The next day.
Crimson Dawn base, Central Plaza.
At six in the morning, the sun of Aurelian IV had just peeked over the horizon, dyeing the gravel of the wasteland a dark crimson.
The plaza was densely packed with people.
Three thousand five hundred players—almost every player who could be notified—were present and accounted for.
They were formed up by Chapter. The heavy infantry phalanx of Crimson Strike stood at the very front. Every single one of them had maxed out the Type-III Physique Enhancement, their muscles stretching their utility uniforms taut. They carried heavy machine guns modified from stubbers, or massive combat shotguns.
Crimson Wind's mobile forces flanked the wings. Their gear was lightweight, and many of them carried homemade rocket launchers or flamethrowers on their backs.
The psyker corps of Crimson Spirit formed the center vanguard. With over five hundred of them standing together, the air around them rippled with subtle distortions.
Crimson Machina's technical core was scattered throughout the formations, their mechanical prosthetics gleaming coldly in the morning light.
Aside from the players, there were also three hundred selected members of the "Aurelian Youth League Reserves."
These were the young, able-bodied workers who had the will to fight. After a week of basic training, they now wore crude armor crafted from scrap fabric and leather, gripping black-powder rifles bought from the shop. It was primitive gear, but they stood tall and straight.
A grand total of three thousand eight hundred people formed ten massive phalanxes in the plaza. The sheer killing intent radiating from them made the chilling morning wind feel even more biting.
Footsteps echoed.
Heavy, steady. Every step struck the ground like a beating war drum.
Zeke walked out of the command building and headed toward the makeshift podium at the front of the plaza, which had been cobbled together from an abandoned mine cart. (TL/N: The author here is juggling between Zeke and Paul, so I will also translate it as it is)
He was clad in his full set of Power Armor, though his helmet was off. The dark grey plating gleamed with a metallic luster in the dawn light, and the crimson sun emblem on his chest looked as if it were truly burning.
With his Chainsword hanging at his left hip and his Bolter slung over his right shoulder, every step he took made the ground tremble slightly.
He stepped up onto the podium, turned around, and faced the three thousand eight hundred pairs of eyes.
Silence.
Only the howling of the wasteland wind blowing past the walls could be heard.
Zeke spoke, his voice amplified by the Power Armor's vox-speakers, echoing across the plaza above:
"Brothers."
"Fellow workers."
He paused for two seconds, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. The players' eyes were burning with fervor, while the workers' eyes held a mix of awe, anticipation, and a trace of unease.
"A month ago, when we woke up in that Abandoned Pre-processing Workshop Number Seven."
"Back then, we had nothing."
"No weapons. No food."
"Unfortunately, we were captured. Dragged into that nightmare of a factory to perform slave labor."
"But fortunately, we escaped. And we built this base out here on the wasteland."
Zeke raised his arm. The servo-motors of his Power Armor hummed as he pointed to the surrounding stone walls, the watchtowers, the water purification equipment, and the farming zones.
"We built all of this with our own two hands."
"Every brick, every tile, every blade of grass—it was all paid for with our sweat, our blood, and even our lives."
"Why did we do it?"
He lowered his arm, his voice rising slightly.
"Because in this universe, the weak do not have the right to survive!"
"The workers in the Hive slave away until they die, only to eat moldy nutrient paste. A miner's son is doomed to be a miner the moment he is born. Meanwhile, the higher-ups of the Aru Group get to eat well, drink well, live in luxury, and casually use living people for their experiments. Why?!"
Zeke clenched his fist. The Chainsword at his hip vibrated faintly.
"Because they have guns! They have tanks! They have power!"
"And we do not!"
"So we are going to get them!"
His voice exploded like thunder.
"Today marks the Crimson Dawn Chapter's first official rescue operation!"
"We are going to tell this cesspool of a world that the citizens of the Imperium are not consumable sacrifices!"
"They are not statistics! They are not useless objects that can be casually bought, sold, slaughtered, or thrown away!"
"No matter what grand narrative tries to force their hand, no one has the right to casually strip away another's life as collateral. We can volunteer to die, but we will never allow ourselves to be made into sacrificial lambs!"
"That is why the Crimson Dawn Chapter is here. We fight for the salvation of the Imperium's citizens."
The plaza was dead silent.
And then, it erupted into earth-shattering roars!
"Fight for the salvation of the Imperium's citizens!!"
The players raised their weapons. The workers raised their rifles. The war cry of three thousand eight hundred people shook the dust right off the stone walls!
Zeke waited for the roar to subside before continuing.
"So our objective is crystal clear."
He turned, pointing the Power Armor's gauntlet toward the east—the direction of Red Town.
"Using blitzkrieg tactics, we will take down three towns in a single day!"
"Red Town, Merida Town, and Bordeaux Town!"
"We will establish order there. We will ensure that those who deserve to eat, eat. Those who deserve to live, live. And those who deserve to die..."
He paused, his voice turning freezing cold.
"...go straight to hell."
"For this operation, all three thousand five hundred players will deploy. The three hundred Youth League Reserves will handle logistics and escort duties."
"Our mission isn't just occupation. It's subsequent control, screening eligible civilians to escort back to the base, and hauling away every single usable resource."
Zeke cast one final look over the crowd.
"Remember our rules of engagement: no indiscriminate killing, no pillaging civilians, and no mistreating prisoners."
"But as for those irredeemable slave drivers, gang bosses, and bandit leaders—take no prisoners."
"Now."
