That unparalleled attack was a judgment against the Alpha Irradiated Mutant for daring to harm a member of Crimson Dawn.
It was the reckless, all-consuming fire of vengeance from a saved child against the monster that hurt her savior.
The flames swallowed the Alpha.
Swallowed its agonized howling, and swallowed its thrashing silhouette.
Thirty seconds later.
The flames dissipated.
In the center of the plaza, nothing remained but a writhing, burning lump of charcoal.
The massive body that was once the size of a tank had been reduced to a shriveled lump less than three meters across, emitting the acrid, nauseating smell of scorched protein and evaporated radioactive matter.
The plaza was dead silent.
And then.
Thump.
Helovia fell from the sky.
Her tiny body crashed onto the magma-paved floor that had cooled back into solid rock. Her white hair splayed out wildly. Her crimson-gold eyes had returned to their natural green, and they were tightly shut.
She had fainted.
Blood seeped from her nose, her ears, the corners of her mouth... she was bleeding from all seven orifices.
"HELOVIA!!!"
Tax Bro found strength from some unknown source. He violently dragged himself out of the rubble and, dragging his broken left leg, scrambled and crawled over to her.
He dropped to his knees, his trembling hand reaching out to check her breathing.
She was breathing.
It was incredibly faint, but it was there.
"Medics! Where the fuck are the medics!!!"
Tax Bro roared into the channel, panic lacing his voice.
The players finally snapped out of their daze.
Several players with medical knowledge rushed over, pulling out portable medkits redeemed from the shop, and began administering emergency first-aid to Helovia.
"Vitals are weak! Severe psychic overexertion!"
"Internal organ damage! Potential intracranial hemorrhaging!"
"We need proper medical equipment!"
"We can't handle this here!"
Tax Bro gritted his teeth and pulled a pale gold syringe from his inventory—a [High-Efficiency Cellular Stimulant].
It cost 500 Imperial Coins in the shop. It could drastically accelerate cellular regeneration for a short period and was typically used for emergency first-aid when a player was mortally wounded.
He didn't hesitate for a second, injecting it straight into Helovia.
The moment the stimulant entered her bloodstream, a trace of color returned to the little girl's pale face, and her breathing steadied slightly.
But she remained unconscious.
"White Scars!" Tax Bro whipped his head around. "Take a squad! Take the fastest truck and get Helovia back to base immediately!"
"Find Schrödinger Bro! Find Cogboy! Find Blood Angel! They'll figure something out!"
"Understood!"
White Scars instantly organized a team, carefully lifting Helovia and placing her in the transport truck.
The truck's engine roared as it tore out of Merida Town, kicking up a massive dust cloud.
Tax Bro stood there, watching the truck disappear into the distance, before turning back to look at the lump of charcoal in the center of the plaza.
He slowly walked over to his great axe, bending down to pick it up.
The blade still bore the notch left from its clash with the Alpha.
"Tax Bro..."
[I Wanna Lick a Skaven Waifu's Feet] walked over, his voice choking up. "Just now... thank you..."
Tax Bro didn't say a word.
He simply raised his unbroken right hand and clapped the man heavily on the shoulder.
Then he turned around, faced every player and surviving resident in the plaza, and spoke with an unshakeable voice.
"Did you all see that?"
"An eleven-year-old child. To save us, look how far she was willing to go."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the players as his voice carried through the regional channel.
"So we have absolutely no reason to act like cowards. I don't care if this is the Warhammer world. I don't care about the Chaos Gods, Daemons, Psykers, or Astartes! If they cross us, we kill 'em!"
"Courage is the anthem of life. Sacrifice is the final note of that anthem. But guess what? We players don't do sacrifice."
"Everyone, clean up the battlefield! Treat the wounded! Strip this town of everything useful!"
"And then..."
He looked toward the east, toward the direction of Bordeaux Town.
"Once Zeke is done, we rendezvous with him."
"This cesspool of a planet..." Tax Bro tightened his grip on the axe handle, enunciating every word. "...Crimson Dawn is going to change it."
–
Compared to the desperate, chaotic events in Merida Town, the operation led by Paul—with a smaller force of just over six hundred men—was practically a leisurely stroll.
