Temporary camp in the Underhive ruins.
Roya stood before a newly excavated underground pit, the experience bar at the bottom of his vision having just crossed the milestone of “60”.
Foros, Titus, and the others fighting outside brought him a generous experience dividend.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Roya turned to look at a batch of new recruits standing in formation on standby.
“Step out, twelve men.” Roya spoke.
Twelve newly armored, bulky new recruits stepped out of the formation.
A dazzling golden light surged from within Roya, instantly enveloping them.
One person converted per five levels, and the level 60 experience was instantly wiped to zero.
As the light dissipated, slowly rotating grass block icons appeared above the heads of the twelve recruits, and their eyes gained a sense of fanatical, absolute obedience toward Roya.
“Grab an iron pickaxe.” Roya pointed at the deep pit on the ground, “Dig down.
I need a space at a very low altitude to farm a kind of green slime creature.
The materials are in the chest; fill it with stone yourself if you dig through.” The twelve Astartes recruits did not waste any words, neatly removing their precious power armor, grabbing block iron pickaxes, and transforming into ruthless underground miners as they dug deeper.
A trace of loneliness flashed through the eyes of those recruits who were not chosen.
However, they quickly adjusted their mindset, vowing to perform well later and not let down Lord Roya’s expectations of them.
…
At this time in the Mid Hive, Avenue 31 Hub Plaza.
The remains of the greenskins piled up like mountains, and dark green blood gathered into rivers in the drainage trenches.
That noble count sat on an ammunition crate, watching those tall Astartes brethren hold their guns and steadily advance.
There was no ecstatic joy of survival on his face, only an extremely profound despair.
“Lord Count.” An Astra Militarum officer ran over, his tone excited, “The defense line is held!
The greenskins are routing!” The count did not look at him, only lowering his head to wipe the hilt of his power sword with a dirty sleeve, his voice trembling: “Four hundred Astartes.
Four hundred…
Do you know what this means?” The officer was stunned for a moment: “Does this mean the Emperor’s grace has descended?” “It means the Hephaestus Hive is completely rotten to the core!” The count stood up abruptly, roaring at the top of his lungs, the corners of his eyes splitting, “Sending nearly half a Chapter here from above means there is something far more terrifying than greenskins here!” The smile on the officer’s face froze, and a chill shot straight from the soles of his feet to his scalp.
The count kicked over the ammunition crate in front of him: “What are you still standing there for!
Organize everyone who can still breathe to fix the defense line!
Drag the armored vehicles over to plug the gap!” At the front lines, Titus ignored the panic of the mortals in the rear.
Holding his Bolter, its barrel slightly warm, his vision beneath his mask locked onto the huge elevator leading to the Upper Hive.
“Advance at full speed.” Titus gave the order.
Four hundred men formed an inverted V-shaped attack cone.
No cover was needed, and no tactical detour was necessary.
Encountering any greenskin stronghold, they blasted it into smithereens directly with a dense barrage of Bolter shells.
This group of Space Marines, who were originally in passive defense, exuded the momentum of an armored steamroller at this moment.
In the passageways along the way, tens of thousands of civilians cowered in the dark, watching this unreasonable iron army in terror.
“Detach fifty men to guide the civilians to the Avenue 31 Hub Plaza for shelter.” Titus split his forces extremely quickly, “The rest, follow me and punch through the Mid Hive.” In just half a day.
As the final Mega-Armoured Nob’s fortress was swept into scrap metal by Bolters, the blast-proof isolation door leading from the Mid Hive to the Upper Hive was smashed open by a single punch from Titus.
Sunlight spilled down through the towering stained glass dome.
The streets of the Upper Hive were spacious, flanked by luxurious statues and cathedrals.
But it was dead silent here.
There were only greenskins, without any sound of resistance.
Titus strode into a noble estate.
The gates were wide open, with jewelry and clothing too late to be taken away scattered on the ground.
“Sir.” A recruit walked in to report, “We’ve scouted it.
The spaceport’s launch pads are all empty.
The defense towers’ power has been cut.
There are no traces of any resistance.” Titus’s gaze instantly turned cold.
The nobles had fled.
At the very first moment when the greenskin tide spiraled out of control, this privileged class, occupying ninety percent of the planet’s resources, fled Hephaestus in private ships, and even shut down the lower defense systems to save energy.
“Cowards.” Titus spat out two words coldly.
“These bastards must be severely punished!” Kharn was also filled with anger in his eyes.
…
Underhive.
At this moment, hearing the report over the communicator, Roya stopped what he was doing.
The battle situation in the Underhive was extremely fierce.
“Nurgle’s sea of Walking Corpses?” Roya patted the dust off his hands and turned to look to the side.
In the open space, three hundred Astartes recruits, who had just passed the rejection period by eating bread in the dirt room and matured overnight, stood quietly at attention.
They had already put on brand-new MkVII power armor, holding Bolters fully loaded with ammunition.
Although they had not experienced decades of battlefield slaughter, pure gene-seed flowed within their bodies, and they absolutely obeyed any of Roya’s commands.
“Grab your weapons and follow me.” Roya flipped his wrist, switched out an iron sword, and strode toward the passage leading to the Underhive.
The three hundred recruits, like fierce tigers released from their cages, took heavy strides and followed closely behind.
Underhive.
Sewage treatment area.
The environment here could no longer be called a Hive City.
Massive cavities had been corroded into the metal deck by yellowish-green viscous liquid.
The air was filled with a suffocating stench and the buzzing of flies and insects.
Chapter Master Foros swung his power sword, cleaving a bloated Walking Corpse that leaped at him into two halves.
But the abdominal cavity of this Walking Corpse burst open, and the splashing pus landed on the plasteel shoulder guard of a Lamenters veteran, making a harsh “hissing” sound.
“Fall back!
Keep your distance!
Use the flamethrowers!” Foros roared.
Ahead in the passageway were tens of thousands of Nurgle Walking Corpses.
They felt no pain and feared no Bolter penetration; only by completely blowing them to pieces or burning them to ashes could that disgusting pace be halted.
But the numbers were too great, and the advance of the Lamenters was tightly stuck within a fan-shaped area.
Heavy footsteps came from behind.
Foros turned back to see Roya walking over carrying an iron sword, followed closely by a full three hundred unfamiliar-faced Space Marines.
“My lord!” Foros’s expression changed drastically, and he hurried up to meet him, his voice filled with extreme anxiety, “Why did you bring the recruits here!
This is the Underhive, and Nurgle’s corruption aura has already taken form!
An hour or two ago they were still mortals, their minds unrefined by the passage of time; facing the direct gaze of Chaos, they will be corrupted!” Sister Ilia, who was currently spewing flames with a holy flame gun nearby, also turned her head, echoing with a pale face: “My lord!
This is too reckless!” Facing the Nurgle plague, recruits were practically walking to their deaths.
Once contaminated, they would become new Walking Corpses.