The small convoy led by Zeke raced across the wasteland of the Redblaze Expanse.
Veteran Driver floored the gas pedal, spinning the steering wheel frantically to dodge ravines and boulders.
Inside the vehicle, the bumping was so severe it felt like their internal organs were going to shift, but no one complained. Everyone's eyes were glued to the rear.
The pursuit lasted for about fifteen minutes.
Just as the right rear tire of the fourth vehicle was blown out by a flaming axe thrown by a Bloodletter, nearly causing it to flip over, the pursuit suddenly stopped.
The Horrors and Bloodletters halted simultaneously, roughly twenty kilometers away from the industrial zone.
They stood before an invisible boundary, roaring in frustration at the retreating convoy, but they didn't take another step.
"The edge of the contamination zone."
The Psyker player who had spoken earlier, [Blood Angels' Second Emperor], said between pants, "The Chaos contamination hasn't spread this far... yet."
The convoy drove for another five kilometers to ensure there were no pursuers before finally stopping in a relatively flat patch of wasteland.
Zeke's legs felt a bit weak when he got out of the car.
He checked the system time. From the moment they were spotted to their successful escape, it had taken exactly twenty-five minutes.
But running on adrenaline, it felt like half a day.
"Damage report," he said hoarsely.
"Car 4's right rear tire is blown, needs a spare."
"Car 3's gas tank was grazed by a stray bullet. Leaked about a third."
"Personnel... zero casualties, but seven players were grazed by the shockwaves of daemon sorcery while returning fire. The worst is a burned-through thigh, but we've stopped the bleeding with a medkit."
Zeke nodded, just about to speak when [Have You Been Loyal Today?] suddenly pointed into the distance. "Boss, look over there."
About two kilometers away was a cluster of low-lying buildings.
It looked like an abandoned quarry. There were a few dilapidated bunkhouses, a rusting elevator derrick, and mountains of discarded ore.
But right now, figures were moving between the bunkhouses.
Many, many figures.
"A scavenger settlement?"
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor] frowned. "But there are way too many of them..."
Zeke grabbed his binoculars.
Through the lenses, the people were indeed wearing tattered clothes, but looking closely...
The base color of those clothes was uniform. Though caked in grime, the original style was still discernible.
They were the work uniforms of the Aru Group.
"Could it be?" Zeke muttered softly.
The convoy carefully approached the quarry.
At a distance of five hundred meters, Zeke ordered the vehicles to stop. He took [Have You Been Loyal Today?], [Blood Angels' Second Emperor], and [I'm Not the Regent, I'm Guilliman] and approached on foot.
They kept their hands raised to signal they had no weapons drawn, though laspistols were holstered at their hips.
The entrance to the quarry was blocked by a crude low wall made of piled scrap ore.
Behind the wall, dozens of pairs of eyes watched them warily.
Then, someone recognized Zeke.
"Is... is it you?"
A hoarse voice rang out.
A man so emaciated he was barely recognizable stepped out from behind the low wall.
He was in his forties, with hollow cheeks and sunken eye sockets, but Zeke remembered his face. Back in the transport tunnel in the northwest corner of the industrial zone, this was the man who had held two children and bowed repeatedly to thank the players.
"Are you... Aska?" Zeke asked tentatively.
A glimmer of light flashed in the man's cloudy eyes. "You remember my name..."
He turned and shouted behind the wall, "It's the ones who saved us! It's the kind people in the helmets!"
A commotion broke out behind the low wall.
More workers stepped out.
Most were supporting each other, their steps faltering.
Zeke saw that many of them had ulcers and severe bruising on their exposed skin—the result of chronic malnutrition and harsh environments.
The condition of the children was even worse.
To the Consortium, a slave's value was never determined by age; even young children were sent into that hellish sweatshop.
Some children, looking to be around ten years old, were huddled in their mothers' arms, their bellies bulging high—not from being full, but from severe edema.
Their eyes were enormous, looking incongruous on their tiny, gaunt faces, and their gazes were completely hollow.
"How many people are here?" Zeke asked.
