Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but Warhammer 40k

The stars that truly belong to humanity?

Henry found it somewhat absurd.

Although we don't know the exact year, we estimate that we are far from humanity's golden age.

In this galaxy ravaged by warp demons and plagued by insects.

Where is the starry sea that the Carlos family longed for? It's nothing but a reflection in the sea, a flower in a mirror.

"Hey Simon, are all members of your Carlos family keen on telling outsiders about your family history?"

"You talk like you know a lot of people in the Carlos family?"

Simon drew a sheathed longsword from the weapon rack and tossed it over with a backhand motion.

Henry caught it in a flurry, the bottom of the scabbard nearly hitting his toes.

"But you're right." Simon groped around in front of a row of empty gun racks. "Besides our past glories, we really don't have anything to show for ourselves. Whether we win or lose this war, the Carlos family will be a mere shell of its former self."

With a crisp click of a mechanism snapping open, a concealed weapon case popped out from the wall. A revolver was revealed.

Simon quickened his pace and took out the ammunition box next to him.

The brass bullets were pressed into the chamber one by one.

Henry looked at the pistol, then at the longsword in his hand, and couldn't help but ask a question.

"Wait a minute, do you have firearms?"

"right."

"Then why did you throw me an iron sword?" Henry pulled out half of the blade and brandished it.

"Because it's the only gun in the storeroom." Simon clicked the cylinder shut. "It was originally the captain of the guard's sidearm used to quell the mutiny. Now it seems he won't have a chance to use it."

"Who knows, he might be the one to lead a mutiny."

"It's possible that the outcome will be the same anyway."

He scrutinized Henry's sword-wielding posture, then pointed to the gun at his waist: "Do you know how to take the safety off?"

"No, not at all."

"Then you'd be safer with a sword; I don't want to get hit by you."

Although Simon showed no mercy, Henry did not feel any regret.

He's more concerned about something else now.

After dealing with those unlucky guys in the corridor, the experience points from the system settlement far exceeded expectations.

I have already accumulated two usable talent points.

  

Thoughts flowed, and the skill tree glided across my retina.

Unfortunately, the combat skill options are all products of the era of cold weapons.

The improvement in basic weapon handling skills is far less effective than the two weapon level points provided by the "Desperate Measures" skill.

Among his special talents, he only has "Commoner" and "Desperate Measures" to choose from. It's impossible for him to choose "Commoner" to negotiate with the Chaos Cultists.

It seems impossible to expect to gain a shooting skill and dominate the battlefield.

Save those two talent points for later, and make plans for crucial moments. In any case, the current [Desperate Measures] is good enough for dealing with battles.

On the other side, Simon dragged two still-usable pieces of chainmail out of the pile of junk.

"Come and lend a hand."

"Does someone else really need to help you with something like armor?"

As it turns out, it really was necessary.

The standard armor in the Warhammer world is far more complex than that of the Middle Ages, and it was outside Henry's knowledge.

"The buckle should face forward." Simon wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I think its curve fits the spine quite well," Henry argued forcefully.

The two of them dragged and pulled until they finally got their gear on.

The chainmail protected the torso, the shoulder armor was fastened, and the leather straps used for securing it were tucked into the sides of the waist.

Once the last clasp is fastened, the Velcro will secure the fastener.

Henry looked down at his armor and suddenly felt a little dazed.

It felt as if I had returned to the night I left Baitouwo Town.

At that time, however, he was still thinking about adventure, wealth, and the future.

And now.

I feel like I'm about to die.

"Ready?" Simon adjusted the sword and revolver at his waist.

Henry gripped the hilt of his sword, trying to find the right feel for how to apply force.

"That's about it."

"Walk."

The armory's dilapidated iron gate was pushed open, and the two men, one in front of the other, groped their way out.

……

A piercing alarm blared throughout the underground hangar, while rotating red lights swept alternately across the metal walls.

"Sir! We can't hold out much longer!"

The soldiers in the front line of defense shouted.

The alloy gate trembled repeatedly upon impact, and the sealing strips on the edges cracked and fell off.

The captain of the guard turned around upon hearing the sound.

The bandage wrapped around his forehead was soaked with blood, and half of his face was covered with dark red scabs.

"Quickly plug the gap!"

He held the automatic gun level and shouted loudly.

"The distress signal was sent out a long time ago! Imperial starships are on their way; you'd better weld the doors shut, even if it costs you your lives!"

The soldiers on the position erupted in a cacophony of shouts.

Some carried ammunition boxes, others dragged the wounded, and several people worked together to push the heavy supply crates to reinforce the gate.

The corpses outside the passage had long since piled up into a small mountain.

Loyalists.

Those who surrendered.

Chaos cultists.

Thick blood seeped in through the crack in the door and spread along the way.

With a snapping sound, the right hinge of the alloy door broke completely.

Half of the door panel is folded inward.

A gap was opened, large enough for three people to walk side by side.

Several cultists with runes painted on their faces squeezed into the defensive line with strange cries.

Before the guards at the front could even pull the trigger, they were hacked to pieces, their heads rolling down the slope to the bottom.

The captain of the guard roared.

"Fire!"

