I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 7 Warhammer's Unique "Food"

After the previous tunnel assault was repelled, the battlefield temporarily returned to a fragile calm. The cultists in the distance seemed to be regrouping, with only sporadic gunfire and the cries of the wounded echoing across the battlefield.

Commissar Walter wiped the blood from his chainsaw sword with his sleeve, his sharp gaze sweeping across the entire position before finally settling on the giant-like Oglin player, "Great Eagle Police." In the close-quarters combat just now, this big guy's performance had been nothing short of heroic.

“Big guy, come with me!” Walter’s voice was loud and decisive.

The Eagle Cop, who was squatting on the ground examining his fist, paused for a moment when he heard the call. His massive head looked around, his eyes searching the ground, clearly intending to retrieve the laser gun he had dropped in his excitement.

Seeing this, a barely perceptible look of surprise flashed in Walter's eyes. He was once again surprised by the intelligence of this Oglin; an ordinary Oglin would not have such clear tactical thinking as "finding his weapon."

“No need to look for that laser gun,” Walter’s voice softened. “Just follow me.”

[Eagle Police] immediately realized that his subconscious action just now seemed to have been a bit too clever. He quickly looked away, forced a simple smile, scratched the back of his head, and then strode towards the political commissar with a silly grin, trying to cover up his "intelligence leak" with his actions.

The remaining players watched as [Eagle Police] followed the political commissar to the rear of the position, and they couldn't help but gather together again.

"What should we do next?" one of the players asked, bewildered. "Neither the political commissar nor the system has given us any new tasks?"

All eyes turned to Ruan Wenbo. His previous analysis and performance in battle had already left most players with a deep impression of him as a "reliable and intelligent person." After discovering that there was such a brain in the team, many players naturally abandoned their plans to think for themselves.

Ruan Wenbo did not answer immediately. He first observed the surrounding environment, then pondered for a moment before speaking: "First of all, based on my observation, this development team is obviously trying to create an extremely realistic game, otherwise they wouldn't have put so much effort into some... disgusting parts."

Recalling their journey: the troop transport vehicles that were so bumpy they made them vomit, the extremely chaotic battlefield environment filled with explosions and screams, and the piles of corpses with bizarre thoughts and a stench... the players subconsciously expressed their heartfelt agreement with Nguyen Van Bo's argument.

Ruan Wenbo continued, "If we follow this logic, then what we need to do next is naturally what we should really do after a battle on the Warhammer battlefield... As for the Warhammer battlefield, according to the original description, at least in the Astragalus Army's territory, most of the time it hasn't escaped the trench warfare of World War I. Occasionally there will be armored group assaults, but at least in the Lower Nest slums where we are now, we certainly won't see that kind of large-scale scene."

He paused, then concluded, "In other words, we should learn from our predecessors in trench warfare during World War I; we should do what they did."

"So what were our trench warfare predecessors doing at this time?" a player asked cooperatively, raising his hand.

Ruan Wenbo slowly uttered two words: "Rest and eat."

"Huh?" The player who asked the question and everyone around him were stunned.

“Trench warfare isn’t about you just crouching in the trench while the enemy keeps charging and you keep defending until one side is wiped out,” Ruan Wenbo patiently explained. “In fact, the actual combat time is quite short compared to the time spent sitting idly in the trenches. It’s already quite remarkable if the enemy can organize one or two decent charges in a day. Perhaps warp demons can keep charging with their supernatural powers, but these flesh-and-blood cultists obviously can’t. In fact, the more organized a force is, the more likely it is to retreat after realizing that things are not going well, and to plan the next attack, rather than blindly charging and exhausting its manpower.”

The players only half understood Ruan Wenbo's long speech, but there was one thing they did understand.

"In other words," someone concluded, "we'll most likely have nothing to do in the next few hours of this game?"

Ruan Wenbo remained silent for a long time before finally answering somewhat uncertainly, "I think... yes."

Just then, a rough, strong hand landed on Ruan Wenbo's shoulder. A veteran of the Astronomical Army, with scars on his face and a tired but composed look in his eyes, had somehow appeared beside their small group.

“No,” the veteran said in a hoarse voice, “you have something you must do.”

