Chapter 13: This Cultist Is Kinda Weak

"My name is Laine. Rus," Zhou Yun said solemnly.

At the sound of that name, all three present couldn’t hold their composure.

“You don’t need to trick us with such a lazy fake name,” Montg said, shaking his head.

“It’s fine if you won’t tell us your real name,” Margit said with a gentle smile.

"What fixation do you have with Laine and Rus?" said the winged figure within the white light.

A name combining two Imperial Primarchs—two opposing Primarchs—

The Primarch of the Dark Angels, the Lion Laine. El. Jiaosun.

The Primarch of the Space Wolves, the Wolf King Lierman. Rus.

The name Laine. Rus, in the 40K universe, is as absurd as someone calling themselves Jesus Śākyamuni or Aisin-Gioro Chongzhen.

“Why would it be a fake name? My parents named me after their admiration for these two,” Zhou Yun said with perfect seriousness.

"Your father revered Primarch Laine. El. Jiaosun, and your mother revered Primarch Lierman. Rus?" Montg asked, curious.

“No, my dad likes cats, and my mom likes dogs,” Zhou Yun grinned.

"Rus might laugh heartily, but Laine will never let you live," said the winged figure in the white light, voice hollow.

Montg and Margit exchanged a glance; even though Zhou Yun couldn’t see their faces beneath their hoods, he felt their utter bewilderment.

“I now think you’re on the same path as us.”

Montg turned to Zhou Yun and said:

“Just for that one sentence, you deserve to be slowly burned alive on a pyre for three days and three nights.”

“Beyond this is the PDF’s base.”

After navigating the labyrinthine ruins of the hive’s old streets, Margit and Montg brought the self-proclaimed "Laine. Rus" to a ruin near the hive’s depths.

Montg, Margit, and Zhou Yun hid behind a spacious house nearby, watching the scene ahead.

Mountains of rubble jammed between the hive’s floor and ceiling, forming an impassable Wall of Sighs.

At the base of the rubble heap, the local gang had erected a temporary outpost.

Small generators roared, pumping electricity into abandoned buildings along the street, lighting up newly installed bulbs.

Sector Eight had once been part of the Upper Hive, home to the hive’s middle class.

They were the bureaucrats managing daily affairs, senior factory managers, and political-economic servants serving the nobility.

Their living conditions far surpassed those of the Lower Hive—larger spaces, better buildings, wider streets.

There were almost no opportunities to sneak through the tangled alleys.

Moreover, gang members had built low walls from rubble between the buildings, clearly preparing for a siege.

After all, the equipment inside the PDF base beyond the rubble heap was coveted by countless gangs.

Zhou Yun narrowed his eyes slightly.

He noticed a small excavator, fully assembled, parked beside the rubble heap.

“They actually got a small excavator in here?” Montg muttered beside Zhou Yun.

“Looks like this gang has a mechanic who knows his way around machines,” Zhou Yun nodded.

He saw two or three men dressed as hive laborers adjusting the excavator.

“What was your original plan to get in?” Zhou Yun asked the two hooded figures.

“My brother planned to corrode a tunnel through the pipe network and enter the PDF base from above,” Montg said.

Zhou Yun’s eyebrow twitched as he glanced at the size of the rubble heap and estimated the thickness between the pipe network and the PDF base.

“Even if the Emperor himself stood up from his Throne, you two still wouldn’t have dug through by now,” Zhou Yun said, grimacing.

“I thought the same,” Montg agreed wholeheartedly.

“Stop playing good cop, bad cop,” Margit sighed, shaking his head. “We need patience. Extreme patience.”

“Then I’ll find my own way in. You two keep digging,” Zhou Yun shrugged.

“You have a way in?” Montg asked Zhou Yun.

“Try not to kill anyone,” Margit said softly. “We don’t want to draw too much attention.”

Hearing this, Zhou Yun couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He hadn’t expected his first collaboration with cultists to involve them demanding no deaths.

How to put it? Very Nurglite of them.

“So, do you have any magic spells that make them all get diarrhea?” Zhou Yun stroked his chin.

Montg and Margit exchanged a glance.

“My blood is toxic. If I add it to their water supply, it should give them diarrhea… right?”

Montg said uncertainly.

“Diarrhea? Just diarrhea?” Zhou Yun blinked, staring at Montg strangely.

Your Nurglite blood only causes diarrhea?

Noticing Zhou Yun’s odd gaze, Montg fell silent for a moment.

“Some unlucky ones might also get parasitic infections.”

Nurglite blood only causes diarrhea and parasitic infections? It somehow felt…

“Don’t worry, Montg’s blood toxicity is pathetic—it’s never killed anyone.”

Margit said calmly:

“Unless it’s corrosive, Montg’s blood isn’t lethal at all.”

“Once diluted in water, the corrosiveness becomes harmless.”

“Brother!” Montg groaned.

Hearing this, Zhou Yun’s lips twitched slightly.

He felt these two cultists were kind of weak.

Margit’s temperament was too gentle for a cultist, and he was absurdly patient.

Montg, as a Nurglite, had blood that—aside from its corrosiveness—could only cause diarrhea and parasitic infections.

No wonder Asford had no cultist troubles—it’s because your operational level is this pitiful.

Zhou Yun looked at the two cultists with a touch of pity. This level of incompetence and they’re still cultists in the hive? How hard must that be?

“But look, they’ve guards posted near their water source. How are you going to get Montg’s blood in?” Margit pointed to the water supply.

Six or seven gang members were patrolling there.

“Ah! I’ve got an idea!” Zhou Yun chuckled, pointing at the excavator below the rubble heap.

The mechanical hand on top of his hat also extended its finger.

Whirrrrrr—

A mechanical grinding sound rang out as the excavator parked beneath the rubble heap suddenly raised its arm high.

The hive laborers nearby jumped back in alarm.

“What are you doing?” a gang member shouted.

“We didn’t touch it!” the laborers hurried to explain.

Then, before the stunned eyes of the laborers and gang members, the excavator slowly turned its chassis toward the gang members.

“Is the machine spirit manifesting?!” one laborer cried, recalling tales he’d heard of machine spirits.

“The machine spirit is pleased!” another laborer exclaimed.

Then the excavator’s arm swung down hard, knocking one gang member unconscious.

The laborers’ faces instantly shifted from excitement to terror.

“The machine spirit is displeased!”

(End of Chapter)