Special Training from Catachan

Alvin himself was starting to doubt if he was Aruman's illegitimate son, let alone Tark.

The Deflection Field Device was one thing, but the gun Aruman gave him… if he wasn't mistaken, it was the legendary Plasma Pistol, loyal and never overheating!

[Detected Item: Spiral - Subatomic Plasma Pistol (Fine)]

[Effective Range: 100 meters, Lethal Range: 200 meters, 25.73 seconds charge time between each shot, but becomes unstable and prone to overheating and explosion after five shots]

[Energy Provided: 1000 units]

It really was a Plasma Pistol!

Alvin couldn't help but gasp, his eyes filled with shock.

No, what was Aruman's relationship with his previous self?

Why else would he be given a Deflection Field Device and a Plasma Pistol?

This was too much!

Alvin fell into deep self-doubt.

Beside him, Tark's eyes were practically glued to the Plasma Pistol. If not for Aruman's threatening glare, he probably would have snatched it away already.

"Don't overthink it, we have no biological relationship," Aruman said, inexplicably weary, explaining with a hint of helplessness, "This matter is complicated, and I can't explain it to you right now."

However, the more Aruman hid, the more Tark's curiosity was piqued.

He leaned over, hooking his arm around the Priest's neck, glanced at the utterly bewildered Alvin, and whispered into Aruman's ear, "Hey, what's going on? Tell me about it?"

"Protect this kid, Tark."

Aruman simply dropped a sentence, shook off Tark's arm, and turned to walk into the workshop beside the chapel.

Left behind, Alvin and Tark exchanged a brief glance for half a second, their minds filled with question marks.

"Kid, it seems you're not as simple as I thought."

Tark narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the young man from head to toe as if reintroducing himself to Alvin. "I swear by His Majesty the Emperor, the last time I saw Aruman this worried about someone's safety, it was about the senior sister he had a crush on."

As if inadvertently, he had learned some incredible gossip. Alvin suddenly had a bad feeling.

BOOM!

Without warning, a Bolter round whizzed past Tark's forehead, leaving an explosive crater in the wall.

Immediately after, Aruman's angry roar drifted from the workshop, "If you dare say another word, I'll blow your head off, Tark!"

Clearly, his old comrade revealing his past had thoroughly angered the Tech-Priest.

Tark rubbed his scalp, pulling Alvin along as they walked out of the chapel, grumbling, "You don't want me to talk about it? Why get so worked up?"

How could he not get worked up? Who asked you to have such a loose tongue?

Alvin was dragged away from the chapel, the corner of his mouth twitching, thinking that if Tark ever died, it would definitely be because of that mouth.

Next was a familiar routine.

They returned to the Underhive from the Mid-hive gate, acting outrageously in front of the Enforcers.

As soon as he stepped into the Underhive, the air, recycled millions of times, and the environment filled with exhaust fumes and radiation, gave him a familiar sense of coming home.

"Scavengers, there are so many fewer," Alvin murmured, looking at the somewhat empty streets.

"Because the Iron Hammer Gang is recruiting heavily."

Tark pulled a cheap cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a slow drag, saying expressionlessly, "Anyone who is chosen can become a member of the Iron Hammer Gang, not only receiving fixed food but also standard weapons. Guess what they're planning to do?"

"What else could they be planning? Nothing more than expanding their territory and then conquering the hive city," Alvin could guess the Iron Hammer Gang's next move after unifying the Underhive with his toes.

Using free food as bait to recruit a large number of members was a brilliant, open ploy!

Even knowing the Iron Hammer Gang's plan, they couldn't stop them.

The reason was simple: the people in the Underhive were on the verge of starving to death every day. Suddenly, a gang appeared, claiming that anyone chosen could receive free food daily.

Let alone the Scavengers of the Underhive, if Alvin didn't have the system, he probably would have chosen to join.

Yes, the people of the Underhive never cared about justice; they only cared about survival.

What Enforcers? What Emperor?

Such ideals and beliefs were too distant for them. The scum of the Underhive just wanted to survive, nothing more.

Whoever could help them survive, they would follow!

"The Iron Hammer Gang has already annexed the East and South sectors," Tark finished his cigarette in a few puffs, flicked it away, and said faintly, "The remaining two sectors will be completely annexed by the Iron Hammer Gang within a month at the fastest, and two months at the slowest, so we don't have much time left."

"I am very aware of the current situation, Mr. Tark."

Alvin pondered for half a second, roughly estimating the time of his transmigration, and continued, "I think it will take about a month. When I return, things might take a turn for the better."

"A month?"

Tark frowned, stared at Alvin for half a minute, then beckoned, "Come with me, kid."

Alvin didn't understand but followed Tark.

The two shuttled through the industrial ruins of the Underhive, following a maze of crisscrossing sewage pipes to reach Tark's secret base.

It was hardly a secret base, more like a crude hideout, but when Tark pushed open the valve door, what lay inside truly shocked Alvin.

Carapace Armor, Frag Grenades, Combat Knives, Laser guns, Plasma Guns, Grenade Launchers, and more weapons and equipment than he could count. However, it wasn't just the sheer quantity that stunned Alvin; what truly made his eyes bulge was the Chainsword in the corner!

Next to the Chainsword, there was even a Heavy Bolter!

What did this even mean?

A Heavy Bolter, as the name suggested, was typically equipped by the Astartes or mounted on vehicles to provide fire support for teammates.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say that its recoil could kill an ordinary Astra Militarum soldier!

With a one-inch caliber and a modified, oversized ammunition capacity, it was enough to suppress small fortified positions.

As for its power, how to describe it? Perhaps: You and your cover are equally laughable!

Was this the kind of fierce warrior who could survive the Battle of Cadia and retire?

Alvin swallowed, having to reconsider what method he could use to recruit this formidable individual!

"Kid, I don't know why you came to the Underhive, but since Aruman told me to protect you, I have to do something."

As he spoke, Tark handed the Combat Knife he carried directly to Alvin.

The knife resembled a Bowie knife, a standard Combat Knife design with serrations on the belly and grooves on the sides for weight reduction. It was about 20 inches long, its blade gleaming coldly, clearly well-maintained. It felt heavy in his hand, exuding an inexplicable chill.

[Item Detected: Tark's Catachan Combat Knife (Fine)]

[Exclusive to Catachan Jungle Fighters, a Combat Knife personally crafted by Tark before he left Catachan, accompanying him through hundreds of bloody battles]

[Energy Provided: 0 units]

"Uh, Mr. Tark, what does this mean?" Alvin was bewildered. Was he giving it to him?

"Don't misunderstand, this knife isn't for you."

Tark lit a cigarette and slowly said, "To ensure your safety, I'll train you here for three days and teach you some survival skills, so you don't die at the hands of some scum."

"Uh, Mr. Tark, actually..."

Alvin's heart sank. It wasn't that he looked down on Tark, but he simply felt it was too dangerous.

If it were any other normal Astra Militarum soldier, he wouldn't be so resistant.

Who was Tark?

A Catachan Jungle Fighter, a ruthless individual known to have crawled out of the hellscape of Cadia. Training with him felt like courting death!

"Kid, I'll teach you your first lesson now."

As his voice fell, Tark, still holding his cigarette, appeared behind Alvin like a phantom.

A gleaming dagger was placed against his throat, its icy chill crawling up Alvin's spine and freezing his expression.

"Kid, in the Astra Militarum, you should address superiors by their rank during training."

Tark, smoking, didn't even let ash fall. He whispered in Alvin's ear like a demon, "Don't worry, I'll teach you how to become a qualified six-year-old Catachan in the shortest time possible!"