"Inside Marshal Venner's command cabin, several reports from the frontline Krieg engineer squads were neatly arranged on his data slate. Each report detailed how those Helldivers had saved critically wounded Krieg soldiers who should have been executed according to protocol, and how they had used "joint construction" as an excuse to infiltrate Krieg engineering projects.
The Marshal's fingertips tapped rhythmically against the data slate, the tap, tap sound breaking the silence.
"Fine then," he finally spoke. "If he saves people, I'll save people too! Since they want to help us save our wounded, then send all our combat medics out to save their wounded!"
His gaze swept across the assembled staff officers, his voice suddenly rising: "Save them with everything you've got. Even if a Helldiver has only one breath left, you get them back on their feet! This is an order, a combat mission!"
For the Krieg Korps, this order was unprecedented. Kriegers saving people? It sounded absurd. They were experts at killing—whether with a lasgun, a trench shovel, or a grenade, they did the job cleanly.
But saving lives on the battlefield, especially the lives of those who weren't fellow Kriegers but belonged to another unit, was unheard of. However, for a Krieger, an order was absolute; there was no room for negotiation.
When the frontline Krieg medics received this world-first command, they put their heads together. They didn't possess any sophisticated medical skills; they knew next to nothing about delicate organ repair or complex neural re-linking. They excelled at stopping bleeding, performing amputations, injecting basic antibiotics, and most importantly—the "Mercy Kill." How were they supposed to "save" the critically injured?
They saw no other way. Since the order was to keep them alive, they'd just use drugs. Heavy doses!
Painkillers, enhancers, stimulants—all administered in doses meant for Ogryns. Without precise diagnostics or time to mix formulas, their only goal was to keep the target's vital signs stable for a short period. The core philosophy was: "As long as you stay alive through the duration of the drug, the mission is a success." Under such intense chemical stimulation, some might even experience a "second spring," exploding with sudden, terrifying potential. As for what happened after the drugs wore off—well, even the Emperor Himself might look on with a grimace.
And so, a bizarre spectacle unfolded in the Old Industrial Zone.
When no accidents occurred, the engineering teams of both sides remained on their designated paths, carrying out deep-layer mining and modification. Some watched from the shadows, waiting for an opportunity.
But the moment an accident happened—whether a Krieger or a Helldiver was injured or fell in critical condition—both sides would immediately dispatch personnel to "rescue" the other's wounded.
The Adeptus Mechanicus players wrapped Krieg wounded like burritos. Meanwhile, fully armed Krieg medics charged at fallen Helldivers like bulldozers, slamming needles into them without hesitation and pumping in various cocktails of drugs like they were water.
Under the violent chemical bombardment, the fading flame of life within the Helldivers was forcibly reignited. No matter how severe the injury, they were kept hanging on by a thread, lingering in a drug-induced state of survival.
Elsewhere, in Robert's office.
Ghostface pushed the door open and swaggered in without the slightest bit of restraint. His pitch-black carapace armor shimmered under the lights. His tone was cynical, yet carried a hint of anticipation: "Doctor, calling me here specifically... I'm flattered. Are you giving me a special mission?"
Robert didn't respond immediately. He finished organizing the documents in his hand and placed them precisely into a drawer with a soft click. He looked up, his gaze landing on Ghostface.
"You guessed right," he said calmly. "Care to guess what kind of special mission I'm giving you?"
Behind the mask, Ghostface's expression seemed to shift. He rubbed his chin, his voice sounding a bit uncertain: "It's not... helping you process paperwork, is it? You can't do me dirty like that. I did a beautiful job delaying the Krieg engineering progress, and I actually quite like my current assignment."
"I wouldn't let you touch my paperwork even if you wanted to," Robert said dryly, a hint of mockery in his voice. "I heard that during the Damocles Crusade, you performed quite well—leading your troops to wipe out the entire Upper Spire nobility of a planet?"
"That did happen," Ghostface shrugged with an air of indifference. "The mission required it. Besides, this game has such high freedom; if I don't rummage through everything like a Japanese RPG protagonist, I just don't feel right."
He paused, as if only just realizing the deeper meaning behind Robert's words. His tone suddenly turned nervous: "Uh... you're not one of those 'Realist Faction' players who thinks this is the real world, are you? Did you call me here to settle scores?"
"You're overthinking it," Robert replied steadily. "I just wanted to ask if you're interested in doing a similar mission again."
Ghostface's interest piqued instantly. He leaned forward slightly: "Details."
Robert didn't beat around the bush. "Our reinforcements are arriving. Which means the time to deal with the nobility has come. As our defensive base, Amarah must be rock-solid internally. The existence of the nobility is an unstable factor. They control massive power without the will to match it; they consume vast resources without providing a corresponding function."
He didn't use the word "purge," but the implication was crystal clear.
"So they eat a lot but do very little. They definitely need some 'rectification,'" Ghostface grinned, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He understood Robert's meaning perfectly; to him, this was a dream mission.
"And what will I have?" he pressed, asking about the support Robert could provide.
"That's up to you," Robert replied with profound meaning. "I will not support you, but I will not bring you trouble either. How many people you find to help, what you do, and what you gain—it all depends on you."
The meaning was clear: there would be no direct orders and no official resources, but there would be no interference either. Ghostface was being given a free hand to do whatever he wanted.
"You're a legendary boss, Doctor!" Ghostface beamed. "In that case, just wait for my good news." He gave Robert a somewhat informal salute, then turned and strode out of the room.