Renacido como un Dios del Caos en Warhammer Capítulos 1 al 10

Hello, welcome to Larios, the world-devourer. Don't forget that I have a Patreon where this and other stories are ahead or finished. The link is in the description. They thought they were logging into the ultimate sci-fi gró. They had no idea they were the unwitting champions of a newborn, hungry chaos god. Welcome to Epoch 40k. Mecha. The developers promised glorious mechas, interstellar colonization, and a grand sci-fi epic. Instead, players are thrown into a festering nightmare where the tutorial consists of dodging assault squads or orks for scrap metal, and local NPCs sing religious litanies just to repair a rusty tractor behind the curtain. However, a newly awakened chaos god named Lucian Santus is desperately pulling the strings. Sitting at the absolute bottom of the warp's food chain, Lucian needs to harvest emotional energy to survive. But openly feeding means attracting the wrath of the established chaos gods, especially Slaanesh, as he knows she would want nothing more than to devour a fledgling deity before it can become a threat. His brilliant, desperate solution: summon players from Earth. By disguising a grim, unforgiving reality as a virtual world, Lucian can safely gorge himself on player rage, triumph, and gacha-induced despair without the Emperor or the chaos gods noticing a thing. Armed with a total disregard for their own lives, a terrifying penchant for exploiting glitches, and a deeply questionable moral compass. These players have formed the Red Dawn guild. The galaxy may be a decaying sewer, but they have sworn to fix it, or accidentally establish a new galactic empire in the attempt. This is a translation, but don't worry because I am here. I will be the poison tester and remove all the poison I can to make this a good story. Very, very good. One, Chapter 1. This must be Chench's conspiracy. This is a new fanfic I am starting to write. Please comment and tell me if you find it interesting and if I should continue it or not. This must be Chengch's plan. It's tempting me to become a chaos heretic. Lucian Santus touched his ethereal cheek within the warp, if such a mass of ever-shifting energy could be called a face. Oh, wait, I've already fallen into corruption. Lucian contemplated the newborn body of a chaos god. It looked like an overturned paint palette, or perhaps the nightmare created by an abstract painter on drugs, flickering unstably in the warp's endless energy storms. Good news. I have reincarnated. Bad news. It's the Guaramer universe. Good news. I became a chaos god. And the worst part, I'm still very weak, so weak that any mushroom from Nurgle's garden right next door could finish me off with a single puff. Lucian tried to pat his forehead, but the gesture only caused the energy waves on his body's surface to fluctuate even more chaotically. I haven't even touched a single miniature, I've only seen a tiny bit of fan-made videos. I know the Emperor, the four gods and their madness, and I know the Tyranids eat everything. In his previous life, he was a simple corporate employee, fighting daily to survive the blessing of the 996 work schedule. His only entertainment was checking his phone before bed, reading fanfics, and watching short videos. That day, he was watching a video about the history of the game titled Watch Everything Warhammer 40K at Once. Two-hour edition of pure enjoyment, the perfect city, the rebellion of the primarchs. In the video, the creator cheerfully narrated everything that had happened. He had finally managed to finish the two-part video that lasted almost 4 hours, and then his vision went black. When he opened his eyes again, he was already in that strange, dazzling distortion and starving. It wasn't physiological hunger, but a deep, essential thirst. Lucian felt the need to feed, to absorb some kind of energy to maintain his existence, to grow and strengthen. Instinctively, he knew what it was. Emotional energy. Uh, it seemed a bit gluttonous. He wasn't picky about food and didn't refuse any kind of emotion. Joy, anger, sadness, fear, love, hate, greed, every intense emotion generated by conscious beings left traces in the warp, and the chaos gods lived precisely off this. Thus, the problem arose: how to solve the emotional energy problem? Lucian carefully observed the warp environment around him and was about to lose consciousness from fear. To his left stretched an endless, decaying garden, imbued with a morbid obsession with the cycle of life and a strange sense of satisfaction in accepting all decay. Nurgle's territory. To his right, in front of him, stretched countless ever-transforming and recombining labyrinths, as well as towering spires that defied all logic, brimming with endless conspiracies and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Tzeentch's domain. Further away, he could perceive pure, infinite desires for slaughter and, well, a very explicit and violent primal urge. No need to guess. Khorne and Slaanesh. The emotional energy emanating from these four was so dense and pure that it was like a royal banquet served to a beggar who had gone three days without eating. But Lucian dared not touch it. He dared not stain himself with even the slightest drop. Lucian struggled to further reduce his energy mass. In this universe, what is free is always the most expensive, especially if it is a gift from the four gods. That's a trap within traps. But he was so hungry. I am so hungry. Lucian felt like a wretch abandoned at the entrance of a buffet. He was surrounded by exotic delicacies, but each dish contained a slow-acting poison, and taking a single bite meant signing a contract of eternal servitude. Just as he felt he was definitely going to starve to death, a suitable host has been detected. Soul fluctuation matching rate, 99.7%. Linking in progress. A dispassionate voice echoed directly into his consciousness. It wasn't one of those seductive whispers of the warp, nor did it carry the oppressive presence of the four gods. This voice was very mechanical, very systematic. Link successful. Whiplash system activated. Welcome, host. This system is designed to help newly born SARP entities achieve safe, stable, and sustainable growth. Lucian froze. A system, a cheat ability in the Guaramer universe. Wait, this isn't Tzeentch in disguise, is it? Lucian asked cautiously. I assure you, I've read a lot of fanfics with this same cliché. This system was manufactured by the High Dimension Extraterrestrial Entity Alliance and is subject to the new Transmigrator Protection Law. System operation records can be accessed at any time, and there is no record of manipulation. Well, that sounds official enough. Lucian remained somewhat skeptical. So, what features does it have? Main Function One. Fourth Plague Summoning Module. It can connect to a lower-dimensional universe, the host's native universe, to recruit player consciousness projections into physical entities in this universe. Players will receive system-generated enhanced bodies, and their consciousness will be safely isolated from their original bodies. Main Function Two. Secure Emotional Energy Collection. Any emotional fluctuations generated by players during their activities, including but not limited to anger, greed, excitement, tension, sense of accomplishment, and frustration, will be filtered and purified by the system before being transmitted to the host. The collection process uses multiple layers of encryption and camouflage to avoid detection by existing entities in this universe. Main Function Three. Reality Matter-Energy Conversion. System operations consume real-universe material energy. The host must guide players to collect material resources, which the system will convert into basic energy to maintain operations. Initial Energy: 1000 units. Lucian assimilated this information. Players, the Fourth Plague, absorbing emotions safely. So you're saying I don't have to touch the dirty, corrupted emotions of the four gods myself, and instead, I can produce pure emotions through the players. Their happiness, their anger while playing, and even their resentment at insulting the game developers. I can absorb it all, and the four gods won't notice. Correct? The system employs trace collection and emotional signature camouflage technologies. The emotional fluctuations of a single player are insignificant to this universe's distortion. Furthermore, the system will disguise them as naturally dissipating background noise. Stealth enhancement will only be required when the number of players reaches 10 million. And what about reality matter-energy? What exactly is needed? How does the conversion work? Any matter containing mass and energy is viable. It is recommended to collect high-density materials, energy minerals, technological artifacts, etc. The conversion rate depends on the usable energy levels contained within the matter. For example, 1 kg of pure prometheum H10 energy units. One intact Leman Russ tank H110 energy units. One standard void shield generator H300. Energy units. Lucian looked at his ethereal hands and then thought about what the real world of the Guaramer universe would be like. So you want me, a newborn chaos god, to go to the real universe and steal, uh, I mean, collect tanks and void shields. He grumbled. I am a mass of energy. If I appeared in the real universe, wouldn't I directly trigger a warp storm? Then the Emperor, the primarchs, the Astartes legions, the Custodes, and the Sisters of Silence would come running to have a heart-to-heart with me. The host does not need to be physically present. Players can collaborate on collection during their real-world activities. The system provides a basic material recycling protocol, and players will receive in-game rewards as incentives. Understood? Let the players handle the heavy lifting. Let the players do the heavy lifting. Let the players scavenge for junk. Excellent. Lucian suddenly felt [clears throat] that this system was tailor-made for him. What can I do with these initial 100 energy units? How many players can I recruit? Recommended Startup Plan. Consume 3,000 energy units to establish a stable link with the target planet Aurelian IV in this universe. Consume 5,000 energy units to generate the first batch of 5,000 player consciousness reception anchors, i.e., character creation in-game. The remaining 2,000 units will be used to maintain basic system operations with an estimated duration of 60 standard days. Aurelian IV, Lucian opened the planetary data provided by the system and quickly reviewed it. Rediscovered by the Imperium at the end of the Great Crusade. Nominal subjugation, but weak actual control, with local forces fighting for territory. Perfect. This kind of lawless frontier is the ideal place for a novice to develop. He noted the timestamp. Approximately 976 M30, 30 years before Horus is wounded. TL/N: Interesting. Two, Chapter 2. A very Tzeentchian move. Lucian recalled the scattered information he had gathered from fan videos. So the Emperor is still on crusade. Horus is still reliable, and the heresy hasn't even cast a shadow. I have 30 years to develop the story. 