I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 136 The Third Legion of the Dead in Peditia

The heavy metal ramp clanged loudly under Ghostface's tactical boots, as if announcing a complete separation between him and the crowded, noisy assembly point behind him. A unique smell, a mixture of engine oil, ozone, and countless sweats, wafted over, but instead of making him uncomfortable, it invigorated him.

"Commander, this way please." A solemn-looking crew member in a gray uniform was already waiting at the gangway. He bowed slightly and gestured for someone to lead the way.

Ghostface nodded, a smirk playing on his lips beneath his full-face helmet, and followed the crew into the massive vessel. His eyes gleamed with childlike curiosity and fervor as he eagerly surveyed his surroundings.

A cold, steel dome hung high above, riddled with thick pipes and cables, like the ribs and sinews of a colossal beast. At intervals along the walls, a dim, yellowish lighting rune cast dappled shadows across the narrow, deep passageways. The echoing of boots striking the deck, the deep rumble of distant engines, and the murmur of voices rising from the various compartments, converging into a tidal wave, all combined to create a symphony of steel and war.

At this moment, this troop transport ship is carrying a full 100,000 players like him.

Don't underestimate this number. After Bit completely lifted all restrictions and launched a global open beta, the game's active player count once exceeded the staggering figure of "hundreds of millions".

However, the world's starkly real cruelty soon delivered a resounding slap in the face to everyone. The terrible air quality and the horrific battlefields where flesh and blood flew and death was ever-present quickly deterred tens of millions of normal people after the initial novelty wore off.

However, there are also all sorts of people who stayed for all sorts of reasons. Some were there for the 1:10 speed-up of thought; some wanted to touch those cold, deadly guns and feel the primal thrill of recoil and killing; others wanted to escape their weak, crippled bodies in reality and gain a strong, powerful physique here... Of course, there were also players with other, deeper motives, but since they don't belong to the majority of players, we won't go into detail here.

In the eyes of a normal commander, an army of 100,000 ordinary people might be too few. In an apocalyptic war where casualties are often counted in the tens of millions, this force would probably not last even half an hour before being completely wiped out.

However, in the eyes of Ghost Face, this eccentric mental patient, the calculation was not like that at all. He felt that if these 100,000 people were only fighting small battles, then it was indeed nothing, but the bigger the battle, the more awesome he would be.

Because players can revive after dying!
In a low-intensity battle, on average, each soldier would die two or three times a day, resulting in a daily "troop attrition" of only two or three hundred thousand. But if it were an apocalyptic battle, so brutal that someone would die every thirty minutes, then over twenty-four hours, he would have an army of four million eight hundred thousand! That would be incredibly impressive!

As for how Ghost Face, who was just a lowly class monitor before, managed to gather a force of 100,000 people in such a short time... it's quite a legendary tale.

At the start of the open beta, the chaotic scene of a sea of ​​people, like sardines in a can, made Ghostface's already somewhat erratic mind race. He randomly found a high spot, and facing the dark mass of people below, he began a thrilling impromptu speech with the earth-shattering question, "Do you want an all-out war?!"

Then, the 100,000 players in the audience who were also eager for excitement got carried away and joined him without really thinking it through.

So, this is the current situation. Ghostface, as the commander of the newly formed Third Legion of the Dead of Pedidia, is being led by a crew member through layers of steel tunnels to his command center—the bridge.

The crew member leading the way stopped before a heavy armored gate bearing the double-headed eagle emblem. As he entered the necessary permissions, the gate slid open with a low, hydraulic hiss, releasing a cool breeze—a mixture of static electricity and filtered air—that was completely different from the air inside the passageway.

Ghost Face stepped inside, and the view before him suddenly opened up.

This is a magnificent command center, resembling a cavern. Beneath the towering Gothic dome, countless data screens and indicator lights, shimmering with an eerie green glow, converge into a sea of ​​information. Technical priests in deep crimson robes chant prayers softly, soothing the servo skulls—flesh and brass intertwined—that are one with the control panels. A rich incense smoke and the hum of machinery fill the air, creating a solemn yet oppressive atmosphere.

However, in this solemn atmosphere, a sudden movement broke the silence. "Whoosh—"

With a synchronized screech of armor, everyone still able to move freely on the bridge—the helmsman at the helm, the navigator interpreting the star map, and even the captain standing in the center of the bridge, his face as weathered as granite—suddenly turned around at the same moment, facing the demon, clenched his right fist, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and interlaced his thumbs, performing a perfectly executed Eagle Salute.

Ghostface raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. He hadn't expected these NPCs, who seemed even more "professional" than him, to give him such respect. However, he reacted quickly, immediately mimicking their gesture, raising both arms in a rather casual Eagle Salute.

“Sir,” the leading captain lowered his arm, his voice, modified with vocal cords, deep and hoarse, like metal rubbing together, “I am the captain of this ship…”

“Hello, just call me Ghostface,” Ghostface ignored the long and complicated-sounding name. He glanced around the bridge, his gaze finally settling on the captain, and asked directly, “So, I’m the highest-ranking person here?”

His reasoning was simple: in the rigidly hierarchical system of the Empire, those of higher rank would most likely not offer him such a formal Eagle Salute first.

"Uh...yes, sir." The captain's reply carried a hint of hesitation, clearly caught off guard by Ghostface's unconventional style, but this also proved that Ghostface's guess was correct.

“That’s strange,” Ghost Face stroked his chin, saying with interest, “What about the Ministry of Military Affairs? Don’t they care about us? Didn’t they give us a mission briefing or specify a destination or anything?”

“Theoretically speaking, this is indeed a matter for the Ministry of Naval Affairs,” the captain replied in a businesslike tone. “But if we really follow the theory, we’ll probably stay on this track until the ship rusts and dies on the job, and not a single official from the Ministry of Naval Affairs will come with a stamped parchment to deliver the order.”

"OK, OK, I get it. Bureaucracy kills." Ghost Face let out a knowing chuckle as he strode toward the massive Thinker array in the center of the bridge, where a vast, slowly rotating three-dimensional holographic star map was projected. Countless stars twinkled in the darkness, weaving a boundless cosmic web.

"So, you mean I get to choose where we go, right...? Then let me see."

His gaze swept rapidly across the star map, automatically filtering out the seemingly peaceful green areas and the blue bands of stable flight paths. Unsurprisingly, his eyes were immediately locked onto a corner of the star map that was flashing a blinding red light.

The area was marked with several intersecting skull warning signs, and the surrounding data streams were a chaotic, deep red, signifying extreme danger. It appeared to be the largest, reddest, and most dangerous point on the entire star map.

"Snapped!"

Without hesitation, Ghost Face reached out and slapped the blood-red holographic projection, causing the light and shadow to shake violently.

“This is it,” he grinned, “Jersey Sector!”

(End of this chapter)