Warhammer Survival Guide

Chapter 132 Faith (Bonus Chapter)

Luo Wei quickly performed the final stop-loss calculation.

If a rescue is attempted now, the defense forces and the laborers will be exposed to the toxic rain, resulting in non-combat casualties.

The cost of treating the plague infection far exceeds the value of these seeds.

Even with emergency treatment, the success rate is less than five percent.

According to Article 7 of the Imperial Agricultural Assets Preservation Ordinance, when force majeure causes the risk of crop damage to exceed a critical value, priority should be given to preserving production tools and labor.

Logic provides the only answer.

give up.

Lo Wei clenched his fist.

This feeling of powerlessness made him feel suffocated.

The wisdom and scheming of mortals appear so fragile in the face of the evil forces of the warp.

He didn't care much about or feel sorry for those seeds.

He was angry.

He was angry that his plans had gone awry.

I am furious at this damned world that leaves no way out for people.

With no other option, Luo Wei ordered, "Send word: everyone retreat! Drive the tillers back to the hangar and cover them with tarpaulins. Abandon Zone C—"

However, just minutes after he gave the order.

Noisy footsteps came from behind.

Lo Wei turned around.

He was stunned.

In the afterglow of the searchlights, a dark mass of people was surging in from the direction of the refugee camp.

The one leading the group was old John.

Behind him followed countless people in tattered clothes.

They were all too weak from the outbreak of the plague at the grassroots level to participate in the spring planting.

There are young and middle-aged people.

There are elderly people.

There are women.

There were also children who were a few years old.

There are also disabled people and mutants who have limb deformities due to long-term malnutrition.

The data panel in my hand shows that the number is at least 50,000.

On Lowe's ledger, they now belong to the "low-value assets" category, which has the lowest production efficiency and consumes the most rations.

They did not have standard weapons.

Someone was carrying a tattered burlap sack.

Someone was carrying a moldy straw mat.

Most people had nothing at all, just thin, tattered clothes.

"What are you doing?! Trying to steal our seeds?" Buck was on high alert. He raised his gun and fired a warning shot into the air. "Back up! This is a war zone!"

The gunshots did not deter the crowd.

They crossed the cordon and rushed into Zone C.

Old John was running in the lead.

He lost one shoe while running, and the sole of his foot was cut by gravel, bleeding profusely.

He rushed to a row of land that had just been sown.

There, acid rain is eroding the topsoil.

Old John did not hesitate at all.

He fell to the ground.

He spread his thin arms and lay down on the mound of soil, covering the holes for the seeds with his chest and abdomen.

"Sizzle".

Acid rain fell on old John's back.

His worn-out work clothes were corroded through, revealing his withered skin underneath.

The skin turns red and ulcerates under the influence of strong acid, emitting white smoke.

Old John trembled all over.

However, he gritted his teeth.

He clutched the soil, buried his face in the ground, and let out a muffled wail.

Then came the second, and the third.

An elderly woman with gray hair was huddled up and kneeling on the ground.

She covered a low-lying pit with her withered belly, letting the acid rain corrode her gray hair until it turned black.

Her posture was as devout as if she were praying before a shrine.

A man with a broken leg threw away his crutches, which he relied on for survival, and rolled into the earthen mound next to the drainage ditch.

He transformed his mutilated body into a dam, using his broad back to block the deadly acid flow, even as his flesh festered with a "sizzling" sound, he gritted his teeth and remained silent.

A group of children huddled together, frantically digging at the drainage ditch with their small, tender hands, trying to divert the stagnant water.

The acid rain stung their delicate skin, and they cried bitterly, tears mingling with the rain, yet their hands never stopped moving.

They were too young to understand grand narratives or the meaning of sacrifice.

They only know:

When parents and elders lie down and turn into dust, they must do the same.

Only in this way can there be a spoonful of green soup in tonight's rice bowl.

They filled the ravines with their bodies.

They used their skin to absorb the poisonous rain.

There were no grand pronouncements.

There were no inspiring slogans.

All that could be heard was the sizzling sound of flesh being corroded and the painful gasps suppressed in his throat.

