Cold, The Desire to Survive (Seeking Follow-up Reads)

Wang Zhong heard this and replied, "Who can say for sure?"

"Only when idealists take action can it be proven whether passion is truly useful or not."

"The fact that you and I can live stable lives today, and have the opportunity to come to this game to play, isn't it precisely because idealists once took action for their ideals with their own blood?"

The Second Emperor of Holy Blood smiled upon hearing this and patted Wang Zhong on the shoulder.

"It seems we made no mistake in choosing you as our Grand Chapter Master. I hope you can lead us, this wave of undying warriors, to realize the ideals you speak of."

He looked at the few players around him with a smile.

"Did you guys hear that? It seems the Warhammer universe is about to gain another legendary Chapter Master."

The surrounding players all laughed at the Second Emperor's teasing.

Wang Zhong also smiled and thumped his chest. "Haha, Haji Blood, you guy, you're giving me too much credit."

The team continued to move forward.

A dozen players held the most elite laser rifles equipped by the chapter, remaining vigilant against any sudden attacks from alien beasts.

Players on the flanks carried cheaper kinetic black-powder rifles; there was no helping it, Imperial Coins had to be saved, and fully equipping everyone with laser rifles was currently impossible.

Deep within the Warp, Lu Sheng's energy form was watching this scene.

He saw Wang Zhong's lack of hesitation when exchanging for supplies, and he saw the look in the workers' eyes—as if they had seen a god—when he told them, "You are human, too."

"Compassion... equality... justice... responsibility... hope..."

Lu Sheng murmured, "These emotions can actually still exist in the Warhammer universe. Young man, you are quite something."

He pulled up the system interface, his cursor hovering over the [God-Chosen Bestowal] option.

Lu Sheng's energy form fluctuated slightly.

In the end, he did not click confirm.

"Wait a little longer."

He told himself, "Observe a bit more... something like being God-Chosen must be his own choice and will, not something I impose."

Night in the Crimson Bright Wasteland arrived quickly, and before long, cold winds were howling.

The high temperatures of the day dissipated rapidly after sunset; in less than two hours, the temperature had dropped below freezing.

The cold wind blew from the northern ice fields, carrying sand and gravel like countless tiny knives cutting into exposed skin.

The players were doing fine.

Thanks to Type-I physical enhancement and the system's default 30% reduction in pain perception, this cold was only slightly chilly to them.

Some were even wearing only thin work jackets, rubbing their hands in the cold wind and cracking jokes:

"This temperature difference is just like my hometown in the south; wear short sleeves during the day, and you have to wrap yourself in a quilt at night."

But the workers were not so lucky.

The team of over two thousand people dragged long shadows across the wasteland.

Four transport vehicles were packed with the elderly, the weak, women, children, and the wounded. The roofs were covered with makeshift canvas windbreaks, but the cold wind still snuck through the gaps.

People inside curled up together, relying on each other's body heat to stay warm.

But those walking outside suffered the most.

They wore the thin uniforms they had on when they escaped from the industrial zone; the clothes were never designed for the outdoors and the fabric was very thin.

When the cold wind blew, the clothes clung to their bodies as if they weren't wearing anything at all.

Children were held in their parents' arms, their little faces frozen purple, their lips trembling, yet they couldn't even cry out because they lacked the strength to do so.

Wang Zhong walked in the middle of the team, watching all of this, his fists clenched until they turned white.

"Chapter Master, we can't go on like this."

The Second Emperor of Holy Blood returned from the front. His psychic perception allowed him to clearly see the workers' vital signs; those points of light representing life were flickering in the cold wind like candles in a draft.

"At least three hundred people have body temperatures below the safety line. If it drops any further, they will die of hypothermia."

"I know."

Wang Zhong's voice was hoarse. He opened the system store and scrolled through it quickly.

[Military Thermal Blanket: 12 Imperial Coins/piece]

[Portable Heating Unit: 25 Imperial Coins/unit, 8 hours of power]

He glanced at his remaining Imperial Coins: 487.

He had already spent more than half on nutritional paste and water just a moment ago.

Even if he spent all four hundred-plus coins on thermal blankets, it would be a drop in the bucket.

"Damn it..."

For the first time, Wang Zhong felt a sense of loathing for the Imperial Coin, the game's currency.

The thrill of watching numbers soar while looting the industrial zone had vanished; now, this stuff just felt cold. It could buy laser guns and augmentations, but it couldn't buy back a human life.

He closed the shop interface, took a deep breath, and spoke into the area channel:

"Listen up, everyone."

"Take any extra fabric, clothes, or even scraps of cloth from your inventory and give them to the workers."

"Those who redeemed extra gear, take off your outer layers and give them to the elderly and children first."

"Crimson Machine members, check the vehicle engines. See if you can divert some of the exhaust heat into the cabins. I know it's crude, but it's better than nothing."

"And one more thing..."

He paused. "Everyone, talk to the workers beside you."

"Tell them to hold on a little longer. There's a warm camp ahead, with hot food and beds."

"Tell them we won't abandon a single person."

"This isn't charity; this is mutual aid between comrades."

The channel fell silent for a few seconds.

Then, someone responded: "Understood, Commander."

"I've got an extra work jacket here. I grabbed it from the shop earlier and haven't worn it yet."

"I have two pieces of tarp. They aren't warm, but they'll block the wind."

"Brothers in the trucks, squeeze over and make some more room!"

The players sprang into action.

Someone took off a newly redeemed leather jacket and wrapped it around a shivering child.

Someone pulled scraps of canvas they'd scavenged earlier from their inventory; though tattered, folding them into layers could still block the wind.

A few Crimson Machine players who had studied the auto repair textbooks actually began dismantling the vehicles. They used tools to pry open the floorboards in the back of a transport truck, using metal pipes to channel some of the engine heat into the cabin. The efficiency was pitifully low, but at least there was a hint of warmth.

Wang Zhong walked over to a mother and daughter.

The mother looked under forty, but long-term malnutrition and labor made her look over fifty.

The girl in her arms was about ten, eyes tightly shut, breathing weakly.

Wang Zhong crouched down and took off his own jacket—a standard-issue field jacket redeemed from the shop. It wasn't particularly thick, but it had a lining.

He wrapped the jacket around the girl.

"You shouldn't..."

The mother tried to refuse, but her hands were frozen stiff, her movements sluggish.

"Keep it on."

Wang Zhong held her hand down; it was as cold as an ice cube. "The child can't be allowed to suffer."

He stood up and said to the players nearby: "Take turns carrying this child. Don't let her catch any more wind."

"Yes, Commander."

Wang Zhong continued walking forward.

Holy Blood walked beside him, silent for a moment, before suddenly speaking:

"Scenes like this remind me of things in the real world."

Wang Zhong turned his head to look at him.

"Our ancestors."

Holy Blood's voice was very soft, almost inaudible in the biting wind. "The road they walked was much longer than this—thousands of miles."

"They suffered much more than this, too. No augmentations, no system, no respawns."

"But they made it through."

Wang Zhong patted his shoulder. "We can't change the past."

"But we can do what we can for what's right in front of us."

He paused, then said in a low voice: "I have never believed that this is just a simple game."

Holy Blood nodded, just about to say something—

The area channel suddenly exploded:

"Situation ahead! Northeast direction, about 1,100 meters out—something is approaching!"