As Dominic strode back to the bridge, the sound of his footsteps on the metal deck was faintly hurried.
The faint silver-red light in the shadows and that warning felt like a needle pricking his taut nerves, leaving no room for complacency.
" Karen." He spoke in a deep voice as soon as he stepped into the command center, his aura, which had eased slightly after sinking the enemy flagship, hardening again.
"Send a squad of naval military police to the lower decks for a thorough search of the living quarters."
The adjutant, who was compiling the battle damage report, suddenly looked up, his face still radiating the afterglow of the great victory. Upon hearing this, he instantly composed himself:
"Sir? This is a low-income civilian residential area. We rarely intervene except for routine inspections. Now that the space war has reached a critical junta, why are you suddenly conscripting military police..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear.
The civilian area on the lower decks has always been a gray area on Imperium warships—dirty, chaotic, and filled with a mixed crowd.
The investigation is quite troublesome.
"Execute the order." Dominic didn't explain, simply sitting in his seat, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
"I need to access all the monitoring and communication links for each compartment; I need to know the current situation there."
"Yes!" Karen didn't ask any more questions and immediately turned around to relay the instructions.
The duty of the Imperial Army is ingrained in their very bones; even if they are completely confused, orders must be carried out without fail.
No more than three minutes after the order was given, the intelligence officer at the communications station suddenly changed his expression.
"Major General!" He stood up abruptly, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of panic.
"All surveillance signals in the H4 Living Area have been interrupted, the area's communication terminals are unresponsive, and even the patrol team responsible for this area has lost contact!"
"How long has it been?" Dominic walked to the intelligence console, his gaze falling on the static-filled surveillance footage on the screen, his brows furrowing deeply.
"Based on the last data transmission, the signal was interrupted approximately seven minutes ago." The intelligence officer typed rapidly on the keyboard.
This happened precisely at the time the enemy flagship exploded; the system initially determined it to be a circuit malfunction caused by the blast wave.
But nobody took it to heart...
Dominic's heart sank.
Seven minutes ago, the Pale Rose exploded in the holy flames.
Sorine is right.
The enemy may not have perished with the flagship, but instead used the explosion as cover to infiltrate the Gemstone through some means.
The location was also extremely tricky, situated in the ground floor H4 Living Area.
Dominic sighed.
This is a common problem with all large Imperium warships.
Large battleships like the Gemstone, which have served for over a thousand years, have never been merely simple combat units.
The ship's crew of millions includes regular soldiers, Tech-Priest and technicians, and clergy from the Ecclesiarchy.
Of course, there were also ordinary people who drifted with the fleet generation after generation.
Among these people are military dependents who have children on board the ship. When their children grow up, they take over their parents' positions, serving the same warship generation after generation, thus supplementing the crew.
More often, they are orphans of martyrs, unemployed vagrants, descendants of forgotten criminals, and scavengers who board ships in various declining star systems.
They huddled on the darkest and dampest lower deck, barely surviving by scavenging for garbage and doing odd jobs, like moss clinging to the skeleton of a warship, impossible to shake off or clean up.
Out of humanitarian considerations and in order to stabilize the morale of the officers and soldiers at the grassroots level, the Departmento Munitorum tacitly acknowledged the existence of these people, only sending a small number of patrol personnel to maintain basic order, and never taking in-depth control over them.
This is an area with loose management, a mixed population, and weak religious beliefs.
It is the perfect breeding ground for Chaos Cult and Genestealer Cult.
All it takes is a believer carrying the plague and a secret sacrificial ritual; in less than half a day, the entire lower deck can be transformed into a paradise for the Grandfather.
"Pass on my orders," Dominic said coldly.
" The 13th Military Police Squadron, fully armed, immediately seal off all entrances and exits to Zone H4. No one is permitted to enter or leave."
"Notify the accompanying chaplaincy corps to assign one combat chaplain along with the sacred relics."
" The Tech-Priest team is preparing the purification equipment and is ready to deploy at any time."
"Tell the military police captain in charge to investigate the situation inside and report back immediately."
"If it is confirmed to be Chaos contamination, on-site disposal is permitted without requesting approval."
"Yes!"
In the District Seven of the lower deck, the air was filled with a strange smell of musty and cheap tobacco.
But after all, the Gemstone had belonged to the wealthy Ventria Family hundreds of years ago.
The environment is much better than that of Hive City.
When Captain Keller arrived at the main valve of Zone H4 with three hundred military police, his first reaction was to frown.
Something's not right.
The heavy explosion-proof alloy valve, which should have gleamed with a cold, hard, silvery-gray metallic luster, looked as if it had been soaking in stagnant water for hundreds of years.
The surface was covered with a layer of dark brown, loose rust, and grayish-green mold spots had grown on the rust, spreading outwards along the gaps in the valve.
Even the surrounding bulkheads were corroded and pitted, as if they had been soaked in strong acid.
An indescribable stench of decay wafted from the cracks, mixed with the stench of blood; just one whiff was enough to make one's stomach churn.
Even with the Power Armour's filtration system fully activated, it couldn't block out the eerie odor that pierced the nostrils.
"Captain, this..." The vice-captain next to him covered his mouth and nose, his eyes filled with shock.
"How did it get so rusty?"
Keller did not answer; he pressed an instrument against the outer wall of the valve.
The fact that the metal corrosion process is continuously releasing heat indicates that the corrosion reaction is still proceeding at a frenzied pace, defying the laws of physics.
His decades of military service and countless experiences in clearing out cult strongholds told him that what was behind the door was definitely more than just a simple spread of plague.
A ceremony was being held inside.
Only a malevolent, Chaos ritual could corrode an entire explosion-proof valve into this grotesque state in such a short time.
"Report to the bridge immediately." Keller took a step back and raised his hand to signal his team to spread out in tactical formation.
"Large-scale corruption has been confirmed in Zone H4, with a suspected Chaos ritual underway. Requesting additional heavy firepower and purification units for support."
"Everyone, Boltgun, Power Armour, full power filtration system activated."
He gripped the Chainsword tightly, his eyes behind the mask hardening.
"Prepare to break down the door."
"Yes!"
The military police pulled back their bolts in unison, and the metal firing pins of the Boltgun made a crisp sound.
The gun barrels were aimed at the rusted valves, ready to unleash a barrage of judgment at the captain's command.
Faint chanting could be heard coming from behind the door.
Deep, murky, like countless prayers squeezed from the depths of people's throats, it sent chills down your spine even through the thick metal bulkhead.
Keller knew that they didn't have much time left.
Once the ritual is complete, who knows what might emerge from inside.