Traveling through the Warhammer world, but I didn’t cry.

Political Commissar Yarick observed the battle situation displayed on the holographic map. Under the command of the pig-headed governor, the sacrifices and bloody battles of the Planetary Defense Force were meaningless. He kicked himself into the Hades hive of this damn subcontinent and let the soldiers of the main continent die.

The frightened pig head concentrated all his troops on the defense of the Tartarus hive, treating the other three orc clans as nothing. The retreating planetary defense forces did not even have any decent counterattack, as if they were being attacked. The grunts that the orcs used to drive away with whips were just as miserable.

In the report sent two days ago, the orcs invaded the subcontinent and divided into two groups during this volcanic active season. Two of the three clans attacked eastward, heading straight into the Pale Mountains towards the Hades hive. The other clan headed west into the mountains, heading towards the port of Halesridge.

Yarrick knew clearly that he had no time to waste, and he must integrate all available forces in the entire hive to resist the invasion of the orcs. For God's sake, he doesn't care about his own life or death. He only hopes to save this planet that belongs to the Emperor from the hands of the green skins.

He is afraid, afraid that his sacrifice is meaningless, afraid that his dedication will become nothing. But he couldn't show any hesitation or panic. The political commissar was the strongest backbone of the entire imperial army. Even if everyone chose to surrender, the political commissar would only curse those cowards and then raise everything in his hands to die for the emperor. .

Alex organized the documents on his desk and walked out of his office. A soldier saluted him at the door.

"Soldier, select the best team and come with me to the bottom to meet the gangsters."

------

Poisonous air, deadly mutated animals, and those dark and dark corners. Political Commissar Yaric passed under a dangling pillar and observed everything at the bottom of Hades' nest.

This was not the first time he came to the bottom of the hive, but the harsh conditions at the bottom of the hive of Hades, or the industrial planet Armageddon, were still beyond his imagination. On the way through several huge abandoned refineries and industrial lifts, the temperature of the muzzle of the bolt pistol in Yarick's hand never dropped.

Those huge fish living in industrial wastewater, if the appearance of that thing can still be called a fish, except for the tail and dull eyes that can smell a little bit of fish, he can't believe that the whole body is full of fish. The monster with pointy arthropod legs is an edible fish.

The wastewater flowing down from the upper levels is basically sent to the depths of the planet without any treatment. For industrial owners and nobles, purifying recycled industrial wastewater is a troublesome and wasteful matter. This wastewater has been discharged downward uncontrollably for hundreds of years, until the entire groundwater system is irreversibly polluted.

The soil on the ground is penetrated by deep wastewater, and the chemical toxicity in it can make the rotating needle of any detection instrument twist to death and never go back. The originally lush forests and vegetation died under the double pollution of wastewater and exhaust gas. So far, only the center of the main continent retains large-scale equatorial forests. These forests have survived the pollution of wastewater and exhaust gas and adapted to them. A unique ecosystem was formed, in which the plants became ferocious and huge under the catalysis of chemicals. They could easily swallow an entire Leman Russ tank into their tough pods, and then use the extracted The chemical wastewater corrodes the tank into a puddle of metallic solution, which is then absorbed into it.

Those mutant animals with different shapes are difficult for any imperial biologist to summarize and classify. There will be new biological mutations almost every day, a new creature will appear every few weeks, and the old creatures will perish.

This is why these hives are built within tall and thick metal walls, and under a giant mechanical dome that can block periodic planetary sandstorms and acid rain.

"Sir, we are almost there. If we go to the left of the mark made of Hades' scorpion shell in front of us, we can see the Chameleon's gang."

This thin soldier with short hair and this steel ring on his nose is the result of the Planet Defense Force recruiting from the lower hive cities. It is said that he was a little gangster who was making a living in a low-level gang. Within a few days of joining the gang, he was arrested by the military police of the Ministry of Justice and sentenced to serve in the Planetary Defense Force. But he didn't really care. After all, he was asking for a life at the bottom, and he was asking for a life in the Planetary Defense Force. From being easily shot by a gang leader to being shot by a political commissar, there was no formal difference.