30 years. In the Waramer universe, where time is measured in millennia, 30 years were as fleeting as a deep breath. But for Lucian, who had a system, players, and the ability to grow his power exponentially, 30 years of growth was more than enough to elevate his strength to a formidable level. By the time that tumultuous civil war broke out, perhaps he could even discreetly grab a piece of the pie. System, confirm startup plan. Lucian commanded. Target: Aurelian IV. First batch of players: 5,000. Design their avatars to fit the local aesthetic. Don't make them too flamboyant. At a minimum, they should look human. Command confirmed. Establishing stable warp corridor to real space. Corridor established. Coordinates locked. Aurelian IV, northern hemisphere. Northern wild region surrounding the city of Aru, generating anchor points for player consciousness reception, using local biological template. Standard human, slightly genetically modified variant. Additional base enhancements applied: bone density +15%, muscle efficiency +20%, trauma recovery rate +30%. Camouflage protocol applied. False memories implanted. Cognition of local vagabond/adventurer identity. Anchors generated. Initiating recruitment signal transmission to lower-dimensional universe. Signal transmitted. Estimated response and connection time for the first batch of players: one to three standard days. As he felt energy draining from him, Lucian experienced a mixture of anxiety and excitement. He was anxious because if this system turned out to be fake, he would be falling headfirst into a pit that Chemch had been digging for years. He was excited because if the system was real, then, as a newborn chaos god, he could carve out a completely strange and unique path in this universe that normally devoured people and spat out their bones. Alright, now it's time to name my game. Lucian mused. It has to be cool. It has to be catchy, and it can't be too direct about its true nature. He thought for a few seconds. Then he sketched a malicious, very Chengch-like smile. As he observed the system interface, the data of flowing energy drew complex spectral graphs in his mind. Suddenly, memories of the videos he had watched and the forum posts he had read before his transmigration came to mind. He remembered those casual Guaramer fans who joked online. I don't quite understand 40k lore, but I wish you the best when you transmigrate to the Waramer universe. Everyone claims to be loyal, but in reality, no one wants to go. At that time, he thought they were just jokes. Now, well, they were right. But since he had already transcended and even become a chaos god, Lucian felt it was his duty to provide a small, modest help to his fellow fans who would follow him. If not, what if they don't really come? First of all, the name could not contain words like Waramer, chaos god, Emperor, or chaos under any circumstances. It needs a bit of camouflage. What it needed was a name that sounded completely harmless, a name that would lower the players' guard, encourage them to log in enthusiastically, and then they would work for me, generate emotional energy for me, and still think this game is a real blast. Lucian let out a low chuckle that spread through the warp. Fortunately, his sinister laughter was instantly absorbed and transformed by the system, leaving no trace. Otherwise, Chemch himself might have descended to see who was stealing his trick. As he explored the name suggestion module offered by the system, a spark of inspiration struck him. In those videos, mechas, the sea of stars, and deep space exploration are always top-tier genres. Lucian remembered, men are boys until the day they die. Who wouldn't want to pilot a giant robot and soar through the stars? Of course, in this universe, a giant robot might be called an Imperial Knight or a Titan. Interstellar travel might involve warp storms and demonic whispers. And deep space exploration had a high probability of encountering green skins, Tyranids, or Necrons, but that didn't matter. He just needed to present it in the right way. System, set the game title to Lucian weighed his words, his energetic body glowing with the unsettling light of a successful plan. Epoch 40k. Mecha. As for the subtitle, he thought for a moment. Make it. The sea of stars yours to explore. Title registered. Epoch 40k. Mecha, the sea of stars at your disposal to explore. Not enough. Lucian shook his head, causing a surge of energy within him. We still need an opening cinematic. Make it flashy, build anticipation, make it look like a cutting-edge sci-fi mecha game. Manipulating the system's functions, he began to construct a completely fictional backstory for the game. In the distant future, human civilization has spread across the galaxy. Humanity pilots giant combat machines known as mechas to explore the frontier, establish colonies, and fight unknown cosmic threats. Players will assume the role of mecha pilots, starting from scratch to build their bases, recruit companions, and explore the vast sea of stars. Yes, write exactly that. Lucian was very satisfied. As for what those unknown cosmic threats really were, the players themselves would fill in the details. They would probably think they are alien bugs or rebels. In any case, they wouldn't expect to encounter Nurglings. Tzeentch's horrors. Nurgle. He gave specific instructions to the system. Do not include any eagles, high gothic text, eight-pointed chaos stars, or any other iconic symbols in the cinematic. The mecha designs should have a sleek, modern sci-fi aesthetic. No gothic architecture, skulls, or religious motifs. The environments should be bright, clean, and high-tech. They shouldn't look like the sewers of a hive city. Commands confirmed. Generating opening cinematic. Lucian watched the images the system constructed. With the vast starry ocean as a backdrop, a sleek, streamlined spaceship glided slowly in front of the camera. The hull was adorned with elegant geometric patterns, completely devoid of Imperial eagles. The camera zoomed in, entering the ship's hangar. Rows of uniquely designed mechas stood in perfect formation. Some were slender and agile, appearing like high-speed reconnaissance models. Others were heavily armored and equipped with exaggerated weapon systems. Still others had engineering arms extending from their backs, clearly intended for industrial use. Then came a dizzying montage: giant robots running at full speed across an ice field, fighting unidentified creatures in a desert, performing maintenance tasks on an orbital space station, establishing outposts on unexplored planets. The background music was a sublime orchestral piece mixed with electronic synthesizers, brimming with a sense of hope and exploration. A firm, powerful male voice declared: Humanity's march forward has never ceased. Now it is your turn, pilot. Your mecha awaits you. The sea of stars calls to you. The final image froze. A red and white painted robot stood atop a mountain with a rising sun behind it. The robot raised its arm, pointing towards the infinite starry sky. The image faded, replaced by the game's logo. Epoch 40k Mecha. Perfect. Lucian marveled at his creation. If I released this cinematic, who would suspect it's a Waramer game? This is clearly a high-quality sci-fi mecha masterpiece. He could already imagine the players' reactions. Holy cow, the quality of these computer-generated graphics. Mechas, they have mechas. Finally, a game that isn't just Xianxia or fantasy. The sea of stars, the ultimate romance for a man. Then, enthusiastically, they would create their characters, log into the game, and start exploring. And realize that the NPCs in this sci-fi game kept muttering about the Emperor's protection. That there were robed tech-priests in the streets repairing equipment, that the sky would occasionally open up for colossal warships with huge ramming prows, and that the alien monsters in the wilderness looked a lot like orks. Hurry up and get here. Lucian stared intently at the timer. I am so hungry. TL/N: Update schedule: two chapters per day. Five reviews equal one extra chapter. Unlimited extra chapters as long as we meet the announced power stone goals. Three, Chapter 3. A despicable imitation of Warhammer 40k. Earth. Late at night, Zeke rubbed his sore eyes and exited the matchmaking queue for Warhammer 40k. Space Marine 2. 6 hours. He had played the operations mode for 6 hours straight, blasting the heads of who knows how many Tyranid and Chaos scum with his bolter, but now he had to wait 3 minutes just to find a match. This game was dying. Supreme Emperor, this matchmaking system has to be blessed by Slaanesh, he muttered as his fingers typed on the keyboard, typing his full game ID. Loyal to the Emperor, but I have to work on Monday, so I can only play until 2 AM. That was his universal username across all games. It was terribly long, but its meaning was crystal clear. Just as he was about to close this am and click on a hidden folder called study materials, a pop-up window appeared without warning, slapping him in the face. Epoch 40k Mecha, the sea of stars at your disposal to explore. He read it aloud, his voice laden with the absurdity of a personal offense. What kind of speculative real estate developer came up with this name? Do you know what 40K means in the gaming community? Do you know how many history books? How many lore dumps? How much Waha power? And how many tin can sacrifices are behind those two numbers? He moved the mouse, precisely pointing at the X that appeared in the upper right corner of the pop-up window. This page was too clean. There were no flashing banners saying, "First Recharge Gets a Free Bolter," nor pop-ups screaming, "If you're a Primarch, come fight me." It was as clean as the title page of the Ecclesiarchy's sacred lexicon. If you ignored that heretical slogan, "The sea of stars yours to explore." Alright. Let this loyalist see what kind of chaos den this digital plague emerged from. He clicked the link with the clear intention of reporting it as soon as he finished reading it. He even had the reason prepared. Suspicion of Imperial cultural infiltration. The cinematic began to play. Stars, warships, mechas, fluid visuals, striking sci-fi designs, and an uplifting atmosphere of exploration. Ceron's crossed arms slowly relaxed. 10 seconds later, this really has some of the aesthetic beauty of Sanguinius's wings. Wait, no, these mechas don't have skulls or eagles, they're as clean as a militant atheist. But this texture quality. He looked at the closed beta spots. 5,000. The number hadn't changed yet. Curiosity, a driving force second only to his loyalty to the Emperor and his hatred of heretics, propelled him to act. He immediately switched to an encrypted chat group called Terra Underground Kiberta. Not heretical, loyal to the Emperor. @osmiren this pop-up. Epoch 40k Mecha. What chaos spawn prepared this? I'm not the Lord Regent, just a passing Guilliman. There are too many contradictory elements in that name. Is the link safe? The last time I clicked a link to conquer the Eye of Terror, I woke up the next day with 50 gigabytes of Nurgle meme stickers on my hard drive. Epoch 40k Loyalist. My God, the timeline is so strictly controlled, aren't you afraid the Inquisition will arrest you as temporal heretics? Fugitive Mechanicus Cogboy. I've clicked. The computer rendering accuracy is 17.4% higher than that of usual commercial graphics engines. The structural designs of the mechas lack logical aesthetic elements. There are no skull decorations or sacred litanies. It is suspected to be the product of an unknown technological power. It's a bit suspicious, but extremely intriguing. White Scars ran today. Quick hands. I got it. Space obtained, super fast. But why didn't I have to fill in any data? It was faster than an Ork looting scrap. The Emperor's Sword, but it's very dull. I clicked it too. Isn't this distribution method a bit too informal? It's literally like saying, "I think you can do it," Ork style. Seeing that several veterans of the group acted immediately, Zeke quickly returned to the previous page and clicked. The numbers began to decrease. 