Pressing Cult

In this world, there are many things that can only be truly understood through personal experience.

Take Alvin now, for example. He never considered himself special, nor did he harbor any grand, lofty ideals.

As for leveraging his "transmigrator" status to save the Imperium of Man's dire situation, such "heroic" feats and thoughts never even crossed his mind.

Who is he?

An Underhive Scavenger!

A piece of refuse as humble as dust, how could he possibly save the Imperium?

If even the Thirteenth Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, couldn't accomplish it, what right did he, an Underhive Scavenger, have to change the shit-like "Imperium"?

From beginning to end, Alvin's thoughts were simple: to live well, with dignity, like a human being!

However, the scene before him struck his heart with immense force!

Hundreds of blood-dripping heads lay with eyes wide open in death, their pale, ashen gazes still clinging to a desire for life, and the agony of their final moments. Among them were many children who had not yet reached adulthood.

"But, what can I do?"

Alvin bit his lip so hard he drew blood without realizing it, clenching his fist instinctively.

His fingernails dug into his skin, the pain jolting him from his stupor. He stared blankly at the hill of skulls, a bitter expression on his face.

"I'm sorry, I can't avenge you."

He forced himself not to look into the hollow eyes of the skulls, lowering his head as if to himself, "The only thing I can do for you is to let the enforcers in the mid-hive know about this."

The "Khorne cult" that had taken root in the Underhive was of unknown scale and possessed Psychics; it was not a problem he could solve.

He was too weak, far too weak to confront an entire cult, let alone stand against their "Psychics."

Therefore, the only way Alvin could think of to deal with the "Khorne cult" was to inform the hive enforcers, the Planetary Defense Force, and the top-tier nobles and governors.

To powerfully eradicate the Khorne cult before the situation spiraled out of control!

It's too urgent...

Alvin bit his lip fiercely, the time left for him was dwindling.

Judging by the "sacrifice" ritual the Khorne cult had just performed, it was conservatively estimated to be on a large scale, possibly even establishing a connection with the Warp.

Once the sacrificial ritual was complete and the Blood God Khorne bestowed his blessings, it would no longer be a problem that the Planetary Defense Force could handle.

Of course, among the four Chaos Gods, Khorne, despite his reputation for brutality and warlike nature, did not favor slaughtering the weak.

An act like this massacre of scavengers and use of their skulls for sacrifice was highly unlikely to attract Khorne's attention, though it couldn't be entirely ruled out.

This sacrifice failed, but who could guarantee that the next one would fail?

"I must leak this information as soon as possible," Alvin clenched his fist, his heart filled with the anxiety and urgency brought on by the passage of time.

He looked up towards the ceiling covered in steel pipes, his gaze gradually hardening, "The Underhive cannot stop the cult, and the Iron Hammer Gang... they've likely been brainwashed. I have to find a way to infiltrate the mid-hive. Only then can I stop the cult's spread!"

He cast a deep glance at the hill of skulls, then painfully tore his gaze away, whispering, "I'm sorry, I can't help you, and I don't dare to."

He could bury the skulls, but he didn't dare to.

The reason? The risk was too great!

If cult members returned and discovered the sacrificial skulls missing, they would quickly realize their plan had been completely exposed.

Never underestimate a cult's ability to investigate, especially with Psychics involved. Even if Alvin was careful and covered his tracks, he could still be exposed.

At that point, he would face the cult's full pursuit, with no chance of survival.

As if fleeing in disarray, Alvin could still feel their gazes on his back, burning hot!

Without a word, Alvin, carefully concealing his tracks, returned to his "doghouse" to retrieve a few gold bars, hid them in his clothes, discreetly changed, and headed straight for the Black Market.

He wore a crude mask and a loose, tattered robe to conceal his features and avoid unnecessary trouble.

The sudden large-scale sacrifice by the Khorne cult had completely disrupted Alvin's plans.

Originally, he had intended to use conventional means, bribe the hive enforcers, purchase a mid-hive resident permit, and then enter the mid-hive openly.

But now, that idea was shattered!

Even the fastest way to get a mid-hive resident permit would take at least half a month.

And considering the inefficiency of Imperial bureaucracy, it wouldn't be impossible for it to take a year or even longer.

But the cult didn't leave Alvin that much time, so he had to find another way, an "illegal" one.

Just like many "runners" from his past life who crossed the US-Mexico border, there were people in the Underhive Black Market who could help you "smuggle" yourself into the mid-hive.

The former sought stability by purchasing a resident permit, which took a long time but was guaranteed to be problem-free.

But the latter... as everyone knows, how the US treats "runners," and the enforcers would deal with these "run-ins" from the bottom-scraping dregs of society with even more brutal methods.

But Alvin knew very well that time was his most precious commodity right now, so he had no choice but to risk "smuggling" himself into the mid-hive!

Arriving at an alley at the end of the Black Market, he knocked on a sheet metal door, deliberately lowering his voice to a hoarse rasp, "I need a way."

A moment later, the iron door creaked open a crack, and a bald head poked out, scrutinizing him, "What way?"

This was a kind of "slang," and Alvin responded with practiced ease: "Happy Road."

Recognizing the slang, the bald, burly man pulled open the iron gate, clearing a path for him to enter: "Second floor. You know the rules, right?"

"I do."

Alvin handed over the old-fashioned laser gun he was holding.

Then, the bald, burly man frisked him thoroughly. After confirming he had no weapons, he slightly tilted his jaw, signaling Alvin to go up to the second floor from the side.

Stepping onto the second floor via the creaking, worn-out wooden planks that were almost polished smooth, Alvin immediately spotted a man with two legs propped on a table, one of which was a metal prosthetic, smoking a rolled cigarette.

It's him?

Alvin was slightly surprised. He recognized the man instantly as the one who had bought his gas mask back then.

After all, that distinctive metal prosthetic was quite rare in the Underhive.

The man's metal prosthetic held his cigarette as he casually exhaled a smoke ring: "I remember you. The kid who sold me the gas mask last time."

Beneath his mask, Alvin's pupils contracted sharply, a hint of shock appearing on his face.

He had clearly disguised himself last time, and he had done the same this time. How had the other person figured him out?

Could it be... Considering a certain possibility, he immediately heightened his vigilance. His surging psionic energy tensed like a drawn bowstring, ready to be released!

If the other party made any move, he could crush him into meat paste in an instant!

"Heh, no need to be so tense, kid."

The man seemed to sense Alvin's nervousness. As he grinned, he raised a hand and swept aside his long, messy hair.

On the other half of his face, hidden by his hair, his left eye socket was embedded with a metallic, electronic prosthetic eye that emitted a crimson glow.

"See? The cybernetic eye." He pointed to the crimson prosthetic, staring at Alvin with great interest, and said slowly: "Since you're young, let me tell you something. Don't ever think that changing your clothes and wearing a mask can fool everyone. Even without this eye, I could still spot you."

Sensing that the other party seemed to have no ill intentions, Alvin gradually lowered his guard, but his psionic energy remained around him: "Thank you, I'll remember that."

This incident served as a stark reminder: he must never underestimate the scum mixed in the Underhive!

"I need to smuggle myself to the Mid-Hive. Can you do it?"

Alvin took a deep breath and decided to stop disguising himself, getting straight to the point.

"Do you know who I am?"

The man crossed his legs, a smile playing on his lips. He pointed to his face: "I am Jackal Tark. As long as you can afford the price, I can get you in."