"Pff!"
Arum snorted coldly, turned, and left.
Two machine gun barrels were still pointed at him. Since someone had offered a worthy way out of the situation, it would be foolish not to take advantage of it.
The fact that he had been hiding in the rear was the absolute truth. His guard was too conspicuous, and he needed to disappear quickly.
As soon as Arum left, the tension eased. Everyone returned to clearing the battlefield.
Now, no one dared to touch Li Qingyu's trophies. He had clearly shown that he struck hard – there were no fools who would mess with him.
This was the reason for his outburst. People in the world of Warhammer 40k lived by the laws of the jungle: show weakness, and they'll devour you; show fangs, and they'll retreat.
After spending another ten minutes collecting loot, Li Qingyu compiled a list:
SIT armor sets – 19 pieces; heavy stabbers – 2 (plus three thousand rounds); SIT light machine guns – 4; SIT autoguns – 7; pistols – 2; fragmentation grenades – 23; ammunition – over nine thousand (mostly in crates from the truck, two thousand in each).
Li Qingyu was ecstatic. With such an arsenal, he could become a local warlord in the Underhive. The only problem was people – no one to entrust weapons to.
There were many people in the Underhive, but they were all unreliable rats.
Now that the distillery had expanded, he needed to hire workers. But where to find trustworthy ones was an open question.
While Li Qingyu was pondering, a mournful howl came from the rebels' side. He raised his head: they were carrying out the bodies of the commanders.
There lay five corpses on the ground. The deaths were all terrible: some were riddled with shrapnel, some torn apart by grenades, and some, like Old Man Sen, were hit by a 40mm autocannon shell.
Yes, Old Man Sen had died. A shell from the "Chimera" had hit his horse directly. The explosion had torn off his legs, and his body had been turned into a bloody sieve.
Li Qingyu approached, looking grimly at the body. It seemed the old man hadn't died immediately but had bled out.
"Damn it, I gave you the green syringe! Why didn't you use it?!" he cursed mentally.
The death of his contact was a blow to him.
Li Qingyu himself couldn't truly die, so death seemed something distant, almost abstract. But a contact was different: a trade channel, an important resource. Losing contact meant problems, and he couldn't tolerate that.
Parson approached him with a sad face and quietly said:
"Sir, that syringe you gave him... Before the battle, he sent it to the rear – to a child who lost a leg to a mine."
Li Qingyu gritted his teeth, sighed heavily, and looked at Parson:
"What will you do next? The leaders are dead, the fighters are wiped out, the homes are destroyed."
Determination flashed in Parson's eyes.
"Sir, we've survived worse. Our homes have already been shelled by SIT artillery, we've been gassed!"
He continued:
"Entire villages have been wiped off the face of the earth. One in a hundred survived – and we still rose up!"
He scooped up a handful of damp earth and inhaled its scent.
"As long as we have hands, we'll start again! The houses burned down – we'll rebuild. The fields were plowed by tracks – we'll re-plow them. The leaders died – we'll choose new ones. There are few people – we'll unite several settlements and live!"
Li Qingyu clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Man. If you need any supplies – tell me. I have contacts in the Hive, maybe I can get something."
Parson thought for a moment, then replied:
"Sir, we have many wounded. If possible – get more medicine. We will repay you with grain."
Ding! Parson has given you a quest.
Due to the large number of wounded, the rebels urgently need medicine. If you deliver it, you will gain Parson's friendship and restore a reliable channel for contraband food.
Required items: High-grade antiseptic powder ×20; Hemostatic analgesic stimulator ×20; Small medkit ×30; Small surgical kit ×30.
Li Qingyu looked at Parson with surprise. It seemed that after Old Man Sen's death, he had become the new liaison.
Checking his relationship status, Li Qingyu saw a loyalty level of three!
Well, that was logical. He had saved Parson from Lieutenant Rudolfson's clutches, and it was Li Qingyu's warning that had saved the rebels from complete annihilation. Two such debts were enough to earn a third level.
He examined the list of requirements. Everything necessary could be produced. Small medkits and surgical kits simply restored health for his digitized body, but for ordinary people, they served as real bandages and instruments.
He had solid reserves: while he was training in the shelter, production had been at full capacity, and the warehouses were overflowing with holy water, oils, and medications.
"Let's do this. I'll go to the ventilation shaft, and you'll come with me. Once I hand over the medicine, use it immediately so the wounds don't fester."
Parson was genuinely touched. Li Qingyu even thought that after the delivery of the medicine, the trust level would jump to "Crown" – like with the traders in Tarkov.
But he didn't leave right away: there was one unfinished matter.
He shifted his gaze to the "Chimera," around which the rebels had gathered.
They had no explosives left, and the armor couldn't be breached. No one knew if anyone was alive inside.
Li Qingyu approached the vehicle, pressed his ear to the armor – he could hear movement. So, there were survivors.
Suddenly, a characteristic metallic click sounded – as if a pin had been pulled.
