Lively

At dawn the next day, when the first ray of wan gray sunlight pierced Pedetia's polluted atmosphere, a dull engine roar approached from afar, shattering the quiet of the position. A Chimera armored transport painted in Cadian gray camouflage stopped before the fortifications. Its rear ramp crashed onto the ground with a clang, and a Quartermaster poked his head out.

"13th Company! Get a few people over here to move supplies!"

At the call, several Players who had been bored out of their minds immediately gathered around and began hauling out wooden crates with many helping hands.

One Player pried open the crate in his hands. Expecting neatly stacked Stick Grenades, he instead found several Grenade Launchers with a metallic sheen inside. He curiously picked one up and asked, "Huh? Sir, why aren't there grenades in this crate? Didn't you say you were only delivering grenades?"

The Quartermaster looked tired, but he still smiled and explained, "Originally, it was just grenades. These were voluntarily allocated to you by our brother units on the other defensive lines after they heard about your battle plan. They said that since these are offensive grenades anyway, they can't inflict much effective damage from fixed positions. Better to give them to warriors like you, who'll be charging into battle, so they can create greater value."

The Player who had asked nodded solemnly. "Then please thank our brother units on our behalf!"

"Of course," the Quartermaster replied, his expression growing more serious. "Also, the Commissar asked me to notify you: according to reports from the Forward Observation Post, the heretics will soon attempt another assault on our Main Defense Line. That will be your best opportunity to attack the Chemical Refinery. We'll do everything we can to hold their main force in place and deny them any chance to quickly send reinforcements back."

"Perfect!" the Players carrying ammunition crates said cheerfully. "Just watch us. Without reinforcements, we can one hundred percent kick those Cultists at the Chemical Refinery to death like roadside dogs."

The Quartermaster was clearly affected by the Players' almost blind optimism. He, too, revealed a heartfelt smile. "For the Emperor. May you return victorious."

After the Quartermaster and the Players waved goodbye to one another, the Chimera kicked up a cloud of dust and returned to the main position.

Under Ruan Wenbo's direction, the company quickly finished distributing the supplies. There was nothing much to consider with the grenades—everyone got a share, divided evenly. But Ruan Wenbo really had no idea how to distribute the extra Grenade Launchers. For the sake of fairness, he simply had the Squad Leaders draw lots to determine who got them.

As a result, Seventh Squad, which was responsible for close combat and countercharges, luckily drew this batch of "heavy firepower."

After hanging two free grenades from his webbing, a Seventh Squad Player looked over himself and his companions and couldn't help complaining, "Come to think of it, isn't our equipment worse than a World War I army's?"

His words immediately struck a chord.

"Damn, now that you mention it, it really is! The entire company's only heavy weapons are these three Grenade Launchers we just got."

"Not necessarily," another history buff interjected. "It depends on which World War I country you compare us to. If we're comparing ourselves to the Russian Empire, at least everyone has a Lasgun now. We don't have to wait for the people in front of us to die before picking one up."

"Hard to say."

"The Imperium is just like that," a longtime Warhammer fan sighed. "It isn't until Guilliman returns that most Astra Militarum units barely get firepower on par with World War II armies. Before that, the gap between the upper and lower limits of Astra Militarum heavy firepower is enormous."

"Ah, the hilarious Imperium."

With the equipment distributed and ammunition hung at their waists, nearly a hundred Players formed two loose columns under Ruan Wenbo's organization and began marching toward the Chemical Refinery.

That place was still quite a distance from their current position, so setting out early was necessary.

The march was dull and oppressive. Although Ruan Wenbo and the various Squad Leaders kept the Players in roughly orderly formations, the Underhive's utterly vile environment soon left everyone irritable.

Beneath their feet was perpetually sticky, damp ground. The air was thick with the pungent stench of rotting organic matter mixed with chemical waste. As far as the eye could see, there were only enormous rust-covered pipes and grimy rock walls. This journey was nothing less than pure sensory torture.

"Fuck, it reeks! This smell is way too strong!"

"I told you this game couldn't possibly let us have fun all the time. See? Here comes the suffering."

"Damn it, how much longer do we have to walk this shitty road? My soles are practically getting stuck off by this gooey ground."

Amid the noisy complaints, one Player suddenly raised his voice and shouted, "Where's the Military Band unique to our World War I army? Why don't we even have BGM while marching?"

The moment he said that, it was like throwing a bomb into stagnant water, immediately drawing agreement from countless Players.

"Exactly! Where's the Military Band for our [Death Seekers] Company?"

"We Players have style too, okay? The devs better get us some BGM right now if they know what's good for them!"

While everyone was egging each other on, one Player suddenly volunteered. "I can sing, brothers! I'll provide the BGM!"

"Good, good, good! Give us one!"

"Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Sing a military song! If you dare sing the Chinese version of Lemon, I'll slash you to death!"

Under a sea of expectant gazes, the Player stepped forward. He cleared his throat, slapped a beat hard against his thigh twice, then began singing a melody the Players knew all too well in a loud, ringing voice:

"Unity is Strength!"

"Unity is Strength!"

The moment the song began, everyone froze for a second.

"Huh? This song?"

"Damn, now it really feels like college military training."

But it had to be said, the guy could really sing. He had clearly practiced outside the game. His rich, resounding voice brimmed with power, echoing through the narrow passageway of steel and stone and instantly drowning out all surrounding noise.

The highly infectious singing quickly swept up the other Players, and quite a few unconsciously began singing along.

"This strength is iron! This strength is steel!"

"Harder than iron, stronger than steel!"

Gradually, one person's solo became a chorus of more than a dozen people. In the end, nearly all hundred members of the company joined this grand marching chorus. The stirring song rang through this filthy, decaying underground world, easing the nauseating stench and oppressive atmosphere by no small amount.

"Open fire on the fascists! Let every undemocratic system perish!"

When the song ended, its echoes lingered. Before anyone could suggest another one, a Player shouted at the top of his lungs, "This song sucks! After singing it, I feel like we should turn around and fight the Imperium!"

"Pfft—"

"Hahahahahaha!"

That one sentence instantly set everyone off. The Players burst into laughter one after another, and their thunderous laughter was no quieter than the singing had been, carrying deep into the dark underground passageways.