Warhammer: Empire Reboot

"At least I'm still handsome."

Brock paused for a moment.

He then burst into laughter, laughing so hard that it aggravated his wound, and blood gushed from his mouth again.

"Damn, you really deserve a beating."

Viktor smiled too.

"You can try it after you finish the treatment."

They all know that the word "finished" sounds like a terrible joke now.

Across from the Seventh Highland, the Orc racing tribe regrouped.

The horizon was full of cars.

Abandoned armored vehicles.

Orc motorcycle.

Tracked armored vehicle.

Half of a civilian transport vehicle.

There were also several monsters salvaged from the Astronautical Army wreckage, with iron teeth and rocket nozzles welded onto them.

A human skull was hanging on the front of the vehicle.

The engine was spewing black smoke.

The orc driver fired wildly into the air as he drove, roaring like a pack of mad dogs with their tails on fire.

"WAAAGH!"

The remaining walls were shaking.

Tiny streams of water seeped out from the cracks in the reservoir's outer wall, leaving shiny streaks on the charred surface.

Viktor stood on the dilapidated command platform.

His silver hair was smeared with blood on his forehead, and half of the golden sun crown emblem of the Caslan family was burned away. The high-explosive molten amulet still hung on his chest.

A common honor decoration among Terran nobles.

At the banquet, it symbolized that one should rather die than dishonor the family name.

On the battlefield, it can really blow people into a ball of light.

Lieutenant Aurelia Vane ran over.

She is the eldest daughter of the Vane family.

On ordinary days, she complained that the beds on the vigilant star were too hard, that the rationed soup was like the water used to wash guns, and that the ordinary soldiers' swearing was too vulgar.

Now, her helmet was gone, her blonde hair was stuck to the side of her face with blood and mud, her left shoulder armor was split in two, and the energy blade of her power rapier flickered like a dying candle flame.

"Of those who can still stand up, there are 197."

"There are fewer people who can follow orders."

Brock leaned against the ammunition box and added a sentence.

"Including the remaining wretched lives of the 82nd Regiment, there are 343. There are still 15 who can sit and fire."

"The three who were about to die said not to count them, fearing they would be a burden."

Viktor paused for a moment.

"Tell those three that they are under my command."

Aurelia looked up at him.

"You have to pull the trigger before you die," Viktor said.

Brock immediately yelled at the top of his lungs into the ruins, "Did you hear me? Young Master told you not to slack off before you die!"

A few broken gong-like sounds echoed from behind the ruins.

"Fuck you, Brock."

Give me the gun.

"By the Emperor, I am not quite dead yet!"

Some people coughed so hard it looked like they were going to vomit their lungs out.

"Anyone who dares to say I'm holding them back, I'll break their legs first!"

Victor looked at the defensive line.

The young masters and ladies of the Corona Guard are no longer recognizable.

The gold-edged armor shell was blackened by smoke.

The cloak was torn into strips.

The stock of the expensive heat gun was covered in blood, some of which had dried into a black crust.

Several young noblemen's hands were trembling.

Some people are afraid.

Everyone is afraid.

But no one is backing out.

They did come here hoping to gain prestige.

I want to get a battle medal.

I want to please my family elders.

I want to have something to say at banquets that will catch the girls' attention when I get back to Terra.

Now they know what honor tastes like.

Honor smells like burnt meat, like engine oil, like the blood your comrade sprays onto your face before he dies in your arms, like the fear that makes you want to vomit your guts out, yet you still have to keep your feet planted on the front line.

Victor raised the heat gun.

"Corona Guard Regiment!"

The surviving young nobles raised their heads.

Victor shouted, "We're here to be gilded!"

Everyone was stunned for a moment.

Aurelia turned sharply to look at him.

Brock also turned his head to the side, squinting as if he had only one eye.

Victor continued, “Stop pretending. We all know. We brought wine, capes, and fancy battlefield letters to our families. We thought we were going to fight a good fight, kill a few aliens, and return to Terra with an extra badge on our chests.”

A baron's heir, his face covered in blood, laughed and cursed:

"Company commander, are you pulling down your pants to show your men right now?"

Viktor looked at him.

"Yes."

He pointed to the oncoming horde of orc chariots.

"Because the gilding is now finished."

The artillery fire made the pebbles beneath his feet bounce around.

"What's left now isn't gold."

He patted his torn breastplate.

"It's iron."

He then pressed down on the shoulder of a dead soldier next to him.

"It's blood."

Finally, he looked at the disheveled noble children.

"It's bone."

He drew his power rapier.

"Anyone who still wants honors shouldn't expect them to be hung up for them like medals. Go dig them up yourself."

"We'll bite those green bastards off with our teeth."

Aurelia's fingers slowly tightened around the sword hilt.

Victor continued to shout:

“We are Terra’s Crown Guard. We can be vain, arrogant, and talk about wine glasses like fools at banquets. We can iron our cloaks three times before going out.”

"But we can't let a bunch of green-skinned bastards trample over our corpses to drink human water."

Brock muttered a curse under his breath.

"That sounds like something a human would say."

Victor raised his rapier.

"Our family bears witness!"

Aurelia followed suit and raised her sword.

"Terra bears witness!"

Brock used his remaining arm to lift the explosive pistol.

"Witnessed by the Emperor".

He spat a mouthful of blood at the group of noble soldiers beside him.

"Don't fucking embarrass yourself!"

The orc caravan crashed into them.