Warhammer Survival Guide

Chapter 105 The Mark of Purity (Bonus Chapter)

10:00 AM.

The dim sun pierced through the thick acid fog of Fengrao-2.

The dim light shone on the assembly square of the eastern granary.

The convoy has assembled.

This is a long steel dragon.

Huge, bizarre, and exuding an aura of danger.

Leading the charge was the Chimera 1 transport vehicle, codenamed "The Wall of Gluttony".

It is no longer a cold, imperial-standard vehicle.

After this evolution, its armor surface is covered with a translucent biological keratin membrane, gleaming with a purplish-black eerie light similar to that of crustaceans.

Luo Wei sat in the passenger seat, his gaze falling on the somewhat "out of place" decorations in front of him.

In the center of the dashboard in the driver's cab, there is a meticulously crafted "Purity Mark".

This is no ordinary stuff.

The wax seal of the mark is a deep, dark red, a mixture of expensive myrrh and holy oil.

The seal of the 7th Diocese of the Church of England, bearing the official "Holy Pardon" stamp, is clearly stamped on it.

On the hanging parchment strips, the purification chapters of "The Prayer of the Mechanical Priest" were neatly copied in gold ink, emitting a strong incense scent that barely suppressed the faint acidic smell inside the car.

This was something that Rowe had specially asked Father Simon, the priest of the Catholic Church, to "buy" urgently before he set off.

To obtain the genuine artifact bearing the bishop's seal, Loewe paid for five whole boxes of high-energy military rations.

In addition, it was promised that a separate "spiritual development expenditure fee" would be allocated to the parish in future tithe accounts.

In Father Simon's eyes, this was undoubtedly a worthwhile deal.

Of course, this does not mean that the representative of the state religion has completely lost his principles and dared to give the green light to "mutant vehicles" for a few boxes of food.

Although Father Simon was greedy, he valued his life even more and knew that some money was something you could have the life to take but not the life to spend.

The reason he dared to stamp the sacred seal on the parchment was because he had his own set of risk assessment logic.

First of all, he's too busy.

He was busy preaching in the slums and collecting tithes.

There was no time at all; he took a magnifying glass and went to inspect the chassis structure of an old Chimera.

Secondly, and most importantly:

This car was nominally the work of Father Alpha.

As one of the few people on the Fertile 2 who knew about Alpha's past.

Simon knew that this exiled tech priest had a somewhat radical view of technology, but his core logic—his loyalty to the Emperor—was beyond question.

Otherwise, the punishment the Mechanicus gave him would not have been as simple as exile.

Since it has the technical authority of the Cult of Mechanics as its backing, this vehicle is just "a little irritable with its mechanical soul," rather than "its mechanical soul being corrupted by the subspace."

Moreover, after the last negotiation regarding the three members of the Rust Gang, Simon had a deep understanding of Rowe's methods.

In his view, a rationalist like Lowe, who treats human lives as numbers on an asset list and calculates every action to two decimal places, would never touch the chaotic and insane forces of madness.

Based on this delicate trust and political judgment, Father Simon accepted the bribe with a clear conscience, and then confidently allowed the deacon to affix the mark representing divine forgiveness to the forehead of a monster that even he himself might not dare to investigate further.

Of course, the assistant priest he sent also confirmed on site that after the purity mark was affixed, the wax seal did not turn gray, the prayer text did not fade, and there was no smoke or burning.

This further confirms the "purity" of the chariot.

In Lowe's ledger, giving Father Simon so many benefits was a necessary "compliance cost".

After this harvest, the vehicle underwent some new evolutions, and its appearance gives the immediate impression of being a living heretical monster.

Without this "protective charm" officially certified by the state religion and stuck to its forehead, it might be blown to smithereens by patrol teams as a demonic vehicle before it could even travel ten kilometers.

In short, this mark of purity is its "legal permit to drive on the road".

Following closely behind were twenty heavy-duty trucks with heavily reinforced suspension.

Their wagons were filled with "Grey Snail-1" mutant wheat, which is as hard as granite.

The heavy load flattened the tires and caused the engine to groan.

Interspersed among the convoy were five disguised oil tankers.

"Everyone, one last check of your gear! Secure all that junk tightly!"

Buck stood on the roof of a truck, shouting triumphantly.

He carried a gleaming, precision-engineered explosive gun on his back and had molten bombs hanging from his waist.

Two Hellfire gun battery packs were haphazardly hanging on his chest.

Lowe looked at the soldiers outside the car through the bulletproof glass.

The defense soldiers, who had just finished eating, were reverently touching the "marks of purity" affixed to the hoods of their trucks and their weapons.

Unlike the expensive genuine religious artifacts in Loewe's car, the soldiers' homemade purity marks looked shabby and ridiculous:

Long strips cut from inferior lunch wrappers.

The text on it was drawn crookedly with charcoal, making it impossible to read.

