Paul's freezing voice echoed through the blood-soaked hall.
"Is this how the Aru Group taught you to manage a town?"
He stood in front of Harman. His three-meter-tall Power Armor completely shadowed the Consul.
Harman huddled behind the sofa. The face that had once tyrannized Red Town was now completely drained of color.
"I... I..."
Harman's lips trembled violently. "I was following Group regulations... collecting taxes... maintaining order..."
"Order?"
Paul cut him off. He slowly lowered the tip of the Chainsword, pointing it at the spreading pool of blood on the floor.
Soaking in the blood was a severed hand. On one of the fingers sat a ring set with cheap red glass—the last memento of some civilian Harman had murdered.
"You call this order?"
Paul lifted his foot. The sole of his Power Armor boot stepped directly into the pool of blood.
He took a step forward, the blood clinging to his boot in sticky strands as he lifted it.
Harman completely broke.
He scrambled out from behind the sofa on his hands and knees, crashing down onto the floor, which was littered with porcelain shards shattered by his own gunmen.
The shards pierced his knees, and blood immediately began to seep out, but he didn't feel the pain. Compared to the death looming over him, this pain was absolutely nothing.
"I was wrong! My Lord! I was wrong!"
Harman kowtowed, slamming his forehead against the floor mixed with blood and broken porcelain. Thud. Thud.
Every time he smashed his head down, tiny droplets of blood splashed up, sticking to his face and greying hair.
Paul didn't move.
He simply stood there, watching this man—who had once held the power of life and death over thousands in Red Town—begging for his life.
After kowtowing over a dozen times, Harman raised his head. His entire face was a mess of blood and grime.
"I was really wrong..."
Harman's voice was thick with tears. "I can give you all the money I've hidden... I have a property in the Aru Hive..."
"My daughter is married to a branch family of the Atens Knight House in the Aru Hive... I can introduce you..."
"Shut up."
Paul didn't raise his voice, but it completely cut off Harman's groveling.
He casually slotted the Chainsword back onto the mag-lock at his hip, producing a crisp click.
Paul turned and walked to the relatively intact leather sofa on the other side of the hall. It was where Harman usually sat to receive guests.
The armrests were decorated with cheap brass, mimicking the styles popular in the upper echelons of the Hive.
When the immense weight of the Power Armor sat down, the sofa frame groaned under the strain.
Paul raised his left hand and tapped the side of his helmet.
He opened the regional channel.
"Schrödinger Bro," his voice broadcast through the channel. "Proceed with the plan."
Footsteps sounded from outside the door.
Schrödinger Bro walked into the stone house. His gaze swept over the hall.
Twenty-three piles of meat and bone that barely resembled human beings.
The heavy stench of blood mixed with the burnt ozone of gunpowder formed a smell putrid enough to make a mortal vomit.
But Schrödinger Bro's expression didn't change in the slightest.
A month of life-and-death experiences—from the dissection tables in the industrial lab to facing down Daemons on the wasteland—had forged this ordinary guy into someone with the cold composure of a veteran soldier.
"Cleaned up faster than expected."
Schrödinger Bro spoke, a trace of approval in his voice. "I thought it would take at least ten minutes."
"Just trash mobs."
Paul leaned back into the sofa, tilting his helmet slightly toward Schrödinger Bro. "Did you bring the people?"
"They're outside."
Schrödinger Bro nodded, turning back to the door and gesturing.
Three people walked into the hall.
The one leading the way was a player with the ID [Crimson Deep Sea].
He wore a set of casual clothes redeemed from the shop—an incredibly ordinary dark brown jacket and cargo pants.
He looked to be in his early thirties, with a face so aggressively average that he would vanish the second he stepped into a crowd.
He had specifically changed his ID for this operation.
Hence, [Crimson Deep Sea].
Behind Deep Sea were two young adults, a boy and a girl, both looking to be in their early twenties.
The boy's name was Leon Baker. He was about 1.8 meters tall, with a close-cropped blonde buzzcut and blue eyes.
The girl was Vanessa Mitchell. She was half a head shorter than Leon, her dark brown hair tied back into a sharp ponytail, with a dusting of light brown freckles across her cheeks.
Her deep green eyes were currently locked onto Paul sitting on the sofa, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides.
These two young adults had been meticulously selected from the pool of over two thousand workers.
They were the first wave of operatives for Operation Deep Sea.
In simple terms: spies.
If Crimson Dawn was going to use the towns to encircle the Hives—the same way one might use fringe planets to encircle Holy Terra—they couldn't afford to be completely blind to what was happening inside the major Hives.
Exactly how many troops did the four factions have?
How far had the Chaos incursion progressed in the industrial zone?
When would the Imperial reinforcements arrive? Who would they be?
Throughout human history, intel had long proven itself to be one of the most decisive factors in winning a war.
In the grimdark universe of Warhammer, this was doubly true.
As for how they were going to infiltrate them...
–
Leon and Vanessa stopped three meters in front of Paul.
At this distance, they had to crane their necks to look up at the Chapter Master—the god-like entity who had dragged them out of hell.
The two dropped to one knee in perfect unison, their movements as crisp as if they had drilled them a thousand times.
Harman was still kneeling nearby, the piss stain on his pants now reaching his knees.
He stared blankly at these two young adults who had suddenly appeared, then looked at the ordinary-looking man standing next to Schrödinger Bro. He couldn't make heads or tails of the situation.
But he didn't dare ask. He didn't dare move. He barely dared to breathe, terrified of drawing the attention of the giant metal demon.
