Aboard the bridge of the Light of Dawn.
Paul stood before the panoramic observation armaglass, his golden, 3.55-meter frame looking like a giant bathed in the moonlight.
On the hololithic screen before him, twenty-five glowing points were rapidly spreading out from Kent Hive. Every single point represented a Crimson Dawn task force.
Each force consisted of one hundred and fifty Astartes, five Contemptor Dreadnoughts, five Tech-Priests, ten Vindicare Assassins, and ten Eversor Assassins.
This was the absolute entirety of the Crimson Dawn's deployable superhuman combat strength. Besides the Brothers of Silence and Grey Knights—who were kept in reserve at Kent Hive specifically to counter Warp entities—every single combat unit had been deployed.
"It feels so good not to hold back anymore."
Paul turned to look at Cogboy, Blood Angel, and Schrödinger Bro standing behind him, a wide grin splitting his face.
The players on the bridge all began to laugh.
It was the laughter of sheer, unadulterated relief—the joy of finally being able to unleash themselves after being suppressed for far too long.
Over the past few months, they had carefully disguised themselves as Astartes and Imperial Custodes, tiptoeing carefully under the watchful eyes of the Primarchs.
Every single step had to be calculated. Every single word had to be measured.
Now, the guests had left, and they could finally let their true natures run wild.
"Schrödinger Bro," Paul looked at [Schrödinger's Loyalist]. "How are things progressing on your end?"
Schrödinger Bro nodded, a gleam in his eye.
He slowly spoke. "The four thousand players in the group have all agreed, without exception. A stable monthly salary, full social insurance and housing fund, housing subsidies, and meal allowances. The only condition is that they focus entirely on playing this game well, and occasionally participate in some technical testing."
"If we can reverse-engineer even a tiny fraction of useful technology from the game, there will be massive bonuses. Plus, they can file for patents and receive a proportional share of the profits."
Schrödinger Bro paused, a smile touching his lips.
"Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that every account in this game is bio-bound to the user, other people would have stolen this opportunity a long time ago..."
Paul nodded.
Ensuring that the players risking their lives in the game received proper security and compensation in reality was something he had been pushing for ever since becoming the Champion.
"As for the technology reverse-engineering," Paul looked at Cogboy, "I trust you won't disappoint."
Cogboy's mechanical bionic eyes flickered with streams of data.
He raised his right arm. The limb, covered entirely in intricate mechanical structures, glinted coldly under the lumens.
He opened and closed his fingers. The articulation of every joint was as perfectly fluid as real flesh and Blood Angel.
"Based on the knowledge I redeemed from the System shop, I prototyped an auxiliary mechanical arm in reality. Its performance reaches forty-two percent of the baseline [Civilian Auxiliary Bionic] listed in the shop."
"This auxiliary arm allows high-level paraplegic patients to control a limb exactly like a real arm. The tactile feedback latency is 0.1 seconds, the power output can reach double that of a normal human, and fine motor control is indistinguishable from a biological hand."
He paused, a hint of helplessness creeping into his voice.
"The only issue is the power source."
"Promethium—the Imperium's universal liquid fuel—does not exist in reality. I had to substitute it with high-density lithium batteries. The battery life is only eight hours, and it requires specialized equipment to recharge. But even so..."
Cogboy's bionic eyes locked onto Paul. "...The performance absolutely crushes every similar product currently available in the world."
"I've already applied for the patents, and the complete set of technical schematics has been handed over to the relevant authorities. The profits from this product line will eventually fund half of the players' welfare salaries. The other half will be given by Schrödinger Bro's grandfather."
Paul took a deep breath.
Promethium was a product of the Warhammer universe—a miraculous fuel containing both physical energy and Warp properties. It had absolutely nothing to do with the real-world chemical element promethium.
Such a substance simply did not exist in reality. For Cogboy to achieve this level of functionality using only ordinary, real-world materials was already nothing short of a miracle.
"That's enough."
Paul patted Cogboy's shoulder. "To have achieved this much is far beyond my expectations."
He turned back to the hololithic map.
Three points of light had already reached their designated positions.
"Begin," Paul said softly.
In the next second, those three points of light simultaneously erupted into blinding crimson.
--
Sycamore Hive - Upper Hive Main Gate.
Buhale Hysman stood in the gate control tower, holding a glass of wine he had just purchased from a Rogue Trader.
The Hive Governor of Sycamore Hive was in an exceptionally good mood.
The fleets of the three Primarchs had only left yesterday, and today, he had already received communications from two other Hive Governors.
Aru Hive and Holmes Hive had agreed to fully commit to an alliance with him to jointly resist the Planetary Governor.
It was no longer the loose coalition it had been before, and the Legions in orbit were gone.
"A bunch of mud-crawlers think they can order us around?" Buhale sneered, taking a sip of wine.
The liquid bloomed on his palate, carrying the rich, fruity aroma of an agri-world specialty.
He looked out the window at the gate below. A full five thousand Planetary Defense Force soldiers were deployed there.
These soldiers were equipped with lasguns manufactured by the Merchant Guild and wore matching Guild uniforms.
While their training couldn't hold a candle to the Imperial Solar Auxilia, it was more than enough to hold a gate.
