Paul leaned down and extended his hands to help the two of them up.
His movements were incredibly gentle. The fingers of his Power Armor merely supported their elbows.
But Leon and Vanessa felt an irresistible force pull them up from the floor.
"Deep Sea."
Paul looked at the player who had been standing quietly off to the side.
Crimson Deep Sea stepped forward. His expression remained calm, but there was a newfound gravity in his eyes. He had clearly seen the entire process of Paul bestowing the Trait Marks.
"Your mission," Paul stared directly into Deep Sea's eyes, "is to help these two grow."
"Within the Hive, within the four major factions, and if possible, even within the future bureaucracy of the Imperium."
He paused, lowering his voice slightly.
"The higher they climb, the better."
"To the Sector level. To the Ultima Segmentum. To the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar."
He spoke the last few words incredibly slowly.
"To Macragge."
Deep Sea's pupils contracted slightly.
Macragge.
The homeworld of the Ultramarines Legion, the world of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman, and the very core of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
It was one of the most glorious and orderly places in the Imperium of Man at the end of the Great Crusade, and it was the closest center of civilization to Aurelian IV.
If they could really infiltrate to that level...
"I understand."
Deep Sea nodded. His voice finally held a trace of fluctuation—not fear, but... excitement.
"If the day comes," Paul continued, his tone solemn, "that your cover is blown."
"Remember this: you must protect these two at all costs."
He pointed at Leon and Vanessa.
"You can die. Players have the Respawn function."
"But they don't."
Deep Sea smiled.
It was a faint smile—the kind of confidence a professional player showed when faced with a challenge.
"Don't worry, Paul." He patted his chest. "I don't have many defining traits, but I have a serious passion for playing the spy. In the real world, I've rewatched undercover shows like Lurk, The Cliff, and Kite no less than ten times each."
"Biographies?"
"I've chewed through the vertical-print editions of The Secret Courier of the Kremlin and Memoirs of a CIA Black Site."
"Novels?"
"I can recite entire paragraphs of Le Carré's Smiley trilogy."
He ticked off his fingers, his tone incredibly relaxed.
"Documentaries?"
"BBC's Double Agent, Silent Merit... I even managed to dig up photocopies of Stasi training manuals from the Cold War."
Deep Sea gave his final summary, holding up three fingers.
"Online Werewolf: three thousand games played, eighty-nine percent win rate."
He looked at Paul, his eyes completely serious.
"Paul, do you know what kind of stats those are?"
Paul smiled.
Deep Sea was always the quietest one in the group. But whenever they played Werewolf, he was either the Seer hard-carrying the entire lobby or the clutch Werewolf who survived till the very end.
There was one time Tax Bro didn't believe the hype. He set up a massive twenty-person lobby, claiming he wanted to see just how good Deep Sea really was.
Deep Sea drew a Vanilla Villager card that game. Through sheer logical deduction and micro-expression reading, he pinpointed all four Werewolves by the third day without making a single mistake.
"I trust you."
Paul raised his hand and tapped a few times on his System interface.
[The Crimson Dawn Public Account has transferred to player "Crimson Deep Sea": 500,000 Imperial Coins]
The notification chimed in Deep Sea's head.
Deep Sea raised an eyebrow. Five hundred thousand. That was nearly one-tenth of Crimson Dawn's entire total reserve right now.
Paul was placing a massive bet on him.
"Do it right."
Paul's heavy hand clapped Deep Sea on the shoulder.
Even with Deep Sea's Type-III augmented physique, the pat still made him stagger slightly.
"Whatever you need, buy it. Don't skimp."
"Gear, intel, luxury goods for bribes... The shop has everything now. Money is not an issue."
Paul paused, his tone half-joking, half-serious.
"I'm expecting you to pull an Infernal Affairs on us. Hit me up one day and say: 'If you don't reel me in soon, I'm going to become the boss of the whole faction.' That way, we won't even have to try so hard."
Deep Sea laughed out loud.
"Paul, you're underestimating me. Infernal Affairs is just cops and robbers. You're thinking too small."
Deep Sea's gaze deepened, as if he could truly see far into the future.
"Have you ever heard of The Studebaker Boy's Law? What about the Cadillac L Theory?"
He spread his hands. "In this chaotic Warhammer world, those theories apply perfectly."
"Hive politics? It's nothing more than the exchange of interests, balancing power, and leveraging threats and temptations."
"The four major factions aren't an unbreakable monolith either."
"Give them what they want, and take what we need."
"The highest realm of being an undercover spy isn't staying hidden. It's making them physically unable to function without you."
Paul nodded, saying no more.
"Commence the operation."
Deep Sea walked to the center of the hall, finding a relatively clean spot on the floor.
He opened the System shop interface.
[Avatar Reconstruction Service]
[Price: 50 Imperial Coins]
[Confirm use?]
Deep Sea selected "Yes", then turned toward Harman, who was still kneeling on the floor.
He stared at Harman's face, studying him the way a sculptor observes a rough block of marble.
Harman felt his blood run cold under the scrutiny. He wanted to shrink back, but his body was stiff and refused to obey. He was terrified that Paul would just chop him in half.
"Don't move," Deep Sea said, his tone entirely flat. "Let me get a good look."
His eyes swept over every single feature of Harman's face.
The direction of the wrinkles on his forehead, the depth of his crow's feet, the curve of the bridge of his nose, the thickness of his lips, the distribution of stubble on his chin...
Even the shape of his ears and the placement of a mole on his neck.
A minute later, Deep Sea closed his eyes.
Within the shop interface, the appearance customization module began to run.
Deep Sea constructed Harman's face in his mind, striving for absolute perfection in every detail. It wasn't for aesthetics; it was for survival.
Any minor discrepancy could be noticed by someone familiar with Harman.
Another minute passed. He opened his eyes.
"Confirm reconstruction."
[Command Accepted]
[50 Imperial Coins consumed]
[Reconstruction initiating]