I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 25 Lively
At dawn the next day, as the first rays of pale sunlight pierced the polluted atmosphere of Peditian, a muffled engine roar broke the silence of the position as it drew nearer. A chimera armored personnel carrier painted in Cadian gray camouflage came to a stop in front of the position, its ramp slamming to the ground with a thud, and a quartermaster poked his head out.

"13th Company! Send a few men to move this stuff!"

Upon hearing the call, several bored players immediately gathered around and busied themselves carrying the wooden crates out.

One of the players pried open the crate he was carrying, expecting to find neatly stacked stick grenades, but instead discovered several gleaming metallic grenade launchers inside. Curious, he picked one up and asked, "Hey? Sir, why aren't there grenades in this crate? Weren't you supposed to only be delivering grenades?"

The quartermaster looked tired, but still smiled and explained, "Originally, we only had hand grenades. These were given to you by other units on the other lines after they heard about your battle plan. They said that since these are offensive grenades and won't cause much effective damage on the front lines, it's better to give them to you brave warriors who are going to charge into battle and create greater value."

Upon hearing this, the player who had asked the question nodded solemnly: "Then please thank our brother unit for us!"

“Of course,” the quartermaster replied, his expression becoming more serious. “In addition, the political commissar instructed me to inform you that, according to reports from the frontline observation posts, the heretics will soon attempt to launch another attack on our main defensive line. That will be the best opportunity for you to attack the chemical refinery. We will do everything in our power to hold off their main force and prevent them from having a chance to quickly reinforce it.”

"That's good!" the players carrying ammunition boxes said cheerfully. "Just you wait and see. Without reinforcements, we can definitely kick those cultists from the chemical refinery to death like dogs on the street."

The quartermaster was clearly infected by the players' almost blind optimism, and he also showed a heartfelt smile: "For the Emperor, I wish you a triumphant return."

After the quartermaster and the players waved goodbye, the Chimera kicked up a cloud of dust and returned to its main position.

Under Ruan Wenbo's direction, the company quickly distributed the supplies. The grenades were easy to distribute; everyone received one, and they were divided equally. But Ruan Wenbo hadn't figured out how to allocate the extra grenade launchers. To ensure fairness, he simply had the squad leaders draw lots to decide who would receive them.

As a result, the 7th Platoon, responsible for close combat and counter-attacks, was lucky enough to be assigned to this batch of "heavy firepower".

After attaching two free grenades to his belt, a player from Class 7 looked at himself and his companions and couldn't help but complain, "Speaking of which, isn't our equipment worse than that of an army from World War I?"

His words immediately resonated with many.

"Wow, now that you mention it, it's true! The only heavy weapon in the entire company is these three grenade launchers that were just issued."

“That’s hard to say,” another history enthusiast interjected. “It depends on which World War I country we’re comparing ourselves to. If we’re comparing ourselves to Tsarist Russia, at least we have a laser gun in hand right now, so we don’t have to wait for the people in front of us to die before we can pick it up.”

"Hard to say."

“That’s how the Imperium of Man is,” a longtime Warhammer fan sighed. “It won’t be until Guilliman returns that most of the Astragalus’s firepower will be able to barely reach the level of World War II armies. Before that, the Astragalus’s heavy firepower will have a huge gap between its upper and lower limits.”

"Alas, the Empire of Humor."

After the equipment was distributed and ammunition was strapped to their waists, nearly a hundred players, organized by Ruan Wenbo, formed two loose columns and began marching towards the chemical refinery.

That place is quite a distance from where they are now, so it's necessary to act ahead of time.

The march was tedious and oppressive. Although the players could maintain a basic level of formation and organization under the supervision of Ruan Wenbo and the squad leaders, the extremely harsh environment at Xiachao quickly made everyone feel irritable.

Beneath your feet lies an ever-sticky, damp ground; the air is thick with the pungent stench of rotting organic matter and chemical waste; and as far as the eye can see, there are only massive, rusty pipes and grime-covered rock walls. This journey is nothing short of pure sensory torture.

"Holy crap, that stench! The smell is unbearable!"

"I told you this game couldn't just be fun. Look, here comes the torture."

"Damn it, how much longer do we have to walk on this awful road? The soles of our feet are practically stuck to the ground!" Amidst the cacophony of complaints, one player suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs, "Where's our World War I army's signature band? Why don't we even have background music for our march?"

These words were like a bomb dropped into stagnant water, immediately eliciting agreement from countless players.

"That's right! Where's our [Death Squad] company's band?"

"We players have our own dignity too, you know! If the developers are smart, they should add background music for us right now!"

Just as everyone was cheering, one player suddenly volunteered, "I can sing, guys! I'll provide the background music!"

"Okay, okay! Give me one!"

"Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Sing military songs? If you dare sing the Chinese version of 'Lemon,' I'll slash you to death!"

The player stepped forward amidst expectant gazes. He cleared his throat, clapped his hands twice on his thigh to keep the beat, and then began to sing in a loud voice the melody that the players knew all too well:
"unity is strength!"

"unity is strength!"

When the song started, everyone was taken aback.

"Huh? This song?"

"Damn, this is really like university military training."

But I must say, this guy sang really well. He clearly practiced outside of the game; his deep and resonant voice was full of power, echoing through the narrow passage made of steel and rock, instantly drowning out all the surrounding noise.

The highly infectious singing quickly inspired the other players, and many of them subconsciously started singing along.

"This power is iron! This power is steel!"

Harder than iron, stronger than steel!

Gradually, what began as a solo became a chorus of more than a dozen people, and finally, nearly a hundred men from the entire company joined in this grand marching chorus. The majestic singing resounded throughout this filthy and decaying underground world, somewhat diluting the nauseating stench and oppressive atmosphere.

"Fire on the fascists! Let all undemocratic systems die!"

As the song ended, its lingering melody resonated. Before anyone could suggest another song, a player yelled, "This song is bad! After this, I feel like we should turn around and attack the Human Empire!"

"puff--"

"Hahahahahaha!"

His words instantly triggered laughter from everyone. The players couldn't help but burst into laughter, their deafening laughter almost as loud as the singing earlier, carrying far and wide through the dark underground passage.

(End of this chapter)