Starting from the Planetary Governor - Chapter 956

Chapter 947, Dark Witch King

Witch King Victor’s withered fingers unconsciously rubbed the worn iron throne. The cold touch couldn’t suppress the smoldering rage.

The dark chamber was filled with fear and the incense of decay, and the air was stagnant. The torture stakes hanging upside down under the dome were like swaying ghosts under the light.

“…Three more outer node ports have been captured by those apes,” the herald’s scraping metal cut through the silence, his hunched body wrapped in a black cloak. “The tamers of the ‘Twilight Fang’ family were completely wiped out before they could even hold out for two days… The average casualty ratio… was ninety-seven to one.” The last number was like a drop of concentrated acid dropped into a frying pan.

“Ninety-seven to one?!” A sharp roar pierced the silence, and Malachai, the governor of the Shadow-Eater family, stood up suddenly, “Comoros has never suffered such humiliation! Those trash of Dusk Fang should be fed to low-level demons! Victor! How long do you want us to hide like frightened reptiles in a hole? Let them in! Drown them in the maze! Tear them apart with a sea of people! The rats I raised are happy to take on this task!”

“Let them in?” An even colder sneer came from the other side.

Isara, the Dusk Fang family governor who was scolded as “should be fed to low-level demons”, sneered and said: “Malachai, your fear has overwhelmed your pathetic little rationality. Have you become so stupid because you have been with your rats for too long? Look at the data, the number of monkey armies is still growing exponentially! Relying on your “maze” to delay? Your rats are fragile and incompetent. They will only waste resources and hand over precious land to others in vain!”

Without waiting for the other party to answer, Isara’s pale and slender fingers passed through the void, calling out a shrinking ape army . Red Mark. “Our outposts in the real universe are being systematically eliminated. The attacks of those primitive creatures aren’t limited to Comoros. Every outpost lost means the rupture of one of our precious plundering routes, meaning less suffering and souls we can bring back to Comoros in the future! Continuing to bleed in this quagmire is not a fight, it’s slow collective suicide!”

The archons of the two families argued fiercely, while the other archons of the dozens of conspiracy families in the conference room, considered influential in Comoros, remained silent, watching the argument.

These two families had been enemies for the past three hundred years. They argued at every meeting, lashing out at each other at every possible fault, never missing a single opportunity to cause trouble.

But…

before, it was just a small argument.

But now?

In thousands of years, Comoros had never faced a crisis of this magnitude, and this was a direct invasion from the current cosmic overlord.

What had caused this?

The direct cause was the Dark Witch King’s brilliant plan to “invite” Robert.

He had to come. This

, along with the Alliance, also led to their arrival.

Then, the situation spiraled out of control, evolving into the current state.

Indeed, Victor’s plan was discussed and approved within a small circle of high-ranking officials. It wasn’t his dictatorship; it was a collective decision.

However, collective decision-making, while it might sound like collective effort, when a plan fails, especially a colossal failure like this, can everyone be expected to share the responsibility?

That’s too idealistic.

Blaming each other is more human nature.

The Dark Eldar aren’t human, but they’re more adept at this sort of thing.

It was Victor who proposed the plan, it was Victor who organized the meeting, and it was Victor who mobilized the forces to execute it.

This Dark Witch King wields authority over all families, associations, merchant guilds, and organizations in Comoros, and is the recognized leader and king of Comoros. He relied on the fear engendered by force and the prestige that benefited everyone.

Both of these were now facing a severe challenge due to the current disaster.

In human time, six months had already passed. Yet, the Comorian invasion crisis had not only remained unresolved, but had intensified.

The original goal was to address a prophecy. While the Eldar, from top to bottom, were largely unanimous in their belief that the prophecy concerning their future was true, their interpretations differed.

But if nothing was done, even if doomsday truly arrived, it would likely be a long time in the future.

Now, having addressed the prophecy, the apocalypse was imminent.

Consequently, Victor had neither resolved the prophecy nor suppressed the human invasion, resulting in losses for nearly all Comorian factions and a further erosion of his prestige.