4999, 4998. The speed was accelerating. Interesting. He returned to the group. Loyal to the Emperor, but no forgiveness for traitors. Today there are only 5,000 spots. Whether it's a test from the Emperor or a labyrinth of Chemch, fill the spots as soon as possible. In the worst-case scenario, we'll go in screaming for the Emperor. If they're allies, we'll tear them apart together. If it's a trap, we'll take down the developers. Soul of Cadia, farewell. Full. Cadians never retreat, even if it's a trap. I want the halo of tranquility, but I'm broke. Completed. I just hope this game's psychic mythology is reasonable and not like in certain games where psykers just throw fireworks. Tokun, you're right, but Volter is more right. Reserved. I will observe cautiously in the Emperor's name. If I detect any sympathetic tendencies, I will immediately proceed with physical purification. Soon, all 5,000 spots were filled. Zek received a brief confirmation, then total silence. For the rest of the day, Zeke was completely distracted. Even when he was slacking off at work, all he could think about was the game. No VR equipment needed. So how are they achieving immersion? Has brain-machine interface technology finally made a breakthrough? Impossible. There hasn't been a single leak in the news. Is this some kind of hypnosis or subconscious projection? Wouldn't that make it a cult? He constantly checked his email and messages, terrified of missing the download link. It wasn't until 11 pm, just as he was about to wash up and go to sleep, that an incredibly discreet download notification appeared in the bottom right corner of his monitor. The installation package wasn't large, only weighing 17 KB. So small. It can't be. Ceke downloaded it naturally and clicked open. Immediately, a completely black screen appeared, displaying a line of text. Connection in preparation. Ensure you are in a safe environment. The immersive experience will last approximately 8 hours. External sensory perception will be temporarily disabled. They are real. Cheek took a deep breath and pressed confirm. His senses were violently ripped away. He felt himself falling. The expected character creation screen didn't appear, only darkness and a silent descent. Then, fragmented and unfamiliar images and sensations began to infiltrate his consciousness, like drops of ink spreading in clear water. The texture of rough, sandy bread, the stern reprimand of a man named Old Barry, carrying heavy parts in a grease-stained workshop with aching arms. Carl, is someone calling you? No, they're not calling you. The ash-gray sky of the city of Aru. The huge chimneys, a blurry face, perhaps a family member, the fear of the red flame wasteland, the howls in the night. These fragments were chaotic, but incredibly real, conveying the raw, rough texture of extreme poverty. They quickly settled, forming a thin layer of background memories, as if they had always been there and he was just remembering them now. Immediately after, a cold voice echoed directly from the depths of his mind, contrasting sharply with the warmth of the memory fragments. Local identity memory fragment implantation complete. To facilitate player identification and coordination, please set your player ID, name, publicly. This will serve as your primary interaction credential. Fek's consciousness was still a bit hazy. The trivial memories of Carl slightly obscured his vision, but his powerful gamer instincts instantly suppressed the discomfort. A name, isn't that just a game identifier? His mind was racing at 1000 mph. In a place that sounds so harsh, if I walk around with a name like Loyal to the Emperor, but I have to work on Monday, I'll probably get beaten to death. It has to be short, punchy, and make it clear which faction I belong to. Concentrating his will, he transmitted his message back to the cold voice. Eternally loyal to the Emperor. Identification confirmed. Eternally loyal to the Emperor. Link stabilized. Initiating consciousness projection. Four, Chapter 4. Breathing Tax. Eternally loyal to the Emperor. The last moment of consciousness faded into a brief void after confirming his identity. Then came an intense, icy cold and an indescribable sensation of being squeezed. He opened his eyes with a jolt. What he saw was not the expected high-tech sci-fi mecha cockpit, nor a grand login hall overlooking the sea of stars. It was a vat, a transparent cylindrical container whose interior was lined with rough biological textures that emitted a faint organic, fishy smell. A murky, pale green nutrient fluid was rapidly draining from a hole at the bottom, producing a loud gurgling sound. He could feel the discomfort of the viscous liquid sliding over his skin and the cold of being completely naked. Instinctively, he tried to raise his hands to cover his vital parts, but his arm crashed against the inner wall of the capsule, producing a dull thud. The vat, or rather, the curved door of the biocapsule, slid upwards with a deafening hiss of depressurization. Ceque shivered, stumbled, and crawled out of the capsule onto a cold, rough metal grate floor. He stabilized and immediately looked down to check. Luckily, the game had a limit. It had applied a holy light censorship, a layer of blurry but perfectly placed light that covered his crucial areas, like a budget-friendly, family-friendly patch. Immediately after, a dusty, rough, and durable one-piece jumpsuit materialized on his body, with dark stains on the elbows and knees. On his feet, he wore a pair of hard-soled boots that looked incredibly uncomfortable. The tactile sensation was so realistic that it made him curse. Looking around, he found himself in a dark, low-ceilinged space. It was approximately half the size of a basketball court. The walls were exposed metal plates, covered with thick pipes and valves of unknown function. The only light source was a few dim fluorescent tubes that flickered occasionally. The air was murky, stinking of machine oil, ozone, and a kind of stale, ancient smell. Most importantly, in this area, there were at least thousands of identical biocapsules densely packed together. At that moment, most of the capsule doors were opening, and players, dressed in jumpsuits and with identical expressions of total bewilderment, were crawling out. What kind of garbage spawn point is this? Where is the mecha hangar? A player with the ID Cheringer complained as he rubbed his neck, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. Where is my UI? Stats panel, skill tree, map, mission marker, not even a fairy to guide the newbies. The fugitive Mechanicus Cogboy quickly ran his fingers over his eyes, trying to activate a tactical visor. As expected, there was no response. Levelless. Inventory. Oh, wait, there seems to be something called an item slot. The Emperor's Sword, but it's very dull. He squinted, seemingly concentrating intensely. Ce also tried to concentrate. Indeed, an extremely rudimentary interface appeared in the corner of his eye. No flashy borders, no avatar portrait, just a few dimly glowing lines of text. Individual ID: Eternally Loyal to the Emperor. Physiological Status: Hunger, mild. Thirst, mild. Stamina: 87%. Psychic Aptitude: Deactivated. Psychic Level: CER. Imperial Coins in Possession: CER. Debt: Zero. Today's Survival Tax: Unpaid 3.3. That was it. That was it. Where are the stats? Strength, Agility, Intelligence, Spirit, Attack, Defense, HP, Critical Chance, Life Steal, Armor Penetration. Ce cursed inwardly. And what the hell is this "Psychic Aptitude Deactivated"? Even more outrageous is this current survival tax. I have to pay money just to breathe. 0.3 Imperial Coins. I don't even know what this coin looks like yet. Incompetent developers. This starting point is worse than waking up in a sub-level dumpster, cursed a player named Soul of Cadia, stretching his limbs. At least before, I knew where to find a piece of moldy bread. This is it. Next to Seque, a thin woman with short hair had also finished checking her status and couldn't help but sound disappointed. Hunger, thirst, stamina, psychic power, Imperial Coins. What chaos spawn designed this UI? Even laziness has its limits. Imperial Coins. Another tall, thin man murmured the word with a somewhat strange expression. He lowered his voice. Brothers, doesn't this place feel a bit familiar? The Imperium, the prometheum, the psykers, plus these outfits and this environment. Shut up. Ceke grunted almost instinctively, using the low gothic he had just mastered with a slight Carla accent in his voice. Be careful what you say. Until we confirm the situation, don't jump to conclusions. His heart was pounding. As an old Waramer fan, he was all too familiar with those elements, but he forced himself to remain calm. The game was called Epoch 40k Mecha. The computer-generated graphics were sci-fi, and what was in front of him were work jumpsuits and a construction site. Don't panic. Maybe it's just a coincidence, or maybe it's a bad joke from the development team. And at the same time, deep within the warp, Lucian's ever-shifting mass of energy expanded with pure delight. Wisps of pure emotional energy flowed from the real universe into his body through countless invisible threads. Although the amount generated by each individual player was minuscule, the combined output of 5,000 people had already formed a substantial and steady stream. Confusion, curiosity, mild annoyance, the genuine discomfort of hunger, and a hint of that desire to explore that says "this game really seems interesting." Yes, exactly like that. Lucian felt the pleasant sensation of energy coursing through him. It was a fundamental pleasure that surpassed any physiological satisfaction. Get more confused, be more curious. You can even curse the system a few times. Either way, you're cursing the system, not me. He observed the situation inside the outpost through the system interface. The players were gradually emerging from the housing block and gathering in front of the small airlock of the outpost. Little plague. That's what Lucian had nicknamed the system. Tl/N: Little paint. Stock the shop first with the most basic items. Lucian mused for a moment. Synthetic bread, filtered water, basic tools, improvised weapons. Let's price them a bit high. After all, we're a frontier outpost. Resources are scarce, so exorbitant prices are perfectly reasonable. Once the language pack is unlocked, they will be able to hold complex conversations with locals. However, we must censor any words that could directly refer to the true names of the four gods. Hmm. Let's use obfuscation. For example, if they try to say Slaanesh, it will automatically be replaced with "deep void anomaly" or something similar. As for them chatting privately in their language, let them. Under the system's shield, no one in the warp can understand their language. Anyway, Lucian was very satisfied with this design. Players could vent, conspire, and hurl insults in their native tongue to their heart's content without worrying about entities detecting any keywords, but most importantly, get them started. Lucian watched the surveillance feed. Extract minerals, scavenge for junk, get into street fights, explore the unknown. Anything goes. As long as they generate emotional fluctuations, as long as they collect physical matter, they are working for me. The daily breathing tax and resurrection loans are absolute genius. Lucian praised himself without hesitation. No pressure, no motivation. Only crushing debt do they live their lives working. Isn't that how the lower-class citizens of the Guaramer universe live? This is what we call immersive role-playing. Back at the base, that cold voice echoed once more in everyone's consciousness. Welcome to Aurelian IV, on the outskirts of the city of Aru. Abandoned Preprocessing Workshop N7. Beginner's Guide Published. Mission Name: A Worker's First Step. Mission Objective: Familiarize yourselves with your new identities and basic tools. Focus on retrieving the tools assigned to you from your personal storage space. Then, leave these facilities and perform basic resource gathering operations in the surrounding safe zones. Resources and Exchange: For every unit of standard energy matter (e.g., ore, scrap metal, organic fuel) you send to the system, you will receive a personal compensation of 0.1 Imperial Coins. The system will provide you with basic guidelines for material identification. Mission Objective: Accumulate one Imperial Coin individually. Mission Rewards: 10 Imperial Coins. Unlock advanced Aurelian language. Unlock shop material exchange list preview. Tip: This game encourages exploration, creation, and survival. You can do anything you deem necessary and are capable of completing, but carefully assess the risks. Supplementary notice on basic rules: All units must take note of the following. One. Life