Tzeentch's Decree!

Rorschach closed his eyes.

The truck accelerated, driving straight.

The truck stopped, then accelerated.

The truck turned left, then right...

After a minute, Rorschach stopped trying to memorize the route.

Clearly, the driver was overly cautious.

Every stretch of road they covered, he would circle around repeatedly.

As if evading pursuit or dodging police checkpoints.

Twenty minutes later.

The box truck entered Hell's Kitchen.

It wound through several broken, pothole-ridden, desolate streets.

Finally, it pulled into a workshop bearing a faded sign that read 'Fatty's Auto Repair'.

Clang--

The box truck came to an abrupt halt.

Immediately after, the door was yanked open.

At the same time, by Rorschach's ear.

The man with the thick Slavic accent spoke:

"Mr. Rorschach, get out!"

At this moment, Rorschach, wearing a black hood, looked like an indifferent bystander.

He slowly rose and stepped out of the truck.

His movements were leisurely and casual.

There was not a trace of panic from being kidnapped.

His feet touched the ground.

Rorschach, whose hands were not bound, yanked off the black hood and squinted as he surveyed his surroundings.

It seemed to be an auto repair shop.

It looked like it had been abandoned for a long time.

Even the oil stains on the floor were covered by a layer of dust.

Only a few repair tools covered with tarps were piled in the corner.

Along with several scrapped engines, hinting at past glory.

"Hey!"

Just then, not far from Rorschach.

A bald white man chatting with his accomplice noticed the hostage's unusual movement.

The bald man's eyes instantly flashed with menace as he bellowed:

"Damn it! Who told you to take off the hood?"

Before his words faded, the bald man actually stepped forward.

As if intending to give Rorschach a lesson he'd never forget.

However, the Slavic man with the gun also jumped out of the box truck.

He stopped the hot-tempered bald man.

"Joseph, forget it... he's being cooperative!"

Rorschach squinted as he looked toward the voice.

He noticed that this Slavic man's height.

Was much shorter than a normal person.

Even wearing thick elevator shoes.

He was only about one meter sixty tall.

By the truck door, the short Slavic-accented man shifted his steps.

He stared at the expressionless Rorschach and said very politely:

"Mr. Rorschach, please follow me..."

"Wait."

Frowning slightly, Rorschach glanced again at the few scattered figures, then a deep disappointment spread across his face.

"Is this all the people your Tracksuit Gang has?"

Even counting the driver who had just stepped out after opening the door.

There were only four people in the factory.

The short man who had tensed up at Rorschach's words and raised his gun.

The bald white man not far in front of Rorschach.

And behind the bald white man, a burly Black man who had just picked up a cleaver and stood up.

"Hey, kid! We're not some damn gang! We're professionals hired at a high price to handle the problem!"

"Get it straight! Professionals!"

The bald white man grinned, his tone dripping with mockery.

Then, he twisted his neck a few times.

Strode forward with big steps.

Spread his thick arms wide and lunged at Rorschach!

"Hired killers?"

Rorschach shook his head slightly, his face full of regret.

Suddenly, he bent his back low.

Every taut muscle in his body released in an instant, unleashing a surge of explosive power!

Rorschach's foot slid and stomped.

In the blink of an eye, he brushed past the bald white man charging straight at him!

And, seizing the brief moment when the bald white man's eyes went wide with shock.

He shifted his steps and ducked behind the man's back!

Bang---

At the same time.

A muffled gunshot rang out abruptly, blood splattering everywhere!

Yet the one who screamed in pain was the bald white man, now used as a human shield by Rorschach!

For a moment, the short man who had fired seemed stunned by Rorschach's speed.

He had accidentally shot his own man.

Sending him into a fit of rage:

"He... he can dodge bullets!"

For now, Rorschach couldn't withstand bullets head-on.

But after two rounds of simulator enhancement.

Both his explosive power and reaction speed far exceeded normal human limits!

Besides, what he was dodging wasn't the bullet itself.

Just the enemy's shifting gun barrel.

Everything happened in the span of a spark.

The bald white man cried out in pain, clutching his shot shoulder as he wobbled.

But Rorschach had already spun around the instant the gunshot sounded.

Stomping hard on the ground!

He charged like a beast skimming the floor, heading straight for the short man—the biggest threat in the room!

In the blink of an eye, Rorschach was right in front of him!

