I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 4 First Closed Test

The bits were not filtered in any way.

In its logic, when the scale of observation is raised to the level of an entire species, the differences between individuals become insignificant. If you put the smartest individual on Earth side by side with the dumbest individual, their mental activities, in the eyes of the bit, are nothing more than two chaotic electrochemical signals of roughly the same complexity.

Just as humans don't carefully select which ant is better suited to carry a grain of rice, Bit doesn't bother to distinguish which soul is more "suitable" for its game.

Thus, amidst the hundreds of millions of registration data streams, it merely casually extended an invisible tentacle and gently flicked it ten times.

Ten lucky ones, or rather, unlucky ones, were thus born.

Game content creator Ruan Wenbo is one of these ten.

The feeling of being detached from the real world lasted for less than a second before a tsunami of sensory information completely overwhelmed Ruan Wenbo.

The cold, rough fabric rubbed against his skin, the hard-soled military boots beneath his feet provided a solid feel, and an indescribable, complex smell filled the air. His hastily chosen game ID—[Soft Doctor]—was floating above his head in pale green font.

The surrounding environment was dark and oppressive, the metal walls were covered in rust, and he could almost hear the low rumble of some kind of large machinery in the distance. This unparalleled sense of realism made his heart pound, and instinctively, he wanted to take a deep breath to calm himself down.

"Cough! Cough cough cough... Ugh..."

The breath he inhaled felt like swallowing a whole piece of burning charcoal; the smell of industrial waste, acidic fumes, and rotting organic matter instantly overwhelmed his respiratory tract. Ruan Wenbo choked, tears and snot streaming down his face, his whole body bent over like a boiled shrimp, coughing violently.

He wasn't alone. Looking around, the other eight players, dressed in the same uniform, also had expressions of utter disbelief, and their coughs created a symphony of pain in the bunker.

"Holy crap," one player exclaimed, leaning against the wall and finally catching his breath, his face flushed. "This shitty air is more choking than swallowing a whole cigar! Is the development team crazy? Why are they putting so much effort into such details?!"

“It’s so real…it’s too real…” another person said, wiping away tears, their voice trembling.

Just as everyone was gradually getting used to the suffocating air, a gasp broke the awkward situation.

"Dude! What are you doing here, an O'Grimm?!"

The shout instantly drew everyone's attention. In the far corner of the room, a figure almost touched the ceiling. He was two heads taller than an average person, his shoulders as broad as a door, and his thick arms more exaggerated than an average person's thighs. On his somewhat simple-minded head, his features were squeezed together, staring blankly at everyone.

The player, who had given himself the classic ID "[Imperial Eagle Police Investigating Chaos Tax Evasion]", scratched his bald head and said in a muffled voice, "I didn't know that the system didn't even tell me I could choose a race?"

One player chuckled at the authentic, corn-scented accent: "Wow, it's a true buddy from the Northeast."

The Oglin player was even more confused: "How did you tell? I don't think I have an accent."

"Could it be a randomly assigned race?" Ruan Wenbo speculated, as this seemed to be the only explanation.

"Damn, I'm pretty lucky then," the player who had previously complained about the air patted his chest. "Thank goodness I didn't turn into a beastman, or I would have been executed by the Inquisition as soon as I landed."

Just as the players were joking around and the atmosphere was getting lively—

"boom!"

With a loud crash, the already rickety iron gate was kicked open by a gleaming military boot. A man in a long black overcoat, a top military cap, and with a stern face stood in the doorway; his scarlet epaulets and belt were particularly striking in the dim light.

political commissar!

His sharp, hawk-like gaze swept over everyone present. The authority and pressure in his eyes reminded these fearless players of their high school days, of their homeroom teacher standing at the back door window.

The information that popped up on the data panel also displayed his name: [Walter Fuller]

In an instant, everyone jolted, almost instinctively standing at attention, their playful expressions freezing in mid-air.

Commissar Walter seemed quite satisfied with the reaction, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips as he muttered, "Not bad." Then, he roared in a voice loud enough to shake the entire bunker, "Follow me!" His gaze finally settled on the towering Oglin. He stepped forward, deliberately slowing his speech, and said in the simplest, most direct way, "Big guy, I'm the boss. You, come with me."

The Oglin player paused for a moment, then subconsciously nodded emphatically.

A flicker of surprise crossed Walter's eyes. This Oglin... is so smart? But he didn't have time to think about it. The situation at the front was urgent, and having a batch of expendable troops that didn't seem malnourished and even knew basic obedience was already a blessing from the Emperor.

The group of players knew perfectly well that this was triggering the main storyline, so they immediately followed the political commissar and boarded a Chimera troop carrier with a cramped interior and a strong smell of engine oil.

The vehicle started with a bumpy start. Ruan Wenbo grabbed the handrail and couldn't help but ask, "Commissar Walter, where are our flashlights?"

Walter glanced at him, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather: "What's the rush? When we get there, there will be plenty of guns for you. If you're lucky, you might even find a high-end explosive pistol."

Ruan Wenbo's heart skipped a beat, and an extremely ominous premonition arose within him. Did this mean... they were going to have to dig up corpses on the front lines?
Discovering that the NPCs could trigger dialogues so smoothly, the other players immediately became interested and started their own "newbie village Q&A session":
"Political Commissar! Logically, our sergeant should be leading us, so why did you come to pick us up personally?"

“The organizational structure has long been rotten,” Walter replied without turning his head. “You should be grateful that you still have a living superior to lead you.”

"Political Commissar, are we going to fight the green-skinned orcs or the gene stealers this time?"

"Young man, you've got some dreams. You should pray you can beat a giant carrion worm in the sewage pit before you talk about it."

"Political Commissar, are you a graduate of Storm Loyalty Academy? You have an extraordinary air about you!"

"If I were a graduate of the Loyal Succession Academy, would I have been relegated to this position to command a bunch of useless trash?"

"Political Commissar, how old are you? Are you married? Would you consider a man?"

Walter whirled around, his icy gaze making the player swallow the rest of his words: “My life belongs to the Emperor, soldier. I suggest you develop the same awareness as soon as possible, or I don’t mind using a bomb pistol to remind you of this.”

"political commissar……"

Finally, as these problems became increasingly absurd and even began to resemble the Turing Test, Walter's patience reached its limit.

"Why are you all talking so much nonsense?!" He slammed his hand on the interior wall of the carriage, making a loud "bang." "Quiet down, all of you! If you say another word, I'll throw you all out of the carriage to experience the air purification system of the Nest City!"

The carriage fell silent instantly.

After a few seconds, the players lowered their voices and began to communicate in whispers.

"Uh... the political commissar seems a bit angry? What should we do?"

"Then let's not ask. We don't even know the death penalty in this game yet. What if the political commissar really kills us? Who's going to be responsible?"

After listening, the eagle policeman in the corner nodded heavily and nodded in a deep voice, expressing his agreement: "That makes sense!"

Walter, who was driving, almost lost his composure when he heard this. "You, O'Gren, did you even understand what they were saying? Is this what makes sense?"

He suddenly regretted taking on this unexpected batch of new recruits. Who would have thought they would be so energetic? Their attitude was more like going on vacation than going to the battlefield.

But there was no other way; if their defenses weren't reinforced soon, they wouldn't even be able to withstand the onslaught of the rioters.

And in the subspace, which is undetectable by everyone, lies the location of the bit.

The God of Information looked at his experimental results with satisfaction. It seemed that his perception filter had been set up successfully, and no one had noticed anything unusual. Now, all he had to do was look forward to what surprises the quick-thinking players would bring him.

(End of this chapter)