Chapter 18

The next day.

In truth, Lower Nest had no meaningful concept of “tomorrow.”

After all, the sun was never visible here; above lay a tangle of complex steel pipes and a low, radiation-choked “sky.”

The only time lower nest scavengers bothered to expend mental energy remembering was every seven days, when waste and exhaust were collectively discharged from the upper and middle nests.

Normally, many scavengers would gather at every waste discharge point, like a swarm of rot-grubs waiting for their rare “harvest day.”

In the past, Alvin wouldn’t stay in his “doghole”—he’d guard the waste outlet a full day in advance.

Now, however, he didn’t need to do that anymore; he could sleep until he woke up.

Before the system, I had to work like a beast until I dropped. Now that I have the system, I still work like a beast until I drop—was the system just for show?

Alvin woke up hungry and swallowed a portion of nutrient gruel in one gulp.

The taste… honestly, it was hard to swallow—a flavorless sludge that even stuck in his throat.

In the past, having even this much nutrient gruel would’ve been a dream for many lower nest dwellers, but since returning from the Black Robe world, it was truly beneath dignity.

“Come on, make do—it’s better than eating garbage, right?”

Alvin comforted himself with this thought, frowned, and swallowed the last mouthful of nutrient gruel.

“It’s been roughly twenty-four hours since my last injection.”

After filling his stomach, Alvin turned his attention back to his “psychic energy,” but this time… something felt different.

Inside the crude iron-sheet “doghole,” the temperature had slightly dropped, condensing frost on the metal walls.

“Can I… use psychic energy now?” Alvin’s eyes flickered with sudden joy, yet he feared it was false hope—he closed his eyes and focused his mental force.

The psychic energy, once utterly uncontrollable by conscious will, had now been subtly stirred—though faint, far weaker than an “Eta-level” psychic display, there was no doubt: his psychic power had grown!

This discovery brought Alvin a smile, but also added a layer of unease.

“If this continues, does it mean… I might one day become an Alpha-level psychic?”

The joy was that Alpha-level psychics, if not rulers of the Warhammer universe, at least had real self-preservation power.

But the unease was that, in the mainstream human empire’s view, Alpha-level psychics were an extremely dangerous and exceedingly rare breed, born with inherently unstable minds.

One misstep, and they’d be devoured by warp demons, triggering disasters capable of destroying an entire planet!

“Forget it—what’s the point of worrying about distant possibilities?” Alvin suddenly chuckled bitterly, slapped his own face: “I’m Eta-level now. What does Alpha have to do with me?”

There was no need to torment himself now over hypothetical future dangers.

Alvin shook his head, cleared his mind, pulled out his treasured “Permanent Compound No. 5,” licked his lips, and his eyes burned with fanaticism: “Eta-level psychic—I finally have just enough self-defense power to survive in the lower nest!”

Without hesitation, he injected the entire dose into his body.

The familiar sensation surged again—a brilliant blue glow filled Alvin’s entire pupils.

Unlike before, this time… his soul felt drawn, briefly detaching from his body.

Under invisible forces, he was pulled toward the final path of all souls—the chaotic “Supreme Heaven,” a swirling mass of infinite power, like a blend of countless dyes.

He was a burning flame, blazing conspicuously amid the chaotic emotions and thoughts of all living beings that filled the “Supreme Heaven.”

Clusters of revolting, terrifying demons seemed to sense his presence.

That burning soul, so radiant in the demons’ eyes, drew them like sharks drawn by blood—swarming from every direction.

“This is… the world psychics perceive?!”

Alvin’s face turned deathly pale, shock and terror flashing in his eyes.

Though he’d guessed the Warp might be terrifying, only through direct experience could he realize how laughably naive his prior mental preparation had been.

The Warp… a tide-like realm filled with the emotional fluctuations of sentient life—hatred, rage, violence, lust—where extreme negativity birthed Warp demons, a world devoid of matter, life, even time and rules.

“Focus your mind. Control your emotions!”

Drawing on memories from his past life, Alvin consciously restrained the psychic energy leaking from him.

Of course, he didn’t notice that a cold, pale sun had appeared in the Warp—its chilling radiance tore apart the surging demons.

When he opened his eyes again, Alvin’s consciousness returned from the Warp.

He was back in the material world, breathing the acrid radiation fumes—and for the first time in his life, he was grateful to be alive in this world.

The entire world seemed different to him, yet somehow unchanged.

At the same time, Alvin clearly sensed a permanent, indelible… mark left on his soul within the Warp.

Every use of psychic energy would ripple through the Warp, drawing the attention of “demons.”

The stronger he became, the greater the danger.

“Psychic energy is a double-edged sword.”

Alvin rubbed his throbbing temples, face twisted in bitterness: “If not to escape the lower nest, I’d never touch the Warp in a million years.”

Calming his emotions, he carefully buried the remaining “Temporary Compound No. 5,” then pulled on his tattered clothes and crawled out of the “doghole,” hunched low.

Today was the scavengers’ “harvest day.”

As a lower nest scavenger, he certainly couldn’t miss this “great” festival, could he?

Alvin understood one rule: never show off wealth.

Especially in the lower nest, where scum littered every corner—if anyone discovered you had value, you’d likely be found dead beside a sewage pipe the next day.

The dump he was heading to lay in the southwest corner. Soon, Alvin arrived.

But… the scavengers who once swarmed like termites over the towering piles of trash, rummaging for usable items, were nowhere to be seen.

The vast dump was eerily silent.

This made no sense.

Today was the lower nest’s “harvest day”—hundreds of scavengers should’ve gathered here, searching for salvage.

Yet the entire garbage truck site was deathly quiet, thick with stillness.

“Something’s wrong!” Alvin smelled blood in the air—that was his first thought.

His face darkened. He crouched low, silenced his footsteps, and crept slowly through narrow gaps between towering piles of trash, like a worm inching forward.

Soon, Alvin saw the reason.

He finally understood why no scavengers had appeared on this “harvest day.”

The answer lay behind the trash pile: hundreds of severed scavenger heads, stacked in a grotesque, cruel mound.

Rivers of blood had soaked the earth, filling the air with a crimson, nauseating stench.

Countless skulls, artificially piled into a mound, bore twisted, agonized expressions—each pair of pale, terrified eyes seemed to scream of unspeakable horror.

Alvin froze, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

He knew exactly who had built this skull mound—a bloody tomb burying hundreds of lives.

Khorne… the bloodthirsty, war-loving, skull-obsessed one—one of the four supreme gods of the Warp.

Only a cult devoted to Khorne would commit such an abomination.

Blood sacrifice to the Blood God. Skulls offered to the Skull Throne.