I Only Need to Make a Slight Move to Reach Earth's Limit

Bit redirected the focus of his perception to the other end of that connection—his home planet, Earth.

A torrent of data surged in instantly, and he swiftly compared and processed the information. The results showed that during the "time" he had wandered the Warp, several decades had passed on Earth. Its technology was more advanced than when he had left, and its cityscapes had changed considerably, but its social structure remained largely the same.

None of that was Bit's main concern. He cared about only one thing—the concept that had once existed only in science fiction literature and films, fully immersive virtual reality technology, had become reality and was already quite widespread.

"This saves me quite a bit of trouble." A flicker of delight passed through Bit's consciousness. He had originally been considering how to explain and promote a brand-new form of interaction to Earth's "users" from scratch, but it seemed the infrastructure had already been laid out for him.

He willed it, drawing upon the vast amount of visual data he had just scanned from Pedetia. Like a director with limitless footage and the finest editing software, he casually selected the most shocking scenes, those best embodying despair and heroism, and cut them together.

Bit had no intention of hiding his existence. From the very beginning, he had planned to make this so-called [game] known to the entire world. He was a demigod now, after all. Even with casual editing, his precise manipulation of human emotions and the efficiency of his information delivery far surpassed any top-tier GG Company on Earth.

He directly released this promotional video, titled Warhammer 40K, onto every public online platform on Earth. He could not even be bothered to come up with another name.

Next came the creation of the "game" itself.

It would not do to have ordinary Earthlings log into the battlefield empty-handed. They would not be facing AI programmed by code, but battle-hardened Ork veterans and cunning, lethal Xenos. That would not be playing a game. It would simply be delivering food to the enemy.

An "assistance system" had to be added.

First, a data panel capable of displaying bodily condition, ammunition reserves, and mission objectives in detail was essential. That was the foundation of foundations.

Then, every detected enemy needed a bright highlight marker, especially in Pedetia's dim and chaotic environment, so Players would not become blind men with their eyes open.

A clear and recognizable kill-confirmation sound effect also had to be added, allowing Players to immediately know whether they had successfully eliminated a target amid the chaos of battle.

Most important was an adaptation system that simplified controls. It would allow a Player who had never touched a firearm to grasp the basic procedures of aiming, firing, and reloading through a mental connection the instant they held a Lasgun. It would let an ordinary person without even a driver's license immediately understand how to start and drive a Chimera armored vehicle after sitting in its cockpit.

Finally, to ensure Players had enough game time to contribute sufficient "dynamic information" to him, the "server," it would be best to add accelerated thought processing. It did not need to be too fast—just a ratio of 1:3. One minute on Earth would equal three minutes in the game. That would greatly increase online time without causing mental problems from an excessive difference in thought speed.

Everything had been designed in perfect order, but at the final step—creating Player bodies—Bit encountered a small problem.

Actually, it was not much of a problem. While scanning the surviving humans on Pedetia, he discovered that their gene pool was remarkably chaotic. Genetic similarity between individuals was extremely low, with the greatest divergence reaching as high as fifty percent. That left him uncertain as to which genes he should use as templates for mass-producing Players' physical bodies.

After thinking it over, he simply gave up on choosing. Random it was!

When a Player logged in, the system would randomly draw a template from the gene pool he had created. It was fair, and it would make the "game" more interesting.

After completing the work, Bit checked the entire "game system" several times and decided that its preliminary framework was complete. Next, he would need to test its feasibility through practice.

Ruan Wenbo was twenty-four years old and a gaming UP master.

A rapid series of phone alerts woke Ruan Wenbo from his sleep. Irritably, he grabbed the phone from beside his bed and squinted as he unlocked the screen.

The glaring light made him instinctively want to toss the phone away, but then he saw the stream of @ mentions and direct-message notifications flooding his notification bar.

They were from his fan group. His fans were desperately @-ing him, and their messages were astonishingly consistent:

"Wake up, you bastard UP master! Go watch the Warhammer 40K trailer! It's insane!"

"This is crazy, crazy! Old Warhammer fans are ascending on the spot!"

"Bro Bo, make a video already! This is definitely the strongest dark horse of the year!"

Ruan Wenbo was blank for a moment.

Warhammer 40K? How old was that IP? Had not GW, the United Kingdom company that developed it, gone bankrupt long ago due to poor management during the virtual reality boom of the new century? Many newcomers to the gaming world did not even know what Warhammer was anymore. Which stubborn madman was still making a trailer for such an ancient setting?

