On the central avenue of Bordeaux Town, the stench of blood was suffocating.
Zeke stood in the center of a pile of corpses. His Chainsword hung low at his side, its teeth still dripping with dark red scraps of flesh and gore.
The surface of his Power Armor was splattered with blood, reflecting an eerie, dark gleam under the dim red sunlight of Aurelian IV.
He slowly raised his head. Behind the faceplate, his eyes were terrifyingly calm.
One thousand three hundred and thirty-seven.
That was the number automatically tallied by the System.
From the moment he vaulted onto the wall to the moment he cleared the central avenue, that was the exact number of bandits he had personally killed.
Over nine hundred of them had died beneath his Chainsword. The rest were obliterated by his five-trait psychic Spirit Bomb.
Just over a month ago, he had been a nine-to-five corporate drone in the real world who would walk the long way around to avoid watching a chicken get slaughtered.
Now, he could slaughter over a thousand people in twenty-three minutes without batting an eye.
"This is the Warhammer world..." Zeke muttered to himself. His voice, carried through the helmet's vox-speakers, echoed slightly. "Adapt, or die."
He thought of the Emperor.
The Master of Mankind, who had sat upon the Golden Throne for ten thousand years, scattering mortal soldiers across the galaxy like loose change.
In the eyes of the Emperor, losing hundreds of thousands or even millions of Astra Militarum guardsmen in a single campaign was probably like an ordinary person dropping a few coins from their wallet.
"The Emperor's currency..." Zeke spoke coldly. "Am I starting to spend that currency now too?"
But he quickly shook his head.
No, it was different.
The Emperor sacrificed individuals for the continued survival of the human species. Though ruthless, it possessed a logic driven by a grand narrative.
But Zeke killing these men right now was simply because they deserved to die. Not because they were in his way, but purely because they were steeped in evil and didn't deserve to breathe.
It was also to purge the soil that nourished the Chaos Gods.
This was more like... judgment.
"Loyalist Bro!"
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] ran over from behind. Seeing the ground littered with corpses, his Adam's apple bobbed. "This... you did all this by yourself?"
Zeke turned around. His faceplate retracted upward, revealing his face.
"Yeah." He paused, then added, "Stick to the plan. Gather all the residents in the plaza."
"What about the bandits who ran away...?"
"Ignore them for now." Zeke shook his head. "They won't be able to hide for long. Once we're done handling the residents, they'll pop out on their own."
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] nodded and turned to execute the order.
Zeke stood in place, watching the players begin to clear the street.
They moved with efficient speed, working in pairs to drag the corpses and pile them up in an empty clearing beside the central avenue.
Very quickly, a mountain of corpses was erected. Dark red blood converged into a creek, flowing down the street's drainage ditches.
Some players grumbled in the regional channel:
"Fuck me, the workload... Paul slaughtered way too hard."
"Hard my ass! Did you see the state of those residents earlier? I searched a few houses. The basements are full of torture devices and human bones! The Iron Claws are famous for being absolute cannibalistic scum. Wiping them all out is letting them off easy."
"Exactly! We're carrying out divine justice here!"
Listening to their chatter, the lingering discomfort in Zeke's heart from the mass slaughter gradually dissipated.
He wasn't a homicidal maniac.
He was just... doing what was necessary.
In this cesspool of a Warhammer world, kindness needed to be guarded by swords, and mercy needed to be supported by strength.
Otherwise, it was just a joke. It was suicide.
Although he bore the gene-seed of the Salamanders, he was not influenced by Vulkan, the Lord of Drakes.
He was simply himself. He was the Champion of five traits. He was both Paul and Zeke. He was the founder of Crimson Dawn.
The application of all his power had only one goal: to bring a true dawn to this world, to allow everyone on this planet to have a better tomorrow, a better everything.
–
An hour later, the central plaza of Bordeaux Town.
It was much larger than the plazas of Red Town and Merida Town. After all, it was the core of an industrial outpost planned during the blaec era.
The ground was paved with neat stone slabs. Though many were cracked and overgrown with moss, the former scale of the place was still visible.
Right now, the plaza was packed with people.
Twelve thousand four hundred and thirty-seven residents. That was the precise figure given by Cogboy.
Most of them wore relatively decent utility clothes. Although they were washed-out and patched, they were at least intact.
Their complexions were also better than those in Red Town. Though equally malnourished, they weren't quite skin and bones.
This was the management wisdom of the Iron Claws. Bordeaux Town was their home base; the residents were their productive forces.
Exploitation had to be measured. You couldn't squeeze them to death, or else who would mine the ore? Who would maintain the equipment?
So the residents here lived a life that could barely, tenuously be called human:
Working fourteen hours a day, eating just enough nutrient paste to quiet their stomachs, and living in crowded but weatherproof longhouses.
Aside from a few people disappearing every now and then, and the occasional beating from Iron Claw gang members, they could just barely survive.
The residents had accepted it.
Because compared to wandering the wasteland, getting torn apart by mutant beasts, or dying in agony from radiation sickness, this at least meant staying alive.
Some even developed Stockholm syndrome, feeling that while the Iron Claws were brutal, they at least provided order and a livelihood.
Until today.
Until that three-meter-tall metal giant slaughtered his way through the entire town, cutting down the tyrannical bandits like a farmer harvesting wheat.