is precious. Death is not the end, but it has a price. Upon an individual's death, Imperial Coins can be used to reconstruct a vessel at designated facilities. Those who do not have enough Imperial Coins can apply to the system for an emergency reconstruction loan. Predatory interest rate: Borrow 10, receive nine, return 19. Two. Survival has a price. A fixed daily tax will be levied for environmental maintenance and life support, abbreviated as Survival Tax. Initial tax rate: 0.3 Imperial Coins/day. The tax rate will be adjusted based on the individual's comprehensive assessment index. Those who fail to pay the tax will suffer progressive penalties for physiological deterioration until organ failure. We wish all pilots successful exploration of the frontier. TL/N: Before the end of this week, I'm thinking of doing a small mass release, though I'm not promising anything. Five, Chapter 5. Time to Work Hard. The amount of information was enormous. The players were silent for a few seconds, assimilating this pile of rules that seemed less like a game and more like the crushing pressure of corporate slavery. Borrow 10 and pay back 19. How cruel. Is this system run by Khorne? No way. Khorne only cares about dismembering. This is actuarial-level extortion. It looks like a hybrid between Slaanesh and a tax collector. Loyal Brock was the first to lament. Breathing costs money. Reviving requires usurious loans. I'm playing a game and still have to worry about bankruptcy and forced labor. I want the halo of tranquility, but I'm broke. He seemed completely dejected. Shouldn't the focus be on "you can do anything"? And for a moment, where are the robots? We were promised robots. What the hell is this pickaxe? Following the guide, Strdinger's Loyalist managed to pull a mining pickaxe from his five-slot inventory. The other players quickly followed suit. For an instant, the room echoed with the clinking and clanking of metal and a chorus of curses. Each and every person pulled out the exact same tool, a mining pickaxe. Ceke, who looked at the heavy, surprisingly realistic mining pickaxe in his hand, lowered his gaze to his beggar's outfit, and then looked up at his dark, dilapidated spawn point. The sea of stars mine to explore. His mind retreated to the image of the red robot in the cinematic, standing on the mountaintop and pointing towards the cosmos. Then

He looked at the reality that was before him. "I think I've boarded a pirate ship," Ceque muttered. A pirate ship selling a forced labor simulator in a hive city disguised as a sci-fi adventure. The developers are undoubtedly, spies too. They use deceptive advertising to corrupt our loyalty to the emperor, I mean, to the beauty of the mechs. Grievances aside, the mission still had to be completed. After all, this game felt incredibly realistic. One imperial coin equated to delivering 10 units of resources. The reward of 10 imperial coins plus the earned currency would total 11 coins. Minus today's 0.3 breathing tax, you'd be left with 10.7 coins. Players began to spontaneously gather and converse. Though their identifications were strange and varied, at that moment they all wore the same beggar's rags and held the same broken pickaxes. A strange sense of worker solidarity began to grow. This place looks like part of an abandoned factory. Who knows what's outside. The mission speaks of safe zones. surrounding. But how do we define that? The system didn't even give us a minimap. Guidelines for material identification. How do we use them? Let me try to concentrate to identify it. The mechanicus's fugitive gear stared intently at a piece of scrap metal on the ground. A moment later, a faint glowing outline, visible only to him, appeared on the surface of the metal plate, as a torrent of information flowed into his mind. Low-quality galvanized steel scrap. Approx 005. Standard units. Recyclable. Estimated value 0.0005 imperial coins. It works, but it's very little. I have to collect 20 atos just to get 0.1 coins. Better than nothing, quick, let's go take a look. The crowd began to move towards the huge, armored and sealed door, the only thing in the workshop that looked like an exit. Next to the door was a simple mechanical lever. It took the combined effort of several players. Fortunately, the initial physical strength of these bodies was decent enough to pull it down with a loud creak and groan. The heavy armored metal door lifted, letting in more intense light and an even more complex range of smells. Industrial exhaust fumes, dust, and the faint, distant roar of machinery. Squinting, the players emerged from the workshop and stood on an overhanging metal platform. Suddenly a panoramic view opened before them, but it was suffocating. They were standing at the edge of a colossal bowl-shaped crater. The rocky walls of the crater had been carved into countless levels. Each level was riddled with honeycomb-shaped tunnel entrances, pipes running along the wall, rusty catwalks, and rickety suspension bridges. As far as the eye could see, the area was littered with discarded mechanical debris, huge piles of slag, and pools of suspiciously colored stagnant water. In the distance, the imposing and somber silhouettes of gigantic structures pierced through the ash-yellow clouds. The foundations of the main hive of Aru City looked like countless mountains of steel radiating an overwhelming sense of oppression. The sky was dark yellow, covered in polluted clouds, with a diffuse star that barely provided enough illumination. There were no green trees, no clean water, no blue skies, only steel, rust, and ruins. This is the damned sea of stars. Soul of Kadia was left wide-eyed. This is clearly the sewer pipe flowing into the sea of stars. Where are the robots? Do you want to pilot a robot here? I'd be afraid of knocking down a building just by turning. Suddenly I start thinking that the shiny, gleaming planets in the cinematic are paid DLC. Stop talking nonsense. Do you see the shiny reflections of the ore veins down there? And all that scrap machinery. That's all money. It's imperial coins. To pay off our life debt, charge! Someone shouted at the top of their lungs and the players rushed forward like an avalanche. Wielding their pickaxes and hoes, they stumbled down the rusty stairs and ropes at the edge of the platform, speeding towards the enormous abandoned mine. Ceke also took a deep breath of the rust-smelling air and tightened his grip on the miner's pickaxe. Well, the dream of mechs has vanished. I guess I'll be a miner first. For imperial coins, not for survival, for the chance to one day touch the control lever of a giant robot. He chose a direction that seemed less crowded and followed a relatively intact catwalk to the lower levels of the mine. His target was piles of debris half-buried in slag that looked like small drilling platforms. The metal content there should be quite high. As he walked, he couldn't help but grumble again. The game developer is undoubtedly a staunch anti-fan of Guaramer, as he simulates the daily routine of a 40k low-wage worker with astonishing realism. Supreme Emperor, if this is truly your test, you are being too stingy. At least give us a laser rifle. But he cast a sideways glance, observing the psychic aptitude status. not activated and a strange sensation ran through his chest. Not being activated is still better than being labeled psychic-sensitive and targeted by demons, right? At least for now I'm just a miner who owes 0.3 coins in rent. Meanwhile, deep in the warp, yes, that's the taste. Lucian felt a deep sense of long-lost satiety spreading from the depths of his soul. Although he was far from feeling completely full, he had finally stopped being that existential and dwindling ignition. More, just a little more. Search with Aino, my pilots. Every bit of your confusion, every bit of your effort, every complaint you make, all of it is food for my growth. He watched as the bright dots representing the players scattered like ants throughout the abandoned mine, as the tinkling and banging of their tools already began. system marks those particularly active individuals with high emotional load. Pay special attention to eternally loyal to the emperor. His complaining energy is quite potent. He is a prime specimen I mean a potentially valuable player. During the initial phase, emotions are driven primarily by novelty and adaptation. Wait until they earn their first salary, unlock the store, and see the real upgrade options and the exorbitant, but unpretentious prices of weapons and that overflowing desire, the internal conflict, the painful struggles, and the proactive drive that will arise just to earn more imperial coins. And that's when the real feast begins. Lucian planned everything charmingly. And the mechs? Will there be mechs? Once the mines you've dug are deep enough to bury a small spaceport, mechs are very expensive after all, whether by manufacturing them or salvaging them from the system. Six. Chapter 6. The Wage Slave Simulator. Outside the abandoned preprocessing workshop, the enormous bowl-shaped crater echoed with a chaotic symphony of tinkling and metallic bangs. Players grunted and gasped as they mined. Among the noise, shouts of this weighs a lot could be heard. My arm is breaking. And for imperial coins. Ceke transported several warped metal plates extracted from the wreckage of an old drilling platform along with a pile of screws, gears, and other parts. Back to the metal platform inside the workshop, marked as the material drop-off point, the platform's surface was smooth and featured a well-defined indentation. He threw all the objects onto it with a thud. Shipment completed. Material evaluation. Low-quality alloy scrap, 6.5 units. Standard mechanical parts, 0.5 units. Obtained 0.7 imperial coins. Imperial coins in circulation 0.7 Today's Survival Tax unpaid 0037 C. He gasped for breath, wiping sweat from his forehead as his muscles ached. He looked at a burly man next to him with the identification pays tithes, even if the world ends. Tax Bro for short, who had also just delivered his loot. Tax bro, how much did you raise? 09 The tax guy looked completely miserable. I feel like I'm working for some unscrupulous tax lord. No, this is worse than a sweatshop. At least in a sweatshop they give you food and lodging. I'm hungry. Thirsty and my stamina is at 51%. This feeling of hunger is too real. Tell me about it. The Chardinger loyalist dragged a metal pipe he had dismantled who knows where. He delivered it weakly and received 0.2 coins. I am a loyalist. I didn't die on the front lines fighting chaos. I wasn't shot down by a green-skinned helicopter and now I'm going to starve to death in a game supposedly created by Espiasto. If this gets out, how will I ever show my face at the Terra Underground cyber tavern again? Please leave me alone with the spy theory," Ceque retorted. If TOs had this level of technology, they would have already destroyed the Eye of Terror. I'm starting to suspect this is a simulation experiment on human physical limits and resource exploitation, carried out by some marginal mechanicus wizards trying to escape imperial control. In short, a wage slave simulator, Tax Bro summarized perfectly. The trio's complaints were barely a drop in the ocean of noise that reigned within the crater. Similar complaints and dark humor were heard everywhere. The feeling of wielding this pickaxe is incredible. It feels better than the real one I have on my grandfather's farm. I dug up what looked like Adamantium. Nope, just a very hard rock. The system only gave me 001 units for it. Any brothers want to team up and go take a look over there? Maybe we can dismantle those huge vats. Count me in. Count me in. Be careful not to fall into that glowing green puddle. It looks like Papa Nurgle's special soup. Shut up! Don't mention that name. Bad luck. The players' adaptability was formidable. The limited inventory of five slots quickly became the main obstacle to efficiency. As a result, players spontaneously formed assembly lines. One