What Death Seekers Never Lack Is People!

After the Wyvern's earth-shaking barrage of friendly fire, the subsequent advance went exceptionally smoothly. The Cultists' resistance was scattered and weak, often collapsing before the Players even began their charge. This crumbled-at-the-first-touch performance fit the Players' established impression of this rabble perfectly.

Yet despite how smoothly the operation was going, there was no optimism among the Players. Instead, they became increasingly vigilant.

Because every Player firmly believed that there was no way this game would refrain from throwing in something torturous. If the first half of the journey was this easygoing, then the latter half would probably become exceptionally miserable.

Sure enough, after they cleared out the last batch of enemies on the surface, the only route to the elevator leading to the Mid-hive appeared before them—a sealed tunnel entrance.

The tunnel mouth was pitch-black, deep and lightless at a glance, like the open throat of some colossal beast. Judging by its width, the Wyvern could barely drive inside, but firing in such a cramped space was out of the question. If the quad mortar had even the slightest upward angle, it would absolutely blast the ceiling and roast its own people.

Their firepower advantage over the heretics ended here.

Still, the Death Seekers were not particularly upset about it. After all, they had rarely fought enemies while holding an absolute firepower advantage. They had long grown accustomed to resisting head-on with flesh and blood. Besides, the Wyvern's aim was atrocious, and it frequently hit friendlies. In the eyes of many Players, the fact that the thing could no longer fire was actually a huge blessing. If the vehicle had not been assigned for use in squad rotation, so that everyone would eventually get a chance to enjoy firing a few rounds, they would probably have protested long ago.

The Players once more entered the dark tunnel one squad at a time.

Within the dim, enclosed environment, the beams of their tactical flashlights could only illuminate a few meters ahead. The air was thick with toxic gases unique to the Underhive, mixed with the stench of decay, constantly interfering with their vision and sense of smell. Yet trapped in such a desperate environment, the Players felt increasingly at ease.

This place was obviously an unreasonable meat grinder, where the only way through was to pile up lives. And what the Death Seekers Company lacked least was lives.

The squad advanced in silence, their footsteps echoing through the tunnel. Suddenly, crazed howls erupted from the shadows of the drainage passages on either side. More than a dozen Cultists wielding daggers and rusty cleavers charged out without fear of death!

The narrow terrain instantly threw the Players' formation into disarray. Flashlight beams swung violently, and laser beams carved chaotic red streaks across the walls. The Cultists' target was exceptionally clear. Ignoring the other soldiers in ordinary ballistic armor, they went straight for a Player clad in heavy Carapace Armor. In their eyes, this well-equipped fellow, who was visibly taller than everyone else, had to be an enemy officer!

"For the Dark Gods!"

The Cultists charged fanatically at the "officer." Faced with this sudden ambush, the Player reacted quickly. With an angry roar, he smashed one man down with the butt of his Lasgun, then thrust forward with his bayonet and precisely pierced the throat of the second attacker. But two fists could not fend off four hands. More Cultists had already pounced on him, their sharp daggers and heavy cleavers avoiding his sturdy breastplate and helmet as they madly stabbed and hacked at the gaps between his armor plates and his exposed thighs.

Amid a series of dull cutting sounds, the Player only had time to let out a muffled grunt before dying miserably beneath the assault of several Cultists.

"We got a leader!" the Cultists cried in triumphant cheers. They felt that trading a few worthless lives for an Imperium officer was an outrageously profitable deal. But their cheers came to an abrupt halt. The other Players had regained their footing, and several laser beams swept over with precision, instantly turning the remaining Cultists into sieves.

The battle ended, and silence returned to the tunnel. Then, the "officer's corpse" that the Cultists had just "traded for" suddenly twitched before slowly sitting up on its own.

His first reaction after reviving was not to check his wounds, but to nervously reach out and feel his Carapace Armor. From his chest to his back, he carefully inspected it all over. Once he found no obvious holes or cracks, he let out a long breath.

"Thank goodness, thank goodness. Those bastards had some brains after all. They knew daggers and cleavers probably couldn't cut through my Carapace Armor, so they didn't go after my torso."

A Player beside him, who was changing his power cell, could not help laughing and cursing, "How many times have I told you? Buying armor in this game is a total loss! It's ridiculously expensive, it doesn't protect your whole body, and it gets damaged easily. Even getting grazed by a trash mob hurts like hell. Just buy basic ballistic armor to keep yourself from getting killed by a stray shot when your luck is bad."

The newly revived Player sighed and climbed to his feet. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but looking cool is for life... Once this mission is over, let's see whether that new Tech-Priest NPC can make Carapace Armor. If we can craft it ourselves, won't the cost go down?"

As the Players spoke, a twin-linked heavy laser cannon lay quietly concealed in the darkness around a bend ahead. The Cultist operating it held his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He stared fixedly at the corner, thinking that as soon as these Corpse Emperor lackeys showed themselves, he would turn them into a row of charred roasted meat with scorching laser beams. He might even take out more than a dozen in one go!

The footsteps drew closer and clearer... The Cultist's finger was already on the trigger. But at that critical moment, the footsteps suddenly stopped.

The entire tunnel fell deathly silent, with only the sound of water dripping from distant pipes.

What was going on? Had he been discovered? Impossible! Just as the Cultist's heart filled with doubt, a faint yet deadly crimson laser beam pierced through the darkness like Death's gaze and struck him squarely in the face.

Even as he died, he could not understand how these Astra Militarum soldiers had discovered him. He had been completely hidden in the darkness, and the area was filled with heat-emitting gases released by various Underhive plants. Logically speaking, as long as he made no sound, even thermal imaging and night vision should not have been able to lock onto him!

On the other side of the bend, a Player holding a laser sniper rifle heard the crisp kill notification in his ear. At the same time, the white outline marking an enemy in his vision disappeared. He lowered his weapon and gestured to the teammates behind him, signaling that the threat had been eliminated and they could proceed.

The Players immediately followed without hesitation and soon arrived beside the Cultist's corpse.

"Oh, a twin-linked laser cannon? Good stuff, but carrying it would slow us down too much." One Player kicked the heavy weapon.

"Yeah, everything about this game is great except there's no inventory," another agreed. "You can't stuff things into some invisible backpack. If you want to take something with you, you have to carry it or haul it yourself."

"Going by this game's usual style," a Player analyzed, "if we want something like an [Inventory], we'll probably need spatial skills or spatial equipment."

"Forget spatial skills. Spatial equipment can probably only be made by Ribs or those top-tier Tech-Priests, right?"

"Bean Sprout should have some stock on hand too."

"Yeah, which is why we basically shouldn't even think about it at this stage."

Clearly, alley fighting, darkness, fog, countless corners... this whole collection of elements that could leave ordinary armies on edge or even drive them to collapse did not put much pressure on the Players. If anything, they were enjoying themselves.