Late at night within the temporary command center of the Forbidden Wall, the dim, yellow light cast a weary glow over Raynor's face. He leaned back in his office chair, set down the final data-slate in his hand, and raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose.
Seeing this, Sarah sensibly used her forelimbs to massage Raynor's scalp.
His desk was piled high with various reports and documents. Most were inconsequential, but a dispatch from Carter in the Hive regarding the critical food rationing situation was particularly eye-catching, written in a glaring red font. It stated that the Governor's Mansion's grain reserves were only sufficient to sustain the Vanguard Army and the wildmen refugees for two and a half months.
Raynor looked at these reports and let out a soft sigh. Since taking over the position of Governor of Brevis, he had been plagued by food issues. Raising an army required grain; settling wildmen required grain; "mass-producing" troops also required grain. The famine on Brevis was even more severe than he had imagined.
Just then, the cool female voice rang in Raynor's ear, carrying a hint of satisfaction at a completed task and a subtle, unspoken plea for credit:
"The Envoys have arrived. Snowclaw and Icefang have begun storing food as requested. Their people are very obedient."
Raynor reached up and took the little creature from his head, his fingertips gently brushing over her cool carapace with a tender motion.
"You've done well, Sarah."
His voice was low and gentle, carrying unmasked praise. Sarah seemed to thoroughly enjoy the compliment; the mini Ripper's compound eyes squinted, and pink bubbles floated up above her head. This was her way of expressing "pleasure." The emotions transmitted through the system link were as soft as a ball of cotton, gently enveloping Raynor's consciousness.
Raynor had become accustomed to this "reward mechanism." Every time he praised her, she would react this way—like a cat that had just had its chin scratched, docile and cute. It was a complete departure from the cold, bloodthirsty image of the Tyranid race.
Continuing to stroke the Ripper, Raynor asked: "How is the development of the new units going over at Sarah-2's side?"
Sarah fell into a brief silence as she synchronized her consciousness with Sarah-2 to share the swarm's research data. Within two seconds, her voice rang out again, her tone more rigorous:
"The genetic sequences have basically stabilized. The genetic templates for the Ice-Spine Striders and the wildmen have been fully developed. However, the function regarding the safe digestion of Ork spores is still unstable. We need more Ork samples for practical testing."
Raynor nodded, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. This was exactly the result he wanted. Ork spores were the most troublesome issue; if even a few spores remained, new Ork Boyz would sprout before long. Even the ferocious Tyranids faced these annoyances.
But once this problem was overcome, it meant they would have a steady, inexhaustible supply of biomass! More importantly, the Tyranids' way of fighting was perfectly suited to deal with Orks. Since the Tyranid playstyle focused on genetics while the Orks' "Waaagh!" energy leaned toward the physical, the swarm could effectively suppress the progress of Ork technology—even if the Tyranids couldn't directly utilize Ork genes.
This was a layout he had planned from the very beginning.
The research into new units hadn't actually started with the sacrifice at the Twin Peaks. Since the Snowclaw cavalry had ambushed his escort over a month ago, Sarah-2 had been using the recovered remains of Striders and wildmen from the battlefield to extract their genetic sequences and study new swarm units adapted to the arctic environment.
That twin-peaked glacial mountain was never meant to be just a stage for "meeting envoys"; it was the "Mythological Certification Center" he had prepared for Sarah's swarm. The Frost Dragon was merely the shell—a mythological symbol used to awe the wildmen—while the Tyranid swarm was the core, the true source of power.
By using the wildmen's hands to sacrifice biomass, the swarm would produce "God-given Warriors" to provide the tribes with the power to fight Orks. It was a perfect transaction and a perfect closed loop.
But now, the operation of this closed loop was being jammed by the food problem.
Raynor opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the grain reports on the desk once more. He sighed softly. "Sarah, what we lack most right now is still food."
"Feeding the soldiers, feeding the refugees, feeding the swarm... every one of them needs to eat."
The mini Ripper's antennae gently brushed across his fingertips, her cool voice carrying a sense of the obvious: "It's simple—why not just continue squeezing those nobles?"
Raynor looked at the little creature in his palm and couldn't help but laugh, the fatigue in his eyes dissipating significantly. His thoughts had long since been seen through by Sarah. He did indeed intend to move against those nobles, but now was not the right time.
He gently tapped her small head, his voice tinged with a bit of helplessness: "I want to, but first, I have to deal with that 'tail.'"
Raynor's tone gradually turned cold. "Moving against them in the Hive isn't exactly convenient..."
Sarah's compound eyes narrowed, flashing with cold killing intent. She naturally knew who Raynor was talking about: that Inquisitor hiding in the shadows, Solene Vimlot. She was like a lingering ghost, constantly lurking near the Forbidden Wall and monitoring Raynor's every move.
Raynor felt Sarah's killing intent and continued to stroke her shell to soothe her emotions. He knew Solene was a ticking time bomb. As long as she remained, every one of his steps had to be taken with extreme caution to avoid showing any weakness. He had to deal with this tail before he could act against the Hive nobles without reservation and thoroughly solve Brevis's famine.
The two of them sat there together, radiating a terrifying killing intent as they pondered how to handle the Inquisitor.
In the afternoon at the Forbidden Wall, the blizzard eased slightly. Light filtered through the heavy clouds, falling on the snow and reflecting a faint glow. Raynor sat before the tactical sand table in the command post, reviewing the reorganization plan for the next rotation of troops.
His finger slid gently across the sand table, outlining the defensive positions of the wall while he occasionally exchanged tactical deployments with his staff.
Suddenly, Sarah's voice rang in his mind, carrying a hint of surprise:
"That Inquisitor has left the Forbidden Wall. She is heading toward the Hive."
Raynor's fingertip stopped abruptly on the ice-plain region of the sand table. A flash of vigilance crossed his eyes.