With a trace of curiosity, Ruan Wenbo sat up in bed and put on the augmented reality glasses resting on his bedside table.

"Play the latest received Warhammer 40K trailer."

The contents of the trailer instantly filled his field of vision.

The opening was not some grand interstellar battlefield, but an extremely cramped and oppressive metal space that looked like the interior of an old bunker. Dim lights cast swaying shadows across rust-covered bulkheads, and the air seemed thick with the mixed smell of engine oil, sweat, and recycled air.

The camera focused on a young soldier irritably rummaging through his completely empty backpack. He sighed in disappointment, then looked up at a veteran beside him who was cleaning a Lasgun.

"Boss, got any booze left? Give me a sip," the young soldier asked weakly.

The scruffy-bearded veteran did not even raise his head as he snapped, "Save it, Boy. We've been out of rations for three days. Where would I get booze for you? Besides, drinking on an empty stomach is bad for you. Be careful you don't shit yourself to death, Boy!"

Yet the young soldier's face revealed a strange smile. He patted his shrunken stomach. "Who says I'm drinking on an empty stomach?"

Lowering his voice, he said in a tone that was half complaint and half boast, "That serving of Corpse Starch they gave us three days ago? Feels like it's still clogging up my guts. Without a drink, I can't fucking digest it."

That hellish joke instantly loosened the tense atmosphere around them. A brief, restrained burst of laughter rang through the bunker, mixed with several curses of shared sympathy. One soldier laughed as he lightly kicked the young soldier's calf, and the entire space filled with a strange, cheerful mood born from hopelessness.

The corners of Ruan Wenbo's mouth had just begun to rise. He could tell how much effort the production team had put into every model. Whether it was the ravine-like wrinkles on the soldiers' faces, the wear on their equipment, or the utterly natural interactions between them, everything was disturbingly realistic. At a glance, he could not even see any difference from the real world. He subconsciously assumed it was a story-driven game intended to use top-tier detail and black humor to present its narrative.

The next second, a sudden change erupted.

There was no warning, no whistling sound. A blinding crimson beam, like a red-hot branding iron slicing through butter, silently swept across the entire image.

The beam cut precisely through the young soldier's waist.

Time seemed to stretch at that moment. The smile on the soldier's face froze instantly, replaced by incomprehensible shock. His mouth still held the smug shape it had taken after speaking, but his eyes had already lost focus.

Then, under the pull of gravity, his upper body smoothly and slowly slid sideways from his waist. During that process, a scene that made Ruan Wenbo's stomach churn violently unfolded—with the shift of his upper body, a perfect cross-section, charred black by searing heat, was exposed to the air. From the wound on his lower half, scalding dark-red blood burst forth like floodwaters breaking through a dam!

It was not the usual red particle effect seen in games, but thick, steaming liquid! Right behind it came tangled clusters of colorful organs and shattered viscera, still faintly wriggling.

All of it, with slow-motion clarity, splattered across the entire "camera"—or more accurately, across Ruan Wenbo's face.

A wave of warmth and an overpowering, nauseating rusty smell seemed to slam directly into his face. He could even make out a small length of coiled intestine and fragments of liver tissue splashed across the "virtual lens." Inside the bunker, the explosive laughter of his comrades was instantly replaced by terrified screams and horrified gasps.

He froze. He even instinctively raised a hand to wipe his face, only realizing what had happened when his hand touched it. "Holy shit!"

The trailer continued. The Orks' savage charge, the Dark Eldar's elegant yet deadly slaughter, the Genestealer creeping through the shadows... Every image carried a suffocating sense of realism and despair. It felt like... a documentary filmed at the risk of a war correspondent's life.

After the trailer ended, Ruan Wenbo removed his glasses. He remained dazed for a long time before finally recovering from the overwhelming shock.

That aftereffect is way too strong!

At the same time, as a veteran gaming UP master, he keenly noticed the beyond-common-sense technological prowess displayed behind the trailer. There was not a single virtual reality game on the market capable of reaching this level. This unique sense of realism alone would be enough to attract a huge number of Players seeking hardcore experiences.

It could be said that this game, directly named Warhammer 40K, had no competitors whatsoever on the market. There was absolutely no chance it would flop.

But a huge question also rose in his mind: how had such a bloody trailer passed the review boards of every platform?

Of course, he did not know that Bit had forcefully uploaded it himself. By now, the information security departments of every major nation were sweating bullets over this trailer.