The so-called "wax seal" is a lump made by mixing industrial red paint with glue and then solidifying it.

However, they firmly believed it.

For the rank-and-file soldiers, this was a place to place their faith.

"Boss, the assets have been inventoried and are ready to be shipped!"

Buck gave Rowe a grotesque military salute, his one eye gleaming with excitement.

Luo Wei withdrew his gaze and ordered, "Let's go."

With a command given, the massive convoy roared to life.

The tracks crushed the frozen ground, and the tires kicked up dust.

The fully loaded convoy slowly drove out of the gate of the eastern grain depot.

Heading north, we drove toward the horizon shrouded in industrial black smoke.

Acid rain pounded against the windshields of heavy trucks, making a slapping sound.

The convoy bumped along across the wasteland.

More than ten hours have passed since we set off from the eastern grain depot at 10 a.m.

Tracks and tires rolled over a thousand kilometers of frozen soil and ruins.

It was late at night, and the moonlight was dim and hazy.

Rowe sat in the passenger seat of the "Gluttony Wall," rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

He was not sleepy.

The journey was not peaceful.

The convoy encountered two medium-sized ambushes.

The attackers were Nurgle cultists who roamed the wastelands.

These madmen, whose brains have been corrupted by the plague, have no idea what strategy is.

They were simply drawn by the scent of food and life emanating from the convoy, like moths to a flame, constantly rushing towards it.

In the past, facing a suicide charge of this scale, the escort would have suffered heavy losses, with at least several trucks damaged and more than a dozen soldiers killed or wounded.

However, things are different today.

Buck, sitting in the back, held the precision-engineered explosive gun in his arms like he was holding his newborn son, protecting it against his chest.

The gun barrel was still radiating intense heat.

It's the warmth left over from the battle just now.

"Boss, to be honest, we really need to write a thank-you letter to young master Valentine."

Buck grinned, revealing his teeth stained yellow by cheap tobacco.

He gazed out the window at the still-burning corpses of Nurgle cultists.

He couldn't resist gently wiping the gun with his sleeve, removing the tiny specks of black ash that had settled on it.

That was the only piece of cloth that was relatively clean on his entire body.

"If it weren't for these precious treasures he generously left behind, when the second wave of the plague hit, I would have had to sacrifice at least a dozen of my brothers' lives to plug the gap."

In the battle just now, the three Hellfire Guns from the Valentine Honor Guard and this Precision Bomb Gun demonstrated overwhelming dominance.

The firepower was far superior to the six old-fashioned heavy logging guns previously allocated by the governor's office.

The bloated flesh that the plague believers were so proud of proved utterly vulnerable to the internal explosion of the explosive projectile.

This was an unequal massacre.

Buck and his brothers had never fought such a lucrative battle in their lives.

It was really awesome.

But I really feel sorry for him.

Buck looked down at the magazine, and the muscles in his face twitched involuntarily.

"What a pity—what a damn pity."

He muttered, wincing, "That rookie's hand was shaking; he pulled the trigger two seconds too long! That's two seconds! That's enough energy for three Hellfire batteries. When we get back, I'm kicking his ass to pieces!"

In order to conserve these precious items, as soon as the Plague Believers showed their faces, Buck shouted until his voice was hoarse, strictly forbidding continuous fire and insisting on single shots.

When the enemy got within fifty meters, he preferred to let his brothers fight with bayonets and homemade explosives rather than pull the trigger again.

Buck glanced furtively at Rowe in the passenger seat. Then he rubbed his hands together and said ingratiatingly, "Hey boss, the guys are all saying that we really risked our lives for forty-five days in that godforsaken place, A-3 test field."

"We not only successfully planted the Grey Mule-1 variety, but we also harvested every single grain. This would be an unthinkable miracle in any other grain depot."

Lowe asked in a flat tone, "What reward do you want, Captain Buck?"

"Hehe." Buck swallowed hard. "The brothers aren't greedy. They don't want credits or food, and they don't want vacations. It's this gun, isn't it? It's so good, so good that it makes people uneasy."

He patted the finely crafted explosive pistol in his arms, his voice lowering as he pleaded, "You're a favorite of the Governor, could you—could you plead for our brothers?"

"Even if it's just a few precision-engineered explosive rounds slipping through the Governor's Office's teeth, or a few Hellfire batteries, that would be great."

Buck knew perfectly well how unreasonable the request was.

According to the market price Luo Wei told him, the price of a single precision-engineered explosive projectile was roughly equivalent to the monthly allowance of three of his soldiers.

But he still spoke up.

Because he saw the look in the recruit's eyes when he blew the plague beast's head off with that gun.

For the first time, when facing the plague monster, their eyes showed no fear, only the hope of survival.

"We know this stuff is precious, more precious than our worthless lives."

Buck said in a hoarse voice.

"But as long as I have this thing, I can bring more brothers home alive next time something like this happens."

This is everyone's only wish, boss.

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