Not to mention the eight automated defense turrets flanking the entrance.
Every single one of them could unleash enough firepower in a minute to shred light armored vehicles into scrap.
"Let Cage Lawrence come," Buhale said to the adjutant beside him, his voice dripping with mockery. "I'd like to see how many troops that little hundred-million-population hive of his can scrape together to assault my Sycamore."
The adjutant smiled obsequiously. "Sycamore has a population of nearly three hundred million. Our troops are elite, our supplies are abundant..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
Because the dark clouds in the sky suddenly split apart.
VRRRRRRMMM...!!!
The sound was like a colossal beast roaring from above the cloud layer.
Everyone in the control tower looked up.
And then, they saw it...
Fifteen meteor-like streaks tore through the clouds, plummeting toward the gate zone at an almost vertical angle.
The tail end of every streak dragged a blinding white plume of plasma exhaust.
"Drop pods!" a soldier screamed.
But by the time they reacted, it was already too late.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!!!
Five deafening, consecutive impacts shook the earth.
Five massive craters, each over ten meters in diameter, were blasted into the ferrocrete plaza, kicking up mushroom clouds of dust and debris.
From within the dust, five colossal metal behemoths slowly rose.
Contemptor Dreadnoughts.
Four and a half meters of towering steel. The barrels of their twin-linked assault cannons began to spin up, and their power claws opened and closed with the hiss of hydraulics.
"For the Crimson Dawn."
The voice of a Dreadnought player echoed across the public vox-net.
In the next second, the eight automated defense turrets opened fire simultaneously.
A torrential downpour of high-explosive rounds slammed into the Dreadnoughts' atomantic shielding, blooming into clusters of fireballs.
But the attacks were like tossing pebbles against a fortress wall. They did absolutely nothing.
"Pathetic.."
A Dreadnought raised its right arm, the twin-linked heavy bolter locking onto the nearest turret.
THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!!!
Four heavy bolter rounds struck home in 0.5 seconds.
The four consecutive rounds shredded the turret's outer armor, penetrated the internal structure, and detonated the ammunition magazine, blasting the entire turret clean off its mount.
The flash of the explosion illuminated the figures emerging from the dust.
One hundred and fifty Astartes.
They fanned out in assault formations by squad, bolters raised.
Their power armor bore a chaotic mix of liveries: Imperial Fists, White Scars, Iron Warriors, Salamanders...
"Open fire! OPEN FIRE!" the defense force commander shrieked hysterically.
Five thousand lasguns fired as one, weaving a web of crimson death through the dust.
Most of the beams were effortlessly dodged by the players, and the few that hit only left shallow scorch marks on the ceramite.
And then, the Astartes returned fire.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!
The roar of heavy bolters merged into a continuous, deafening thunder.
Every single bolt round blew head-sized craters into the infantry, punching straight through the first man to shred the second and third behind him.
The defensive line began to collapse after the very first volley.
The soldiers watched their comrades fall like wheat to a scythe. They watched those two-meter-tall giants advance steadily straight through their concentrated fire. They watched the Dreadnoughts rip through reinforced ferrocrete bunkers with their power claws...
Fear spread like a plague.
"Fall back! Fall back to the inner gate!" the commander tried to rally his lines.
But the very instant the words left his mouth...
A phantom-like figure materialized from the shadows behind him.
A Vindicare Assassin.
She wore a skin-tight optical camo-suit and held a long-barreled sniper rifle.
She pressed the muzzle against the back of the commander's head and pulled the trigger.
THWIP! THWIP! THWIP!
The muffled cracks of the sniper rifle were swallowed by the chaos of the battlefield. The commander instantly collapsed, his head bursting like a melon, brain matter splashing across the ground.
Other mid-level officers were simultaneously assassinated by the other Vindicare players.
The entire hive defense line began to completely disintegrate. Mortals facing the superhuman might of the Astartes could do nothing but break and run.
Soldiers dropped their weapons, crying and screaming as they fled backward.
But the inner gate was already closed. Buhale had personally ordered it shut to prevent anyone from deserting.
Now, that order had become the death warrant for these soldiers.
The Astartes did not pursue the fleeing troops.
They pushed forward with singular purpose, heading straight for the control tower.
The Dreadnoughts cleared the path, their power claws ripping open reinforced door after reinforced door.
Three minutes later, the door to the control tower was kicked open.
Buhale Hysman was slumped in his chair. His wine glass had shattered on the floor, spilling red liquid everywhere.
His face was as pale as paper, and a dark stain was spreading across his crotch... he had pissed himself in terror.
An Astartes in White Scars livery stepped up to him.
His helm slid back, revealing the young, cold face of an Asian man.
"Buhale Hysman," the Astartes player spoke. "You are formally under arrest on thirty-eight charges, including defying the lawful orders of the Planetary Governor, conspiracy to rebel, and gross dereliction of duty."
"You have the right to remain silent."
"But every word you say will become..."
The White Scars player paused, seeming to remember something, and added:
"...material for the reading of your crimes during your execution by artillery fire."
Buhale opened his mouth, trying to say something, but a power fist was already pressed against his face.
"Take him away."
--
Goal = 250 Powerstones.
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