The metal compartment jolted violently over the rugged road, tossing the players around like sardines in a can. The silence imposed by the Commissar's reprimand did not last long. Once they were reasonably sure he did not actually intend to kill them to keep them quiet, the players began another round of whispered discussion.
"Come to think of it," one player murmured, carefully keeping his voice beyond the Commissar's hearing, "do we still have no idea how to level up in this game?"
The question landed like a pebble tossed into a pond, immediately sending ripples through the group.
"Yeah," another agreed, apparently tapping away at his virtual panel. "I've practically worn out the panel looking through it. Other than physical stats and an ID, there's nothing. No experience bar, no skill tree, nothing."
Robert braced himself against the cold metal wall to steady himself amid the jolting. After a moment's thought, he said, "It's normal for mechanics to be incomplete during a closed beta... but I do have a theory."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"If the developers made every aspect of this world so realistic," Robert slowly explained, "could leveling up also require us to go about it the way we would in real life?"
"Real life?" The Ogryn Player in the corner scratched his head, looking baffled. "Which real life? The Warhammer world isn't realistic either, is it?"
Other players soon caught Robert's meaning, however. One player's eyes lit up as he chimed in. "You mean... we have to work our way up through the Astra Militarum ourselves? If we want to get stronger, we have to earn commendations through service; if we want new equipment, we have to get it ourselves; and if we want to become Space Marines, we have to figure out how to find gene-seed and a Chapter's trials?"
That theory brought the conversation in the compartment to a halt.
"Isn't that a little too hardcore?" one player protested. "No guidance, no clear objectives, just figuring everything out ourselves? How many people would actually keep playing?"
"This game was going for hardcore right from the start." Robert shook his head, but his tone remained certain. "Don't forget, that shower of blood and chunks of flesh coming straight at you in the trailer alone was enough to scare off a whole lot of people, wasn't it?"
Deep within the Warp, beyond mortal perception, Bit quietly observed it all.
The mortal named [Dr. Ruan] had guessed correctly.
The players' very existence had sprung from a passing whim of his. He had never placed particularly high hopes in these fragile souls. Their intelligence and strength amounted to nothing on a cosmic scale.
Yet their numbers and their inability to die could offer a turning point for the humans of Pedetia, who were trapped in a desperate situation. Of that, Bit had no doubt. Even if they merely helped hold a battle line or cleared an area occupied by xenos, the immortal players could accomplish far more than an equally sized army of mortals.
However, when viewed on the scale of the entire Milky Way Galaxy, that contribution was rather limited. Even if tens of millions of players could gather at once, their influence would, at most, determine the fate of one or two planets. Not to mention the monotonous voyages between star systems, which could easily last years or even decades. Those alone would probably make more than half the players log off.
Unless his power grew stronger in the future—strong enough to tear through the veil of reality and let players log in and out at will, in any corner of the Milky Way Galaxy, at any point in time.
Then they would no longer be mere "reinforcements," but a spectral force capable of appearing at any pivotal moment in history and turning the tide...
At that thought, a strange ripple passed through Bit's mind.
Then... wouldn't that make them a second Daemon Legion?
An immortal legion of ghosts, made up of countless mortal souls and obeying my commands.
Well, there we go. Mortals would have their own Daemon Legion now.
Bit set these rather peculiar flights of fancy aside in a corner of his memory palace. This was not yet the time to consider such distant possibilities.
His attention returned to the jolting troop transport, and to those ten lively, fragile souls.
The transport's rear hatch slammed down with a piercing screech of metal. A blast of hot air rushed in, laden with smoke, ozone, and the heavy stench of blood.
Before the players inside could complain, Commissar Walter kicked them out one by one.
"Out! Now! Get moving, all of you!"
What unfolded before them was a living vision of hell. They stood behind a crude defensive position, with metal barricades and sandbags scattered across the scorched earth. In the distance, dazzling energy beams periodically split the dim sky, and every explosion made the ground shudder. Closer at hand, right beside their feet, bodies wearing the same uniforms as theirs lay piled in layers.
"Emperor above! Just how green are you?!"
Commissar Walter covered his face and let out a nearly despairing groan. Watching the ten fools look around like headless chickens, he felt his temples throb.
Sure enough, it was just as bad as Robert's worst prediction. Walter extended a leather-gloved hand toward the horrifying carpet of corpses, dirt, and shattered equipment, then ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, "Your weapons are over there!"
Almost simultaneously, a bright red system notification appeared in every player's vision.
[Emergency mission: Field Preparation] [Mission objective: Find yourself a functional weapon within 15 minutes.] [Mission countdown: 14:59] [Failure penalty: You will face the enemies of the Emperor empty-handed.]
"Holy shit, they really started us off in hell?"
"Looting equipment off corpses? This game is insane! I'm reporting it for player abuse!"
Despite their relentless complaints, the steadily dwindling countdown forced the players to suppress the nausea churning in their stomachs and steel themselves as they plunged into the pile of corpses. They clumsily turned over their predecessors, who had died in all manner of gruesome ways. Some bodies had been half melted by energy weapons; others had been blown to pieces, their faces still frozen in their final terror.
Robert was among them. He held his breath, tried not to look at the twisted faces, and focused entirely on finding a weapon. His luck seemed decent: before long, beside a relatively intact corpse, he spotted a lasgun that looked almost undamaged.
Delighted, he hurriedly picked it up. The weapon felt heavy in his hands, with the distinctive coldness of metal. The instant he gripped it, a detailed stats panel appeared on the right side of his vision.
[Mars Mk3 "Short-barrel" Lasgun] [Type: Weapon] [Quality: Damaged] [Attack power: Relatively high] [Attribute: Burning] [Special effects: None] [Notes: A standard weapon of many Astra Militarum regiments since M36, it is exceptionally sturdy and easy to use. Dubbed the "Guardsman's Friend" by the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, it can continue firing even when its internal power supply is damaged... provided you aren't afraid of it exploding.]
Robert stared at that final note and fell into a long silence.
He imagined himself holding this "Guardsman's Friend" and opening fire on the enemy, only for the chamber to explode along with half his face.
Silently and very carefully, he put the gun back where he had found it, then lowered his head and continued searching for another.
Commissar Walter, who had been supervising nearby, noticed this. His tense expression relaxed by an almost imperceptible degree.
Thank goodness... he thought, almost as though reassuring himself. These fellows aren't completely stupid. At least they can tell a good lasgun from a bad one. They won't blow themselves up with their very first shot.
An adequately trained Astra Militarum soldier needed only a distant glance at the faint energy scorch marks and warping on the weapon's casing to know its power supply had become unstable. These raw recruits, on the other hand, had to foolishly pick it up and examine it for ages.
Still, staying alive was better than turning into a lump of charcoal on the spot. Commissar Walter sighed and turned his gaze toward the distant battle line, where the fighting was steadily intensifying. These recruits had little time left.
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