Warhammer 40: Saviors Emerging from the Bottom

Led by the messenger's guards, Bork arrived at a brand new camp.

This place is filled with people who have passed the tests and qualified to go to the royal court to participate in the final selection.

Several well-equipped squads of ten men patrolled around the camp, keeping a watchful eye on anything that looked suspicious.

After a rigorous screening to confirm that the guards who led Bork here were legitimate, the patrolling soldiers allowed them to enter.

The reason for taking such strict security measures is mainly to prevent spies from other tribal courts from poisoning the candidates who have passed the test.

Although the probability of such an event occurring is extremely low, it is not entirely zero.

Under pressure from the mine owners, the various royal courts temporarily united.

But there is competition among them, and it is extremely fierce.

Resources on the grasslands are limited; to survive, one must fight and compete.

The Astartes' candidates could not provide the tribe with any substantial resources, but the significance behind them was enough to make all the Khans of the royal courts flock to them.

"The Emperor's Angel" is not just a simple title; it is the embodiment of the faith of the empire's inhabitants and represents the Emperor's will.

Those warriors who are chosen, transformed, and ultimately become Astartes must be chosen ones who have received the Emperor's personal favor and protection.

His tribe would thus receive greater attention and favor from the emperor and the state religion.

In human empires where religion is strong and faith is law, this sacred identity possesses unparalleled power and value.

The tribal courts and Khans who occupied various regions could not only use this identity to legitimately consolidate their rule, win over the hearts of the people, and deter those who refused to submit within their borders.

Furthermore, this could serve as a pretext to launch conquests against other tribes, legitimately annexing land and expanding their own power.

This is why the Khans of each royal court attach such importance to this selection.

The messenger's guards led Bork to the entrance of the camp.

"Once you're inside, someone will arrange accommodations for you. I need to go back and report, so I won't be following you anymore."

"Follow all instructions, don't cause trouble, and discipline is key to your ultimate success."

"Thanks for reminding me."

The messenger's guard nodded to Bork and turned to leave.

"I don't know if the other people in the tribe have passed the test."

Bork took a deep breath to calm his somewhat excited heart, and then walked towards the camp that symbolized a new beginning.

An old shaman with disheveled hair was fast asleep in a chair by the door. Judging from his occasional snoring, he must be sleeping well.

When Bork approached within 30 meters of him, the old shaman suddenly opened his eyes and looked at him.

The fierce, predatory gaze made Bock involuntarily take a few steps back.

After realizing it wasn't a ferocious beast, the old shaman lay back down.

He pulled a wooden plaque from a box beside him and asked in a slightly hoarse voice, "Name? Age? Which tribe are you from?"

Upon hearing this, Bourke, who had initially thought he was going to have to fight, immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

"Bolke, 16 years old, from Ulf."

The elder shaman took a knife, made some simple carvings on the blank wooden plaque in his hand, and then handed it to Bork.

"This is your identification tag. You need this tag to get food. It shows your address. This is the eighth tent counting from here."

"We will depart for the Great Khan's court in seven days. At that time, the oil enthusiasts from the tower will conduct physical examinations on you, so lying about your age will not work."

After giving these instructions, the shaman closed his eyes and entered a semi-conscious state.

Seeing that the other party had no intention of paying attention to him, Bock did not ask anything more, but silently walked towards the eighth tent.

When he lifted the curtain and went inside, he found that there were already two people inside.

"New here? What's your name?"

The burly man lying on the animal skin mat looked at the outsider, Bork, with some wariness, as if he were the owner of the tent.

"Borke".

"Borke, I'm asking you, how did you kill the Wilderness Hound?"

"They burned its eyes with torches, then chased it for two days, wearing it down until it died."

Upon hearing this answer, the burly man immediately sat up, walked to Bolke's side, and warmly put his arm around him.

"Hahaha, finally I've met a true warrior. My name is Cassian, from the Bloodblade tribe."

Faced with the overly familiar Cassian, Bork was somewhat at a loss as to how to respond.

His gaze wandered back and forth within the tent, finally settling on the third person.

Upon sensing Bork's gaze, the somewhat thin-looking young man spoke in a calm and unhurried voice: "Finley, from the Eagle Feather Tribe."

"Don't hang out with this guy, or you'll become a coward too."

"Instead of fighting the Wilderness Hound head-on, he lured it with food and then killed it in an extremely despicable way."

Cassian looked at Finley with a slightly disdainful gaze.

However, Finley didn't mind at all; he even thoughtfully filled in the gaps in Cassian's explanation.

"I used a stick stained with feces to stab the wildebeest into its anus when it was off guard."

"The filth from the feces infected the wound, causing it to become inflamed and swollen."

"The wildebeest, unable to defecate, became increasingly agitated and eventually died in the trap I had set."

While intelligence is indeed part of the test, this approach is certainly somewhat despicable.

After hearing this, Bock couldn't help but cover his buttocks with his hand.

"Someone like you has no chance of passing the test. You should just go home."

"That's not necessarily true. The selection process for Astartes is not just about speed and strength; intelligence and willpower are also important factors."

"Tch, you think you know everything," Cassian said, pursing his lips in dissatisfaction.

Seeing that the two were ignoring each other, Bolke coughed lightly and asked, "Where is my bed?"

"Apart from the one under his butt and the one in the very middle, you can choose whichever you like. Right now, there are only the three of us in this tent."

Bork counted the number of beds in the tent; there were exactly 20, no more, no less.

In other words, 143 people have passed the test so far, and this only includes nearby tribes.

Securing one of the 7 spots is no easy feat.

An inexplicable anxiety gripped Bock's heart.

Just as he was worrying about what would happen if he failed the test, Cassian next to him suddenly spoke up: "What do you think this assessment will actually cover?"

"Who knows? I'm not one of those guys living in the tower, how would I know what they're thinking?"

"They're not going to make us fight one-on-one, are they? The survivors advance, and the dead are eliminated."

"How could that be? That primitive method is too stupid. Anyone with a brain wouldn't do that."

"Borke, what do you think?"

"Me? I think the assessment will likely include things like teamwork."

The three of them chatted away and quickly became acquainted with each other.