Shipping goods from the game to the World of Warhammer

Rod then learned that the worker in front of him was named Anya, and that she was also the one who had adopted Desmond.

He was also surprised, as such pure kindness was far too rare in his merged memories.

The despair in the Warhammer world lies in the fact that it is a near-unsolvable vicious cycle.

Following the Iron Man Rebellion, the Empire entered a dark age of strife, and the energy of the Warp became unstable.

The technological regression of humanity in the Terra Empire led to various upheavals and disasters, generating a massive amount of negative emotions.

The despair, greed, and other emotions generated by the powerful souls of the human race, when projected into the warp, become the best nourishment for the Chaos Gods. The four Chaos Gods, in turn, attract believers in reality, causing even more disasters.

That's why the empire chooses to keep the common people in the dark; for those who are unaware of the empire's current situation, ignorance is the best shield.

At least in Rhodes' eyes, Anya shared her scarce food and raised Desmond all the way under such circumstances. For an ordinary space dock worker, this courage is rare.

Rhodes didn't know, but perhaps it was because there were such beings among humanity that the one sitting on the golden throne believed in doing everything possible to ensure the survival of humanity, even at the cost of countless such people.

"That child, is he really...really alright?!"

Anya's tone was almost pleading as she asked the question. Having just woken up from a state of oxygen deprivation and shock, she had to pause several times before even uttering a simple sentence, and her chest was rising and falling noticeably due to lack of oxygen.

The medic standing nearby quickly raised the surgical equipment again to help stabilize Anya's condition.

"Everything's fine now, but we need to find him right away, or something bad will happen."

For a psyker, especially an illegal psyker like this, not being able to find his body among the piles of corpses created by warp demons is an even more terrifying thing.

Moreover, these dreadful demons were low-ranking demons under Tzeentch's command, taken away by Tzeentch's followers or demons...

Regardless of whether there will be a battle of wits or a fake death, at least the other side is preparing to pull off a very impactful event.

After hearing Rod's answer, Anya also began to try to recall the previous scene.

She couldn't see what was happening, but she could hear a series of nightmarish screams coming from outside. Then, several people strode towards her and Desmond's residence.

She then lost her sense of the outside world, her ability to hear, and her ability to breathe.

But before that, she smelled a familiar scent.

"I remember that the people who came back had a smell of chromium on them." Anya thought for a while, and then told Rhodes and the others the only clue she knew.

Tire, the lifeblood of Imperial industry, is also a general term for various combustibles. From spaceship fuel to weapon gel, almost all Imperial technology, except for the Golden Throne which burns psionic firewood, relies on these chemical energy sources.

Without a doubt, those who took Desmond are hiding in a place where large amounts of iron have accumulated.

However, there are countless warehouse areas of all sizes in the lower levels of Blackwing Harbor, not to mention the hidden warehouses with the tacit approval of the dock manager.

The manager of this space dock really doesn't do anything good. Rod recalled the labyrinthine lower levels of the dock and felt a wave of dizziness.

Searching for the enemy's hideout in such a complex area would likely cause considerable unrest among the lower-level law enforcement, given his and the Marines' conspicuousness. Finding Desmond would probably take days.

He didn't know how the dock manager could have made the lower levels of Blackwing Harbor so suitable for Chaos cultists to hide in, without taking any precautions whatsoever.

No one knew that hidden in Blackwing Harbor was a group of Chaos Believers who had almost no spiritual power, who could not make calls in the subspace, and could not even detect the slightest sign of anomaly.

However, there are clearly more suitable candidates for investigation at present.

Seeing that he only had less than two thousand units of general energy left in his system balance, Rhode waved his hand and exchanged them all for a certain type of unit that required extremely difficult and complex operation.

So be it, resources are meant to be converted into combat power and technology.

"Feel the terror of the reaper!"

Light infantrymen wielding the "Scythe of Death," also known as the P-45 electromagnetic pistol, appeared before Rhodes.

The massive jetpacks mounted on their backs made them appear even larger than the Marines, and the built-in HUDs and combat goggles made of polarized plastic steel emitted a dark red glow in their eyes.

The Reapers, also known as the Grim Reapers, are mostly trained and reformed from stubborn criminals in the Koprulu Sector who resist resocialization. When they appear on the battlefield, they usually have only one goal: to cross the terrain and attack the enemy's weak rear areas without any backup.

The twin-turbo jetpacks on their backs allow them to bypass various vertical obstacles and reach the target area at an extremely fast speed. Even the speed of a zebra worm cannot keep up with these professional guerrilla light infantry.

It would be most appropriate for them to enter the lower levels of the dock and quickly search for the hiding places of the Tzeentch followers.

Rhodes's orders were simple: scout out all possible hiding places of the enemy, and if any unrelated law enforcement officers or others obstruct the way, open fire and take them down without killing them.

As for the privacy of those warehouse owners? Or the use of force at space docks under Imperial jurisdiction?

Please, he himself, and the entire Blackwing Harbor, are about to be sent flying by human psionic bombs. Who has time to care about this?

The reapers scattered in all directions, leaping onto pipes, platforms, and railings several meters high in just a few steps, disappearing into every corner of the lower levels of Blackwing Harbor.

On the lower level of Blackwing Harbor, a law enforcement officer leaned against the metal railing behind him, leisurely smoking a cheap cigarette.

His job was to guard the private warehouse of the dock manager, but the warehouse was located at the top of a complex of buildings, and the entrance to the ground floor was guarded by other law enforcement officers, so he rarely saw anyone there.

For him, it was a very easy job, but it also meant he lost the opportunity to get something out of the dockworkers.

This cigarette was one of the souvenirs that a worker "voluntarily" gave him before he was transferred here. He didn't say anything about it, but the power baton might need someone to test its power when he's in a bad mood.

He thought to himself, "I'll go look for some fat pigs that look juicy another day." He took a deep drag of the smoke from his mouth.

A hissing sound came from behind him, and the law enforcement officer instinctively turned around. He remembered that there didn't seem to be any large ventilation ducts nearby.

The light infantry's cushioned boots landed on the metal floor of the elevated platform.