group dug and dismantled in the depths of the pit, while another group used rudimentary ropes and wooden carts for short-distance transport. They dragged the large, relatively high-value items back to the drop-off point, stacking them for designated guards to keep until they were delivered again. Surprisingly, their efficiency increased significantly. Of course, conflicts and friction were inevitable. I found the generator housing first. I don't think this thing has your name on it. you're already speaking Orcish. Brother, you're too deep into the role-playing. Stop arguing. Finder's keepers. Dismantle it and split the loot. Hurry, another squad is coming this way deep in the warp. Tsk, Tsk, look at that subjective initiative. Lucian admired the system message stating, player coordination efficiency increased by 15% as the flow of absorbed energy became slightly more abundant. As expected, debt and survival pressure are the ultimate drivers of productivity. All that talk about loyalty and faith is empty in the face of a 0.3% tax on breathing a coin. Little scourge called the system. What can we put up for sale right now? Give me a list. It has to be appropriate for their current stage, but also give them something to hope for. The cold, mechanical voice resonated directly into Lucian's consciousness with a tone identical to the one he used with the musicians. According to the collected material and emotional energy conversion reserves, the following basic exchange and survival and support items can be unlocked. Synthetic nutrient paste. Standard ration. Relieves hunger and slightly restores stamina. Price 0.3 imperial coins. Purified water 1 L. Relieves thirst. Price 0.3 imperial coins. Basic first-aid kit. Treats minor wounds and stops bleeding. Price: 1.5 imperial coins. Raw fiber sleeping bag. Use in safe zones to accelerate physical recovery and slightly alleviate fatigue. Price: three imperial coins and tools and weapons. Forged miner's pickaxe. Harvesting efficiency plus 10%. Price: three imperial coins. Metal cutter. Drastically increases efficiency when dismantling metal structures. Price: six imperial coins. Steel pipe improvised metal bar. A melee weapon better than bare hands. Price 1 three. Imperial coins. Varies by quality. Rudimentary pistol. Black powder. Short range. Low accuracy. Slow reload, but it fires. Includes 10 rudimentary lead bullets. Price: 20 imperial coins. Hunting knife, a relatively reliable melee weapon and cutting tool. Price: five imperial coins and basic upgrades. Requires progress in superior genetic sequence development above 1% to unlock preview. Basic physical enhancement type I. Slightly increases maximum strength and stamina. Price: 100 imperial coins. Neural reflex optimization. Type I. Slightly increases reaction speed and coordination. Price: 100 imperial coins. Sensory acuity. Type I. Slightly increases visual, auditory, and other sensory capabilities. Price: 100 imperial coins. Note: upgrades modify the blood vessel, but still require training and adaptation. they can cause minor aesthetic changes to the vessel. Ifocements/ra skills, memory fragment transfer. Extremely simplified editing. Basic wilderness survival concepts. Aurelian edition fourth. Price 10. Imperial coins. Basic mechanical identification and dismantling. Price 30. Imperial coins. Construction and deployment of improvised traps. Price 15 imperial coins. The above corresponds to the store content of the first phase. Additional items require more material energy to unlock blueprints. Lucian examined the list and was quite satisfied. All the skills, talents, weapons, armor, potions, genetic seeds of Waramer 40K, theoretically I can buy it all, right? calculating correctly. However, the required energy is astronomically immense. For example, a complete set of Space Marine genetic seed implantation and modification requires energy equivalent to the direct absorption and conversion of a small city. Primarch-level genetic templates demand exponentially. So, how about you help me become the emperor? Lucian asked half-jokingly. his energetic body vibrating with curiosity. The system was silent for a moment, as if performing calculations on an unprecedented scale. Objective, master of humanity, the emperor. Energy requirement estimation requires the absorption and conversion of approximately 63.8% of the total energy of this universe, physical and warp combined. Furthermore, it requires complete understanding, analysis, and replication of his psychic essence. unique, his genetic structure, and the wisdom and soul strength accumulated over 10 millennia. Viability. A theoretical path exists. Practical probability is less than that of the universe naturally resetting after thermal death. Wait, what? Lucian's energetic body fluctuated violently. It consumes more than half the energy of the entire universe. He finally understood viscerally how much weight the entity sitting on the golden throne truly carried, not the entity that served as humanity's beacon. It seems I have a long way to go. If I want to get stronger, I can't rely on myself at all. One wrong step and I'm done. Lucian quickly accepted reality. Then I'll let the players rely on themselves. These basic weapons and upgrades from the store will keep them busy for a long time. Configuration complete. Unlock when they finish the mission. Store exchange list. First phase prepared. It will be unlocked when the condition is met. In the lower levels of the mine. Behind a pile of relatively hidden mechanical debris, Zek had formed a three-man exploration squad with pays tithes. Even if the world ends Tax Bro and Leala Charinger Chardinger Bro. Each of them carried a rusty steel pipe salvaged from the ruins with some rather sharp metal fragments tucked into their waists as secondary weapons. "It looks like no one has been through here." Taxbro cautiously inspected the surrounding mountains of scrap metal and collapsed scaffolding. The ore veins around here also seem to be quite depleted. It's mostly slag. Strardinger brotanteó the ground with his steel pipe. Keep an eye out for anything big buried or anything else we can sell for cash. Cheque scanned the area with his gaze. suddenly stopped and pointed to the base of a pile of twisted pipes. There seems to be an opening, it doesn't look man-made. The three exchanged glances and approached cautiously. It was an irregular hole dug at the junction between the metal and the rock wall. Its edges were covered with stiff hair and deep scratch marks, emitting a foul, musky odor. "A beast's lair," Stardinger said in a low voice. possible. The system said we could do anything, it didn't say we just had to mine. Ceke, who tightened his grip on the steel pipe. Maybe there's something shiny the beast has kept inside. That thought made the hearts of the three quicken, but the danger was also evident. Just as they hesitated between entering to investigate or marking the spot and returning for reinforcements, a roar. A low, menacing growl echoed from inside the cave, accompanied by the sound of heavy, sticky footsteps. A huge figure blocked the entrance. It was a creature that looked like a large-scale mastiff, but much uglier and more terrifying. Seven. Chapter if. First blood it was almost 1.5 meters tall at the shoulder, covered in greasy, matted, blackish-gray fur. Its muscles bulged and corrosive saliva dripped from its jaws, emitting white, burning smoke that spread across the ground. Most striking were its eyes, a cloudy yellow with an unnatural crimson tint, and the abnormally developed scythe-shaped bone protrusions extending from its forelimbs. It was evident that it was very displeased with the small snacks lurking outside its lair. "Shit, what the hell is that?" Tax Bro exclaimed. "Who cares? Attack!" The Chardinger loyalist was filled with absolute determination at that moment. With a cry, he took the lead and threw the steel pipe in his hand like a javelin. The steel pipe crashed against the beast's shoulder blade with a dull thud. The beast roared in pain, but it had clearly not suffered a mortal wound. Instead, it was completely enraged. The beast's hind legs propelled it from the ground, launching it like a cannonball towards erbro. Dodge C. He dodged and swung his steel pipe, directing it ferociously towards the beast's ribs. Tax Bro attacked the beast's hind legs from the other side. Combat erupted instantly. There were no flashy skills or precise aim, just the most primitive and clumsy blows, punches, stabs, and dodges. The beast's roars, the clash of steel pipes, and the players' screams mingled without Caesar. Ceque felt his arms go numb from the recoil as adrenaline surged. The beast had immense strength and was not slow either. The scythe-like bone blade grazed his jumpsuit, causing a tear and a sharp pain. His stats didn't decrease much, but a mild pain status warning appeared. Scheringbro took a misstep and the beast scratched his thigh with its claws. Although he managed to dodge the bone blade, he was left with a deep wound. Blood gushed out and his movements became instantly slow. I've been hit. I'm bleeding heavily. Attack its eyes and joints. Taxbro roared, driving his steel pipe near the beast's eye socket. He didn't hit its eye, but it forced the beast to jerk its head away, twisting in pain. Ce que seized the opportunity with all his might, violently thrusting the sharp, broken end of his steel pipe into the side of the beast's neck that was exposed when it turned its head. Squelch, a warm, foul-smelling liquid spurted out. The beast let out a high-pitched howl of agony as its still-struggling forces suddenly weakened. Taxbro and the injured Starding Herbro immediately lunged forward, using metal fragments, their boots, and anything they could find to frantically attack the beast's wound and head. A long time later, the beast finally stopped moving. The three collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, covered in dust and blood. The wound on Chardinger brother's thigh was still bleeding and his face was somewhat pale. We won, we did it. Tax Bro's face showed a mixture of fear and excitement. Quick, let's see how much money this is worth. Suppressing nausea, Ceke checked the system by focusing his attention on the beast's corpse. Discovered. Mutated mining Bienadón, deceased. Evaluation rich in unstable biomass. Some mutated glands may have little value. Bones and fangs can be used as raw materials. Recyclable. The meat is slightly salty. Total estimated value, 69 imperial coins. 69 coins. The three exclaimed in unison. Their fatigue vanished and their eyes shone brightly. We've gotten rich. Schardinger brother even felt that his leg didn't hurt as much anymore. They administered basic first aid to Schardinger brother's wound and then made a huge effort to fashion a makeshift stretcher from ropes and poles to drag the heavy beast carcass. Back at workshop seven, as they appeared dragging a beast that was clearly a trophy, the entire mission ceremony area erupted into a frenzy. They killed a mob. How much money did it drop? It looks disgusting, but it seems expensive. Let's group up. We have to group up and go hunting. Mining is too slow. Under the envious gazes of the crowd, the three delivered the Hyena carcass. Shipment completed. Earned. 69 imperial coins. We'll split it equally. Ceke looked at his teammates. Of course, Tax Bro and Stardinger Bro responded without hesitation. Negotiation function enabled eternally real. To the emperor transfer 23 imperial coins to pay the tithe even if the world ends and Strardinger loyalist, respectively. Transfer completed. An income of 23 coins each. Adding their previous mining earnings, CE's imperial coins reached 23.7, while Tax Bro and Starding Herbro surpassed 20. More importantly, Ding. Mission. The first step of the worker completed. Reward granted. 