In such circumstances, could the Dark Witch King, a leader not born of blood, not elected, and whose legitimacy rested solely on personal prestige, still hold sway over the ambitious and dissenting factions?

As if premeditated, the two bitter rivals once again engaged in a deliberate bickering within the meeting, even arguing over crucial issues, as if it were some kind of test.

The other Archons, observing with cold eyes, speculated on the Dark King’s thoughts as he sat on the Iron Throne, wondering if he still had the strength to suppress everything.

And it proved that the Dark King still held some prestige.

Before he could speak, the eerie, aged voice of Zaras, a representative of the Haemonculi Guild, rang out: “Malachai and Ishara, your arguments are pointless. They won’t resolve the difficulties we currently face.”

With this, he turned his cloudy eyes to the throne and bowed, saying: “Sir Victor, please allow the Guild to dispatch the Reaper Squad. Let others delay the battle. We need fresh… research materials. Those they call ‘Space Marines’… and the psykers who wield blue flames…

“Research materials?!” Malachai’s fury suddenly turned, and it was unclear whether he was angry that someone dared to share the pressure at this time. He cursed: “Zaras! “Comoros is burning! Those apes’ artillery bombards our cities daily! Are you still obsessed with your perverted organs?!”

Zaras’s eerie, aged voice didn’t sound like a living being, devoid of emotion. “My research is our only hope for victory. We’ve previously studied unique human species, but the evidence wasn’t sufficient. Now, with more fresh material, we might be able to devise some countermeasures against them, significantly easing the pressure.”

Isara stopped confronting Malachai and instead directed her fire at Zaras. “The humans are sending new fleets in endlessly. They’re even erecting even larger Veil Gates directly in the ruins! They’re not fighting, they’re coming… to occupy! To cleanse! They don’t need slaves, they don’t need the art of pain, they just want to completely wipe us out! How can they afford to wait for your slow genetic research? In a life-or-death situation, you don’t have precious hunters to distract the enemy. Anyway, we, the Dusk Fangs, don’t engage in such worthless pursuits! The sound of quarreling

rang out again, like a flock of crows bombing their nest, and sharp accusations and insults echoed under the dome.

The armrests of Victor’s iron throne groaned softly under his palms, nearly shattering under his grasp. His eyes, blazing with icy fury, scanned the archons, who, at the critical moment of their lives, were obsessed with selfish interests and bickering endlessly.

“Enough.”

Just two words. The voice was low, but it carried the vacuum storm of the deep, icy void of Comoros, instantly freezing all sound.

This wasn’t just a subjective feeling; this freezing wind, carrying a deep chill, actually and objectively, blew through the conference hall.

The Archons felt as if their throats were being strangled. Even the most frantic Malachai froze in place, meeting those bottomless black eyes with terror.

The Dark King was still the Dark King. They had no doubt that, if he so desired, the chill wind that froze their voices could also freeze their hearts.

Victor slowly rose from his throne, his figure an oppressive shadow.

“Shadow-Eater Malachai,” his gaze fixed first on the enraged Archon. “Since you crave battle, the Blood Rose labyrinth node is yours. There are seven backup passages for rapid transport. Assemble all the hunters, mercenaries, and your supposedly endless rats you can muster to hold this place. If you fail, do not return to see me; the Soul-Shredding Punishment will teach you a lesson.”

Malachai’s lips trembled silently, and finally, under Victor’s deathly gaze, his face livid, he gave a stiff, twisted salute of obedience.

“Isara of the Dusk Fang.” His gaze turned to the pale and arrogant female archon, “I will assign you multiple ports and veil gates to the real universe and the alliance territory, and you will be in charge. Find the true source coordinates of these human fleets, and find the nest in the real universe that continuously supplies these apes with troops, supplies and warships. Find one, destroy one. Inflict ten or a hundred times the suffering that our homes have suffered on the homes of these apes, and start a war to spread fear in the real universe. If you can’t do it, go to the flesh and blood grinder at the bottom of the Eternal Arena and train our stitched beasts.”