Paul's gaze fell on the two young adults.
His helmet's faceplate slowly lifted.
The faceplate retracted backward, revealing the familiar face they all recognized.
"Leon Baker. Vanessa Mitchell."
Paul spoke.
"You two," he paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces, "are absolutely certain you want to commit to an operation that could last anywhere from a decade to potentially over a century?"
They raised their heads.
Leon's blue eyes burned with pure fanaticism.
Vanessa's deep green eyes were more restrained, but a fire burned just as intensely deep within.
"Yes, Chapter Master!"
Leon's voice trembled slightly, but he bit down hard on every single word.
"We volunteer to dedicate ourselves to the liberation of Aurelian IV! We volunteer to give everything we have for the arrival of the Dawn!"
Vanessa firmly followed up.
"We volunteer to give our lives for the hope that all citizens of Aurelian might one day stand tall again. We will not hesitate!"
There was absolutely no trace of acting in their words. It was nothing but boundless, pure sincerity.
Looking at them, Paul couldn't help but sigh in his heart.
Blood Angel... that guy is terrifying.
In such a short period of time, this player—who was probably just an ordinary office worker in real life—had managed to deeply root the concepts of ideals, faith, struggle, and sacrifice into the heart of every single worker who joined Crimson Dawn through his speeches and teachings.
He thought of the workers back at the base.
During the day, they hummed the songs Blood Angel taught them while they worked. Say goodbye before dawn breaks, smile through the tears to welcome the tomorrow you deserve. Even if the night-blooming cereus only flashes for a moment, it must bloom blindingly bright.
At night, they gathered around the fire to listen to Blood Angel tell stories from another world. The stories were cleverly adapted, scrubbing out the specific names of people and places.
But the core message was crystal clear:
The weak unite to fight against the oppressors, and eventually, the light of dawn will arrive.
Brainwashing?
Maybe.
But in this cesspool of a Warhammer world...
If you didn't plant something in their hearts capable of fighting back the darkness, they would quickly be corrupted by Chaos, or worse, turn into walking corpses out of sheer despair.
"Very good."
Paul nodded and stood up from the sofa.
He walked up to the two young adults.
"I see your resolve."
He extended his right hand, the gauntlet of the Power Armor spread open, palm facing up.
"But resolve alone isn't enough."
The moment his words fell, psychic energy surged around Paul, and his eyes abruptly flared with light.
Deep within his left pupil, the miniature crimson sun began to spin rapidly.
In his right pupil, the geometric shape representing the five great traits unfolded layer by layer.
Hope, Resolve, Wisdom.
Three major traits intertwined deep within his consciousness.
Three threads of different colors were woven together into a perfectly round orb of light.
This wasn't a violent infusion of power like the blessings of the Chaos Gods. This was a Champion exerting microscopic, precise control over their authority.
The five traits Lucian had bestowed upon him were, at their core, an incredibly high-dimensional application of emotional energy.
For the past five days, aside from acclimating to his new body, Paul had spent most of his time studying exactly what these traits could do.
Now, he had found one of their applications.
Two incredibly faint, almost transparent orbs of light drifted out from his eyes.
The orbs were composed of countless tiny specks of light. If one looked closely, they would see even smaller symbols spinning within each speck, representing Hope, Resolve, and Wisdom.
The orbs floated slowly toward Leon and Vanessa, eventually sinking straight into their foreheads.
Both of their bodies jolted simultaneously.
Leon felt a surge of warmth rush into his forehead and flow down his spine, spreading through his entire body.
It wasn't an increase in power, but rather... a sense of direction.
It was as if a lighthouse had suddenly lit up in the fog. He knew exactly where he needed to go and how to get there.
Vanessa's experience was much more subtle.
She felt her mind sharpen with absolute clarity. The fears and hesitations that had once plagued her were gently brushed away by a firm, comforting hand.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew why she was doing it. And she firmly believed that what she was doing was right.
Paul retracted his hand, the light in his eyes slowly fading.
This was a derivative application of his trait abilities: a heavily, heavily weakened version of a Trait Mark.
Calling it 'weakened' was an understatement; it was dialed back by several orders of magnitude.
The five traits Lucian had given him were complete authorities. What he had just bestowed upon these two was merely an infinitesimal fraction of that power.
But that fraction was more than enough.
It would guide them, ensuring they always moved in the direction of Hope—a direction set by Paul at the moment of bestowal:
The liberation of Aurelian IV, the dignity of mortals, and the ideals of Crimson Dawn.
It would grant them Resolve, ensuring they wouldn't be corrupted or shaken during their long infiltration.
It would grant them a faint perception of Wisdom, allowing them to instinctively discern good from evil and avoid the darkest traps.
Of course, there were side effects.
Very minor side effects.
As they walked the path of Hope, they would unconsciously be influenced by Paul.
It wasn't mind control. It was a subconscious leaning. They would identify more closely with Paul's ideals and be far more willing to execute actions that aligned with his will.
It wasn't that Paul didn't trust them.
On the contrary, it was precisely because he trusted them that he couldn't take any risks.
There were far too many mind-corrupting powers in the Warhammer universe.
The whispers of the four Chaos Gods, the mind control of psykers, the mental implants of certain Xenos races...
No matter how resolute Leon and Vanessa were, they were still mortals. They needed a safety net.
A safety net branded personally by the Chapter Master of Crimson Dawn.
--
TL/N: Next week gonna be special! I will do the same type of powerstones event I did in my previous translation!