10 imperial coins received. Aurelian language. Advanced. Unlocked. The preview of the store's material exchange list has been activated. In the vision of the three players, new prompts and a dimly glowing store icon appeared. The store is open. Quick. See what's inside. C. He couldn't wait. he concentrated and pressed the icon. A concise but incredibly informative list appeared in his mind. His eyes quickly scanned the area from top to bottom. Synthetic nutrient paste, purified water. Good. Basic survival items. Forged miner's pickaxe, metal cutter. Tool upgrades. Rudimentary pistol. Hunting knife. Weapons. Basic physical enhancement. Type I. Neural reflex optimization. Type I. sensory acuity, type and genetic enhancements. Basic wilderness survival concepts. Basic mechanical identification and dismantling. Skill books. His breathing gradually accelerated. The names of these items, their descriptions, even that simple and utilitarian type I labeling style when his eyes fell on the upgrade descriptions. Slightly increases maximum strength and stamina. requires training and adaptation and can cause minor aesthetic changes to the vessel when he saw the price set at the high amount of 100 imperial coins, when he related it all to the mutated lienadón they had just fought, this ruined industrial world, the imperial coins, the survival tax, and that cold system voice. a theory he was desperately trying to deny like a seed nurtured by the whispers of a chaos god violently erupted and began to spread wildly in his mind. No way. Ceeke felt his heart pounding, cold sweat beading on his palms. This UI style, this upgrade path, the oppressive tone of this entire world and the imperial coins is a coincidence. It has to be a coincidence. The game is called EPCH 40K mecha. It's completely normal to borrow some elements. Yes, borrowing elements. How is it possible that this is that universe? It's impossible. Absolutely impossible. He stared fixedly at the store list, as if trying to find evidence to refute his own theory. But what he saw were the unlock requirements linked to progress in genetic sequence development. The notes on minor aesthetic changes to the vessel and those item names completely devoid of aesthetic beauty, brimming with cold pragmatism, the flavor is too strong. Next to him, the Strardinger loyalist was already exclaiming, Holy heavens, genetic enhancements, isn't this the path of the Astartes? Although they receive 19 surgeries and a genetic seed, while ours looks like a simplified, low-budget version. Meanwhile, Taxbro looked at the crude pistol with an angry face. This thing, give me a laser rifle. Even the worst Lucius model would do me. Black powder. What era are we in? Ah, right, the game's setting could be post-apocalyptic. post-apocalyptic. Isn't the Waramer 40 K universe basically a gigantic apocalypse for humans living in hive cities? Ceke roared internally, abruptly closed the store interface, and his expression changed rapidly. Here. He shouted mentally. This thought is too heretical. There are no double-headed eagles. There are no prayers from the eclesiarchy. No primarch or chaos is mentioned. The mechs were sci-fi. The development team must be joking. A high-level troll. Or or maybe it's some kind of alternate universe. Yes, an alternate universe like a hypothetical timeline where the emperor focused on the technological path instead of the psychic, he desperately tried to convince himself. But that theory, like Nurgle's blessing, once it took root, stubbornly took hold and refused to be removed. he looked up at the eternally dim yellow sky stretching outside the workshop, shrouded in polluted clouds, and then at the colossal steel structures, like tombstones of the hive city, rising towards the clouds in the distance. A shiver ran down his spine. "I don't believe it, I don't believe it, I don't believe it," he muttered to himself as if reciting a spell to ward off demons. until I personally see the emperor, until I meet some tartes, until I hear a war cry of for the emperor, until I directly face a chaos demon. C. His eyes regained determination, even with a hint of paranoia. I, eternally loyal to the emperor, will never open my mouth to admit that this terrifying possibility exists. This is just a slightly extreme and dark mech game that has borrowed some elements from Waramer 40K. Translator's note. I have a simple question for all readers. Would you like to experience fully immersive virtual reality as an ordinary human in a hive city? Eight. Chapter 8o. The Shimans Trading Consortium. The three selectively ignored that crucial question. Ceke Taxbro yardingerbro were sitting in a circle in a corner of the workshop staring intently at their respective imperial coin balances. Reason triumphed over impulse. A pistol costs 20 coins, a hunting knife costs five coins, but what we need most right now is this. Cheek pointed to the top of the store list. Synthetic nutrient paste 0.3 coins. Purified water 0.3 coins. Basic first-aid kit 1.5 coins. Stheringer, you have to treat that wound. It was then that the Stinger loyalist remembered his injured leg. He immediately grabbed his thigh and cried out. be, my leg hurts so much. He winced in pain. The simple cloth bandage wrapped around his thigh had already turned crimson from the oozing blood. The three quickly completed their purchases with a faint flash of white light. Probably the only thing in this shoddy system that actually looked like a video game special effect, three dull gray tubes, three sealed bags of water, and a rough canvas bag appeared in their hands. The taste of the nutrient paste was indescribable, like porridge made of starch, protein, and some kind of industrial flavoring. The texture was rough, but after swallowing it, the feeling of fullness in the stomach was incredibly real. relieved mild hunger, the purified water had a slight metallic taste, but it was enough to quench their dry throats. Mild thirst relieved. Upon opening the first-aid kit, we found several rolls of sterilized bandages, a small tin with what appeared to be an antibacterial ointment, and some painkillers. There were no written instructions of any kind. Brother Schardinger treated his wound with common sense. The stinging sensation of the ointment applied made him hiss, but it soon turned into a refreshing relief. The bleeding finally changed to wound being treated, slowly recovering. This pain feedback is incredible. Brother Shardinger took a painkiller. In fact, I think this game is now using some kind of direct neural connection technology. No joke, otherwise, how would we feel hunger and thirst? Taxbro licked the last remnant of residue from the edge of his nutrient paste tube, wanting the portion even more, it's a bit small. It's like feeding a bird. Be content. It's only 0.3 coins. Zek glanced at his stamina indicator. Indeed, it was slowly rising from 51%. The speed was not high, but at least it was no longer continuously decreasing. His activity attracted the attention of the players around him. Seeing Seque and the others eating, drinking, and healing their wounds, players who had not yet managed to gather a single coin turned green with envy. Holy heavens, they can afford to buy food. The 10-coin reward from the beginner mission. Hurry, I'm only 0.2 coins away from one. Work harder, brothers. When we complete the mission, we'll have money to buy food. For the nutrient paste. Charge. The effect of quenching thirst with a mirage was immediate. The player base, which had been somewhat lethargic due to fatigue, seemed as if stimulants had been injected into the entire mine. The sound of footsteps dragging materials, the tinkling of pickaxes, and the screeching of dismantled metal intensified once more, converging into a noisy, but vibrant symphony. One or two more hours passed. As the sky gradually took on a deeper, murkier yellow hue, the vast majority of players completed the mission, the first step of a worker. Flashes of white light from the store's safes illuminated the interior and exterior of the workshop, followed by various exclamations. This nutrient paste tastes absolutely disgusting. It's worse than the compressed rations I ate in the army. Water, give me water. Eating this makes my mouth feel like it's covered in cement. Good thing there's food. My stamina dropped to 30% a moment ago. My legs were shaking. Who bought a first-aid kit? Let me borrow it. I cut my finger on a metal sheet. Get lost! That costs 1.5 coins. Buy your own. Ceke paid the lethal survival tax of 0.3 coins. The system deducted the funds directly from his account without even providing a receipt. Seeing his balance reach 32.8 imperial coins finally gave him a small sense of security. At least today he wouldn't be penalized by the system. Gradually, the sky darkened completely. On planet Aurelian, night fell quickly. As the sun set behind the silhouette of the distant hive city, the sky changed from ash yellow to deep purple and finally to an ink blue diluted by industrial light pollution. There was no moon, only a few faint stars barely visible through the gaps in the clouds. The few fluorescent tubes in the workshop provided limited illumination, lighting only the central area. Most players who completed the mission did not opt to stay in the crowded interior. Instead, they dispersed in twos or threes on the outer platform and throughout the mine, sitting or lying on the cold metal floors to find a place to rest. At that moment, there were over 4000 players scattered throughout the mine area, while Casimir huddled inside the workshop. Cyber tavern Terra Underground, no real-world heretic had about 20 people connected to the game. As expected, they gathered in a relatively flat area at the edge of the pit. They were all slumped on the icy ground, leaning against discarded machinery or piles of ore. they were too exhausted to move, but their minds were hyperactive. "I'm so tired," weakly said the player identified as white scars today. He had worked extremely hard transporting goods that day, earning almost 2.5 coins excluding the mission reward. But this realism still seems incredible to me. What kind of technology do you think this is? The mechanicus's fugitive gear boy, who was a programmer in real life, seemed professionally perplexed. It simulates hunger and pain with astonishing realism. This has to go beyond mere entertainment. I don't want the halo of tranquility, but I'm ruined. He rubbed his sore arms. I feel like I've worked 8 hours straight on a construction site. Could it be that our country has discovered alien technology on the dark side of the moon? Alma de Cadía said softly with a shiver of conspiracy theory excitement. And they are using us as test subjects. Please leave me alone with alien technology. Tokun scoffed. You're right, but Volter is more right. If they really had that technology, they would use it for the army first. Do you think it's our turn to play with it? Perhaps it's a training system developed by the military and they are testing a civilian version. He speculated. I am not the regent lor, just a passing guiliman. Look at it. This game encourages coordination, survival, resource management, and even has combat elements. And But what about the mechs? Where are the promised mechs? The Emperor's sword, but it's very blunt, he couldn't let it go. I logged in to pilot a mech, not to be a miner. Maybe the mechs are end-game content. Zque joined the conversation. Those genetic enhancements in the store are clearly combat-oriented. 