The residents gathered in the plaza, their eyes filled with complex emotions.
There was fear—an instinctive dread toward Zeke's inhuman existence.
There was anticipation—maybe these newcomers really were different?
But mostly, there was confusion and unease.
The Iron Claws were gone. What were they supposed to do now?
Would these murderous bandits be even more vicious than the Iron Claws?
Zeke stepped onto the podium on the north side of the plaza. Surprisingly, Bordeaux Town actually had one; it was where the Iron Claws publicly tried disobedient residents.
He stood on the podium, his gaze sweeping over the dense crowd.
Then he spoke, his voice amplified by the Power Armor's vox-speakers:
"Residents of Bordeaux Town."
The entire plaza instantly went silent. Only the howling of the wind blowing across the walls could be heard.
"My name is Paul. I am the Chapter Master of Crimson Dawn."
He paused, giving everyone time to process the information.
"Today, we breached this town and killed the Iron Claws who have controlled this place for thirteen years."
"I know what you are thinking."
Zeke's voice was perfectly calm, every word reaching every person's ears clearly:
"You think we are just another bandit gang. That we take a place, steal everything, and leave."
(Author/Note: Skipping ten thousand words of Paul's speech here…)
"Labor should earn you warmth and a full stomach! Contribution should earn you respect! Life should have dignity!"
The plaza was dead silent.
Then, whispers began to ripple through the crowd.
"Is what he's saying true...?"
"How is that possible... Since when does anything good happen in this world...?"
"But... they're handing out food..."
While Zeke was giving his speech, the players had already begun distributing the nutrient paste and water confiscated from the Iron Claws.
The first person to accept a bowl was an old miner in his forties. With trembling hands, he took a bite, and tears immediately streamed down his face.
"It's true... there's no sand mixed in... it's not spoiled..."
Those words were like a spark dropped into a haystack.
More and more residents received food, wolfing it down greedily.
That long-lost, grounding feeling of a full stomach was more convincing than any speech.
Zeke waited a few minutes before continuing:
"Of course."
That word made the plaza quiet down again.
"Crimson Dawn is not a garbage dump. We don't just take in everything."
Zeke's gaze sharpened.
"We save those worth saving. We give opportunities to those willing to work."
"But for the scum!"
He pointed toward the edge of the plaza, where over three hundred people dragged out of the crowd by the players were kneeling.
These were the ones the Wisdom trait had screened out. They didn't meet the criteria for immediate execution, but they had definitely committed wrongs:
Some had done dirty work for the Iron Claws. Some were thieves and fraudsters. Some had stolen other people's rations.
"These people require labor reform. They will use their labor to compensate their victims and earn their own redemption."
Zeke paused, his tone turning freezing cold:
"And then there are others..."
His gaze swept over the ranks of the residents.
The Wisdom trait operated silently. A pale gold psychic glow expanded outward from him, rippling across the entire plaza.
This time, he perceived things far more carefully.
Then he began to point.
"You. Seventh row, thirteenth from the left. The one in the brown jacket."
The man he pointed at went deathly pale.
"You. Twelfth row, fifth from the right. The woman wearing the torn hat."
The woman slumped to the ground.
"You. Third row..."
In total, he singled out three hundred and eighty-seven people.
Their sins were heavier than the three hundred kneeling off to the side, but hadn't quite reached the level of the core Iron Claw veterans.
Most of them were peripheral members of the Iron Claws who had participated in robberies and extortion, and even had blood on their hands, acting as accomplices or enforcers.
"Step forward."
Zeke's voice left absolutely no room for argument.
The three hundred and eighty-seven people tremblingly stepped out of the ranks, kneeling in a row in the center of the plaza.
Zeke stepped down from the podium and walked up to them.
He didn't speak immediately. He just quietly looked down at them.
Some begged for mercy. Some cried and screamed that they were forced. Some tried to defend themselves, claiming they had also been beaten by the Iron Claws and were victims too.
"Your hands are all stained with the blood of the innocent, whether directly or indirectly."
"Even if you weren't the core of the Iron Claws, your sins have reached the threshold of death."
A look of deathly despair instantly washed over the faces of the three hundred-plus people.
Then, someone roared, "This isn't fair! I was forced! If I didn't do those things, the Iron Claws would've killed my whole family!"
Zeke looked at the man, his eyes as cold as ice:
"So you chose to murder other people's families instead? This world has never been fair. But under my command, being oppressed will never serve as an excuse to oppress others."
He said no more, simply raising his left hand:
"Now, for the sins you have committed, I sentence all of you to death!"
Over a hundred players standing nearby immediately dragged them all away. They tried to resist, but how could their frail bodies possibly be a match for the mini-Astartes players?
With them dealt with, the only ones left in the plaza were truly ordinary residents.
Zeke walked back up the podium.
"Now, it's your turn. Those willing to come with us: pack your things. We leave first thing tomorrow morning for the base in the east. There is land to farm there, and food to eat. Children can learn, and adults can acquire new skills. Those unwilling to go may stay. But whether you live or die from here on out is none of our concern."
He paused, adding:
"Also, Bordeaux Town will not be preserved. The buildings here are too old and completely unsuited for long-term habitation. We will dismantle and take every piece of usable material to expand the base."
These words caused quite a stir.
After all, this was the place they had lived for over a decade, maybe even several decades.