Although Yarrick hated the carefree manner of this gang soldier, his temper had improved a lot since he witnessed the extravagant desires of those nobles and the ultimate mental retardation of the tenth generation of von Strab. With an extremely low limit set there, being a dawdling gang soldier seems like a great improvement.

Walking past the statue made of Hades' poisonous scorpion, Yarick's biochemically modified ears heard the sound of the mechanical rising. Without any hesitation, he opened fire in the direction of the sound. Under the light of the explosion, he opened fire in the direction of the sound. , it was a gang-made automatic machine gun turret. Yarick shot out the barrel and ammunition supply device, and burst into flames.

"What an amazing shooting accuracy. I didn't expect that a big shot like you would come to the place where we scum are living. It's such an honor."

A strong man wearing armor welded from construction steel plates squatted on the pipe above Yarrick's head, holding a well-maintained melt pistol in his hand. Although melt weapons generally have a short-range problem, in this hive with complex terrain, it is obvious that there are not many opportunities for long-distance combat. The power of a melt is enough to help any sane person. The man burned his opponent, his bunker, and even the floor beneath his feet into a pool of flaming molten iron.

Yarick looked at the guy above him with a dangerous expression. He also did not dare to act rashly. God knows whether this melt pistol modified by gang members fired melt flow or melt bullets, even if it was stained with a There was no way he could get out of here alive today, and his sacred oath and duty to protect this planet for the Emperor would be out of the question.

"He is an old thug of the Chameleon Gang, known as Fire Breathing Mord." The soldier with the ring on his nose quietly revealed the strong man's information to Yarick.

"I am political commissar Sebastian Yarrick. I am here to discuss an important matter with your leader."

"Let me guess, you want us scum to help you kill those orcs, right?"

"Not to die, but to serve the Emperor."

"Emperor, Emperor, that's nice. If the Emperor could really hear our prayers, we wouldn't be living in this damn place."

Yarrick suppressed the urge to curse and ignored Ryder's disrespect for the Holy Emperor. He squeezed out a sentence from between his teeth, "That's because you are too cowardly."

"What did you say? Do you dare to call an old thug who has been working at the bottom for decades cowardly?" The angry Ryder raised the melta gun in his hand and pointed it at Yarick and his soldiers.

A MK8 melt gun

"The Emperor never asked you to live in such a hopeless place. It was your choice."

"Oh my God! Look what weird things I heard! As long as we climb out of the sewers at the bottom, those damn nobles and officials will loudly scold us as traitors to the empire, and then put those dressed like toy soldiers Guys were sent in to massacre, and now you tell me that these were all chosen by you? Without the emperor’s approval, how could those officials act so wantonly through his mouth!”

"The empire only cares about tithes and loyalty. It doesn't care who rules the planet. Do you understand?"

Alec's gloomy eyes stared at Ryder, and he swore that if this ignorant guy dared to disrespect the Emperor in the slightest, he would risk his life to kill him.

"Uh, you mean, if we're loyal to the Empire and pay taxes, you'll leave us alone?"

"Yes."

"you are lying!"

"I swear in the name of the great God-Emperor that if I tell any lies, I will be shamed after death and never see the sacred light of the Golden Throne!"

Hearing such vicious oaths from Political Commissar Yarick, Fire-breathing Ryder, who only knew how to fight for strength, was also a little confused. Is it true, as he said, that the Empire never cares about how the planet is governed? Does it only care about paying taxes and being loyal? Ryder, who was still hesitant, decided to ask one last question.

"The tithe, how much is it?"

Yarick reported a few numbers, which was a little hard for Ryder to accept. (In fact, I don’t know what the tithe tax is on Armageddon. The book states that there are billion people in this world. Who knows how to collect the tax, but it is far lower than that of the planetary governors and nobles. Just taxes, after all, they can exploit them as much as they want in the name of the Emperor. And the Imperial tithe has probably never changed since the Great Crusade.)

"you're lying!"

Listening to Ryder's somewhat relaxed tone, Alex smiled coldly and said, "The Imperial Commissar never lies."