Bordeaux Town.
Situated in the corner of the Crimson Dawn wasteland, this town had once been one of the most important industrial outposts for the Blaec House eighty years ago.
The fifteen-meter-tall watchtower in the center of town, topped with a heavy stubber, was a relic from the royal era.
The walls were built to the standard design of Blaec House engineers: six meters high, three and a half meters thick. The exterior was compacted with a mixture of hard scrap slag from the black iron mines and clay, while the interior was reinforced with stone brick.
There was a firing bunker every twenty meters along the wall. Though many were dilapidated, the structure remained intact.
The group controlling this town, the Iron Claw Gang, was the largest and best-equipped bandit gang on the Aurelian IV wasteland.
They boasted over three thousand seven hundred members. More than one thousand five hundred of them wielded standard-issue lasguns—mostly surplus stock that had bled out of the Blaec House armories after the Iron Hands Legion purged Sector Seven eighty years ago.
The rest were armed with solid-slug rifles, homemade shotguns, and even three makeshift artillery cannons modified from mining equipment.
The boss of the Iron Claws was "Bonebreaker" Magnus. (Author Note: Of course, he wasn't the Thousand Sons Primarch who did nothing wrong—just a 1.9-meter-tall brute with three claw scars across his left cheek who happened to share the name.)
At this very moment, he was standing at the top of the watchtower, looking through a pair of binoculars smuggled from the Aru Group, watching the dust cloud rising on the horizon of the wasteland.
"How many?"
He asked, his voice as raspy as sandpaper.
His second-in-command, a tall, skinny middle-aged man known as "One-Eyed" Jeremy, replied:
"No more than seven hundred... Wait, the convoy size is wrong. There are only twenty-two trucks." Jeremy frowned. "Assuming thirty men per truck, that's six hundred tops."
Magnus lowered his binoculars, his rough face twisting in confusion. "Six hundred men want to take Bordeaux? The Aru Group sent three thousand regulars last time and couldn't even break the wall."
He thought back to the siege three years ago. The Aru Group wanted to annex the old manufactorums beneath Bordeaux Town, sending three thousand infantrymen and three Leman Russ battle tanks.
Relying on the walls, underground bunkers, and pre-laid proximity mines, the Iron Claws had held out for seventeen grueling days until the Aru Group retreated for unknown reasons.
"Maybe it's just a recon unit?" Jeremy guessed.
"A recon unit with twenty-two trucks?" Magnus shook his head. "Something's not right... Tell the boys to stay sharp. Open fire the moment they enter range. Don't save the shells."
"Understood."
The orders were passed down. The bandits on the wall racked the slides of their rifles and loaded the cannons.
The lasguns scavenged from the armories began to charge, emitting a faint hum.
The dust cloud drew closer.
And then, the convoy stopped one thousand meters away from the wall.
This distance was far beyond the effective range of lasguns, and solid-slug weapons would only make a bit of noise at that range.
But it was within range of the three modified artillery cannons. Their max range was twelve hundred meters, though accuracy was purely up to fate.
"Do we open fire?" the artillery crews asked for orders.
"Hold."
Magnus stared at the twenty-two trucks. "Let's see what kind of trick they're trying to pull."
His words abruptly cut off.
Because the door of the lead vehicle opened.
A figure stepped out.
Even from a thousand meters away, even through the slightly blurry lenses of the binoculars, Magnus could tell something was profoundly wrong.
He was too tall.
Dark grey armor gleamed coldly in the twilight. A crimson emblem burned on his chest.
A Chainsword hung at his left hip, a Bolter was slung over his right shoulder, and every step he took left deep boot prints in the sand.
"What the hell is that..." Magnus muttered.
The next second, he found out.
The figure began to charge.
--
TL/N:
Remember the Fundraiser for my College fees? Thanks to everyone who joined my Patreon, I have successfully collected almost all the amount, some through my savings, majority through people who joined my Patreon... but I am still short around $40 and I have already pooled every penny I have so... I have increased the discount from 40 to 50% for only 2 more days since after that I will have to withdraw whatever money I have for it to reach me before 15 Jun. It will not be visible on the website like it did previously, so you will have to use code D1542 to avail the discount.