Lo Wei stood on high ground and witnessed this scene.

His fingers were trembling slightly.

This was not part of his calculations.

In his logical model, the instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm is a biological instinct.

These refugee laborers should be hiding in their tents, trembling, awaiting their fate.

"Boss—" Buck put down his gun.

The one-eyed man, who had killed countless people, looked at the scene before him, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, but he couldn't utter a single complete sentence.

Luo Wei strode down from the command platform.

He rushed into the rain and came to Old John's side.

Acid rain fell on his expensive trench coat, leaving mottled marks.

Lowe grabbed old John by the shoulder and tried to pull him up.

"Are you crazy?" Rowe roared. "This is against the rules! You'll all die!"

Old John's body was burning hot.

He raised his head.

His wrinkled face was covered in a mixture of mud and blood.

His eyes were cloudy, his voice was trembling, and his teeth were chattering.

"My lord—seeds—seeds are the emperor's gift."

He broke free from Luo Wei's grasp and lay back down on the ground.

"We're just worthless lives, we weren't going to live much longer anyway," old John said, pressing his face to the dirt. "The food can't die. If the food dies, we're really doomed!"

"This is an offering for the Emperor. As long as the seed remains, the Empire will endure!"

The people lying on the ground were trembling.

The pain made them instinctively want to curl up.

But whenever someone tries to get up, the person next to them will reach out and hold them down, or cover them up and fill the gap.

Tens of thousands of people.

It formed a line of defense made of flesh and blood.

The toxic rain of filth continues to fall.

The raindrops carrying plague spores fell on these people.

The spores try to take root in their flesh, and the acid tries to dissolve their bones.

But they kept all of that outside their bodies.

Almost no one ran away because they couldn't bear the excruciating pain.

Because most people quickly lost consciousness due to the excruciating pain.

And beneath them.

In the soil warmed by body heat.

The seeds of type IV wheat lay quietly.

They only came into contact with a small amount of acid rain and a small amount of spores; most of them were blocked by the refugees.

Luo Wei straightened up.

Rain dripped down the brim of his hat.

He looked at the field paved with living people.

As a time traveler and an auditor who believed in logic and data, he always thought he had seen through the essence of this world:

Exchange of interests, resource swaps, and the cold, hard rules of survival.

He viewed these people as data, as labor, and as costs that required the consumption of food.

But now.

These "costs" demonstrate a power that transcends logic.

This is faith.

It is the last spark of hope that mortals ignite in this dark, desperate, cannibalistic universe in their struggle for survival and the continuation of their species.

Even if that light is foolish, fanatical, or self-destructive.

However, this light does indeed exist.

It is ignorant and fanatical, yet it possesses a breathtaking grandeur.

Luo Wei felt as if a piece of lead was pressing on his chest, making him feel suffocated.

He stood silently in the rain, letting the acid raindrops fall continuously onto his clothes.

The order to retreat stuck in his throat, turning into a silent sigh.

He knew that this human wall was far more effective than any industrial tarpaulin.

They are not only protecting the seeds, but also fighting for the right to survive.

The process of applying for new seeds can take ten to fifteen days.

Missing the planting season, delaying wheat germination, and delaying the payment of tithes meant that everyone—men, women, and children—would be executed.

Three hours later.

Its daybreak.

The starlight pierced through the clouds.

The ritual of Negrito was interrupted by sunlight, and the yellowish-green poisonous cloud began to dissipate.

The plague swarm retreated underground long before the first rays of sunlight appeared.

The rain stopped.

White steam rose from the land in Zone C.

Tens of thousands of refugees slowly began to move.

Or rather, those who could still move slowly got up.

The scene was left in a mess.

Tens of thousands of corpses remained in a prone position, stiff on the ridges of the field, never to rise again.

Their backs were already so badly ulcerated.

Some wounds were so deep that the bone was visible, and the bare spine was exposed in the morning light.

Many more lay in the mud and water, their skin covered in blisters and black spots, waiting for death and rescue amidst weak groans.

But the price paid off with a result.

