I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 22 Mission accomplished!

Main position command post.

Commissar Walter, his face grim, observed the precarious defensive line through his binoculars. Suddenly, he noticed a massive commotion erupting on the enemy's flank.

He put the binoculars down in disbelief, rubbed his eyes, and then suddenly raised them again.

In their field of vision, a massive torrent of fleeing soldiers was surging towards the enemy's main force from the flank, and behind that torrent, a dozen or so figures in Imperial uniforms could be vaguely seen in pursuit. They fired intermittently and threw grenades, pushing the chaos of thousands to a fever pitch in an incomprehensible manner.

"So brave? Whose soldiers are these?!" Commissar Walter's voice was filled with shock.

The officers around them looked at each other, clearly bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

Only one veteran of the Astral Army squinted, carefully discerning the direction, and said in a deep voice, "Political Commissar, they must have come from Waste Disposal Zone 7. Only that place, connected to the old site of Waste Liquid Pipeline 114, could have allowed them to rush here in one go."

Waste disposal area number 7... Commissar Walter's expression became somewhat suspicious.

Are they those greenhorn recruits?
In fact, in Commissar Walter's view, those so-called recruits were at best factory workers who had just picked up laser guns, not truly glorious Astragalus soldiers who had undergone rigorous training. His decision to hand over that secondary position to them was merely a stopgap measure; he was even prepared for their potential collapse and the loss of the position at any moment.

He never expected them to hold on.

But now, they not only held their ground, but also delivered a fatal blow to the enemy from the flank in a way he could not comprehend at all!
"In any case, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"

Walter's military discipline immediately put aside any distractions. He abruptly lowered his binoculars, his eyes flashing with decisiveness.

"Pass on my order!" He turned to the communications soldier, his voice loud and firm, "Heavy mortars in the rear, fire three salvos at the enemy's rear!"

He drew his chainsaw sword from his waist, raised it high, and the blade roared to life.

"Full-scale counter-charge! For the Emperor!"

As Commissar Walter's chainsaw sword roared, a resounding counterattack horn rang out on the Astragalus Army's main position.

"For the Emperor!"

The long-suppressed Astronaut soldiers erupted in a thunderous battle roar. They leaped out of their trenches, brandishing their bayoneted laser guns, forming a steel torrent that surged forward towards the cult army, which was in disarray due to the flank disturbances.

Facing the disciplined Imperial Hammer at the front and the morally bankrupt, scattered "friendly forces" on the flanks, this dual pressure instantly overwhelmed the cultists' already fragile organization. They lacked a sufficient number of junior officers capable of stabilizing morale, and the only things holding the troops together were empty promises to the dark gods and fear of their superior wizards.

Commissar Walter calmly observed the battle situation. After confirming that the enemy's offensive had been completely dismantled and their formation had been broken into a disorganized mess, he decisively issued new orders.

"Cease pursuit! All units, regroup, clean up the battlefield, and hold your positions!"

He was not blinded by victory. One should not pursue a defeated foe, especially in this treacherous city; blind pursuit would be extremely dangerous.

The orders were faithfully carried out, and the Astronauts quickly ceased their pursuit and began to regroup.

However, the dozen or so players who were already bloodthirsty were not so obedient. They weren't under Commissar Walter's command; their commander was "merit points." Seeing a large number of "moving merit points" slipping away before their eyes, they weren't about to let it go.

"Don't run! Stop right there!"

"Your heads are worth a molten metal bomb!"

They chased after a group of the fastest-running cultists, gleefully crossing a rusty, crumbling, decaying metal bridge and rushing into a relatively open, abandoned industrial square.

The moment they stepped into the center of the square, something unexpected happened.

A silent, ghastly green wave swept out of the shadows of the square without warning. It was neither fire nor a shockwave, but a pure, malevolent, and desperate psychic energy.

Wherever it goes, everything withers and dies.

Whether it was the dozen or so players who wanted to keep charging and make more money, or the hundreds of cultists they were chasing, they didn't even have time to scream in this pale green light. Their bodies disintegrated and vanished instantly, turning into ashes flying everywhere, just like sand sculptures weathered by the wind.

The square, which had just been bustling with noise, became deathly silent in an instant.

In the shadows of the distance, more cultists were "stabilized" by their leader using even more brutal methods—anyone who tried to retreat was mercilessly cut down by their comrades behind them. After a bloody internal massacre, the routed troops regained their footing, but the fear that permeated them was even more intense than before.

