Roya looked calmly at the endless sea of plague-ridden zombies before him.
Ignoring Phoros’ anxious warnings, a faint smile appeared on his face.
“Corruption?” His tone remained completely unconcerned.
“Don’t worry.” “That won’t be a problem.” With a thought, he opened his inventory.
A metal bucket filled with pure white liquid appeared in his hand.
“Phoros.” Roya gently shook the bucket.
“Do you know what’s inside?” Phoros stared blankly for a moment before sniffing cautiously.
“My lord…
judging from the scent…” “It appears to be animal milk.” “Correct.” Roya nodded.
“Milk.” Looking at the seemingly ordinary iron bucket, even Roya couldn’t help marveling at the absurd rules of the Minecraft system.
In Minecraft…
One block equaled one cubic meter.
A single bucket of water—or milk—could fill an entire one-meter cube.
In other words…
The ordinary-looking bucket in his hand actually contained an inexhaustible cubic meter of milk.
“Bring me some waterskins.” “The larger, the better.” “We’re dividing the milk.” Several Space Marines immediately brought over dozens of leather waterskins.
Roya tilted the bucket.
Milk poured out like a waterfall.
One waterskin…
Then another…
Then another…
Yet the milk inside the bucket showed no sign of decreasing.
“My lord…” Ilya looked completely bewildered.
“What exactly are you planning?” “Using milk against Nurgle?” Roya filled another waterskin before answering calmly.
“In my world’s rules…” “Milk removes every negative status effect.” He tossed the filled waterskin into his hand.
“Poison.” “Weakness.” “Wither.” “Or whatever blessing Nurgle calls a gift.” “As long as the system recognizes it as a negative status…” “…milk removes it.” Without another word— He hurled the waterskin toward the advancing Plague Zombies.
Whoosh!
The leather pouch traced a graceful arc through the air.
Thud!
It burst apart among the plague-ridden horde.
Milk splashed across dozens of decaying bodies.
Some ran over festering wounds.
Some flowed into open mouths filled with broken teeth and writhing maggots.
The battlefield suddenly fell silent.
At the very front stood one particularly grotesque Plague Zombie.
Most of its skull had rotted away.
Bones protruded through decomposing flesh.
Its intestines dragged across the floor behind it.
A few drops of milk splashed across its lips.
The next instant— Hiss— Pure white radiance erupted from the zombie’s body.
It was not the sickly glow of the Warp.
Nor was it holy light.
It was the absolute authority of the Minecraft system itself.
A cleansing light.
Under the horrified gaze of Phoros…
Ilya…
The Lamenters…
The Battle Sisters…
A miracle unfolded that completely overturned everything they believed.
The yellow-green pustules covering the zombie rapidly dried and crumbled away.
Fresh flesh regenerated at incredible speed over exposed bone.
The intestines dragging across the floor retracted back into the abdominal cavity.
Torn skin closed seamlessly.
Corrupted organs regenerated.
In less than two seconds— The hideous Plague Zombie transformed into an ordinary young Hive citizen.
Healthy.
Alive.
Even his filthy clothing had lost its nauseating stench.
“W-Where…” The young man stared blankly at his restored hands.
“…Where am I?” His sanity had returned.
Then— He looked around.
Thousands of plague-ridden zombies surrounded him.
Instantly— His memories flooded back.
He remembered tearing apart his neighbors.
Remembered devouring rotting corpses.
Remembered swallowing flesh crawling with maggots.
“AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!” The young man collapsed to his knees in utter horror.
His scream lasted only moments.
The surrounding Plague Zombies sensed living flesh.
More than a dozen bloated arms reached toward him simultaneously.
His body disappeared beneath the swarm.
Crunching bones.
Tearing flesh.
The horrifying sounds echoed throughout the tunnel.
Yet— No one paid attention anymore.
Roya simply folded his arms and smiled.
“It works.” “So external contact works…” “And internal consumption works too.” “The system’s rules apply even more broadly than I expected.” Phoros stared speechlessly at the battlefield.
Throughout the Imperium…
Nurgle’s corruption had always been considered irreversible.
Only overwhelming heat…
Purifying plasma…
Or complete incineration…
Could eradicate it.
That truth had been engraved into every Space Marine’s soul.
Yet today— That absolute truth had been overturned…
…by a bucket of milk.
Roya paid no attention to everyone’s stunned expressions.
“Titus.” “Yes, my lord.” “Take twenty brothers.” “Return to the cattle farm.” “Fill every available waterskin with milk.” “Then bring everything back.” Titus immediately saluted.
“Understood.” He selected twenty newly ascended Space Marines before disappearing back through the tunnel.
Half an hour later— Every Space Marine and every Lamenter veteran carried a leather waterskin filled with milk attached to their armor.
The Battle Sisters did the same.
Ilya personally ensured every Sister had one secured to her waist.
Roya retrieved another bucket of milk from his inventory.
He calmly drank a mouthful.
Then stored it away again.
“The rules are simple.” His eyes swept across the assembled warriors.
“If you develop a fever…” “Drink.” “If your body starts aching…” “Drink.” “If the smell of decay becomes stronger…” “Drink.” “If corrosive fluids penetrate damaged armor…” “Drink.” “If anything feels wrong…” “Drink.” “Don’t try to conserve it.” Everyone nodded.
They looked at the humble waterskins with reverence usually reserved for the Emperor’s most sacred relics.
Roya drew his iron sword.
The square blade gleamed beneath the dim lights.
“Advance.” “Crush them.” He stepped forward.
BOOM!
The steel floor shattered beneath his feet.
Using the tremendous force generated by the Minecraft system, Roya launched himself directly into the endless sea of Plague Zombies.
The first dozen monsters reached toward him with bloated, rotting arms.
Roya’s movements were astonishingly simple.
The iron sword swept horizontally.
A silver arc flashed through the darkness.
Eight impact sounds rang out almost simultaneously.
The nearest eight Plague Zombies never even had time to react.
The moment the sword connected— They were blasted backward over ten meters.
Their bodies smashed violently into dozens of zombies behind them.
Before they even landed— Each dissolved into white smoke.
Only rotten flesh and rotten flesh item drops remained scattered across the ground.
There was no struggle.
No resistance.
Only the absolute authority of the Minecraft system.
Every zombie attempting to block Roya’s path was instantly cut apart by a single strike before disappearing into white particles.
Chapter Master Phoros raised his power sword high.
“For the Emperor!” “For Lord Roya!” “Advance!” The thunderous roar of hundreds of bolters echoed once more throughout the Underhive.
Hundreds of Space Marines advanced shoulder to shoulder behind Roya, forming an unstoppable wall of ceramite.
With miraculous milk hanging from their belts, neither veterans nor recruits bothered maintaining cautious defensive formations any longer.
Ignoring the plague-ridden pus splashing across their armor…
Ignoring the corrosive acid striking their bodies…
They simply marched forward while unleashing relentless volleys of explosive bolts.
Ilya led the Battle Sisters alongside them.
Holy flamers bathed the corridors in purifying fire.
A splash of corrosive plague fluid struck one Battle Sister across the cheek.
White smoke immediately rose from the wound.
Without the slightest hesitation— She uncorked her waterskin.
Drank a mouthful of milk.
A brilliant white light enveloped her.
The corrosive wound disappeared instantly.
Not even a scar remained.
“It’s…
a miracle.” The Battle Sister whispered in disbelief.
Then, without another word— She charged straight into the thickest concentration of plague zombies.