Mission Complete and Bizarre Rewards

The allied position stretched for five kilometers.

At the front were gang cannon fodder, huddled behind makeshift barricades, clustered in twos and threes around fires for warmth.

In the middle and rear were the nobles' private soldiers, in neat standard-issue armor, with Leman Russ tanks parked on either side of the hastily constructed defensive works, heavy bolters mounted at the front line.

Count Victor sat in the command vehicle, a glass of Amasec sweet wine in hand, soft music playing in his ears. His army had already pressed to the outskirts of the Promethium Factory, and his heart swelled with smug satisfaction:

"Those lowly Lower Hive gangs—give them a scrap of bread and they fold like trash."

"I reckon in three days at most, the Promethium Factory will be ours."

"That Fu Haoran brat is no match for me at all."

The adjutant echoed: "The enemy's forces are too meager to hold it."

"Of course, he wouldn't dare mobilize too many Planetary Defense Force troops." Victor sneered.

Victor had never considered the possibility of losing. The Planetary Defense Navy was watching from the sidelines like an indifferent bystander; Fu Haoran wouldn't dare commit his full Planetary Defense Force, or the Navy would have grounds to intervene.

And as for the nobles—on the surface, they wouldn't launch a large-scale assault, but in secret, they sent private soldiers to fight. As long as they didn't admit it, no one could touch him.

The adjutant handed over a datapad: "Recon shows three Valkyries taking off from the factory, circling southeast."

Victor glanced at it.

"A detour?" He scoffed. "Afraid of our anti-air fire? Just three beat-up transports, not even an escort."

He set down his glass.

"Don't bother. At that range, they can't even drop bombs. If they fly closer, our flak guns will teach them a lesson."

The adjutant nodded and continued watching the recon feed.

Count Victor poured himself another half-glass of wine. He had just raised it when his peripheral vision caught a dozen small black dots drifting slowly toward the camp.

Then, a flash of white light.

Not the blaze of an explosion—a white more blinding, more pure than the sun.

The first bomb struck. A white radiance flared without warning, and then the earth shuddered violently as the power of 1,400 kilograms of TNT swept across the scene.

Nearby Leman Russ tanks were hurled over ten meters by the shockwave; ammunition detonated in chain explosions, flames roaring skyward.

Noble private soldiers within 70 meters were instantly vaporized by the blast wave, not even a scream escaping their lips.

Soldiers within 260 meters were pierced by flying shrapnel through their armor, collapsing to the ground in endless wails.

And such explosions rang out eighteen times in succession.

The blasts landed evenly across the encampment.

Dust and smoke blotted out the sky. The noble private soldiers' camp, stretching for kilometers, was instantly swallowed by fire and sulfurous haze.

The wine glass slipped from Victor's hand, drenching him in spirits. The smugness on his face was instantly replaced by terror. Before he could even react, the powerful shockwave slammed him violently, hurling him hard into the wreckage of the command vehicle.

An unknown time later, Victor struggled to crawl out from the broken walls and rubble.

His body was charred black, his expensive noble attire burned beyond recognition, his face covered in dust and blood, one arm hanging limp at his side.

Victor lifted his head. The sight before him left him dumbstruck!

The dense phalanxes of private soldiers—gone.

The mighty columns of Leman Russ tanks—gone.

The mountains of ammunition and supplies—gone.

Nothing but craters.

One after another, like lunar craters, belching black smoke.

Scattered at the edges of the craters were charred, twisted, mangled... he couldn't even recognize what those things were!

The gang cannon fodder in the distance, far enough away to survive by sheer luck, had witnessed this hellish scene.

They were already pissing themselves.

Fight? Who could guarantee the enemy wouldn't send a second wave?

In an instant, the crowd scattered like startled birds, not even a thought for looting.

Further off, the fleeing tide surged like a panicked swarm of ants, sprinting in every direction, trampling their own, discarding weapons, shoving, falling, scrambling up, and running again.

Victor slumped to the ground, muttering to himself, eyes hollow: "Impossible... the advantage was mine... how could this be..."

"That Fu Haoran... how could he have weapons this strong..."

There was no anguished roar, only despair that had seeped into his marrow. He didn't even have the strength to stand, let alone seek revenge.

He had nothing left.

Flee back?

"No... if I go back, Martha and the others will never let me off."

This campaign had not only wiped out his entire fortune—it had shattered his authority completely.

"I'm done for..." Victor murmured.

He stared at the ruins, something flickering in his eyes.

Fear. Hatred. Finally, the madness of a last desperate gamble.

"Rather than wait to die... I might as well throw in my lot with the Governor."

On the other side, Fu Haoran stared at the explosion footage on his communicator without much reaction.

Priest Kallen stood to one side, his metal prosthetic eye flickering unsteadily as he watched those bombs curve with pinpoint accuracy. The doubt in his mind grew deeper and deeper.

"Is this really a creation from the Golden Age, or isn't it?"

Yuri had none of these worries. He just blurted out a curse: "Holy shit! That was one hell of a blast!"

