"Is logic a bad thing?" [Blood Angels' Second Emperor] replied. "This is a world modeled after the Warhammer universe. You can't survive long on hot-blooded passion alone."
"Who can say for sure?" Zeke replied.
"With anything, there always have to be idealists who put their ideals into action to prove whether passion is actually useful or not."
"The fact that you and I can live stable lives today and have the opportunity to play this game—isn't it precisely because there were idealists in the past who shed their blood to put their ideals into action?"
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor] smiled and patted Zeke's shoulder.
"It seems choosing you as our Main Chapter Master was not a mistake at all. I hope you can lead our wave of immortal warriors to realize these ideals you speak of."
He looked at the surrounding players with a smile.
"Did you hear that, brothers? Looks like the Warhammer universe is about to get another legendary Chapter Master."
The surrounding players all let out hearty laughs at Blood Angel's teasing.
The procession continued forward.
Over a dozen players held the Chapter's most elite equipment—over a dozen lasguns—vigilant against any mutant beasts that might suddenly attack.
The players on the flanks held the cheaper kinetic black powder rifles. There was no helping it; Imperial Coins had to be spent carefully. Equipping everyone with lasguns was impossible right now.
–
Deep within the Warp, the energy body of Lucian Sanctus was watching this scene.
He saw Zeke's lack of hesitation when redeeming supplies. He saw the expressions in the workers' eyes—as if they were looking at a god—when Zeke told them, "You are human too."
"Compassion... equality... justice... responsibility... hope..."
Lucian murmured. "To think such emotions can still exist in the Warhammer universe. Young man, you are truly impressive."
He pulled up the system interface, hovering his cursor over the [Bestowal of the Chosen] option.
His energy body rippled slightly.
Ultimately, he did not click confirm.
"Wait a little longer."
He told himself. "Observe a little longer... The mark of the Chosen must be his own choice and desire, not something I force upon him."
–
Night fell rapidly on the Redblaze Wasteland, and soon after, the freezing wind began to howl.
The scorching heat of the day dissipated rapidly after sunset. In less than two hours, the temperature had plummeted below freezing.
The freezing wind blew in from the northern ice plains, carrying sand and grit that cut across exposed skin like countless tiny knives.
The players were fine.
Having undergone the Type I Physical Enhancement, coupled with the system's default 30% pain reduction, this kind of cold merely felt a bit chilly to them.
Some were even wandering around in thin work jackets, rubbing their hands in the freezing wind and making sarcastic remarks:
"This temperature difference is just like my hometown down south. Short sleeves during the day, bundled in a quilt at night."
But the workers couldn't handle it.
The procession of over two thousand people cast long shadows across the wasteland.
The four transport vehicles were packed with the elderly, the weak, women, children, and the wounded. The roofs were temporarily covered with canvas tarps as windbreaks, but the freezing wind still seeped through the gaps.
The people inside huddled together, relying on each other's body heat to stay warm.
But the vast majority walking outside suffered horribly.
They wore the thin work uniforms they had escaped the industrial zone in. The fabric was thin to begin with, completely unsuited for the outdoors.
When the freezing wind blew, the clothes clung to their bodies, offering as much protection as wearing nothing at all.
Children were held tight in their parents' arms. Their little faces were purple from the cold, their lips trembling, but they couldn't even cry out—they no longer had the strength to cry.
Zeke walked in the middle of the procession, watching all of this, his fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
"Boss, we can't keep going like this."
[Blood Angels' Second Emperor] returned from the front. His psychic perception allowed him to clearly see the workers' vitals. The points of light representing their life force were flickering in the freezing wind like candles about to blow out.
"At least three hundred people have core temperatures below the safety line. If it drops any lower, they'll die of hypothermia."
"I know."
Zeke's voice was hoarse. He opened the system store and scrolled rapidly.
[Military Thermal Blanket: 12 Imperial Coins/ea]
[Portable Heating Unit: 25 Imperial Coins/ea. Power Supply: 8 hours]
He checked his remaining balance: 487.
Redeeming the nutrient paste and water earlier had spent more than half of what he had left.
Even if he spent all four hundred coins on thermal blankets, it would be a drop in the bucket.
"Fuck..."
For the first time, Zeke felt disgust toward Imperial Coins.
The thrill he felt watching the numbers soar during the robbery in the industrial zone vanished completely. Now, he only felt the coldness of this currency. It could buy lasguns, it could buy enhancements, but it couldn't buy human lives.
He closed the store, took a deep breath, and spoke into the regional channel:
"Listen up, everyone."
"Take out any spare fabric or clothes from your inventories. Even if it's just a torn rag, give it to the workers. If you bought extra gear, take off your jackets. Give them to the elderly and children first."
"Crimson Machina, check the vehicle engines. See if you can divert some of the exhaust heat into the cabins. I know it's crude, but it's better than nothing."
"Also..."
He paused. "Everyone, talk to the workers next to you."
"Tell them to hold on just a little longer. Tell them there is a warm camp ahead, with hot food and beds."
"Tell them we will not abandon a single person."
"This isn't charity. This is mutual aid between comrades."
The channel was silent for a few seconds.
Then someone replied, "Copy that, Boss."
"I have an extra work jacket here. Bought it from the store earlier but haven't worn it yet."
"I have two tarps. They don't insulate well, but they block the wind."
"Everyone in the vehicles, squeeze to the sides! Make some more room!"
The players sprang into action.
Someone took off a newly redeemed leather jacket and wrapped it around a shivering child.
Someone pulled out fragments of canvas they had picked up earlier. Though tattered, folding it a few times made a decent windbreaker.
Several players from Crimson Machina who had studied the auto-repair textbooks actually began dismantling the vehicles. Using tools, they pried open the floorboards in the rear of a transport vehicle and used metal pipes to divert some of the heat from the engine compartment into the cabin. The efficiency was pitifully low, but it provided at least a little warmth.
Zeke walked up to a mother and daughter.
The mother looked to be under forty, but chronic malnutrition and hard labor made her look over fifty.
The girl in her arms was about ten years old. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breathing faint.
Zeke crouched down and took off his jacket. It was a standard-issue field jacket redeemed from the store. Though not incredibly thick, it had a lining.
He wrapped the jacket around the girl.
"You shouldn't..."
The mother tried to refuse, but her hands were so stiff from the cold her movements were sluggish.
"Wear it."
Zeke pressed down on her hands; they were as cold as ice. "The child cannot fall ill."
He stood up and said to several players nearby, "Take turns carrying this child. Don't let her catch the wind anymore."
"Yes, Boss."
Zeke continued walking forward.
Blood Angel walked beside him. After a moment of silence, he suddenly spoke up:
"Seeing this reminds me of something from the real world."
Zeke turned his head to look at him.
"Our ancestors."
Blood Angel's voice was very soft, almost inaudible in the howling wind. "The road they walked was much longer than this. Tens of thousands of miles."
"The suffering they endured was far worse. They had no physical enhancements, no System, no respawning."
"But they finished the march."
Zeke patted his shoulder. "We can't change the past."
"But we can do whatever little we can about the present."
He paused, then added in a low voice, "I still refuse to believe this is merely a game."
Blood Angel nodded, about to say something when—
The regional channel suddenly exploded:
"CONTACT FRONT! NORTHEAST DIRECTION, APPROXIMATELY 1,100 METERS! SOMETHING IS APPROACHING!"