The players tensed up immediately. While the game's extreme realism was somewhat torturous, they had to admit they were starting to immerse themselves in the characters. In an instant, classic scenes of "veterans bullying new recruits" flashed through their minds. They began to be on guard: were they about to be harassed? If so, they had to fight back. Dying in a game was acceptable, but being insulted by NPCs was absolutely unacceptable!
However, the veteran did not make any further move. He simply pointed with his other hand in the direction behind them, where someone was cooking a pot of something unknown: "Time to eat, recruits."

The veteran's words, "Time to eat, recruits," seemed to flip a switch, and the players belatedly felt a strong emptiness in their stomachs. The intense battle and adrenaline rush of the previous fight had masked everything, but now that they relaxed, hunger surged like a tidal wave.

"Damn, even the feeling of hunger is so realistic!" One player exclaimed, clutching his stomach, once again marveling at the game's level of realism.

They followed the old soldier to a relatively safe spot behind the lines. There, a huge cooking pot sat, burning wood scavenged from somewhere. A similarly weathered logistics soldier was stirring the pot with a large iron ladle. The players each took a dirty metal bowl from their supply crates and lined up to get to it. The pot was filled with a thick, mushy, grayish-brown paste, with some unidentified oil floating on top. A strange smell, a mixture of fishy odor and some kind of spice, wafted up from it.

"What... is this being cooked?" The player at the front of the line cautiously examined the contents of the pot and asked the veteran in charge of cooking, "The legendary corpse starch?"

Upon hearing this question, the veteran in charge of cooking grinned, revealing his missing front tooth, and chuckled, his voice hoarse: "Meat!"

"Meat?"

The player shook the bowl they had just gotten; in the thick broth, there seemed to be several large, unidentified chunks of meat floating in it. At this point, the other Asgardian soldiers in line behind them began to impatiently urge them on, so the players had no choice but to stop asking questions, quickly finish their bowls, and carry them to the side.

They sat in a circle, looking at each other in bewilderment at the poorly presented "food" in the bowl.

A player with the ID "Flying Eagle" took a deep breath, his expression one of resignation: "I'll go first! For my brothers!"

He closed his eyes, scooped up a small spoonful of soup, and shakily put it into his mouth.

A few seconds later, he froze, then opened his eyes incredulously: "Huh? It seems... there's nothing wrong?"

"Really?" Other players expressed their doubts. "How could Warhammer food be safe? Shouldn't it be made with engine oil and sawdust?"

However, seeing that [Flying Eagle] took another big gulp and even smacked his lips as if it tasted pretty good, everyone's doubts began to waver. With the first person taking the plunge, the others also mustered up their courage and, with some skepticism, took a sip as well.

A salty, somewhat rough but unmistakably meat broth flavor spread through my mouth.

The taste is actually...very normal?

The tense nerves and empty stomachs were greatly soothed by the hot soup. So, without hesitation, everyone began to drink it in large gulps. When the players had drunk at least half, and some of the bolder ones had even begun to chew on the rather chewy chunks of meat, Ruan Wenbo suddenly let out a short and sharp scream.

"what!"

The scream froze everyone in their tracks. Sensing something was wrong, they looked over and saw Ruan Wenbo holding something between two fingers, which he quickly dropped to the ground. It wasn't a piece of meat, but a shred of cloth.

A familiar piece of cloth, tinged with gray-green camouflage. To be precise, it was the Astragalus uniform they were currently wearing beneath their body armor.

Generally speaking, if fragments of military uniforms are found in a soup pot, then its owner should also be nearby.

A terrifying thought struck all the players like a bolt of lightning. They stiffly lowered their heads, staring at the so-called "pieces of meat" in their bowls.

"vomit--!"

The first to react was [Flying Eagle], who couldn't hold it in any longer. He turned around abruptly, leaned against the earthen wall of the trench, and began to gag violently.

His reaction was like a signal that instantly triggered a chain reaction.

"Ugh..." "Wow—!"

A chorus of retching sounds rose from one corner of the position. Players dropped their bowls, their stomachs churning. Some vomited up the broth they had just drunk, while others futilely vomited bile, their faces pale.

Coming from a time of peace, they now deeply felt the undisguised, nauseating malice of this universe.

(End of this chapter)