100 coins each is an exorbitant price, but they are undoubtedly useful. Speaking of which, the Charinger loyalist suddenly straightened up with a strange expression. They noticed that after completing the beginner mission, a new option appeared at the bottom of the panel. Hearing this, everyone focused their attention on opening the interface. Indeed, below the line that said today's survival tax, paid 033, a new option had appeared. Secure logout. Current status. operational. Next to it was a line of small text. Warning. Upon logging out, your vessel will enter a maintenance state. The system is not responsible for the supervision or protection of your vessel while you are offline. You will be responsible for any losses incurred due to damage, disappearance, looting, or other force majeure events. It is recommended to log out in a completely safe environment or entrust your vessel to a trusted unit. This means our bodies will simply be thrown here. Tax Bro's eyes widened. If we log out, other people can just strip us naked. That seems to be the case, nodded the mechanicus's fugitive cogby. It's a very extreme scenario. Either find someone to protect you, hide well, or simply don't log out. What if we really die? Alma de Cadía asked. That's why we have to save money or try by all means not to die," he summarized. Every aspect of this game forces you to keep playing, either you spend your life playing non-stop or you pay to win. Although microtransactions haven't been implemented yet. This developer is undoubtedly the reincarnation of Evenecer Escroogoge, a maramer 40k style version of Scrooge. I want the halo of tranquility, but I'm ruined. He sighed. He owed the system 0.3 coins. Oh wait, they've already deducted it, but tomorrow I have to pay another 0.3. Day after day, endlessly. Isn't this the life of the lower class in a hive city? Stop talking, Tokun, you're right, but Volter is more right. He covered his face. Increasingly, it seems to me that the setting of this game is completely wrong. Supreme Emperor, please do not utter that word. Ceque interrupted almost reflexively. This is just a game. Borrowed elements. Alternate universe, a hypothetical timeline. His voice was a little loud, causing players in other nearby groups to turn and look at him. Ceke coughed dryly and lowered his voice. Anyway, until we have concrete proof, don't make wild guesses. But what if it really is that universe? Stardinger asked in a low voice. What are we now? Chaos cultists, ehjes, or some new kind of warp contamination? Shut up. Tax Bro joined the suppression effort. I think, I think we're just normal players. We're playing a game, don't panic. The topic was suspended thanks to a strange tacit mutual agreement. Everyone started talking about how to make more money the next day, whether to form fixed groups, whether to continue mining or try hunting, and which items from the store offered the best value for money. In the distant night sky, a point of light distinct from the hive city's illumination silently glided over the clouds. It was a reconnaissance plane with its fuselage painted matte black. On its side was the emblem of the AR pharmaceutical group, a genetic helix intertwined by a snake, and below the emblem were two lines of almost microscopic text. ARU Pharmaceutical Group, wholly-owned subsidiary of Shimans Trading Consortium. Nine. Chapter 9. Crisis Approaches. Inside the cockpit, two pilots were on their night patrol mission out of sheer boredom. Sector si anomalies. The pilot, a man whose left side of his face had been replaced by metallic cybernetic implants, was known as Razor. His mechanical left eye emitted a faint red light, constantly scanning the terrain. Normal radiation levels. Life signs, wait. His voice trailed off. The red light of his mechanical eye began to flash rapidly. Detection of large-scale grouped life signs, coordinates. The old preprocessing workshop seven and the surrounding mining areas. Calculating numbers. What the hell? The co-pilot Kid, a young man with only a mechanical right arm, leaned in to look at the screen. A migration of mutant beasts. I haven't heard of any beast surges lately. They're not beasts. Razor's voice resonated through a synthesizer with heavy, metallic gravity. The signal pattern is human, but the numbers are wrong. The thermal images and biosignal scans on the screen gradually became clearer. It was evident that within abandoned workshop number seven and the several square kilometers of surrounding mine, a dense swarm of life signs was scattered. Some of these points were inside the workshop, others were scattered throughout the mine. Some were moving and others remained stationary. These numbers Razor counted. Breath. At least 30 or 40 people. Wait, it's still increasing, 500, 600? No more. The scanner data was constantly updating until it finally yielded an incredible figure. Preliminary estimate, between 4,000 and 5,000 individuals. Razor's voice denoted unusual uncertainty. The signals are affected by the mine terrain and the

metal scraps, so there might be a margin of error, but the order of magnitude is correct. 5000 people in the Red Blace wasteland, exclaimed Kit in a high-pitched voice. That's impossible. The workshop has been abandoned for 10 years. There are no settlements within a 50 km radius. Did these people crawl out of a dimensional rift or something? I don't know, said Razor, opening the communication channel with a grim tone. But this is not something we can handle. We must report it immediately. Call the consortium's emergency line directly. Understood? The communications channel changed, activating a highly encrypted frequency. Consortium Security Command Center. This is AR Group Aerial Patrol 7. A large-scale anomalous concentration of personnel has been detected in the Red Blace wasteland's Sector 7 preprocessing workshop area. Estimated number, between 4000 and 5000. Repeat, between 4000 and 5000. The signals are of human origin. Widely dispersed anomalous behavior patterns. Requesting further instructions. The channel remained completely silent for 10 seconds. Then a voice, calm to the point of being cold, was heard. Received Patrol Seven. Maintain surveillance, do not alert them. The data has been uploaded to the Consortium Security Council. By the way, are you sure your scanner hasn't been blessed by a heretical deity? Razor and Kit exchanged a look, and both saw a flash of dark humor in each other's eyes. On Aurelian IV, it was common to joke about the influence of heretical gods on musical instruments, though no one dared to laugh about it. The scanner was subjected to a purification ritual at the mechanicus temple last week. My lord, replied Razor with an impassive expression. Unless the Machine God is in a bad mood today. Excellent. Continue surveillance. Our personnel will be there shortly. The communication was cut off. Razor adjusted his altitude, flying in higher circles above the clouds to minimize the chances of detection. Kid, use maximum magnification on the optical lens. I want to see exactly what kind of people these are. The high-precision camera pierced the gloom of the night, transmitting the image to the cockpit screen. The blurry images gradually cleared. A large number of silhouettes could be seen scattered across the platform outside the abandoned workshop and throughout the mine. They wore uniforms, rough overalls. Some held tools, others seemed to be resting, and others were carrying things. Their numbers far exceeded those of any normal scavenger group or refugee camp. These people, Kid stared intently at the screen as his mechanical fingers typed consciously on the console. They don't seem like rioters or rebels. They are too quiet and carry no visible weapons. But the sudden appearance of 5,000 people under the consortium's nose is the most powerful armament of all, Razor said coldly. Whoever they are and whatever they pretend to be, action must be taken in the name of the consortium. Both men understood the gravity of that statement. On Aurelian, the four major factions fought openly and secretly, but the Shimans trading consortium always got the most lucrative part of the pie. Pharmaceuticals, healthcare, retail, and all industries related to the sustenance of the civilian population. This provided them with a glamorous public image and a secure position on the Planetary Council, perfectly masking their dark and illicit behind-the-scenes dealings. Human trafficking, organ trafficking, illegal genetic experiments, and the manufacture of contraband drugs. At least three of the consortium's top officials were members of the Supreme Council of Aurelian IV, and one of them even held the position of vice-chairman. This meant that whenever the consortium wanted to do something, laws and regulations were often flexibly set aside. And now 5,000 unidentified individuals had appeared on the outskirts of the consortium's main industrial zone. Which side do you think it's from? Kid asked. The Athens knightly house looking for trouble, psychics testing a new trick, or those mechanicus cogboys gone mad again. The mechanicus doesn't have that many men to waste. Knightly houses prefer close combat. Psychics, Razor paused. They are experts at pulling strings from the shadows, not at bringing out 5,000 cannon fodder. He shook his head. Whoever it is, gathering so many people on consortium territory is a declaration of war. And what the consortium does best is turn those who declare war into raw material. he said matter-of-factly, but they both knew perfectly well what it meant. The Aru pharmaceutical group was nominally an independent medical company, but in reality, it was one of the consortium's most powerful weapons. The human experiments, genetic sample collection, and organ harvesting carried out in secret required enormous amounts of raw material. And in the consortium's classification system, unidentified crowds were often labeled as recyclable resources. Aru City Central District. Aru Headquarters Building. A mixture of Gothic spires and Baroque reliefs with huge stained-glass windows depicting the heroic epic of the Aru group's founder, founding Aurelian IV. Of course, it is highly fictionalized. On the ninth underground level was the Aru Security Council branch of the Shimans Trading Consortium. It was three times larger than the Aru group's command center. 16 holographic screens hung from the walls, displaying surveillance footage of all key areas in and around Aru City. 12 operators sat at consoles in their uniforms embroidered with the consortium's emblem: intertwined golden beds and gears. In the center of the room, three men dressed in dark purple robes and silver-trimmed cloaks stood before the main screen. They were permanent council members of the Shimans Trading Consortium Security Council branch and answered directly to the consortium's highest authority. At that moment, the main screen displayed the live feed and data stream sent by Patrol 7. The intense pulses of vital signs made even these seasoned council members frown. "Catro or 5000 people," muttered the oldest council member, a bald man with several scars from surgeries on his face, appearing silently in the Redblace wasteland. "What is our intelligence department doing?" "We've already checked, Councilman." A younger councilman sitting next to him showed the data. There is no record of any large-scale population movement in the last three months. No transport records, no supply chains, not even a single testimony. It seems these people have appeared out of nowhere. A warp jump, guessed another council member. He was a tall, thin man whose right eye had been replaced by a complex mechanical ocular implant or some kind of accident. Or did a psychic perform a mass summoning? If it were a psychic summoning, the psychic monitors would have reacted. The bald councilman shook his head. But in the last 24 hours, psychic readings in the Redblace wasteland have been completely normal, except for a slight increase in background noise, likely due to residual radiation from the mines. He paused, making a decision. Regardless of how these people arrived, they are currently in our territory, and the consortium does not allow any unauthorized force to gather on its territory. The Aru group has already deployed a rapid response unit, reported the young council member. Two battalions, 200 elite personnel. However, they have communicated that the estimated number of personnel far exceeds estimates and have requested reinforcements. Send them reinforcements, the bald councilman ordered without hesitation. Deploy battalions three and four and mobilize five squads from the cleaner division. Tell the front-line commanders. Try to capture them alive. 