With a screech, a firing port on the troop compartment opened, a grenade flew out, and the hatch slammed shut.
The grenade rolled right to Li Qingyu's feet. Parson was standing nearby.
"Fuck!" flashed through his mind. He had just found a new liaison – and now they were going to blow him up!
He lunged forward, grabbed the grenade, but there were rebels all around!
In the trenches, between the trees – people everywhere. There was nowhere to throw it.
There was no time left. An explosion was inevitable.
At that moment, a psionic glow flashed in Li Qingyu's eyes. Clenching the grenade, he, almost burning his mind from overexertion, enveloped it in Warp energy!
He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. His consciousness rapidly faded into darkness, and he collapsed unconscious – but the grenade had disappeared, sent directly into the Immaterium.
Meanwhile, in the Warp, a Chaos Space Marine ship drifted through the chaos.
Space Marines, once the elite of the Imperium – superhumans in power armor, capable of mowing down hundreds of enemies single-handedly – now served the Dark Gods. Their ships roamed the Warp, raiding the Imperium's worlds.
On the bridge of the defiled vessel stood a Chaos Lord, observing the carnage below.
In the cargo hold, thousands of mortals were killing each other. The Lord was searching for the eight strongest to implant them with pure geneseed – stolen from the Loyalists – and make them new Space Marines.
The slaughter continued for a long time. And then, amidst mountains of corpses, stood eight bloodied figures.
The most brutal, the most resilient, the most worthy to glorify Chaos!
Clenching their weapons, they were ready to throw themselves at each other to determine the sole victor.
"Enough!"
The Chaos Lord nodded with satisfaction, looking at the survivors.
"You have proven your strength. You are worthy to become one of us!"
He raised his hand:
"Come forward and kneel! Accept the gift of the Great Powers and become warriors who will crush the throne of the False Emperor!"
The eight butchers exchanged glances, dropped their weapons, and, approaching, knelt.
"And now I shall bestow upon you my gift..." the Lord said, preparing for the organ implantation surgery.
And at that moment, the air thickened – a grenade fell from nowhere.
It clinked on the floor and rolled to the knees of the chosen ones.
Everyone, including the Lord, froze in confusion.
BOOM!
The explosion in the confined compartment scattered shrapnel, which ricocheted off the walls with a clang.
The eight candidates, stripped of their armor, took the brunt of the impact. They were torn apart almost instantly.
Weapons in the world of Warhammer 40k are cumbersome and monstrously powerful – even an ordinary grenade there is akin to an ancient artillery shell.
The Chaos Lord froze with his mouth open. A moment ago, he was delivering an inspiring speech, and now his recruits had turned into bloody mince.
One of the still-living candidates spat out a clot of blood and looked at the Lord:
"Master... my K/D is 1.4... I wanted to ask before I die: is the gift of our legion a fragmentation grenade?"
The Lord opened his mouth to answer, but the candidate twitched and breathed his last.
Looking at the pile of bodies, the Lord let out a furious roar:
"What the hell legion's gift is a fragmentation grenade?! Damn it!!"
Li Qingyu slowly opened his eyes. His head was splitting.
He didn't know if the grenade had exploded or not. Looking around, he realized he was lying on a straw mat in a wooden hut, presumably in the camp.
He felt himself over – intact. His armor was in place, his helmet and rifle nearby.
He exhaled with relief, rubbed his temples, and opened the system interface, checking his progress.
Core stats remained unchanged, but weapon proficiency had increased to 110, and Warp resistance and psionics – to 60.
Using psychic powers leveled up skills – naturally. But why, damn it, had his "thrown weapons" skill increased?
It was 15 before, now it was 23. And the thrown weapon kill counter had jumped by eight points.
"Damn it, did I actually blow someone up?!" he was horrified.
Li Qingyu jumped up, flung open the door, and yelled:
"Parson! Parson!!"
He was just hauling firewood to the "Chimera." Hearing the shout, he rushed to him:
"What happened, sir? Are you alright? You collapsed unconscious!"
Li Qingyu hurried to ask: "The grenade! Did it hit anyone?"
Parson looked with reverence.
"Sir, the grenade just disappeared in mid-air. Do you know how that happened?"
Li Qingyu understood: the Warp trick had worked. So, the eight kills were those unfortunate souls who "had the luck" to be on the other side?
"Ah, screw it. The Warp is a huge garbage dump, throw whatever you want in there, no one will complain," he decided.
He looked at the "Chimera," already covered with brushwood.
"Are you trying to have a barbecue?"
Parson nodded: "There are still two or three alive inside. We can't go in, and they don't want to come out. We'll have to smoke them out with fire."
Li Qingyu shook his head: burning the vehicle was a crime.
Even if the APC couldn't be moved, inside were the guards of an aristocrat, which meant they had lasguns!
Destroying such good equipment was a sin. They had to be brought out alive.
"Don't set it on fire. Let me try!"