Luo Wei crouched down, ignoring his filth, and reached out to dig up a mound of earth soaked in blood.

In the moist soil, a few golden wheat seeds lay quietly.

Although the refugees' bodies cannot completely prevent the penetration of acid rain, blood mixed with acid and plague spores still seeped into the ground and came into contact with the seeds.

However, the "flesh and blood defense" formed by the refugees has absorbed the vast majority of the deadly corrosive dose.

The trace amount of toxin that seeps in is simply not enough to break through the genetically modified immune system of type IV wheat.

The vast majority of the seeds were saved.

"Manager Luo Wei."

Just then, a calm voice came from behind.

Luo Wei stood up and turned his head.

A fat man dressed in the robes of the State Church walked over.

He was Father Simon, the Anglican representative in the Eastern Grain Depot.

In this hellish scene filled with mud, stench, and blood, he seemed completely out of place.

He was spotless.

There seemed to be a faint force field around, keeping all the filth out.

He held a scepter in his hand and had a smile on his face.

Father Simon did not glance at the wailing wounded; his gaze quickly swept across the field, confirming that the golden wheat seeds were unharmed.

"Bravour Emperor." Father Simon nodded, his tone light. "It seems the seed has been saved."

"This is a miracle, Father," Rowe said.

"These laborers and refugees have shown astonishing piety. They have used their own flesh and blood to fight against the corruption of the plague and preserve the assets of the empire. I believe that such sacrifice deserves to be rewarded."

Lowe tried to fight for even the slightest bit of human dignity for these people: "I suggest classifying this casualty incident as a sacrifice of faith. Give double the ration coupons to the families of the survivors, and hold a high-level requiem mass for the dead. This will greatly boost morale, Father."

Father Simon raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard a funny joke.

He walked to a corpse, gently stroked the festering back with the end of his scepter, and calmly replied, "Director Lowe, your kindness impresses me, but your standards—seem too low."

The priest looked up, a look of regret on his face, and gently shook his head.

"This is merely the most basic requirement of the state religion. Serving the emperor is an obligation that every citizen of the empire is born with, not some achievement worth boasting about."

"Did they do a good job? No, they just did what they were supposed to do. It was ordinary, very average."

Father Simon looked at the struggling wounded with the same eyes he would give a pile of burnt ash.

"As for high-level masses? The Emperor's attention is precious and cannot be wasted on these mediocre souls."

"I will have my acolytes perform a simple collective blessing ceremony for them. This is already a blessing."

Luo Wei opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but in the end he was speechless.

In this world, the power of interpretation rests with Simon and with the state religion.

Father Simon thought he had successfully enlightened Lovi, and his voice turned cold and hard.

He raised his scepter and pointed it at those who were severely burned and convulsing in pain.

"For minor injuries, apply some holy oil. If they survive, it is the Emperor's decree to let them continue working."

"As for those whose injuries are beyond saving, don't waste the precious medicine," the priest said calmly. "Give them 'the mercy of an emperor': give them a quick death. This will end their suffering."

Luo Wei's fist clenched quietly at his side.

He was just a low-level clerk and a granary manager.

Faced with the colossal presence of the state religion, he had no right to say "no."

"And these corpses too."

Father Simon covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief, seemingly disgusted by the acrid smell that was beginning to fill the air.

"Don't let them rot in the ground, or they'll breed disease."

The priest glanced at Buck, bypassing Rowe, and gave the order: "Collect it all and send it directly to the fermentation tank."

"Although their souls were mediocre, their flesh and blood still had value."

"To be turned into fertilizer to nourish this land, this can be considered the last embers of that tiny bit of faith."

"Don't waste their good intentions. With these nutrients, this season's wheat will grow very well."

After saying this, Father Simon straightened his robes, drew the eagle sign on his chest, and then strode away.

His boots were still shiny, without a speck of dirt on them.

Luo Wei closed his eyes and remained silent for a full three seconds.

When he opened his eyes again, all that remained was deep weariness and helplessness.

As a witness to the cruel reality of the empire, all he could do was compromise.

"—Carry out the priest's orders."

"Yes, boss."

>