10. Chapter 10. Final Warning. If these people really appeared out of nowhere, their biological traits could be very valuable for research. The tone he used when saying valuable for research was exactly the same as when he spoke of a batch of newly arrived lab rats. "We must notify the Supreme Council," asked the Council member with the mechanical eye. "With such a commotion, the other factions are sure to notice." "Notify them?" asked the bald councilman disdainfully. We will notify them after we have resolved this. We will provide them with a research report stating that a spontaneous riot by a concentration of mutants was quickly neutralized by consortium security forces, thus ensuring the stability of Aurelian Cuar. The other two nodded in agreement. This was the consortium's standard operating procedure. Act first, report later, and fabricate a grand-sounding justification. As long as the job was done cleanly and left no room for intervention from other factions, someone on the council would naturally help smooth things over. After all, Aurelian IV was nominally loyal to the empire and under the jurisdiction of a certain primarch who did not intervene in any aspect of the eastern flank, but that primarch was too busy to thoroughly control a border world. In reality, the four major factions still called the shots here. The planetary governor sent by the empire. Just a pet tasked with collecting tithes and turning a blind eye to the planet's internal power struggles. As long as the tithes were paid in full and there was no open rebellion, the empire didn't care who killed whom on a border world. In fact, the mere existence of the tithe exacerbated exploitation and violence on the planet. To meet the empire's quota, the four major factions ruthlessly intensified the exploitation of lower-class citizens. Rebellions arose without Caesar, and human life here was cheaper than Prometiun fuel. Execute the order. The bald councilman finalized his decision. Tell the front-line forces that if they encounter resistance, show them why the consortium controls more than half of Aurelian IV's medical and pharmaceutical industries. His smile was icy. After all, our specialty is getting people to volunteer to contribute to medical progress. The orders were issued quickly. The entire consortium security apparatus was set in motion with a roar. 10 minutes later, on several landing platforms on the outskirts of Aru City, more than 30 aircraft of various types were launched simultaneously. 15 heavy transports fully loaded with soldiers, six attack helicopters providing fire support, and six fast assault boats assigned to perimeter blockade. There were also six specially painted black-and-ochre transport vehicles. Those were the exclusive transports for the cleaners, carrying the consortium's most elite and secretive special operations units. In total, over 1000 armed personnel carrying heavy and light weaponry were launched towards the Red Blace wasteland. This was no longer a simple public order issue; it was a military threat demanding a forceful response. Outside the workshop, at the edge of the pit, Ce que yawned. His stamina had recovered to 78%. He was temporarily no longer hungry or thirsty, and his wounds had been treated. It was time to consider logging out. "I'm thinking of logging out," he told his companions who were chatting beside him. "I have to work tomorrow too. I'm going to log out." Tax Bro nodded. "We'll just leave our bodies here. Let's find a corner to hide," suggested Stringerb. "How about we use those empty biological pods inside the workshop? Even though they no longer have nutrient fluid, at least it's an enclosed space." "Makes sense." The trio stood up, preparing to return to the workshop. Just then, "Listen," Ce que, the white scars, ran today. He suddenly perked up his ears. "What is that sound?" The players fell silent. Carried by the night wind, a low, rhythmic hum approached rapidly. It wasn't just one plane; it was many, so many planes. The fugitive mechanicus cogboy looked at the sky. "They're not helicopters. I can hear jet engines too. Lots of them." In the deep purple night sky, dozens of dark silhouettes were rapidly approaching from the direction of the hive city. Their outlines gradually became clearer. Transports, attack helicopters, assault ships, an entire aerial formation. "What is that?" Cadia's Soul narrowed his eyes. "An air show, a military exercise." "Everyone, pay attention!" Ce que instinctively sensing danger, shouted. "A large number of unidentified aircraft are approaching. Take cover!" The players immediately erupted into a commotion. Throughout the compound, thousands of players looked up at the sky at the same time. Some continued to stare blankly, while others had already reacted and started running towards the workshop, seeking shelter. But it was too late. The 15 heavy transports arrived at the pit first, flying over the area in a encircling formation. Intense spotlights descended from the underside of the aircraft, instantly illuminating the entire pit with a light as bright as day. Immediately afterward, the six attack helicopters took up positions on the perimeter with the automatic turrets under their muzzles humming as they powered up. The six assault ships circled overhead at a higher altitude, blocking all possible escape routes. Meanwhile, the six completely black transports landed silently in the shadows on the outskirts of the mine. The doors burst open, and a squad of soldiers clad entirely in black armor, even their visors a deep black, emerged silently, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the ruins. They were the cleaners, the consortium's ghosts, specializing in dirty work that they couldn't afford to leave a trace of. Blindingly illuminated by the powerful spotlights, the players raised their arms to shield their eyes. The side doors of the heavy transport vehicles opened, and fast-roping ropes dropped down. Fully armed soldiers with their faces hidden behind helmets descended rapidly on ropes with tactical precision. Upon landing, they dispersed swiftly, securing strategic positions. Their movements were clean and decisive. It was evident that they were rigorously trained elites, and there were many of them, over 100 in the first wave alone, with many more still arriving. But even these battle-hardened, genetically enhanced soldiers paused for a moment as they saw what was inside the pit. There were simply too many. As far as the eye could see, there were people everywhere. On the platforms, inside the pit, at the entrance of the workshop, behind discarded machinery, thousands of pairs of eyes stared at them through the glare of the spotlights, with bewilderment, terror, or curiosity. This was not the rebel camp they expected. There were no fortifications, no heavy weapons, not even decent small arms. It was simply an immense crowd of people dressed in tattered overalls and carrying rudimentary tools. But the quantity is enormous. Emperor above, this quantity is absurd for this place. "Command here vanguard 1," the squad leader lowered his voice, reporting through an encrypted channel. "Objectives confirmed, over 5,000. Repeat, over 5,000 individuals. No heavy weapons detected, but the sheer number of targets already represents a threat. The atmosphere here is strange. The targets do not seem afraid. They seem, mostly curious." A calm response came through the communications. "Received. Execute standard containment procedures. Attempt to capture them alive. The consortium's laboratories need fresh samples." The squad leader, respirondo, raised his assault rifle towards the sky and pulled the trigger. Tat tat tat tat. The deafening roar of gunfire tore through the night sky, echoing throughout the mine. "Herees. I order you in the name of the emperor. Everyone do not move. Drop your weapons. Get on the ground. Hands on your heads. Anyone who resists will be executed on the spot." The icy roar, amplified by a megaphone, echoed in the pit. The players were stunned. They looked at the heavily armed soldiers who had appeared out of nowhere, the dark muzzles of their weapons, the enormous fleet hovering in the sky, and for a moment, they didn't know how to react. This was also part of the game, a beginner's story event. "Oh, holy heavens, where did these NPCs come from?" exclaimed a player in the regional chat. "What did they say? Drop our weapons? What weapons do we have? Just some broken pickaxes. This looks so realistic. The armor, the weapon models, the level of detail is incredible. Look at their insignia. That emblem. There's a small line of text below that says Aru Pharmaceutical Group and the other line, Shimans Trading Consortium. Consortium. This game has a consortium faction." Ceque's heart sank to the bottom of the abyss. He saw the emblems on the soldiers' armor. The genetic helix intertwined with a snake and the small text below. He saw the cold gleam of their mechanical limbs and their cybernetic eyes. He heard the orders in low Gothic echoing from the megaphones, tinged with a local accent. Most importantly, he saw the look in the soldiers' eyes, the look of a predator assessing its prey. That was not the appearance NPCs should have. That was a look belonging only to predators who truly considered humans as expendable resources and objects. All of this was too real, so real that it could no longer be explained as mere game elements. A terrifying thought tore through his mind like a rift in the warp. These soldiers, their attitude, their absolute disregard for human life. Emperor on high. Is this place. It might be true. "Get down on the ground, everyone!" shouted Zque in a hoarse voice, throwing himself to the ground first. But not all players were as immersed as he was. Some players still believed this was a scripted game event. One player even approached the soldiers curiously, trying to provoke a dialogue interaction. "Hey, buddy, is there an emperor in your world too? What faction do you belong to? Do you have any quests for me? This computer-generated opening scene is brutal. An enemy airdrop. Should I try to resist? Maybe they'll drop some loot for the emperor." A player even raised his mining pick and shouted the iconic battle cry, though it sounded incredibly strange in this context. The next second. Tat tat tat tat. A more intense burst of gunfire erupted. The player approaching the soldiers exploded in a torrent of blood that gushed from his chest. The kinetic force of the bullets threw him backward. He fell to the ground, twitched twice, and stopped moving. The player who had shouted for the emperor was also hit by several bullets and collapsed with a cry of agony. Under the glare of the spotlights, the blood looked a dark, blinding crimson. "Player, I think this game has respawn on death. Cause of death. Gunshot. Resurrection cost. Five Imperial coins." The loyal but ruined player has died from death. Gunshot. Resurrection cost. Five Imperial coins. The cold system notifications echoed in the regional chat channel. Time seemed to freeze. The players stared at the two corpses, the pool of blood, and the wisps of smoke rising from the soldiers' gun barrels. The echoes of the gunfire still resonated in the pit. Then, the terrified and agonizing screams of the two dead players filled the regional chat channel. Although their bodies were dead, their consciousness seemed to linger, at least long enough to speak in chat. "I think this game has respawn. It hurts. Holy hell, it hurts like a damn." "Loyal but ruined. Help. I feel like I've been shot for real." The screams abruptly ceased as they were forcibly disconnected. They died so realistically and so cheaply. The entire mine fell into absolute silence. The only sounds were the roar of transport rotors and the cold voice that once again echoed from the soldiers' megaphones. "Last warning. Drop all items. Get on the ground. Hands on your heads. Those who resist will be executed on the spot." Ceccía face down, his cheek resting against the cold, rough ground as his body trembled uncontrollably. Don't forget you heard it in Los, the world-eater.