The stench of tobacco in his ragged breath, the bloodshot veins in his eyes, and the gun barrel turning again!

Expressionless, Rorschach mobilized every sense to probe all the enemy's information!

In an instant!

The short man had no time to react before Rorschach grabbed his wrist.

The muscles on Rorschach's arm bulged, veins standing out!

Crack!

A crisp sound—the short man's gun-wielding wrist twisted instantly, bones snapping!

Then, before the man could even feel the pain of the fracture.

Crack!

Rorschach, with icy eyes, kicked the short man's knee!

"Ugh—"

In that moment, the short man's face first flushed red, then turned deathly pale!

At the same time, Rorschach snatched the pistol from Duan's hand.

He let the other man fall to the ground.

Then, with every hair standing on end, Rorschach spun his body again.

He charged head-on into the black burly man who had already rushed forward!

The black burly man's eyes were wide with fury.

"Ha!"

A roar burst from his mouth.

A gleaming, sharp machete swung down toward Rorschach's head!

Yet Rorschach easily shifted his shoulder.

He sidestepped, dodging the blade's edge.

Then, he suddenly crouched low.

"A knife isn't meant to be used like this!"

With a cold glare, Rorschach abruptly raised the muzzle and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

Bang bang bang—

In an instant, the scorching bullets from the barrel pierced the black burly man's outstretched arm!

"Ah—"

The black burly man let out a scream of agony.

His fingers, gripping the handle, went limp, and the sharp machete fell!

Rorschach's free left hand caught the sharp machete midair and held it before him!

His crouched body lunged forward like a frog.

The machete's sharp edge had already embedded itself into the black burly man's entire abdomen!

Shhk!

After a brief pause, the sound of blood spraying filled the air.

The black burly man had been disemboweled!

And Rorschach acted as if he had merely completed a trivial task.

Expressionless, he rose quickly without a hint of joy.

He hurled the machete toward the driver's direction!

In an instant.

Gunshots, shouts, the crack of bones.

And the wet patter of internal organs hitting the ground.

Plunged the driver, overwhelmed by endless terror, into an abyss.

Thud!

As the black burly man's corpse slowly hit the ground with a heavy sound.

The dazed driver instinctively reached for the gun at his waist.

But it was too late.

Because a sharp machete was already whistling toward him!

Pfft—

The machete's sharp edge shattered.

But it embedded itself deep between the driver's brows!

"Phew—"

Only after the driver's stiff corpse fell to the ground.

Did Rorschach, his face still flickering with killing intent, slowly exhale, relaxing a little.

In less than a minute.

Two enemies dead, two wounded...

And he had merely finished warming up!

Rorschach took a deep breath of the blood-tainted air.

Then he slowly walked over to the wounded man still writhing and moaning.

"First question. How did you find me?"

Rorschach asked with narrowed eyes.

But all he got in return was a pained groan.

He received no answer.

And at that very moment.

The bald white man shot in the shoulder seemed to have adapted to the pain, or perhaps was provoked by Rorschach's dismissive tone.

Cowering on the ground, he suddenly jerked his head up.

A pair of eyes brimming with hatred glared viciously at Rorschach, his teeth grinding as he spat:

"It's you! It has to be you! You're the—"

Bang—

Expressionless, Rorschach pulled the trigger.

In an instant, the bald white man's mouth exploded, teeth flying!

"Hah-hah."

A torrent of blood flooded his windpipe, rolling his eyes back as he choked into unconsciousness.

"Do I need to repeat the question?"

Blinking, Rorschach suddenly turned his head to look at the dwarf lying motionless on the ground, his gaze sincere.

"No! Absolutely not!"

Staring at the young man who seemed like a murderous maniac.

Sweating profusely, the dwarf ignored the injuries to his limbs and shook his head, shouting desperately:

"A list!"

"The Tracksuit Gang gave us a list!"

"Anyone matching the suspect traits the police have on file—we're supposed to track and analyze them based on the info on that list... until we find the real culprit who killed the boss and caused massive profit losses!"

"And they offered a price we couldn't refuse!"

"Tsk, not just throwing money around—the one who came up with the whole plan is a genius too."

Rorschach squinted, unable to help but praise repeatedly.

Only his tone seemed full of mockery.

Not to mention the storm of public opinion.

Going around kidnapping hostages under police pressure would offend who knows how many people, how many forces on both sides of the law.

