rubbed hands, greedy grin.

Cute steamed-bun face—child craving candied hawthorn.

But she craved people.

A million.

System panicked.

[Host, you’ll eat them all?]

“Prime bio-mass chance.”

“Already spent too much. I’ll starve. My swarm needs feeding. Boo hoo—I need bio-mass!”

[But you ate two ships! First ~100k, now 150k+!]

“Second batch only half-digested. Hours to full conversion.”

System inhaled sharply.

Checked old stats.

Humanity: 10%

Host now: human-intelligent Tyranid hive mind.

Wah—female-frequency system meant to help heroine birth CEO babies!

Main system, save me!

[Host, 28 ships—survivors will expose you. Rogue trader cover blown. Reconsider!]

System tried.

Chen Xing doused it.

“No worry.”

Pointed at star map.

“In ~784 hours, convoy enters dust cloud.”

“Low visibility—hides from Ork patrols, but attacks untraceable.”

“I’ll strike inside. Escapes can’t ID attacker.”

Arms crossed, chin up, smug.

“Hahaha—genius me!”

System chilled.

Host fully fallen.

Prayed to main system for the million.

As for those in digestion pools—beyond help.

Then—remote sensors pinged.

Hull eyes swiveled, zoomed.

Three red warships approached—blood-soaked hulls, massive Khorne totems.

Lead: Styx-class heavy cruiser.

Flanked by Murder-class (plasma) and Slaughter-class (lance).

Balanced fire: lance suppression, plasma mid-range, Styx carrier crippling engines/guns—then boarding slaughter.

Chen Xing sweated.

Can’t win. All Khornate.

Then—new contacts.

From left asteroid belt: flying junk swarm.

Ork scrap-fleet.

Three-way brawl—without warning.