Commissar Walter took in the horrific scene through his binoculars, and felt a pang of regret for the sacrifice of those dozen or so brave men.

They created an opportunity for him in a way he couldn't understand, but ultimately their recklessness led to their downfall. However, given their position and speed at the time, even if he wanted to save them, it would have been too late.

This fleeting sense of regret lasted only a second before being completely suppressed by his iron will. In this brutal war, sacrifice was the norm. He had witnessed far too many deaths; if he were to grieve for every fallen soldier, he would have nothing to do. The dead are gone, but the living must continue the fight.

What he was more curious about now was what kind of people those green recruits... those soldiers who had created a miracle were.

Walter put down his binoculars, turned around, and spoke in a steady and powerful voice.

“Let the softies at position 7 come to see me,” he said, but immediately changed his mind.

“No,” he said in a deep voice, “I will go to his position myself.”

When Commissar Walter stepped into Waste Disposal Area 7 with two bodyguards, he habitually frowned.

To a professional soldier like him, the position before him was riddled with holes. The bunkers were constructed haphazardly, the firing positions were haphazardly positioned, and there were even several fortifications that had clearly been blown up by recent explosions, lying there crookedly and unrepaired. The entire position was filled with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and... a strange sense of excitement mixed together.

He didn't say much. After all, they were just a group of new recruits, and in such a seemingly chaotic position, an unbelievable surprise attack had just taken place.

"Soft?" Walter's voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly throughout the entire position.

Ruan Wenbo, who was directing the players to clean up the battlefield, suddenly sprang to attention, ran over, stood at attention, and gave a salute: "Reporting, Political Commissar, I'm here!"

Walter nodded and said in a businesslike tone, "You all performed exceptionally well today. The enemy's offensive has been temporarily repelled, and the battle is essentially over for today. Reinforce the defenses, treat the wounded, and prepare for tomorrow's battle."

The moment Walter finished speaking, a blue light screen that only Nguyen Van Bo could see popped up in front of him.

[Main Quest: Holding the Line Completed!]

[Task Evaluation: Excellent]

[Mission Reward: 1500 Merit Points]

A series of crisp system notifications rang in his mind. Seeing the generous sum of merit points credited to his account, Ruan Wenbo was first stunned, then overwhelmed with joy. He abruptly turned around, and facing the group of players still loitering and scavenging behind him, he raised his arm and shouted with all his might:

"Brothers! We did it! Mission accomplished!"

As if by signal, all players on the battlefield simultaneously received a notification that the mission was completed on their personal terminals.

After a brief silence, the entire position erupted in thunderous cheers.

"Oh!!!"

"Wuhu! Merit points credited!"

"Get rich, get rich!"

The battlefield, which had just been filled with the tense atmosphere of post-battle, instantly transformed into a bustling market. Players gathered in twos and threes, excitedly opening their system shop interfaces.

"Quick, let's see what I can buy... Damn, I'm still a little short of the power sword!"

"Who has more merits? Let's buy a deck of cards first, and start a game later!"

"Go to hell! If you want to play cards, why don't you use your merit points to buy it?"

"Has anyone teamed up to finish off those seriously injured guys? They've been screaming for ages, it's so pitiful."

Seeing the chaotic and jubilant scene before him, Commissar Walter's brow, which had just relaxed, furrowed again. This was utterly disorganized! Utterly undisciplined!

Don't they know the war isn't over yet? Didn't they see how those dozen or so comrades were turned to ashes? This frivolous attitude doesn't resemble that of an army that has fought a bloody battle; rather, it's like a group of drunkards who just came out of a tavern.

However, just as he was about to reprimand them, he forcibly held back.

He tried to convince himself that perhaps he hadn't seen the full picture of this unit yet, and perhaps it was this almost blind optimism that enabled this special company to create such a miracle on a desperate battlefield.
Walter's gaze swept across the jubilant young faces. He suddenly realized that since the planet was engulfed in war, since the chaos contamination, the gene-stealer riots, the orc infestation, and the Eldar raids, he hadn't seen a smile on the face of any Astronaut soldier for a very, very long time.

All that remained was numbness, exhaustion, fear, and a forced, suppressed despair.

The people in front of me were laughing and joking, as if death was just an insignificant game.

(End of this chapter)