"All those noble private soldiers' gear, their supplies—that's all Throne Coins!"

"Quick! Quick! Quick! Send people to scavenge it now, or the routed cannon fodder will snatch it all up!"

Fu Haoran agreed with Yuri's suggestion.

The explosion's power was immense, but most of the dead were soldiers.

The weapons and equipment could be picked up, repaired, and still used.

But compared to these "scraps and leftovers," the system reward was what he truly had his eye on.

[Main Quest Completed: Noble Counterattack]

[Rating: S (You turned a noble coalition siege into a one-sided demolition)]

[Reward: Universal Points +6666, Free Attribute Points +6]

[Reward 2: Special Subordinate Summoning Authority (Unlocks Hidden Variant Subordinate)]

[Acquisition Method: Proceed to designated coordinates to retrieve in person]

Fu Haoran's face instantly darkened. He barely held back from cursing out loud: "What the hell! What kind of crappy system is this? Since when do I have to run errands for my own reward? Why don't you just make me build my own subordinate while you're at it?"

The system remained silent.

Fu Haoran took a deep breath: "So you're telling me I fought tooth and nail to blow up the coalition, and all you give me is a dangling carrot that I have to go fetch myself?"

Fu Haoran wanted to uninstall this piece-of-shit system.

Curses aside, he still had to go to those coordinates—after all, this was a hidden variant!

Fu Haoran picked a few dozen men, called along Ronan, the local expert, and set off in full force.

With Ronan's help, the group found the hidden freight elevator without any trouble.

The elevator was old, its cables creaking, the walls covered in rust.

The light above grew farther and farther away, until it was completely swallowed up.

Yuri shrank his neck and complained: "This place is way too creepy. How the hell did you even find this spot?"

Fu Haoran didn't answer.

Finally, the elevator reached the very bottom.

But according to the system's instructions, there was still a long way to go.

At first, everything seemed normal.

But as they walked, the walls on both sides of the passage became covered in moss and ancient carvings. A green light seeped out from the engravings, illuminating the winding path ahead.

Fu Haoran stopped in his tracks.

"Wait, this light..."

Fu Haoran stared at the carvings on the wall, his pupils contracting.

A thought flashed through his mind.

"Necrons!"

One of the oldest races in the Warhammer Universe—once flesh and blood, now immortal machines.

Their hallmark was that green energy glow, pyramid-shaped tombs, and these geometric patterns utterly devoid of emotion.

A chill ran down Fu Haoran's spine.

"What's wrong?" Yuri leaned in.

"...Nothing." Fu Haoran suppressed the shock in his heart and kept walking.

The deeper they went, the thicker the green light became.

Finally, a massive stone door appeared before them. Strange patterns were carved into the door, and at its center was set a crystal that emitted a green glow.

The door bore only one kind of ornamentation.

The silhouette of a face in profile, lines starkly simple, yet radiating an overbearing majesty.

It looked like a crown, or perhaps the emblem of some long-extinct dynasty.

Fu Haoran signaled the guards to push open the stone door, and it slowly ground aside.

The moment the stone door swung open, a dense green light burst forth, illuminating the entire stone chamber.

No, it was a tomb.

The dome was so high the ceiling couldn't be seen, and the walls were inlaid with glowing runes.

At the center stood a black crystal sarcophagus?

[Please designate the form requirements for your adjutant. You may customize the request, and the system will maximize adaptation within the existing reward framework.]

Fu Haoran glanced at the tomb.

Then at the prompt box.

"Adjutant? System, you call this an adjutant? This is clearly a Necron tomb!"

Suddenly, a vengeful thought clung to him.

"This crappy system has screwed me over plenty. Finally, I've got my chance."

"Watch me screw this crappy system over instead!"

Without hesitation, Fu Haoran gave his answer: "I want a beauty, a flesh-and-blood great beauty."

The system was silent.

"With huge chest."

The system remained silent.

"A very beautiful huge-chested beauty."

A full three seconds passed—though for the Reincarnation System, it felt like three hundred years.

The system had considered Reincarnators wanting loyalty, wanting combat power, wanting someone skilled in coordination and management, even wanting technical expertise.

It had never imagined anyone would ask for a pretty face!

[System is frantically loading a solution... Loading failed... Loading failed...]

[Ding~ System crashed for 3 seconds. Emergency repair complete!]

Fu Haoran was amused, taunting inwardly: "What's wrong? Can't do it? System, didn't you say you'd satisfy all reasonable requests? I want a beautiful adjutant—how is that unreasonable?"

The system was completely out of patience and started slacking off:

[Emergency solution: Invoke special energy to inject flesh and soul into the target.]

Fu Haoran raised an eyebrow, about to crack a joke, when he suddenly noticed the green light in the tomb brighten sharply.

A faint chill seeped from the sarcophagus, and that domineering majesty seemed heavier than before.

"Wait, system, I was joking. Can we talk this over properly?"

"I was wrong."