I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 43: Battle reports show continuous victories, but the battle lines are constantly retreating.
As the last flame licked across the end of the tunnel, the viscous promethium fuel finally ceased erupting.

The entire side passage was unrecognizable; the walls were charred black, with countless carbonized mushroom remains clinging to them like black reliefs. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning protein, fungi, and plastic. Those cultists who had attempted to ambush him hadn't even left behind a complete corpse.

The player wielding the promethium flamethrower slowly lowered his weapon, heat still billowing from the nozzle. He let out a long, satisfied sigh, and shouted with all his might towards the now-purified passage:
"Cool!"

The shouts echoed through the tunnel, filled with boundless joy. He turned around, ready to receive the admiring glances of his teammates, only to discover a strange sight—all the players, including JK, had retreated to a distance of more than ten meters, looking at him with complicated expressions.

He was suddenly startled.

As we all know, in any work of art, this kind of scene signifies extreme danger. Someone is wreaking havoc on the front lines, yet remains unaware that a deadly enemy has silently crept up behind them.

He hurriedly spent several seconds laboriously turning his heavy body, the joints of his full-body armor creaking in protest. However, after clumsily turning a full circle, he couldn't see a single living enemy target in his field of vision, except for his teammates.

The flamethrower soldier was deeply puzzled. Through his heavy helmet, he shouted, "What's going on? Why are you all so far away?"

The players responded in unison: "It's fucking hot!"

It turned out that in the short few dozen seconds that the flamethrower soldier had pulled the trigger and continuously sprayed fire, the temperature around him had already risen sharply to nearly 70 degrees Celsius, an environment completely unsuitable for a normal human to survive in. As for the side passage that had been repeatedly scorched by the fire dragon... molten liquid of unknown composition was already dripping from the walls and the ground, and the air itself was distorted by the high temperature.

One player said with lingering fear, "My God, how long will it take for the temperature to drop..."

Another person immediately poured cold water on the idea: "In such a cramped and enclosed environment, expecting it to cool down naturally? You'll have to wait another ten thousand years."

"I guess we'll just have to grit our teeth and get through it," one of the more experienced players analyzed. "Luckily, it was only the side path that was hit directly; the main path's temperature is at most 80 degrees Celsius. We don't need to worry about any more surprise attacks on the side path. If we run quickly and get through in one go, we shouldn't get burned halfway through."

At this moment, JK stepped forward and, enduring the heat, said to the flamethrower soldier, "Dude, could you give your heat-resistant suit to our company commander? He can't afford to get burned."

"No problem!" The flamethrower soldier agreed without hesitation.

JK nodded, then asked, "By the way, how many merits did you get for burning so many mushrooms and cultists just now?"

Upon hearing this, the flamethrower soldier immediately pulled up his system panel and glanced at it. He then painfully checked the merit points converted from the promethium fuel he had just consumed. After calculating for a moment, he replied, "Hmm... it's probably about the same as what I consumed. I can barely call it a small profit."

This result surprised everyone, but JK seemed to have expected it. He summarized, "It seems that the flamethrower equipment can theoretically be operated by one person, but to actually generate profits, it still depends on the collective merit reward given by the system after completing the mission. In other words, to make money, we still have to rely on group actions and cooperation."

One player shrugged and added, "So far in this game, I haven't found any place where an individual can get rich overnight. The more powerful the weapon, the more terrifying the maintenance and ammunition costs. This flamethrower set is really cool, but it's also really expensive."

Meanwhile, at the other end of this long lower-nest passage, the cult commander responsible for guarding the middle-nest elevator was nearly driven to despair. He sat in the elevator's control room, the red line representing his own defensive line on the tactical map before him receding at an unbelievable speed. He racked his brains but couldn't understand why these Astragalus troops would suddenly launch an attack under such circumstances.
“Madmen! They’re all a bunch of madmen!” He grabbed his thinning hair and paced back and forth in the cramped space.

"They just took over the chemical refinery! They should be resting and reinforcing their defenses!"

Ammunition depletion, casualties, production line reconstruction…aren’t these important? Doesn’t it take time to adjust and digest the results of the battle?! How dare they, with their rear unstable, venture so far from their positions to attack a damn elevator? Even if they capture it, what benefit would they gain? This makes absolutely no sense in military logic!

What the cult commander found most unbelievable was the sheer number of Astral Army soldiers. Based on the scattered intelligence from the front lines, he had assumed the enemy had deployed at most a company. With the labyrinthine, winding terrain of the tunnel, he was absolutely confident he could wipe out these arrogant Corpse King's lackeys, making them pay a bloody price for their recklessness!
At first, things went very smoothly, just as he had imagined. His subordinates kept sending "good news" through a rudimentary communicator:
"Commander! We've repelled another of their charges, taking down at least seven or eight of them!"

"They suffered heavy losses in Lane 4! We wiped out an entire squad with explosive traps!"

"The enemy is launching a fierce attack, but with every step they take, they leave behind corpses!"

Although the battle line was constantly retreating, this was all within his expectations—trading space for casualties. At this rate, by the time the enemy had reached halfway, everyone should be dead!
But as the fight went on, he realized something was wrong.

He looked at the rapidly receding red line on the map and compared it with the battle damage report recorded by the communications soldier.

"You've reported killing at least several dozen Astral Army soldiers, so why isn't the enemy's advance slowing down at all? In fact, it's getting faster and faster!" he roared into the communicator.

This cult member, of course, was unaware that players could resurrect. Faced with a massive information gap and cognitive barrier, he used his logic—based on the cult's poor organizational skills and internal strife—to arrive at the most probable conjecture:

To keep themselves in check and shirk responsibility, the guys below submitted completely false battle reports!

"Liars! A bunch of damn liars!" He slammed his fist on the metal table, making a dull thud.

Otherwise, there's no way to explain why our side kept winning big victories in the battle reports, yet the front line kept collapsing and retreating! It must be those cowardly cowards who crumbled at the first charge of the enemy and then fabricated false victories to deceive themselves!
To be honest, he really wronged his subordinates this time.

His poor, cannon fodder subordinates were not lying. They did indeed knock down the charging enemy time and time again, seeing Astronaut soldiers fall from the sky, even blown to pieces.

What they couldn't know was that those who had just been killed by their own hands would, moments later, rejoin the charge unharmed.

These enemies seemed tireless and fearless of death, launching relentless attacks. And with each death and charge, they became increasingly familiar with the terrain, firing positions, and trap locations, making their attacks more and more skillful and efficient.

(End of this chapter)