The Game Designer Must Be a Great Demon of Chaos!

The gravel pressed into his cheek, stinging with pain.

But he couldn't care less about that right now.

He had seen it with his own eyes—not game effects, not light rendering, but real blood.

The sound of real bullets tearing through flesh, followed by the final, shrill screams of those two players in the regional channel.

"The Emperor protect us..."

Wang Zhong's lips trembled, his mind in complete chaos. "Heresy... heresy! This damn thing isn't some Mecha 40K game at all!"

"Which god-forsaken Great Unclean One of Tzeentch tricked us into this game disguised as Warhammer 40,000?!"

He roared internally, but his body dared not move an inch. He lay pressed flat against the ground, hands covering his head in a standard posture of surrender.

He wasn't the only one.

Right now, in the mine, nearly five thousand players were lying on the ground, a scene both bizarre and spectacular.

As the high-intensity searchlights swept over them, faces flickered in and out of the light.

Their expressions shifted from initial confusion and curiosity to terror and shock, finally freezing into a desperate, dawning realization.

The regional chat channel was scrolling frantically at a rate of hundreds of messages per second.

[Schrodinger's Loyalist]: "Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! That gunshot was real! I can smell the gunpowder, for fuck's sake!"

[The Emperor's Tax Must Be Paid Even If The World Ends]: "Those two brothers... they died so miserably. I doubt they'll have the guts to respawn and log back in anytime soon."

[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run]: "Firearm model appears to be a modified Lasgun. Armor style is local pattern flak armor. Soldier augmentation level approximately 30%-45%."

"Standard Hive City security/private military configuration... damn it, why am I even analyzing this?! This is the Warhammer universe, for fuck's sake!"

[Tau-kun, you are right, but Bolter is righter]: "So... the mechs in the CG were a lie? The stars and the sea were a lie? We actually came to the Warhammer 40,000 game world?!"

"The bastard developer of this game must be a Greater Daemon. They knew Warhammer had a bad reputation, so they disguised it to lure us in."

[Soul of Cadia]: "What do we do now? Lie here and wait to die? For Cadia! No, wait, for survival!"

[Want Silent King's Crown but cannot afford]: "I knew it! That survival tax! That genetic enhancement! That psyker talent! And the Imperial Coin! The stench is too strong! It's so strong I can't even open my eyes!"

[Did White Scars speed today]: "So what are we now? Illegal immigrants? Heretics? Mutants? Or just toys pulled in by some Chaos God on a whim?"

[I am not the Regent, I am just a passing Guilliman]: "I suggest we surrender first and observe the situation."

"According to the Imperial Guard Battlefield Survival Manual, Chapter 3, Section 7, in a situation where the enemy is numerous and we are at an equipment disadvantage, temporary surrender to preserve one's life is a rational choice, provided the other side accepts it."

[Damn Loyalist]: "Damn the developer! Damn the system! I was wondering why there wasn't even a top-up portal!"

"So this is where they were waiting for us! Didn't we just curse each other in the group chat, wishing for everyone to transmigrate into Warhammer 40,000?"

"Did they really have to drag us into such a realistic game?!"

[Don't ask, I think it will work]: "Seconded! I was just talking trash! I don't actually want to be here! I want to go back to my 996 work schedule! I want to pay my mortgage! I want to watch streamers! Let me go back!"

[Slaanesh Chosen Reserve]: "Wait, since this is really Warhammer... can I defect to Chaos?"

"I want to be a Chosen of Slaanesh! I want to pursue ultimate pleasure! That's gotta be better than being a miner, right?"

As soon as this message appeared, the channel fell silent for two seconds.

Then, a flood of replies:

"???"

"Brother, calm down!"

"Slaanesh? Did you see the look in those soldiers' eyes? They look at us like we're lab animals! You want to defect to Chaos? You'll be turned into a specimen before you even get the chance!"

"Exactly! If you're going to defect, go to Khorne! Kill, kill, kill! Hack your way out!"

"Isn't Tzeentch better? Knowledge! Schemes! Even if you might end up with a screw loose..."

"Enough! Is this really the time to discuss which god to pick?! We don't even have a gun! We only have mining picks!"

[Nurgle Loving Father Loves All]: "Actually, I think Nurgle isn't bad. Accept everything, embrace decay, at least you don't have to mine every day... and I heard Nurgle's followers are very united, like a big family..."

"Shut up! Don't mention that name! Bad luck!"

Wang Zhong watched the rapidly scrolling messages in the channel, his heart filled with mixed emotions.

These guys... they clearly realized this was the Warhammer universe, they were clearly terrified just a moment ago, and now they were already discussing which Chaos God to defect to?

Is this truly the nature of the Fourth Calamity? As long as they aren't dead, they'll always be stirring up trouble?

But he had to admit, this black humor helped alleviate everyone's fear of the game.

"Everyone! Maintain your positions!"

A cold command came through the loudspeaker again. "Now, in order, stand up one by one!"

"Move slowly! Keep your hands where we can see them!"

"Any unnecessary movement will be treated as an act of aggression!"

The soldiers began their operation.

They split into several squads, starting from the perimeter, pointing their muzzles at the players sprawled on the ground and barking orders for them to stand up for a search.

The players were shoved around roughly and gathered into an even denser crowd.

Someone tried to argue, "Wait, we're law-abiding citizens! We were just mining!"

In return, a rifle butt smashed into his face, leaving his nose streaming with blood.

"Shut up! Heretics!"

The soldier's voice was devoid of emotion, "You have no identification, no residency permits, and are gathered illegally in a Chamber of Commerce restricted zone. That alone is enough to throw all of you into the reactor to be burned to ash!"

Wang Zhong was yanked up from the ground by two soldiers, his hands twisted behind his back and bound with rough plastic zip ties.

He gritted his teeth, offering no resistance.

He had already seen the consequences of resisting; the corpses of those two brothers still lay not far away, their blood pooling on the ground and appearing black under the glare of the searchlights.

"Report to Command Center, this is Vanguard Squad One."

The captain pressed his earpiece, "Targets are all under control, totaling... approximately four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight people. Repeat, four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight."

"Confirmed no heavy weapons, only simple tools and a small amount of homemade weaponry found."

"Requesting further instructions."

A reply came through the channel, "Very well."

"Proceed as planned, escort them in batches back to the Third Containment Zone in Arlu City."

"The Raven Transports are in position."

"Move quickly, the transfer must be completed before dawn."

"Understood."

The captain lowered his hand and gestured to the surrounding soldiers, "Begin loading!"

Eight Raven Transports slowly descended, their belly hatches opening fully to extend loading ramps.

The players were divided into eight groups, driven by the muzzles of guns as they stumbled toward the transports.

The group Wang Zhong was in consisted of about six hundred people; he was shoved up the ramp and into the fuselage.

The interior space was larger than he had imagined, but it felt exceptionally cramped once six hundred people were packed inside.

The air was thick with the smell of machine oil, sweat, and metal.

There were no seats, so everyone had to stand or crouch on the floor.

Wang Zhong struggled to move through the crowd, finding Xue Brother, Tax Brother, and several acquaintances from the Terra Underground Network Tavern.

Everyone was huddled together, their faces looking grim.

"Xue Brother, try it," Wang Zhong lowered his voice, "Try to log out and see if you can exit the game."

Schrodinger's Loyalist closed his eyes, appearing to focus his mind.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes, his face even paler.

"It won't work... The system prompt says: Currently in a state of captivity, unable to log out safely."

"Damn it!" Tax Brother cursed, "They're forcing us to tough this out!"