He drew his Chainsword and activated it!
VRRRMMMM!!!
The roar of the spinning teeth echoed across the plaza!
"Move out! Target: Red Town!"
The final moments before departure.
The massive convoy had already assembled outside the base gates.
Ninety-four modified transport trucks, twelve armed assault tractors, and the two engineering mechs—Shovel One and Pickaxe Two—were woven into the formation.
Though they moved slowly, they would be incredibly useful for smashing through barricades or hauling heavy loads.
The players were running final checks, loading ammo, medkits, and spare parts onto the vehicles.
Zeke stood by the lead vehicle, going over the final confirmations with Schrödinger Bro.
"Intel on Red Town just updated," Schrödinger Bro said, holding a data slate. "The Aru Group consul stationed there is named Harman. He has a guard force of about three hundred, equipped with outdated lasguns and a few heavy stubbers."
"There are also a few local gangs in town, numbering around two hundred in total. Their weapons are even more of a mixed bag."
"They aren't much of a threat."
Zeke nodded. "The key is speed."
"We have to lock down the entire town within an hour. Then, I'll lead a strike team to blitz Merida Town."
"Understood."
Just then, Blood Angel walked over, bringing someone with him.
Blood Angel led the way. Following behind him was Helovia, the eleven-year-old girl with S-Rank psychic talent.
The little girl was dressed differently today. She was no longer wearing ragged worker's clothes, but a fitted shirt and pants sewn from grey fabric, with a small-sized bulletproof vest layered over top—likely crafted for her by one of the players using scrap materials.
Her long white hair was tied back into a neat ponytail. Her small face was tense, but her eyes were extraordinarily resolute.
She walked up to Zeke and tilted her head back. With Zeke currently wearing Power Armor, she only reached up to his thigh.
"Uncle."
Helovia's voice was childish, but her tone left no room for argument.
"Take me with you. I can help."
Zeke was stunned.
He crouched down—a movement that was a bit clunky for him while wearing Power Armor.
He rested on one knee, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Helovia.
"Helovia," Zeke's voice sounded through the helmet, deliberately softened. "Battles are very dangerous."
"I'm not scared." The little girl shook her head, her white ponytail swinging with the motion. "Teacher Angel taught me a lot."
"I can control my power now. Really."
She reached out a small hand, palm facing up.
A gentle, crimson halo materialized. It wasn't the violent, raging fire from before, but a stable, warm orb of light, much like a candle flame.
The orb slowly rotated in her palm. Magma-like patterns flowed within it, but it was under absolute control.
Zeke looked over at Blood Angel.
Blood Angel nodded. "She's made genius-like progress over the last five days."
"Her psychic level has stabilized at the Master-Tier. Though, it seems the momentum pushing her rapid growth has capped out for now."
"The important part is her control. She's mastered precise manipulation. She won't lose control and overload again."
Helovia retracted her psychic energy. Her tiny hand grabbed onto one of the fingers of Zeke's Power Armor—a single finger that was thicker than her entire hand.
"Uncle," her large eyes were filled with pleading. "You saved me. You saved my mom. You saved everyone... I want to help too."
"I don't want to just hide in the back all the time."
Zeke fell silent for a few seconds.
He thought of Paul Barnes, surviving in the ruins of the illusion. Losing everything at age six, fighting wild dogs for scraps of food in junkyards.
If someone had just reached out to pull him up back then. If someone had just given him a chance...
"I can bring you along. No problem."
Zeke finally spoke, and Helovia's eyes lit up.
"But," he held up a single finger—his armored digit looking like a small iron rod—"when Uncle tells you not to use your powers, you have to stay quiet and stay put. Can you do that?"
"I can!"
Helovia nodded vigorously, her eyes wide and completely serious. "I promise!"
Zeke smiled.
He retrieved an item from his inventory. It wasn't a weapon or a piece of gear. It was a lollipop.
Bought from the shop for 5 Imperial Coins a pop, its wrapper printed with childish cartoon graphics.
He peeled off the wrapper and handed it to Helovia.
The little girl was stunned. She looked at the round, colorful candy, then looked back at Zeke.
"Here."
Zeke pressed the candy into her hand. "Have some candy."
Helovia took it and carefully placed it in her mouth.
The very next second, her eyes crinkled into happy little crescents.
"It's so sweet..."
She mumbled, her voice carrying the unique, bubbling joy of a child.
"Alright then."
He stood up and looked at Blood Angel. "Have her ride in your truck. You're in charge of watching her."
"Understood."
Zeke turned around and faced the fully prepped convoy.
Three thousand five hundred players, three hundred reserve members, ninety-four transport trucks, twelve assault tractors, and two engineering mechs, stretching into a massive serpent under the morning light of the wasteland.
He put his helmet on.
Vmmmm.
The Power Armor systems fully engaged. Various data streams flashed across his retinal display: vitals stable, weapon systems online, psychic reserves full.
Zeke raised his Chainsword.
"Move out!"
The roar of engines exploded like a thunderstorm. The convoy rolled over the gravel of the wasteland, heading east toward Red Town.
Galloping straight toward the very first battle for dawn in this grimdark universe.
Within the stream of vehicles, Helovia leaned against a window, the lollipop in her mouth. Her eyes were locked onto the towering, dark grey figure leading the charge at the very front.
Her tiny hand quietly balled into a fist at her side, a faint crimson glow flashing briefly in her palm before vanishing.
--
Goal = 500 Powerstones.
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