Wang Zhong looked at the utterly chaotic battlefield before him.
On the left was the Lord of Change and Mystery summoned by Tzeentch's followers. Its three heads were chanting blasphemous spells in three different tones.
Its nine arms wielded ritual implements, twisting the surrounding space into a kaleidoscopic nightmare.
On the right, Khorne Berserkers and a Bloodletter were tearing the last few resisting overseers to pieces. Blood splashed across the metal floor, pooling into little streams.
In the center were the main forces of the Siclaman Rebels. Though they had not turned into daemons, their bloodshot, frenzied appearance was not much better.
And in the gaps between the battling factions, behind collapsed machinery, beneath overturned transport chassis, and amid the cracks between coolant pipes still belching smoke...
Were the native workers.
They wore the same tattered work uniforms as Wang Zhong and the others. Now they huddled there, trembling, their eyes filled with nothing but fear.
Some knelt on the ground and muttered prayers. Some clutched their heads, too afraid to look. Others had already collapsed, their pants soaked with urine.
Wang Zhong's gaze swept across those faces.
There was the silent old man who had stood beside him when he sorted ore on his first day.
There was the auntie who had accidentally given him an extra half-scoop of nutrient paste at noon.
And there was that crafty middle-aged man who was always trying to dump the easiest jobs on newcomers...
Over the past twelve days, Wang Zhong had exchanged fewer than twenty sentences with these NPC workers combined.
They were merely background characters, among the most insignificant batches of expendable resources in the Warhammer world.
By normal game logic, this was when they should ignore them, focus on their own goals, grab money, stockpile gear, level up, and come back to save the world once they were stronger.
They were NPCs, after all. If they died, they would respawn... right?
But when Wang Zhong saw a Khorne Berserker casually seize a young worker lying limp on the ground, tear off one of his arms like a chicken leg, then laugh as it hurled the arm toward the Tzeentch daemon...
The string in his mind called this is just a game suddenly snapped.
"Fuck."
Wang Zhong spat out the word.
Tax Brother and Xue Brother both turned to look at him.
"Brother Loyalty?"
Wang Zhong turned around and looked at the players behind him, who had just made a fortune and still had excitement gleaming in their eyes.
He took a deep breath. His voice rang through the regional channel, calm but carrying a resolve even he had not noticed:
"Brothers, look carefully."
"This is the fucked-up Warhammer world."
"A world where a single coin from The Emperor is worth more than a human life, where Chaos cultists can casually use living people as sacrifices, and where local tyrants treat civilians as expendable resources and test subjects."
He pointed at the workers trembling in the gaps between the fighting.
"I don't know what Ren and those blue lunatics want to do."
"I don't know whether the Alru Group will let off witnesses who saw their factory get torn apart like this."
"But I know one thing!"
Wang Zhong paused and tightened his grip on the Laspistol.
"We were raised under socialist education. If we just stand here and watch these people die so miserably at the hands of these daemons..."
"Then what makes us any different from the numb, cold-hearted people at the top of this world?"
"Do you remember what we discussed on the forums?"
"If you were transported to the Warhammer world, how would you save the people at the bottom?"
"Our keyboards clattered like thunder, and we came up with plan after plan—from organizing unions to launching uprisings, from siding with Tau to embracing Grandfather..."
"Now it's time to put those plans you made into practice. Since we can't change the overall tone of this world, we'll start small. We'll start by saving these workers."
"The key point is, we can resurrect."
"We just made over three hundred coins. Even if we die and lose gear, it won't hurt that much."
"Since we came this far..."
He grinned, the expression looking somewhat savage beneath his helmet visor.
"What's wrong with playing the savior for once?"
"Besides, we've already earned the Imperial Coin. If we don't spend the coins we earned, we won't lose out no matter what."
"The brothers who died earlier said there are several respawn points outside. Leaving alive and leaving dead are the same thing, except we might lose some equipment."
"We'll gather these scattered workers and carve out a path for them. Whoever can escape, runs."
"And while we're at it!" We can loot another round of valuables in the other factory zones! We loot and fight, but we don't retreat!"
He looked around at every player.
"No matter how many of these workers make it out, at least we tried. As long as we gave it our all, that's enough!"
"Let's give this fucked-up world a tiny little shock."
