After a brief discussion, the handful of Helldivers led Frederick away from the camp and out toward the war-ravaged wilderness of Planet Plantium.
This answered one of the questions in Frederick's mind—why he hadn't seen a mess hall, a cookhouse, or any such area in this considerable regimental camp. It turned out these guys didn't have a unified meal time; they all fended for themselves.
In fact, the reality was even more extreme than Frederick imagined—most of the Helldivers didn't eat at all. For many of them, surviving on the battlefield long enough to feel hungry was a rare thing in itself.
The group walked outside the camp and into the desolate wild. The fog here was thicker, the ground was pitted and uneven, and it was littered with metal fragments and the skeletons of unknown creatures.
How wild was the environment? So wild that Frederick began to suspect that these Helldivers were trying to lure him out here to quietly dispose of him in this uninhabited place.
There were precedents for a Commissar "accidentally disappearing" en route to duty in a chaotic warzone. Without changing his expression, he rested his hand on the Bolt Pistol at his waist, secretly observing his surroundings and calculating his odds of victory if the situation turned sour.
Fortunately, at that moment, another Helldiver emerged from behind a hidden mound of dirt, dispelling his doubts.
Frederick subconsciously blurted out, "So you Helldivers have scouts posted on the perimeter?!"
"Of course we do," the leading player-character looked at him strangely, as if this were common knowledge. "There are a lot of guys who like to be lone wolves, and they love the scout role the most."
Frederick immediately pressed, "Then why didn't I encounter your scouts when I arrived? I only met a sentry at your camp gate."
"They saw you weren't an enemy, so they were too lazy to come out," the player-character replied matter-of-factly.
This answer deepened Frederick's frown.
Too lazy to come out? Is that the attitude a scout should have?
Before Frederick could figure out what about his uniform or demeanor could make the Helldivers' scouts 100% certain he wasn't an enemy—to the point of skipping the routine interrogation or warning—the newly appeared scout was already approaching.
He glanced at the Commissar insignia on Frederick's shoulder and asked, "Who is this?"
"The new Commissar for our regiment," the guiding Helldiver waved his hand, a hint of resignation in his voice. "He insisted on joining us to eat the things we usually eat."
"Ah," upon hearing this, the scout immediately understood, and a look of "I get it" appeared behind his gas mask. "In that case... should I bring the prey as usual?"
"Uh-huh." The other party responded, unhooking a small bottle from his waist and tossing it over. The scout caught it steadily. Frederick recognized it as a standard Imperial Guard issue Rad-Away dose.
This was a unique dynamic within the Helldivers Regiment. Scouting naturally required small-scale movement, as a large-scale action wouldn't be scouting but an assault.
The Helldivers' scouts didn't even need to report back regularly, as players couldn't commit treason. If they encountered a tricky situation and were killed, they could simply respawn and report the intelligence they gathered.
This was arguably the most suitable position for players who preferred to operate alone. However, long-term wandering inevitably created supply problems. While they could purchase supplies with merits from the system store, it felt wasteful to spend money on items that could be freely acquired from the Imperium.
This led to the current situation: some players, driven by curiosity and a desire to taste various Xenos "flavors," actively sought out the scouts to exchange Imperial-issued supplies for their unorthodox "prey."
The scouts, who were constantly encountering enemies while wandering outside, felt this exchange was a no-brainer—a way to avoid playing wilderness survival or having to constantly rush back to camp for resupply.
Presumably, by this point, you may already have an idea of what they mean by "prey" and what these players normally eat... I can only say, it's more than you think.
The scout caught the Rad-Away, turned around, and disappeared back into the heavy fog. Before long, Frederick's eyes widened as he watched the scout drag a Gaunt corpse, still dripping purple blood and disgusting mucus, back toward them.
Before Frederick could recover from the shocking realization—that they were about to eat Tyranids, a fact punishable by immediate execution—the Helldivers hit him with an even harder blow.
The leading player took off his backpack and, with a clatter, dumped out a dozen fist-sized, bright emerald-green mushrooms, along with two cans of Gnat-Ox meat marked with the Imperial Aquila.
"Th-th-this..." Frederick looked at the glowing green mushrooms, feeling his tongue go stiff, unable to speak clearly. "That... that is..."
He had seen data on this thing in his xenobiology courses. This wasn't a mushroom at all; it was the life source of the Orks, the fundamental component of their entire ecosystem!
"Ork Fungus, of course," the Helldiver nonchalantly pulled a mess-tin from the side of his pack, set up a fire, and began boiling water, his movements practiced as if he'd done it a thousand times.
"Commissar, honestly, this mushroom makes a fantastically fresh soup. When cooked with Gnat-Ox meat, it practically melts in your mouth, and add the chewiness of this Tyranid flesh... it's an unparalleled delicacy you can only eat once in a lifetime!"
Frederick's jaw twitched violently. The player wasn't wrong. This toxic concoction, fusing the tissues of three different types of prime Xenos organisms, would surely kill any human being who ate it within a day... no, within a Terra hour.
It was indeed a "once-in-a-lifetime" delicacy, because there would absolutely not be a second chance.
The Helldiver, skillfully using a bayonet to segment the carapace of the Gaunt, even sighed melodramatically, "Alas, it's a shame we haven't fought the Necrons yet. Otherwise, we could get some of their metal bones to brew a proper necron clear broth."
Another Helldiver, with a look of longing, uttered outright heresy: "It would be even more perfect if we had some wine crushed by Aeldari maidens feet."
After the first player finished speaking, he seemed to suddenly remember something and enthusiastically turned back to ask, "Oh, right, Commissar, are you still going to eat?"
"N-no," Frederick managed to squeeze the words out through clenched teeth. "You... you all enjoy your 'meal' here slowly. I'll just stick to a nutrient bar..."
Having said that, he forced himself to sit down, accepted the nutrient bar offered to him, and began gnawing on it stiffly, presenting a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere of the other players, who, having successfully completed their task, were high-spirited and acting as if they were enjoying a hot pot dinner.