Mission Accomplished!

Main Position Command Headquarters.

Commissar Walter stood with binoculars raised, his expression grave as he observed the precarious defensive line. Suddenly, he noticed a massive disturbance erupting on the enemy's flank.

He lowered the binoculars in disbelief, rubbed his eyes, then abruptly raised them again.

In his field of view, a massive flood of routed soldiers was slamming into the enemy's main force from the side. Behind that tide, more than a dozen figures in Imperium uniforms could vaguely be seen in pursuit. They fired at times and hurled grenades at others, somehow driving the chaos among thousands of people to a fever pitch.

"So valiant? Whose soldiers are those?!" Commissar Walter's voice was full of shock.

The officers around him exchanged glances, clearly equally bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

Only one old Astra Militarum soldier narrowed his eyes and carefully identified the direction before saying in a deep voice, "Commissar, they should have come from Sector 7 Waste Processing. Only that place connects to the old site of Waste Fluid Pipeline 114, allowing them to charge straight here in one go."

Sector 7 Waste Processing... Commissar Walter's expression became uncertain.

Were they those fresh recruits?

In truth, in Commissar Walter's eyes, those so-called recruits were at most factory workers who had only just picked up Lasguns, not glorious Astra Militarum soldiers who had undergone true, brutal training. Handing that secondary position over to them had been a stopgap measure. He had even prepared himself for them to collapse at any moment and for the position to be lost at any moment.

He had never expected them to hold it.

Yet now, not only had they held it, they had also dealt the enemy a fatal blow from the flank in a way he could not comprehend at all!

"No matter what, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

Walter's military instincts immediately cast aside his distracting thoughts. He sharply lowered his binoculars, his eyes gleaming with resolve.

"Pass on my orders!" He turned to the signalman, his voice loud and firm. "Have the heavy mortars in the rear fire three salvos at the enemy's rear formation!"

He drew the Chainsword at his waist and raised it high. The blade roared to life.

"Countercharge across the entire line! For the Emperor!"

As Commissar Walter's Chainsword let out a roar, the shrill horn of the counterattack sounded across the Astra Militarum's main position.

"For the Emperor!"

The long-suppressed Astra Militarum soldiers erupted in a tsunami of battle cries. They vaulted out of the trenches, leveled their bayonet-fitted Lasguns, and formed a torrent of steel as they bore down head-on upon the Cultist army, already thrown into utter disarray by the chaos on its flank.

On the front was the disciplined hammer of the Emperor; on the flank were "friendly troops" in mental collapse, scattering in all directions. That double pressure instantly crushed the Cultists' already fragile cohesion. They lacked sufficient junior officers capable of steadying morale. The only things holding the force together were empty promises from the Dark Gods and fear of their superior sorcerers.

Commissar Walter calmly observed the battle. Once he confirmed that the enemy offensive had been completely shattered and their formations scattered into a disorganized mess, he decisively issued new orders.

"Cease pursuit! All units, reform ranks, clear the battlefield, and hold your positions!"

Victory had not gone to his head. A desperate enemy should not be pursued, especially in this strange hive city, where reckless pursuit was exceedingly dangerous.

The orders were faithfully carried out. The Astra Militarum soldiers soon stopped their pursuit and began regrouping.

However, the dozen or so Players, their eyes already red with bloodlust, were nowhere near so obedient. They were not under Commissar Walter's command. Their commander was "Merit Points." Seeing so much "mobile merit" slipping away before their eyes, how could they possibly let it go?

"Don't run! Stop right there, damn it!"

"Your heads are worth a Meltabomb!"

Chasing a group of the fastest fleeing Cultists, they joyfully crossed a decaying metal bridge covered in rust and on the verge of collapse, then charged into a relatively open, abandoned industrial plaza.

The instant they stepped into the center of the plaza, a sudden change erupted.

A silent, sickly green tide swept out of the shadows of the plaza without warning. It was neither flame nor shockwave, but a pure psychic force brimming with malice and despair.

Everything withered in its wake.

Whether it was the dozen or so Players who had intended to keep charging for more profit, or the hundreds of Cultists they had been pursuing, none even managed a scream within that sickly green radiance. Their bodies crumbled and dispersed like sand sculptures weathered by the wind, becoming ashes that danced through the air.

The plaza, deafeningly noisy only moments ago, fell deathly silent in an instant.

