Cultists Retreated Calmly, Showing the Poise of a Great Cult; Astra Militarum Pursuit Was a Shambles, Revealing the Imperium's Decline

BOOM—!!!

An unprecedented, earth-shattering blast instantly swallowed every sound on the battlefield.

A blinding white light burst forth from the explosion's center, as though a miniature sun had risen in the middle of the position. It was followed by a devastating shockwave. Whether they were the Hive City's original ruined walls or the temporary bunkers and fortifications the Players had built for the battle, all were as fragile as paper before this brutal force, easily torn apart, flung away, and collapsed.

Every Player within a hundred meters was knocked sprawling by the terrifying shockwave, sent tumbling in all directions.

Those farther away merely felt as if a red-hot iron spike had been viciously driven through their eardrums. The agonizing pain made them grimace, their heads filled with an endless buzzing roar.

Those closer to the blast had it far worse. They were hurled high into the air before crashing heavily back down, blood spraying from their mouths and staining the ground before them. They felt as if countless bones throughout their bodies had broken. Several heavily wounded Players lying on the ground did not even have the strength to howl; they could only weakly cry, "Quick... shoot me..."

Fortunately, despite the devastating friendly fire, no one cursed Ruthless Assassin too harshly. After all, in this game, the penalty for character death was nowhere near as severe as damaged equipment. One Player struggled to his feet and immediately checked the Lasgun in his arms and the ballistic vest on his body. Seeing only a few extra scratches, he let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, thank goodness... The gear's fine..."

Ballistic vests and Lasguns were indeed far more resistant to pure shrapnel and shockwave damage than flesh and blood.

As for the Assassin and the Chaos Sorcerer Elias, who had stood at the very center of the explosion?

Under such a world-destroying suicide attack, naturally, not even a recognizable scrap of them remained.

The purple psychic flames that had filled the battlefield completely dispersed with Elias's annihilation.

The Cultists lying prone on the ground first raised their heads in terror. Then they realized that the psychic pressure weighing upon their hearts and making them tremble had vanished. They could no longer see that lofty sorcerer who had regarded their lives as worthless grass.

Their supreme commander and their greatest military deterrent were both gone.

The dead silence lasted only a few seconds.

"He's dead! That sorcerer is dead!"

No one knew who shouted first, but the desire to survive immediately erupted. The Cultists no longer had any reservations. They scrambled to their feet, threw down their weapons, and fled desperately to the rear. Their organization completely collapsed in that instant.

The disciplinary squad on the high ground behind them also fell into brief hesitation as they watched the dark mass of fleeing soldiers rushing their way.

"Boss, are... are we still stopping them?" one squad member asked in a trembling voice.

The scar-faced Warlord spat viciously, yanked the heavy Autogun off its tripod, and slung it over his shoulder. "Stop my ass! Lord Elias is gone! With our hundred-odd men and a few dozen guns, we're supposed to stop several thousand routed troops? Are we looking to die?!"

He looked around and lowered his voice. "Life is beautiful, and I haven't lived enough yet! Run!"

At his command, the disciplinary squad that had just been massacring deserters immediately joined the fleeing ranks without hesitation. Since they had been positioned farther back, they actually ended up running at the very front of the main force.

At the position, the Players watched the Cultists flee in chaos like a receding tide. Yet there was no joy of victory on their faces. Instead, they fell into a bizarre state of bewilderment.

One Player stared blankly at the empty center of the blast before finally shouting the thought on everyone's mind. "Seriously, bro, you just died like that?! Where's your second phase?!"

The Players instantly erupted.

"What? That's it?!"

"Fuck! I just finished warming up! I just bought a dueling sword and was about to go slash that bastard!"

"Didn't they say this would be a day-long bloody battle? Why did my merits grow legs and run away?! Ruthless Assassin, you bastard, give me back my BOSS!"

"This is pissing me off! I'm still way short on merits! Everyone, chase them!"

At the call, more than a dozen Players who had not earned enough battle merits and felt their "monsters" had been stolen flew into a rage. They jumped out of the trenches, raised their guns, and gave chase.

Thus, on the battlefield amid the Underhive ruins, an extraordinary sight worthy of being recorded in Pedetia's history was born:

Several thousand Chaos Cultists fled ahead in a miserable, panicked rout, while over a dozen soldiers in Imperium Astra Militarum uniforms charged after them in grand pursuit.

As for the remaining Players at the position, their nominal Company Commander, Ruan Wenbo, hurriedly held them back.

"Everyone, stop right there!" Ruan Wenbo shouted at the restless Players, his face red. "The mission requirement is [Hold the Position]! If all of you run off and nobody stays to defend this place, the system will judge the mission a failure. Then we'll really be screwed!"

That bucket of cold water instantly calmed most of the Players.

"Damn, I forgot about that."

"Fuck, I almost got carried away."

"What about the dozen or so who chased after them?"

"Who cares? Let them draw the fire. We'll hold down the fort and wait for the system to declare victory. We won't lose a single merit point."

After a highly pragmatic discussion, the Players at the position swiftly reached a consensus. They resumed defensive positions and began clearing the battlefield, hoping to find some "relic" in the center of Elias's self-destruction.

On the other side of the battlefield, however, the fleeing Cultists were not thinking that much. Their survival instincts drove them to run toward wherever their own people were gathered in the greatest numbers, because in their simple minds, more people meant safety and shelter.

Thus, driven onward by the dozen or so Players, these several thousand routed troops charged like startled bulls with their tails set aflame straight toward the Cultists' main axis of attack—the flank of the principal position defended by the Astra Militarum's main force.

And so, a darkly comic Warhammer 40K-era charge of fire bulls unfolded.

Several thousand mentally broken Cultists formed the charging "herd," while the dozen Players howling after their battle merits were the "herdsmen" driving them from behind. Like a searing blade, they stabbed viciously into the flank of the Cultist army that was fiercely assaulting the main position!

"Ahhh! Don't come over here!"

"There are monsters behind us! Run!"

"They killed Lord Sorcerer!"

Panic was contagious. The Cultists attacking the stronghold had no idea what was happening. They only saw their comrades weeping and screaming as they charged in from the rear flank, smashing their formation into disarray. Then came the dense crack of Lasgun fire from behind, along with the Players' excited shouts and curses.

Chaos began spreading uncontrollably like a plague.