Zeke felt a sense of solemnity. He noticed the deep wrinkles on Victor's face; the old man was definitely at least seventy or eighty years old.
To survive to such an age on Cadia, one was absolutely no ordinary person.
"Stranger, I could tell at a glance that you are definitely not a soldier."
Victor walked over, scrutinizing Zeke unabashedly from head to toe.
"Normally, I would never let someone like you in. But now..." He looked around at the groaning wounded in the camp.
"The situation is critical. I can't be picky. I must gather every bit of strength available."
Dance stepped forward and saluted. "Sergeant, what exactly happened at Tyrok Bastion? Is it really that bad?"
"Bad?" Victor looked at Dance. "Kid, it's not 'bad.' It's likely the most dangerous moment in Cadia's history."
"You know about the Volscani Cataphracts' betrayal, right?"
Dance nodded.
"They picked a good time," Victor said with bitter irony. "They struck right during the welcome banquet held in their honor inside the Bastion."
"That banquet gathered eighty percent of the Bastion's high-ranking commanders and staff, along with thirty percent of the off-duty Kasrkin elites."
Victor clenched his fists. "They're all dead. The traitors were smart; after the strike, they immediately seized control of most of the defense systems and key nodes."
"Now, that steel fortress meant to protect us has become a cage that protects the traitors and keeps us locked out."
Victor paused, taking a deep breath to suppress his rising anger.
"Fortunately, there are still some tough bones they haven't chewed through. Some Kasrkin and Guardsmen reacted quickly, retaking several sectors and putting up a stubborn resistance from the inside. The bastards haven't completely controlled the Bastion yet."
Victor's gaze returned to them. "We need to break into the Bastion to help them, but it's too hard. Far too hard. Tyrok Bastion is too solid."
Victor was an old veteran.
He knew the impregnability of Tyrok Bastion better than anyone, which was why he felt despair—why he felt there was no way in.
"Perhaps we could dig a tunnel," Dance suggested.
Dig a tunnel? Victor clearly froze for a moment, then a look of displeasure crossed his face.
"Are all new recruits this delusional nowadays?"
"Leaving aside the manpower and time required to dig a tunnel… Tyrok Bastion was designed with the threat of subterranean attacks in mind. The foundation uses specially treated soil. Digging through it is practically impossible."
Victor waved his hand dismissively. He assumed Dance was just grasping at straws out of desperation to even suggest tunneling.
Even the Iron Warriors, the Space Marines most adept at siege warfare, would find taking such a Bastion to be no easy task.
"But what if the person digging the tunnel possesses power beyond your imagination?" Dance persisted, undeterred by Victor's mockery.
Power beyond imagination? Following Dance's gaze, Victor looked at Zeke.
Zeke had tuned out Victor halfway through the lecture and was now wandering around, familiarizing himself with the camp.
He felt this camp was actually quite nice.
If he encountered a naturally generated structure like this in Minecraft, Zeke would sometimes just claim it as his home to save the trouble of building one himself.
Food reserves are running low, Zeke thought as he walked to the edge of the camp.
He took out an Iron Hoe, tilled a small patch of farmland, and placed a single block of water.
He then crafted some wooden fences to enclose the farmland and prevent trampling.
Finally, he sowed wheat seeds and potatoes. This time, he didn't use Bone Meal to speed up the process, letting them grow naturally.
"Are you planting vegetables?" Bela, the abhuman sniper, stood on a high crate, watching Zeke's actions with curiosity.
"I have to warn you, the soil here is notoriously poor... Wait, it's sprouting already?!"
His eyes went wide as he watched a sapling break through the soil the moment Zeke scattered the seeds.
Bela leaped down from the crate in shock, landing nimbly, and leaned in to carefully pinch a leaf.
"Throne alive, are you a Psyker? Is this your power? Hey, does this mean you have fresh vegetables to eat every day?"
Zeke realized then and there that Bela was a complete chatterbox.
Through his conversation with Bela, Zeke learned that Cadian soldiers lived on rations.
Food was collected uniformly from distribution centers. It was hardly delicious, let alone fresh or hot.
This had driven Bela crazy for a long time. "I complained to those tall Commissars ages ago."
Bela said, "I told them, 'You have no idea how important a fresh, tasty meal is.'"
"Once, on a field mission, I picked up a few rats that had been blown apart and a raw cabbage, and I boiled a pot of stew." Bela's eyes drifted, lost in memory.
"You should have seen the looks on those soldiers' faces when they saw that steaming pot of soup after fighting all day. They actually smiled. We sang songs, used our spoons to tap rhythms on our mess tins, and ate our fill happily. Everyone ate. Everyone smiled. That night, no one mentioned the dead brothers, and no one thought about tomorrow's mission."
Bela's thoughts returned to reality, and he sighed. "It's a pity that tall Commissar just gave me a lecture about supply chains not keeping up and all that nonsense."
After a few seconds of silence, Bela seemed to remember something. He looked left and right furtively.
Carefully, he took out a small, meticulously folded square from an inner pocket close to his chest.
He unfolded it layer by layer, revealing a few plump seeds inside.
"Here, cabbage seeds." He looked a little smug. "Stole—uh, borrowed—them from a Tech-Priest."
"You plant them for me, and afterward, I'll give you ten percent. How about it?"
"Ten percent?" Zeke almost laughed out of anger. "The thickness of your skin is directly proportional to your accuracy."
Bela scratched his stubbly chin sheepishly.
"Okay, okay. But you have to teach me some cooking techniques."
Zeke countered, stating his own terms.
"Cooking techniques?" Bela scratched his beard again. "That's nothing. But I also want this much."
His hand circled over the farmland Zeke had just tilled, claiming half of it.
If your height was half the size of your greed, you'd probably be the tallest person on Cadia.
Zeke mocked Bela in his head but agreed to the demand.
He wasn't short on crops anyway.
Besides, he could tell that Bela wanted so much food not just for himself.
"It's a deal then." Bela clapped his hands, sealing the agreement, and handed the cabbage seeds to Zeke, who helped him plant them.
"A friendly gift—something delicious I just made." Bela seemed in a good mood, handing a steaming pot to Zeke.
Inside the pot was a slightly viscous liquid with some suspicious dark specks floating on the surface.
[Bela's Mold Soup]
[Bela's Mold Soup: Restores 0 Hunger, 2 Saturation]
Zeke was surprised. Zero hunger meant he could eat it continuously without getting full, and 2 Saturation likely meant it restored about 2 health points (1 heart).
It didn't look like much, but this was soup; the system display likely referred to the value restored per sip.
Zeke took the Mold Soup and took a sip. The texture was unexpectedly decent—warm, a bit like oatmeal porridge—and the taste was actually okay.
Gurgle.
A rumble sounded from Zeke's abdomen, followed by a sharp cramp in his lower belly.
"Oh, right. I forgot to warn you. This soup gives you the runs a bit." Bela's warning came one step too late.
"You couldn't say that earlier?!" Zeke's face changed color. Clutching his stomach with one hand, he sprinted toward an unnoticed corner of the camp.
Zeke finally understood why it restored zero hunger. If it goes out as fast as it comes in, it'd be a miracle if it filled you up.