They didn't even seem to have a contingency plan for after finding the real culprit.

Even if Rorschach wasn't the real culprit.

Would the kidnapped hostages just not fight back?

These so-called professionals were way too unprofessional, weren't they?

"We followed the employer's orders exactly. Sorted by age on the list, you were the youngest of all the targets..."

The dwarf seemed to read Rorschach's thoughts.

Regret and resentment flashed in his eyes as he gave a bitter smile.

"We just wanted to use you to practice, to get familiar with the process—never thought..."

"Never thought God would bless you with such good luck that you'd hit the target on the first try, right?"

Expressionless, Rorschach raised an eyebrow and suddenly asked:

"If you don't want to die, tell me where the Tracksuit Gang's current headquarters is, and I'll spare your life."

"It's in Hell's Kitchen, in that long-abandoned Baby Department Store..."

Seeing a glimmer of hope for survival.

The dwarf's complexion flushed a bit, and he cooperated fully:

"Since the NYPD and ordinary people are all causing them trouble, to minimize the gang's profit losses, their leader chose to gather the core members together—so if danger comes, they can hold out for a while."

"You're being so cooperative—how am I supposed to believe you're telling the truth?"

Rorschach stared unblinkingly at the dwarf, his eyes flickering.

"And besides, betraying a client—isn't that a major taboo in your line of work?"

"Business. It's just a failed business deal."

"If I talk, I might live. If I don't, I'll definitely die. I also trust you won't go around spreading this."

"Maybe we can become partners in some things down the line?"

"I could even be your eyes and ears in the underworld."

The dwarf struggled to prop himself up, his gaze utterly sincere as he looked at Rorschach, speaking slowly.

Bang—

Just as the dwarf thought Rorschach's silence meant he was tempted.

Gunfire erupted without warning!

A bloody hole blossomed on the dwarf's forehead.

His lips twitched silently, the light in his eyes dimming in an instant.

"You talk too much."

Rorschach delivered his final verdict.

Then, with a flick of his palm, the pistol, its bullets nearly spent, was fully absorbed, becoming resources for the simulator.

[Current consumable cooldown: six days and six hours (one hundred fifty hours)]

Rorschach glanced at the simulator as he did so.

At this moment, there were still nine hours until the next simulation.

Rorschach decisively consumed the resource conversion time, ending the simulator's cooldown.

However, he didn't immediately start a simulation.

Instead, he turned and began cleaning up the traces of the fight in the factory.

After Rorschach searched the driver's body and found another firearm, he chose not to absorb it, but casually stuffed it into his pocket.

Rorschach couldn't guarantee the dead professional—

the dwarf—had told the truth.

But he also wasn't planning to wait for an opportunity any longer.

He was going to uproot the entire Tracksuit Gang!

Cut the weeds and dig up the roots!

Since these bastards didn't know when to quit and weren't afraid of death, then let them become corpses for good!

So, Rorschach needed weapons.

Lots of weapons!

Unfortunately, Rorschach searched the entire factory, only to find it was a derelict site.

No hidden gun cache.

No other tools for killing.

Except for a pile of greasy repair tools in the corner.

At this point, Rorschach frowned slightly and directly opened the simulator.

He decided to try his luck.

He prayed The Emperor Protects, hoping to simulate a firearm produced by the Imperium.

Even an ordinary Astartes las pistol

would be far more powerful than the gunpowder weapons of today!

[Simulation initiating--]

[Current identities: Catachan Recruit, Cadian Grenadier.]

[Please select an identity to descend with.]

[If declined, a random identity will be assigned.]

[Identity selected: Cadian Grenadier]

[Simulation initiating--]

[You have descended into the Warhammer Universe.]

[Time: Unknown]

[Location: Unknown]

[You set foot on the planet's surface.]

[You find yourself in a city undergoing a Bloody Sacrifice.]

[Before you can grab a nearby weapon, you are surrounded by a dense crowd of cultists in purple robes.]

[You attack with your bare hands, but are tightly pressed by even more cultists, soon unable to move even a single finger.]

[You are trapped in an inescapable predicament. You try to bite off your tongue, offering your loyalty to the Emperor.]

[You suddenly realize with horror that your consciousness cannot command even a single muscle.]

["Tzeentch. Wishes to see you." The cultists, purple light gleaming in their eyes, spoke in unison.]

No splitting—a four-thousand-word chapter.

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