Attack, attack, and attack again!

"Death Seekers Company, attention! Emergency assembly in front of company headquarters! This is urgent!"

The players resting at their posts or watching the tabletop game froze for a moment, then sprang into action. They dropped what they were doing, grabbed their lasguns, and rushed toward Robert and Joker as fast as they could.

"Holy shit, what's going on? Did the company commander just make a server-wide announcement?"

"Emergency assembly! Something big's coming!"

"Go, go, go! Quit dawdling! Get there late and there won't even be scraps left!"

The players' enthusiasm ignited instantly. In less than three minutes, a hundred players had assembled in the open space before headquarters. Their ranks were hardly neat, but their soaring morale was unmistakably real.

Such a large, rapid mobilization naturally caught Commissar Walter's attention. Wearing a grave expression, he strode out of his makeshift office and went straight to Robert.

"Ruan, what's going on?" Walter's sharp gaze swept over the assembled soldiers.

Robert handed the radio handset to Joker, turned toward the commissar, and gave a concise explanation. "Commissar, while I was testing the radio, I accidentally contacted an Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii squad in the Mid-hive. They're surrounded by heretics and requesting assistance. We're going to rescue them."

"The Mid-hive?"

At those words, Commissar Walter's normally composed expression grew grave, his brows drawing together. "Are you sure? The giant elevator to the Mid-hive is your only viable route, and there won't be any friendly units to cover you along the way. What's more, I can guarantee it'll be heavily guarded by cultists or some other heretics."

His voice carried a clear warning. "Reaching the elevator won't mean you've won, either. You'll be fighting in a completely unfamiliar part of the Mid-hive... That means marching at least dozens, perhaps hundreds of kilometers on foot, and facing hundreds or thousands of unpredictable engagements along the way."

"Don't worry, Commissar. We can do this." Robert's gaze was resolute as he looked back at the assembled players, who were watching him with faces full of excitement and anticipation. "Staying on the defensive won't solve anything. We have to counterattack."

Then he added, "Once we leave, we'll need you to hold the defenses here, Commissar Walter."

Walter's expression grew complicated. He looked at the young man before him, then at the soldiers behind him who seemed not to know the meaning of fear. After a long silence, he slowly exhaled. "I've spent all these years in the Imperial Guard, and now I'm being lectured by a recruit who's barely been enlisted for a few days."

He raised a hand and adjusted the military cap on his head, that symbol of authority and death. The shadow of its brim concealed the emotions stirring in his eyes.

"Go. This position won't fall. Not while I'm alive."

Between Robert's unquestionable resolve, the players' almost blind optimism, and the string of military miracles they had already wrought, Walter felt a flicker of something called "hope" for the first time in ages. That faint flame quietly kindled in his weathered heart, long since forged as hard as iron by war.

How long had it been since the humans of Pedetia last tasted victory...?

Yet he also feared that this fragile flame of hope would vanish in an instant. He dared not place too much faith in the Death Seekers Company.

As a veteran who had survived countless desperate battles, Walter knew better than anyone that sometimes, the greater the hope, the greater the disappointment. If he truly began to believe that the Death Seekers Company could lead humanity to victory, then what if... what if they were defeated and wiped out instead? That overwhelming disappointment and grief might break him completely, robbing him of the courage to keep fighting.

And Walter had long since resolved that, whether hope existed or not, whether the end brought victory or annihilation, he would fight to his final breath.

With Walter's assurance, Robert wasted no more time. He turned to the assembled players, all itching for action, and gave the order to move out.

"All troops, our destination is the Mid-hive! Move out!"

"Ura!"

"For the Emperor!"

"Charge, charge, charge! Kill those Chaos bastards!"

The players erupted into deafening cheers. Under their squad leaders, the force of nearly a hundred swiftly formed into marching order, streamed out through the Chemical Refinery's gates, and set off toward the distant central district of the Hive City, which rose like a tower reaching into the heavens.

Commissar Walter and the remaining Astra Militarum soldiers under his command stood at the camp entrance to see this peculiar company off. Watching their energetic figures recede, one of Walter's soldiers looked deeply puzzled.

"Sir..." he said quietly to the veteran beside him. "The Death Seekers Company... haven't they been fighting nonstop these past few days? First a defensive battle, then an assault, and now they're heading off on an expedition... Don't they need any rest?"

Of course the players didn't need rest.

For them, death merely meant their vision went black, followed by a fresh start a few seconds later. Most of the time, they didn't survive long enough to develop sore muscles from intense combat. As for mental fatigue, that was even less of a concern. Playing in an advanced Game Pod was itself equivalent to a deep sleep. At worst, an overly long session meant they had slept too much and woke up with a slight headache.

The natives of Pedetia, however, knew none of this. In their eyes, the Death Seekers Company, formed only a few days ago, was a band of tireless, fearless warmongers. They constantly rushed into battle of their own accord, and always brought victory back from the blood and fire.

The Astra Militarum veteran who had been asked the question watched the players' retreating figures with a complicated gaze and shook his head.

"Who knows? Maybe they're made of special stuff." He sighed, his voice tinged with awe and emotion. "Still, I think I'm starting to understand the difference between ordinary troops like us and those renowned regiments... At least, before this, I'd never have believed a company of recruits could possess such unflinching courage, such certainty of victory, and... win battle after battle."

Already far away, Robert naturally couldn't hear the remarks of the Astra Militarum NPCs behind him. At that moment, he was leading the march while rapidly browsing the system shop in his mind, considering what kind of armored vehicle to purchase for the company.

Commissar Walter had a point. They had a long journey ahead, and the road to the Mid-hive was bound to be riddled with obstacles. Without heavy firepower, relying only on the infantry's lasguns and scattered heavy weapons, they could suffer lengthy delays if pinned down by superior enemy gun emplacements. If those delays lasted until the Adeptus Mechanicus Skitarii in the Mid-hive could no longer hold out, the entire expedition would have been for nothing.

The Death Seekers Company needed its own mobile heavy weapons platform to deliver powerful strikes against the enemy and achieve rapid breakthroughs. Past experience had shown that most of these cultists were little more than a rabble. A sudden, ferocious artillery barrage would often collapse their lines immediately, allowing the players to break through with ease.

Besides, even after buying a portable radio for every squad leader, he still had plenty of merit points. Each radio cost only two hundred, and he still had more than nine thousand available.

First of all, main battle tanks were out of the question.

Even the cheapest Leman Russ Conqueror variant cost nine thousand merit points. Once it expended the ammunition supplied with the purchase, its guns would fall completely silent. At that point, the only way left to attack would be to drive the tank over the enemy—quite apart from the mechanical wear that would inflict on the tank itself, doing so against cultists with psykers among them would be no different from charging to one's death in a giant sheet-metal target.

At this stage, the players couldn't afford to operate tanks. At the very least, he would have to wait until they had successfully rescued those Skitarii and gained the ability to manufacture their own ammunition before considering it.