In the distant shadows, more Cultists were "stabilized" by their leader through even crueler methods—anyone who tried to retreat was ruthlessly cut down by the companions behind them. After a bloody round of internal slaughter, the routed troops regained their footing, though the fear permeating them had grown even stronger than before.

Through his binoculars, Commissar Walter took in the entire tragic scene. He felt a trace of regret over the sacrifice of those dozen warriors.

They had created an opening for him in a way he could not understand, yet had ultimately doomed themselves through reckless advance. Still, given their position and speed at the time, even if he had wanted to save them, he could not have made it in time.

That flicker of regret lasted only a second before his iron will crushed it completely.

In this brutal war, sacrifice was commonplace. He had witnessed too much death. If he mourned every fallen soldier, he would have no time to do anything else. The dead were gone; the living still had to fight.

What he was more curious about now was those fresh recruits... those soldiers who had created a miracle. What exactly were they?

Walter lowered his binoculars and turned around, his voice steady and powerful.

"Have Ruan from Sector 7 Position come see me." The words had barely left his mouth before he immediately changed his mind.

"No," he said in a low voice. "I'll go inspect his position myself."

When Commissar Walter entered Sector 7 Waste Processing with two bodyguards, he habitually frowned.

To a professional soldier like him, the position before him was riddled with flaws. The cover had been built without any method, the placement of firing points was equally disorderly, and several fortifications had clearly just been overturned by explosions, left crookedly piled there without anyone repairing them. The entire position was permeated with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and... a peculiar sense of excitement mixed together.

He said nothing. After all, they were only fresh recruits, and this very position that looked like such a mess had just carried out an incomprehensible surprise attack.

"Ruan?" Walter's voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly throughout the entire position.

Ruan Wenbo, who had been directing the Players as they cleared the battlefield, jolted and hurried over at a jog. He snapped to attention and gave an Imperial Eagle Salute. "Reporting to the Commissar, I'm here!"

Walter nodded and said in a businesslike tone, "Your performance today was outstanding. The enemy offensive has been temporarily repelled, and today's fighting is essentially over. Reinforce the defensive line, treat the wounded, and prepare for tomorrow's battle."

At the very instant Walter finished speaking, a blue light screen visible only to Ruan Wenbo popped up before his eyes.

[Main Quest: Hold the Position has been completed!]

[Quest Rating: Exceptional]

[Quest Reward: Merit Points +1500]

A string of crisp system notifications rang in his mind. Seeing that generous sum of merit arrive, Ruan Wenbo froze for a moment before immense joy surged through him. He abruptly turned around and raised an arm, shouting with all his strength at the Players behind him, who were still slacking off and scavenging junk.

"Brothers! We did it! The quest is complete!"

As if that were a signal, every Player's personal terminal throughout the position received the quest completion notification at the same time.

After a brief silence, the entire position erupted in thunderous cheers.

"Wooo!!!"

"Hell yeah! The merit's in!"

"We're rich, we're rich!"

The position, which had only moments ago been steeped in the tension after battle, instantly turned into a bustling marketplace. The Players gathered in groups of two or three, excitedly opening their system shop interfaces.

"Quick, let's see what I can buy... Damn, I'm just a little short of a Power Sword!"

"Who has more merit? Buy a deck of cards first so we can play a round later!"

"Screw you. If you want to play cards, why don't you spend your own merit to buy them?"

"Anyone want to team up and finish off those heavily wounded guys? They've been calling out forever. Kind of pitiful."

Watching the chaotic yet jubilant scene before him, Commissar Walter's brows, which had just relaxed, knitted tightly together again. This could only be called disorderly! Undisciplined!

Did they not know the war was not over? Had they not seen how those dozen comrades had just turned to ashes? Such frivolous behavior did not resemble an army that had endured bloody battle at all. Instead, they looked like a bunch of drunks who had just stumbled out of a tavern.

Yet just as he was about to rebuke them, he forcibly held himself back.

He tried to convince himself that perhaps he had not yet seen the full picture of this unit. Perhaps, for this unusual company, it was precisely this almost blind optimism that had allowed them to create such a miracle on a battlefield of despair?

Walter's gaze swept across those jubilant young faces. He suddenly realized that ever since this planet had fallen into war—ever since Chaos corruption, the Genestealer uprising, the spread of Greenskin Orks, and Dark Eldar raids had come one after another—he had not seen a smile on any Astra Militarum soldier's face for a very, very long time.

There had been only numbness, exhaustion, fear, and despair forcibly suppressed.

But these people before him laughed and joked, as though death were nothing more than an insignificant game.