The automatic gun in his hand spat fire, working in tandem with the soldiers beside him.

Cross-shaped bullet comments swept across the gap like a storm.

The cultists who rushed in fell one after another like wheat being harvested by a sickle.

Someone was broken in the middle.

Someone's chest exploded.

Those who came later continued to push forward, stepping on the remains of their companions.

Even with both legs broken, he continued to crawl forward on the ground, using both hands and feet, until his skull was blown off by a bullet and he finally fell silent.

Finally, when the corpses piled up like a mountain, the defenders repelled the first wave of attack.

But the Chaos Cultists were not all dead, and the footsteps outside the door grew more frequent.

The captain of the guard looked grim.

He knew that these casualties were insignificant to the enemy.

Blood is flowing outwards, being gathered by an inexplicable force.

Those Chaos believers are deliberately creating death.

They are performing some kind of ritual.

Keep going like this.

Sooner or later, a demon will be summoned.

Several engineering machines, dragging their tracks, stumbled and lurched forward.

The robotic arm lifted the welding torch to repair the cracked door panel, sparks flying, barely sealing the large hole.

In front of a large control console behind the defensive line.

The mechanical priest, clad in a dark red robe, rapidly manipulated the holographic projection.

Data streams cascade down the optical prosthetic eye like a waterfall.

He oversaw both the outer perimeter battle and the hangar defense, while simultaneously transmitting calibration coordinates to the knight mechs on the battlefield.

The projected battle report took a sharp turn for the worse.

"Left-wing knight signal lost, destroyed."

"The entire Third Sentinel Squadron was killed in action."

"Several firing positions are unresponsive."

The synthesized electronic voice broadcast the death announcements emotionlessly, causing the guards' morale to plummet.

Adrian Carlos, the current head of the Carlos family, stepped to the side of the control panel.

The mechanical priest noticed his arrival and turned to report.

"Master, we still cannot pinpoint Young Master Simon's vital signs."

"Based on the current battle damage model, his chances of survival have fallen below nine percent."

Adrian watched the flashing red dot on the screen, the occasional vibrations indicating that the battle between the knight mechs had reached a fever pitch.

After a while, he finally spoke.

"You don't need to be so tactful."

"To die fighting for his family is his destiny."

The mechanical priest lowered his metal skull.

"The God-Emperor's blessing."

Adrian ignored the prayer, his gaze fixed on the defensive map.

"Clement".

"I am here, Master."

"We should leave."

The mechanical priest paused, and a slight error occurred in the processing core.

"Sir?"

"The outer defense line is still under fire, and there are still 374 civilians in the shelter."

"Even if most of the knight mechs are killed, according to tactical doctrine, it is far from time to completely abandon the stronghold."

Adrian turned to the side, his expression subtly changing; he smiled bitterly, as if mocking.

"On what basis? Why should we abide by the Empire's regulations?!"

The noisy hangar seemed out of place at this moment.

The captain of the guard ahead seemed to have heard the argument and glanced in the direction of the control panel with a puzzled look.

The head of the family, Adrian Carlos, continued his statement.

"The family sent out distress signals for 271 years, but received no response."

"Four hundred and sixty-seven wide-area communications sent to neighboring star sectors went unanswered."

"There was no response when there was a food shortage."

"There was no response when the plague spread."

"There was still no response when chaos descended."

His voice grew increasingly calm, a calmness that was unsettling.

"Clement, haven't you seen reality yet?"

"The Empire abandoned us long ago."

The mechanical priest stood frozen in place, unable to understand why the patriarch of the Carlos family would do this at such a time.

To say such a thing.

"Absolutely impossible, the One we believe in will never—"

"Forever what?"

Adrian interrupted him.

"I have always remained loyal, but he betrayed me..."

"We must rely on our own strength."

He hadn't finished speaking.

A power sword was drawn from Adrian's sleeve.

With a dull thud as it pierced flesh and metal, the blade plunged into the mechanical priest's back, emerging from his chest smeared with machine oil and bright red blood.

The guards at the front were so startled by the sudden turn of events that they forgot to move.

The mechanical priest's optical crystal flashed red, and system alarms kept popping up on the processor screen.

He stared at the tip of the sword in his chest, the microphone spitting out words intermittently.

"you……"

Adrian moved closer to the head inlaid with gears.

"The Carlos family will have its own starry sky."

The sharp blade was pulled out.

The priest collapsed to the ground.

At the same moment.

A dozen or so soldiers who were carrying ammunition turned their guns around without warning.

Gunfire rained down on his comrades' backs at close range.

The swords and knives were aimed at the necks of those nearby.

Bizarre, fanatical prayers echoed from behind the lines.

Betrayal spread like a plague.

Just as the captain of the guard was about to raise his gun, a tearing pain suddenly shot through his chest.

A blood-stained blade protruded from the front of his bulletproof armor.

He staggered back and saw his adjutant, who had been with him for over a decade, standing behind him.

The adjutant's mouth twisted open, and dark red buds and runes were spreading and taking root upwards from his neck.

"For a brand new era."

The adjutant twisted the hilt of the sword forcefully.

The defenses at the main gate collapsed without a fight, and the entire underground hangar was subjected to a massacre.