Isara’s face was as white as new snow. She bowed slightly, a trace of panic in her eyes that was seen through, but she did not have the courage to refute.

“Zarath.” Victor’s gaze finally settled on the Haemooric representative. “The ‘samples’ you seek will soon be engaged in a fierce battle on the flanks of the Spire of Pain defense node. My Undertaker and Nightmare Squad will create chaos and hunt down their targets. The Guild has also dispatched its Reaper forces to join the assault. No matter the cost, I will ensure you return with at least 200 intact Space Marines and Psykers.”

The Dark King’s fingers tapped lightly on the throne, a silent gesture that suddenly stiffened Zarath’s wriggling tentacles. “I will also grant the Guild priority access to the Library of Eternal Pain. You must give me time to ensure your research progress, or at least produce some initial results. If I find your research a waste of time, then the Haemooric Guild’s very existence will be worth considering.”

…

The air was deathly silent.

Victor’s cold command carried more weight than any roar.

And Victor’s instructions extended beyond the three individuals who had spoken in the earlier argument. The other archons, without exception, were all assigned tasks and work.

They had no choice but to accept them.

Perhaps if everyone present united immediately to resist the Dark King, they might succeed.

However, the first ten to step forward would surely die.

And if they died, the remaining ones might even become even more servile to the Dark King, mourning the blood of the previous victims, sharing their power and using it to serve him.

No one wanted to be that fool.

No one dared to utter a single sound, the previous argument seemingly unheard.

“Execute.” Victor’s voice was calm, yet it felt like heavy shackles shackled each man’s soul.

As if they had been granted amnesty, yet also as if they were bound for execution, the archons silently and swiftly retreated from the oppressive domed hall.

The heavy carved door closed behind them, separating the inside and outside into two distinct worlds: the turmoil and terror outside, the dead silence of the trial within.

When the last trace of footsteps faded, Victor sat back on his throne.

“Old woman,” his voice shone with deep weariness, lacking the commanding presence he had earlier when addressing the archons.

As Victor called out, a strange, slender figure silently slid out from the deep shadows cast by the council chamber’s massive stone pillars. The leader of the Witch Cult, the old woman.

She wore neither the dark gold bone kilt nor the thorn crown that symbolized her authority. She clad herself in a slim robe as dark as raven feathers, her face covered by an expressionless silver-white mask, revealing only a pair of eyes as deep as ancient wells.

Like a ghost crawling from the deepest darkness of Comoro, she quietly stopped at the foot of the steps leading to Victor’s throne, bowing slightly in a gesture of respect.

Facing her, Victor let out a deep sigh.

He said, “As I’ve risen from the bottom of the Comoros to my current position, I’ve told myself at every step that no one is trustworthy, no one is beyond betrayal.”

“But only you, wise old woman, daughter of the Mensha Blood God. I believe everything you do is for the resurgence of our great race. I acknowledge the prophecy you proclaimed and will respond proactively.”

“But how have you repaid me?”

He flicked a withered finger through the air.

A three-dimensional projection instantly unfolded before the throne.

The background depicted the wreckage-strewn interior of the Queen Rose Harbor Reception Building. Flames of explosions and figures flickered.

However, the focus was remarkably clear: several swarms of pure energy lifeforms, rapidly moving, constantly shifting forms, and radiating tiny arcs of blue electricity. They weaved through the ruins, precisely avoiding artillery fire and even, intentionally or unintentionally, creating cover for the charging human soldiers.

The image suddenly zoomed in and froze.

The shell of a storm energy creature rippled and twisted like the surface of water. When it stabilized, it revealed a stern-faced human male dressed in the uniform of a colonel in the Alliance Army and Imperial Astra Militarum! He saluted the humans, the standard, rigid Sky Eagle salute piercing the eye.

The old woman’s expression remained unchanged. “I can explain.”

Victor folded his arms in front of him. “Okay, I’ll listen to your explanation.”

(End of Chapter)