"Of course," Wang Zhong added openly, "any brothers who don't want to take part are free to act on their own. No one's forcing you."
"Those willing to do it, stay. Let's make this a big one."
The channel fell silent for three seconds.
Then Tax Brother spoke first, his voice rough as sandpaper scraping rusted iron.
"What else is there to say, Brother Loyalty?"
"Carry all yesterday's hardship, and trade it for a little happiness and fulfillment tomorrow."
He patted the modified shotgun in his hands. "I've hated those overseers for a long time. Before, we couldn't beat them. But now... heh heh."
Schrodinger's Loyalist:
"From a game-analysis perspective, helping the workers can provide local intelligence, increase our reputation in Aurelian, and lay the foundation for future development."
"Although we can't currently see a reputation system, based on standard RPG logic, this should be a hidden mechanic."
"And besides," he said with a rare smile, "the Warhammer setting is all about pessimism and despair. Who wouldn't want to be a light in the darkness for once?"
"Even if it only lights up a small patch. Even if it only lasts five minutes."
"I'm in."
[Soul of Cadia] roared in the channel, "Cadians never retreat! We're saving people, right? Count me in!"
"But Brother Loyalty, after we save them, can we take a look at the East District Warehouse on the way?"
"I scanned it with the system just now. It looks like there's a whole pile of rare metals over there..."
[Did White Scars speed today]: "Saving people and grabbing cash at the same time! I'm charging in!"
[Tau-kun, you are right, but Bolter is righter]: "Tau says saving people is good for long-term development..."
"But I just want to say, fuck them up! For the brothers turned into nutrient paste!"
[Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run]: "The three factions on the current battlefield are restraining one another. We have a fifteen-to-twenty-minute action window."
"Recommend securing the Raw Material Transport Tunnel on the northwest side first. It leads directly to a breach in the factory perimeter wall and offers the highest chance of escape."
[Nurgle Loving Father Loves All]: "Accept all life, whole or broken. Helping others is also Grandfather's teaching."
The players voiced their support one after another.
The reasons were actually simple: they had already made money, wandering around alone was worse than sticking with the main force, and besides... playing the savior in the Warhammer world sounded fucking awesome.
"Good!"
Wang Zhong nodded forcefully and immediately began assigning tasks.
"Everyone, stick to the previous groups! Group One, clear the passage at the northwest corner and establish a defensive line!"
"Groups Two and Three, spread out! Use every method you can think of—shouting, hand signals, throwing rocks—to gather those hiding workers at the northwest corner!"
"Tell them we're here to help. We'll open a path for them to run!"
"Group Four, tech team, come with me! We need some intelligence!"
He led his direct squad and more than a dozen members of the tech team, crouching as they passed through a stretch of burning wreckage. Before long, they dragged out a middle-aged man in an overseer's uniform who was shivering beneath the chassis of an overturned transport vehicle.
Half of the man's face was blackened by smoke, and his left arm was bent at an unnatural angle. He had clearly been injured in the recent explosion.
When he saw the players' work uniforms, he froze for a moment before immediately showing a pleading expression.
"D-Don't kill me... I'm not the head overseer... I'm just an accountant... I've never whipped any of you..."
"Name."
Wang Zhong pressed the muzzle of his Laspistol against the man's forehead.
"J-Jeremy... Jeremy Hoffman."
"Position."
"Factory No. 3... assembly-line production recorder... and, and backup overseer..."
Jeremy's voice trembled. "But I really never hit anyone! I just kept records and handed out tools..."
Wang Zhong ignored his excuses and got straight to the point.
"I ask. You answer."
"Answer well, and you leave here alive."
"Answer badly..."
He lowered the muzzle half an inch and pressed it against Jeremy's nose bridge. "Do you know what this is? A Lucius Pattern Laspistol. At close range, it can burn your head into charcoal."
Jeremy nodded frantically, tears and snot streaming together.
"First question: What era is this? By the Imperial calendar."
Jeremy froze for a moment, clearly not expecting that question, but he still stammered out an answer.
"L-Late M30, probably... I'm not sure of the exact year, but it should be around nine hundred... The last time an Imperial tax officer came, he mentioned that the Great Crusade had been going on for nearly a thousand years..."
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