I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 40 We who are going to our deaths have no shortage of people!

After the wyverns' deafening barrage, which also resulted in friendly fire, the subsequent advance went remarkably smoothly. The cultists offered only sparse resistance, often crumbling before the players could even launch their charge. This instantaneous collapse perfectly matched the players' preconceived notions of such a rabble.

Despite the operation's smooth progress, no optimism emerged among the players; instead, they became increasingly wary.

Because every player firmly believes that this game absolutely cannot be complete without some kind of torturous element. The fact that the first half of the journey is so easy and enjoyable means that the second half will likely be extremely difficult.

Sure enough, after they cleared out the last batch of enemies on the ground, the only path to the Zhongchao Elevator appeared before them—a sealed tunnel entrance.

The tunnel entrance was pitch black, a deep, dark abyss that resembled the open throat of a giant beast. Judging by its width, a wyvern could barely squeeze in, but forget about firing in this cramped space. If the quadruple mortars were even slightly tilted upwards, they would almost certainly hit the ceiling, turning their own men to smithereens.

Our firepower advantage over the heretics has come to an end.

However, the soldiers going to their deaths didn't feel much frustration. After all, they hadn't fought many battles with overwhelming firepower and were used to taking hits with their bare hands. Besides, the wyvern's accuracy was terrible, often hitting its own teammates. Many players thought it was a huge relief that it couldn't fire anymore. If it weren't for the fact that the vehicle was rotated among squads, meaning they would eventually get a chance to fire a few shots themselves, they probably would have already started protesting.

The players, once again in groups, stepped into the dark tunnel one by one.

In the dimly lit, confined environment, the beams of tactical flashlights could only illuminate a few meters ahead. The air was thick with the toxic gases unique to the nest, mixed with a putrid stench, constantly interfering with their vision and sense of smell. Yet, even in this dire situation, the players felt increasingly at peace.

This kind of place is clearly an unreasonable meat grinder, where only human lives can be used to create a path. And coincidentally, the last thing the suicide squad has in abundance is human lives.

The group moved forward in silence, their footsteps echoing through the tunnel. Suddenly, a frenzied roar erupted from the shadows of the side passageways used for sewage disposal, and a dozen cultists wielding daggers and rusty machetes charged out fearlessly!
The narrow terrain instantly disrupted the players' formation; flashlight beams flickered violently, and laser beams left jagged red streaks on the walls. These cultists had an exceptionally clear objective: ignoring the other soldiers in ordinary bulletproof armor, they focused directly on a player clad in heavy shell armor. In their eyes, this well-equipped individual, noticeably taller than the others, must be an enemy officer!
"For the Dark Gods!"

The cultists charged frantically at the "officer." Caught off guard by the sudden attack, the player reacted swiftly. With a roar, he slammed the butt of his laser gun down one of them, then raised his bayonet and precisely pierced the throat of the second attacker. But one man against many is no match for another. More cultists pounced on him, their sharp daggers and heavy machetes bypassing his sturdy breastplate and helmet, relentlessly stabbing and slashing at the gaps in his armor and his bare thighs.

With a dull thud, the player only had time to let out a groan before being brutally killed by several cultists.

"Killed a leader!" the cultists cheered victoriously, feeling they had made an incredibly profitable trade, sacrificing several worthless lives for an Imperial officer. However, their cheers abruptly ceased. The other players, having recovered, steadied themselves, and several laser beams swept across the area precisely, instantly riddling the remaining cultists with bullets.

The battle ended, and the tunnel returned to silence. Just then, the "officer's corpse" that had just been "replaced" by the cultists suddenly moved, and then slowly sat up on its own.

His first reaction upon resurrection wasn't to check his wounds, but rather to nervously reach out and touch his armor, examining it carefully from his chest to his back. After finding no obvious gaps or cracks, he let out a long sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness. These bastards at least have some brains; they know that daggers and machetes probably can't penetrate my armor, so they didn't aim for my torso." A player nearby, who was changing an energy magazine, couldn't help but laugh and curse, "How many times have I told you? Buying armor in this game is a complete waste! Not only are they ridiculously expensive, but they don't provide full-body protection, and they're easily damaged. You'll feel terrible if a grunt even scratches you. Just buy basic bulletproof armor; that's enough to prevent getting killed by stray bullets if you're unlucky."

The player who had just resurrected sighed and got up from the ground: "Sigh, that makes sense, but being cool is a lifelong thing... Let's see if that new mechanical priest NPC can make armor after this mission is completed. If he can make it himself, the cost will be reduced."

Just as the players were talking, a twin-barreled heavy laser gun was silently concealed in the darkness around a corner ahead. The cultist operating it held his breath, his heart pounding. He stared intently at the corner, thinking that as soon as these henchmen of the Corpse King showed themselves, he would use the scorching laser beam to turn them into a string of charred meat, perhaps killing a dozen people at once!
The footsteps grew closer and clearer… the cultist's finger was already on the trigger. But at that critical moment, the footsteps suddenly stopped.

The entire tunnel fell into dead silence, with only the sound of water dripping from pipes in the distance.

What's going on? Have I been discovered? Impossible! Just as the cultist was filled with doubt, a thin but deadly crimson laser beam, like the gaze of death, pierced through the darkness and struck him squarely in the face.

He died unable to understand how the Astronauts had discovered him. He was completely hidden in darkness, surrounded by thermal gases emitted by various unique plants. Logically, as long as he didn't make any noise, even thermal imaging and night vision devices shouldn't have been able to lock onto him!

At the other end of the corner, a player wielding a laser sniper rifle heard a crisp kill notification sound, and simultaneously, the white outline representing the enemy disappeared from his field of vision. He lowered his gun, gestured to his teammates behind him, indicating that the threat had been eliminated and they could continue advancing.

The players immediately followed with confidence and soon arrived at the cultist's corpse.

"Hey, a dual laser gun? That's a good thing, but it's too time-consuming to carry around." A player kicked the heavy weapon.

“Yeah, this game is great in every way, except there’s no inventory,” another person chimed in. “You can’t put things into an invisible backpack, so if you want to carry them, you have to carry them yourself.”

"Given the nature of this game," one player analyzed, "to have something like an inventory, you'd probably need to acquire spatial skills or spatial equipment."

"Putting aside spatial skills, I guess only someone like Ribs or those top-tier mechanical priests could create spatial equipment, right?"

"Bean sprouts should also have some in stock."

"Yes, so we basically don't need to think about it at this stage."

Clearly, the elements of street fighting, darkness, fog, and numerous corners—elements that could put ordinary troops on the edge of their seats and even drive them to the brink of collapse—did not put much pressure on the players; in fact, they seemed to enjoy them.

(End of this chapter)