Friend of the Imperial Guard

The metal troop carrier jolted violently over the rough road, tossing the Players around like sardines in a can. The silence brought by the Commissar's rebuke did not last long. Once they confirmed that he did not actually intend to kill them to keep them quiet, the Players began another round of hushed discussion.

"Come to think of it," one Player said in a low voice, carefully keeping out of the Commissar's hearing range, "don't we still have no idea how to level up in this game?"

This question was like a stone dropped into a pond, immediately sending ripples through the group.

"Yeah," another person agreed. He seemed to be constantly fiddling with his virtual interface. "I've practically flipped through the whole panel, but aside from body stats and my ID, there's nothing. No experience bar, no Skill Tree, nothing."

Ruan Wenbo braced himself against the cold metal wall, steadying his body amid the jolting. After thinking for a moment, he said, "It's normal for the mechanics to be incomplete during closed beta... but I do have a guess."

Everyone's eyes turned toward him.

"Since the developers made every aspect of this world so realistic," Ruan Wenbo slowly voiced his thoughts, "then if we want to 'level up,' do we also have to do it the way we would in reality?"

"Reality?" The Ogryn Player in the corner scratched his head, utterly confused. "Which reality? The Warhammer world isn't realistic either, is it?"

However, several other Players quickly grasped Ruan Wenbo's implication. One Player's eyes lit up as he continued, "You mean... we have to climb the ranks ourselves within the Astra Militarum system? If we want to grow stronger, we have to earn merit and receive awards. If we want better equipment, we have to get it ourselves. If we want to become Space Marines, we have to figure out how to find Gene-seed and pass a Chapter's trials?"

The atmosphere inside the vehicle froze.

"Isn't that a little too hardcore?" one Player questioned. "No guidance, no clear objectives, and we have to figure everything out ourselves? How many people would be willing to keep playing?"

"This game has been hardcore from the very beginning," Ruan Wenbo said, shaking his head, though his tone remained certain. "Don't forget, the chunks of flesh and blood splashed right into everyone's faces in the trailer alone were enough to scare off a huge number of people, weren't they?"

Deep within the Warp, beyond mortal perception, Bit silently observed it all.

This mortal named Dr. Ruan had guessed correctly.

The Players' existence itself had been the product of one of its whims. It had not held especially high expectations for these fragile souls. Their wisdom and power were insignificant on a cosmic scale.

Yet their numbers and their immortality could bring a turning point to the humans of Pedetia, who had been driven into a desperate situation. Bit had no doubt about that. Simply by holding a battle line or clearing out an area occupied by Xenos, immortal Players could prove far more useful than an equal number of mortal troops.

However, when viewed on the scale of the entire galaxy, that usefulness seemed quite limited. Even if tens of millions of Players could be assembled at once, their influence would at most determine the fate of one or two planets. Not to mention the tedious journeys of years or even decades required to travel from one star system to another—those alone would probably make more than half the Players choose to log off.

Unless its power grew stronger in the future—strong enough to tear apart the veil of reality and allow Players to log in and out freely at any point in time, in any corner of the galaxy.

Then they would no longer be mere "reinforcements," but a spectral force capable of appearing at any crucial moment in history, powerful enough to turn the tide...

At that thought, a strange ripple passed through Bit's mind.

Then... wouldn't that make them a second Daemon Legion?

A spectral legion composed of countless mortal souls, obedient to its commands, immortal and undying.

Well then. Mortals now had their own Daemon Legion organization.

Bit temporarily set aside these slightly bizarre thoughts in some corner of its memory palace. Now was not the time to consider such distant matters.

Its attention returned to the jolting troop carrier, to those ten vibrant yet fragile souls.

The rear hatch of the troop carrier slammed down with a deafening crash. Amid the shriek of metal scraping against metal, a wave of heat mixed with gunpowder smoke, ozone, and the heavy stench of blood rushed in.

Before the Players inside could even complain, Commissar Walter kicked them out one by one.

"Out! Move! Get moving!"

What lay before them was a living portrait of hell. They stood behind a crude defensive position, where metal barricades and sandbags lay scattered across the scorched earth. In the distance, blinding energy beams periodically sliced through the dim sky, and every explosion made the ground tremble. Closer still, piled at their feet, were layers upon layers of corpses dressed in the same uniforms.

"Emperor above! Are you lot really this new?!"

Commissar Walter covered his face and let out a nearly despairing groan. Watching these ten people look around like headless flies, he felt his temples throbbing.

Sure enough, it was just as bad as Ruan Wenbo had anticipated. Walter extended a leather-gloved hand and pointed at the horrific carpet of corpses, dirt, and shattered equipment. In a tone that brooked no argument, he said, "Your weapons are over there!"

At almost the same moment, a bright red system notification window appeared in every Player's vision.

[Emergency Mission: Field Preparation]

[Mission Objective: Within 15 minutes, find yourself a weapon that can be used properly.]

[Mission Countdown: 14:59]

[Failure Penalty: You will face the Enemy of the Emperor unarmed.]

"Holy shit, this really is a hellish start?"

"Stripping equipment off corpses? This game is insane! I'm reporting it for abusing Players!"

Despite their frantic complaints, the steadily decreasing countdown forced the Players to suppress the nausea churning in their stomachs and charge headfirst into the pile of corpses. They clumsily turned over those predecessors who had died in all manner of grotesque ways. Some had been half-melted by energy weapons, while others had been blasted into pieces, terror still frozen on their faces.

Ruan Wenbo was among them. Holding his breath, he tried not to look at those twisted faces and focused entirely on finding a weapon. Soon, his luck seemed to pay off. Beside a relatively intact corpse, he found a Lasgun that looked almost completely undamaged.

Delighted, he quickly picked it up. The weapon sat heavily in his hands, carrying the cold, distinctive feel of metal. The instant he gripped its handle, a detailed stat panel appeared on the right side of his vision.

[Mars Mk3 "Short-Barrel" Lasgun]

[Type: Weapon]

[Quality: Damaged]

[Attack Power: Strong]

[Attribute: Burning]

[Special Effect: None]

[Remarks: As the standard weapon of many Astra Militarum regiments since M36, she is extremely durable and easy to use. The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer calls her the "Friend of the Imperial Guard," and she can continue firing even when her internal power structure has been damaged... as long as you are not afraid of a chamber explosion.]

Ruan Wenbo stared at that final line of remarks and fell into a long silence.

He imagined himself holding this "Friend of the Imperial Guard" and firing at the enemy, only for the chamber and half his face to explode at the same instant.

Quietly and carefully, he put the weapon back where he had found it, then lowered his head and continued searching for another.

Commissar Walter, who had been supervising them from nearby, noticed this. The tension in his face eased by an almost imperceptible degree.

Thank goodness... he thought, almost as if comforting himself. These people aren't completely stupid. At least they can tell whether a Lasgun is good or bad. They won't blow themselves up with their first shot later.

Although any qualified Astra Militarum soldier only needed one distant glance at the faint energy-burn marks and warping on the weapon's casing to know that its power supply had become unstable. These new recruits, on the other hand, had to stupidly pick it up and examine it for ages.

Still, staying alive was better than becoming a lump of charred flesh on the spot. Commissar Walter sighed and turned his gaze toward the battle line in the distance, which was gradually boiling over. These new recruits did not have much time left.