I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 50 You want to promote me? I'm not happy about it!

The roar of battle came and went quickly. After the last genestealer hybrid was cleaved in two by the chainsaw sword, an eerie silence returned to the narrow passage, leaving only the players' heavy breathing and the low hum of the chainsaw sword's engine idling.

Some players casually shut off their chainsaws, or wiped their combat knives, stained with alien blood, on the corpses before sheathing them. Others checked their own status, finding themselves missing limbs and severely degraded stats, and promptly drew their pistols, pointed them at their temples, and pulled the trigger. A flash of white light, and seconds later, an unharmed Astronaut revived beside the Eagle Police.

After catching their breath, everyone's gaze, whether intentionally or unintentionally, focused on the enormous figure standing in the center of the pile of corpses.

The eagle policeman, and the blood-soaked carpet beneath his feet, almost entirely created by him alone.

After a brief silence, a gasp and a wail erupted from the battlefield.

"Holy crap, these stats. This is just too damn overpowered!" A player looked at the mutant that had been smashed into a meat patty, then at the Great Eagle Policeman, and exclaimed in genuine admiration.

"The rating is purely wheelchair-bound. We ordinary mortals can only reach the lower limit of Lord Oglin's level even if we try our whole lives." Another player leaned against the wall, his tone full of world-weariness.

"Damn it, where's the delete account button in this game?! I'm going to start refreshing my account, I won't log in until I find an Ogre race!" One player who had just reset his account even said he was completely overwhelmed.

The players' complaints are not without merit. In terms of combat intelligence, each of them is not much different from the Eagle Police; they are all veterans who have fought and died together through mountains of corpses, so there shouldn't be much of a difference between them. They can also judge the enemy's threat, find weaknesses in attacks, and find opportunities to survive in a hail of bullets.

Unfortunately, Eugrim's base stats are just too high.

This gap is devastating. They might struggle to sever the arm bone of a mutant even after two or three swift strikes with their tactical knives, while the Eagle Police could simply smash the same monster down by thirty centimeters with a plain iron bar. The disparity in fundamental attributes—strength, stamina, organ function—cannot be bridged by so-called combat skills.

“Seriously,” someone said, “this number is comparable to Astartes, isn’t it?”

"It's not that powerless."

"It's not that weak."

"Oh, it's Astartes. I thought it was Eugenie who has ALS."

"Honestly, an Oglin definitely can't beat a regular Astartes in a one-on-one fight, but if all 120 of us are Oglins, even the Chaos Space Marine Kill Squad would be dumbfounded..."

Hearing the other players' comments, the squad leader, Eagle Policeman, chuckled sheepishly and said smugly, "Good luck, good luck." He patted his thick chest with his large, fan-like hands, making a muffled "thump, thump" sound: "The reason I couldn't kill that purebred scoundrel before was simply because I wasn't skilled enough. Now that I'm skilled, I could handle ten more. One scoundrel, one hit, and they'd all be pinned to the wall, impossible to pry off!"

His half-joking, half-serious boast immediately drew a new wave of reactions from the players.

"Since you've put it that way, what can I say? Just type 6 and that's it."

"666 is Gui."

The players' voices were filled with envy, jealousy, and resentment, yet they were also helpless. In the original Warhammer story, the Orglin race, as a demi-human, at least had the fatal limitation of "extremely low intelligence" to balance their terrifying physical abilities.

After all, a species that can't even count from one to nine can't be expected to shoulder any huge battlefield responsibilities.

Now that they're in the game, players can't actually become mentally challenged. Their thinking organs and souls—in fact, whether Earthlings have the souls found in the Warhammer universe, or even the souls of the warp, is still being verified by Bit—remain safely in their game pods on Earth. They're simply transmitting control signals to this physical body in another universe through Bit's powers.

This makes the Oglin player a complete bug: possessing the combat intelligence and reaction speed of a human veteran, while also having the terrifying strength and physique of the Oglin, which is even greater than that of the Astartes. Once this only weakness is made up, all that remains is pure power.

If he wanted, Eagle Police could even become an excellent battlefield commander with his superhuman energy and thinking ability brought by the player's soul... But for an Oglin to be a battlefield commander is just too damn weird from any perspective, and Eagle Police himself has absolutely no desire to be promoted.

According to Big Eagle Policeman, "I was doing a pretty good job as a regular soldier. What do you mean by transferring me to be a commander? If the company commander hadn't assigned me, I wouldn't even want to be a squad leader. I haven't killed enough people yet!"

Big Eagle's words reflected the general sentiment of many ordinary players: they simply didn't want to be promoted. They had all seen Ruan Wenbo thinking every day—marching routes, battlefield planning, application of merit points, tactical methods… all of these required the commander to think about in great detail.

Ultimately, most players are just here to play the game. After becoming familiar with the brutal environment of the city, the extreme realism provides a primal and direct thrill to pulling the trigger and wielding a longsword. Perhaps a few players enjoy being commanders, relishing the feeling of strategizing and winning battles from afar, but they are ultimately a minority. Forcing most players to rise in rank would be unacceptable to them.

It's important to understand that there's no strict hierarchy or deeply ingrained sense of authority within the player community. We follow your commands because we trust your abilities; we grant you the authority to command us, and you must bear the corresponding responsibility; if your poor command leads to a collapse of the battle, be prepared to be heavily criticized. Not to mention, this game also features friendly fire; once conflicts escalate, the situation could easily move beyond mere verbal clashes.

In a sense, this also reflects a sense of responsibility: players clearly understand the limits of their abilities, what they want to do, and where they should be. Therefore, they never seek power that they shouldn't have or don't want.

In the past, present, and future, there are far too many people in this dark and cruel universe who fail to see their place. Whether it's Magnus, who considers himself exceptionally gifted, or the mad bishop Van Diehl, corrupted by power, or those high lords who still try to seize power and rebel against Guilliman after the return of the regent... all they bring to the human empire is suffering, and more suffering.

(End of this chapter)