Wang Zhong heard this and said, "Who can be one hundred percent certain about that?"
"Anything requires idealists to put it into action before we can prove whether passion is truly useful."
"The reason you and I can live peacefully today and even have the chance to come to this game for fun is because idealists once acted on their ideals with their blood and passion, isn't it?"
Second Emperor of Holy Blood smiled at this and patted Wang Zhong on the shoulder!
"It seems choosing you as our overall Chapter Master was absolutely the right decision. I hope you can lead this wave of undying warriors and realize the ideals you speak of."
He looked at the surrounding players with a smile.
"Did you guys hear that? Looks like the Warhammer world is about to gain another legendary Chapter Master."
The players around them all laughed at Holy Blood's teasing.
Wang Zhong smiled as well and punched him lightly in the chest. "Haha, Haji Blood, you're giving me far too much credit."
The group continued onward.
More than a dozen players carried the Chapter's finest equipment: more than a dozen Lasguns. They remained alert for mutant beast attacks that could appear at any moment.
The players on both flanks carried cheaper kinetic black-powder rifles. There was no helping it—they had to spend Imperial Coin carefully. Fully equipping everyone with Lasguns was still beyond their means.
Deep within the Warp, Lu Sheng's energy form watched the scene unfold.
He saw Wang Zhong's utter lack of hesitation when exchanging supplies. He saw the workers' expressions when Wang Zhong said, "You're people too," as though they had beheld a god.
"Mercy... equality... justice... responsibility... hope..."
Lu Sheng murmured, "Such emotions can still exist in the Warhammer universe? Kid, you're not bad."
He brought up the system interface, and the cursor hovered over the [God-Chosen Bestowal] option.
Lu Sheng's energy form rippled slightly.
In the end, he did not press confirm.
"Wait a little longer."
He told himself, "Observe him a little more... Becoming God-Chosen should be his own choice and desire, not something I force upon him."
Night fell swiftly over the Crimson Bright Wasteland, and before long, the cold wind began to howl.
The daytime heat rapidly dissipated after sunset. In less than two hours, the temperature had dropped below freezing.
The cold wind swept down from the northern ice fields, carrying grit with it and cutting exposed skin like countless tiny blades.
The players were doing all right.
After Type I physique enhancement, combined with the system's default thirty percent reduction in pain sensitivity, this cold merely felt a little chilly to them.
Some even wore nothing but thin work jackets, rubbing their hands in the frigid wind as they joked:
"This temperature swing is just like my hometown in the south. Short sleeves during the day, quilts at night."
But the workers could not endure it.
The procession of over two thousand people cast a long shadow across the wasteland.
The four transport vehicles were crammed with the elderly, women, children, and wounded. Their roofs had been hastily covered with canvas windbreaks, but the cold wind still slipped in through the gaps.
The people inside huddled together, relying on each other's body heat for warmth.
But those walking outside the vehicles suffered terribly.
They wore the thin work uniforms they had escaped the industrial zone in. Those clothes had never been designed for the outdoors, and the fabric was flimsy.
When the cold wind blew, the cloth clung to their bodies, barely better than wearing nothing at all.
Children were held in their parents' arms, their little faces turning purple from the cold and their lips trembling. Yet they could not even cry, because they no longer had the strength.
Wang Zhong walked in the middle of the procession. Watching all this, he clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.
"Commander, this can't go on."
Second Emperor of Holy Blood returned from the front. His psychic senses allowed him to clearly see the workers' vital signs. The points of light representing their life force flickered in the wind like dying candles.
"At least three hundred people already have body temperatures below the safety threshold. If it drops any further, they'll die of hypothermia."
"I know."
Wang Zhong's voice was hoarse. He opened the system store and rapidly scrolled through it.
[Military Thermal Blanket: 12 Imperial Coin each]
[Portable Heating Unit: 25 Imperial Coin each, provides power for 8 hours]
He glanced at his remaining Imperial Coin: 487.
Exchanging nutritional paste and water earlier had already consumed more than half of it.
Even if he spent all four hundred-plus coins on thermal blankets, it would only be a drop in the bucket.
"Damn it..."
For the first time, Wang Zhong felt disgust toward Imperial Coin, this game currency.
The thrill he had felt watching the numbers soar during the industrial zone robbery had vanished completely. Now, all he felt was that this thing was cold. It could buy Lasguns and enhancements, but it could not buy back lives.
He closed the store, took a deep breath, and spoke in the regional channel:
"Everyone, listen up."
"Take out any extra cloth or clothing in your inventory. Even if it's just a rag, give it to the workers. Anyone who exchanged extra equipment, take off your coats and give them to the elderly and children first."
"People from Crimson Machine, check the vehicle engines. See whether you can redirect some of the exhaust heat into the cabins. I know it's crude, but it's better than nothing."
"And..."
He paused. "Everyone, talk to the workers around you."
"Tell them to hold on a little longer. There's a warm camp ahead, 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 several seconds.
Then someone answered, "Understood, Commander."
"I've got spare work jackets here. Bought them from the store on a whim and never wore them."
"I have two rain tarps. They won't keep anyone warm, but they can block the wind."
"Brothers in the vehicles, squeeze over and make some more room!"
The players sprang into action.
Some took off the leather jackets they had just exchanged and wrapped them around shivering children.
Others pulled out scraps of canvas they had picked up earlier from their inventories. They were old and torn, but layered together, they could still block the wind.
Several Crimson Machine players who had studied automotive repair textbooks actually began dismantling the vehicles. They used tools to pry open the rear floorboards of a transport vehicle and directed some heat from the engine compartment into the cabin through metal pipes. The efficiency was pitifully low, but at least it brought a little warmth.
Wang Zhong walked over to a mother and daughter.
The mother looked younger than forty, but prolonged malnutrition and labor made her appear to be in her fifties.
The girl in her arms was about ten years old. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her breathing was weak.
Wang Zhong crouched down and took off his own coat. It was a standard-issue field jacket exchanged from the store. It was not especially thick, but it had a lining.
He wrapped the jacket around the girl.
"You can't..."
The mother tried to refuse, but her hands were frozen stiff and moved sluggishly.
"Put it on."
Wang Zhong pressed down on her hand. It was cold as ice. "Nothing can happen to the child."
He stood and told the nearby players, "Take turns carrying this child. Don't let her keep getting blasted by the wind."
"Yes, Commander."
Wang Zhong continued forward.
Holy Blood followed beside him. After remaining silent for a while, he suddenly spoke.
"This scene reminds me of something from the real world."
Wang Zhong turned to look at him.
"Our forebears."
Holy Blood's voice was soft, almost inaudible in the cold wind. "The road they walked was far longer than this. Tens of thousands of miles."
"They endured far more hardship than this too. No enhancements, no system, no resurrection."
"But they made it through."
Wang Zhong patted his shoulder. "We can't change what happened in the past."
"But what's in front of us—we do whatever we can."
He paused, then said quietly, "I've never believed this is merely a game."
Holy Blood nodded and was about to say something—
The regional channel suddenly erupted:
"Something ahead! Northeast direction, around eleven hundred meters away. Something is approaching!"
Before you continue