"When we escaped, there were over three thousand six hundred of us."
Aska's voice trembled. "Now... there are just over two thousand one hundred left."
"Over four hundred died on the road. After we got here, another nine hundred died..."
He pointed toward the back of the quarry.
There lay a patch of freshly dug shallow pits. Piled beside them were over a hundred corpses covered in rags.
Some of the corpses were very small, clearly children.
Zeke's Adam's apple bobbed. Even though he still believed this was just a game at this moment, seeing a mass grave like this with his own eyes... how could he not be moved?
Was it that they didn't want to live happily, eat until they were full, wear warm clothes, and have a stable job?
No, they wanted that very much! Unfortunately, they were born in the Warhammer universe...
Born in a world where human lives were merely currency in the Emperor's hands.
The execution threshold?
They were already in an execution state from the moment they were born. How could there be an execution threshold?
From birth, it was predetermined that they would only be expendable consumables. They couldn't choose their own destiny. Freedom? Wealth? Food and warmth?
They didn't even dare to dream of it.
He suppressed the emotion rising in his heart, turned around, and spoke into the regional channel: "Everyone dismount."
"Unload all the spare clean water and nutrient paste from the vehicles."
"Veteran Driver, take a few guys and find firewood nearby. Dry stuff, whatever burns."
"Boss, with all the equipment we redeemed, our rations are only enough to last us ten days," [Have You Been Loyal Today?] whispered a reminder.
"Execute the order," Zeke cut him off.
Zeke walked around to the back of a transport vehicle.
He opened the system store and operated it rapidly.
[Purchased: Large Marching Cauldron x1. Cost: 20 Imperial Coins]
[Purchased: Standard Nutrient Paste x100 tubes. Cost: 30 Imperial Coins]
[Purchased: Purified Water x100 units (1 liter/unit). Cost: 30 Imperial Coins]
A flash of white light, and a cast-iron cauldron a meter and a half in diameter appeared on the truck bed, piled next to vacuum-sealed nutrient paste tubes and water bladders.
He spoke to the players below the truck:
"Move all of this out. Build fires and cook."
"Copy that, Boss."
These players had all undergone the Type I enhancement; moving this bit of gear was effortless.
–
When the workers saw the benefactors who had saved them begin to prepare food, they froze.
Aska opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.
"Don't just stand there."
Zeke waved at the players. "Help build the stoves and boil the water."
"Blood Angel, take the Crimson Spirit guys and check the wounded. Anyone with medical knowledge, go help. If you need to buy medkits, buy them and come to me for reimbursement later."
The players mobilized.
Some moved rocks to build stoves, some dismantled wooden parts from abandoned minecarts for firewood, and others retrieved medkits from the vehicles.
They had bought those with their own Imperial Coins and were originally a bit reluctant to use them.
But since [Eternally Loyal to the Emperor] wanted to do this, they couldn't really object. They just treated it as playing a charity simulator.
The players set up the iron cauldrons, poured in the water, tore open the nutrient paste packages, and tossed them into the boiling water.
The grayish-brown, viscous paste dissolved in the heat, emitting a smell that was a mix of grain and synthetic protein.
To the Hive City workers, this was a familiar smell; they had eaten this nutrient paste for the vast majority of their lives.
But to them at this moment, it was the smell of salvation.
Zeke personally held a wooden ladle, distributing the food to the queuing workers.
Half a ladle of gruel per person, paired with a small broken-off piece of compressed hardtack the players had bought from the store.
The first person to take a bowl was a woman nearing fifty.
Her hands trembled so much she nearly spilled the gruel.
She didn't rush to eat it. Instead, she turned around and handed the bowl to a little girl of eleven or twelve standing behind her.
The little girl swallowed greedily, the gruel dribbling down the corners of her mouth.
The woman squatted beside her, watching, her cloudy eyes filled with nothing but tenderness.
Zeke looked away. This was a mother's love. No matter how starving she was, her first thought was still her child.
--
Goal = 150 Powerstones.
Next Goal = 300 Powerstones.