Chapter 367: Warhammer: What Do You Mean You Conquered the Zerg? Chapter 367 Guidance (11)

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

The images of the first two outposts surged in Dominic's mind.

The orderly Monastery No. 331, the roaring gunfire of the Plague Zone Defense Line, the mysterious Apostles in gray robes, and the Major General eager for credit mentioned by the soldiers.

Clues like an oil-soaked tangled skein wound around Brevis's dim sky curtain.

But he did not forget that the secret letter marked a third coordinate, a place officially designated by Brevis as a "Level 1 Safe Settlement."

According to the Governor's Mansion's public announcement, it was one of the few pure lands in Bottom City untouched by the plague, and one of the outposts where the Purge Plague Sect specifically settled surviving refugees.

The official notice sounded high-sounding: ample food, complete medical care, orderly order, a model for post-disaster reconstruction.

But Dominic, having come all this way, had seen plenty of the Nest Capital's "official rhetoric."

The more a place was touted as flawless, the dirtier the secrets hidden beneath it usually were.

They came to the underground world, following the pipe network toward the coordinate point, their steps extremely light.

The sapphire ring on his middle finger emitted a steady coolness, completely erasing his spirit power trace.

The two Silent Sisters beside him were like two silent shadows, their steps landing without sound, their breathing almost merging with the darkness.

The deeper they went, the more the surrounding environment gradually became "clean."

There were no longer corpses and sewage everywhere, and the mold spots on the walls were much fewer.

But the double-headed eagle reliefs carved at intervals, like those in the monastery, had subtle distortions along the edges of the eagle wings.

Faint voices came from the end of the passage, noisy and numb, like a group of dolls whose souls had been taken whispering softly.

Dominic pressed himself into the shadow at the passage entrance and looked up.

It was a huge underground plaza, originally supposed to be Bottom City's large-scale freight distribution center.

The dome rose tens of meters high, with winding pipes wrapped around the thick load-bearing pillars.

At this moment, thousands of refugees just evacuated from the plague zone were concentrated here, densely packed in the center of the plaza.

Most wore tattered clothes, were yellow-skinned and emaciated, their eyes carrying the blankness and numbness of having survived a calamity.

Some sat blankly on the ground holding children long grown cold, some curled up in corners shivering, and others muttered incomprehensible nonsense over and over.

This was what refugees should look like.

Dominic's brow furrowed slightly.

He had read countless relief manuals issued by the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs, and clearly knew that in this galaxy ravaged in turn by Chaos and Xenos, winning a campaign was never the end.

What was truly troublesome was always post-war pacification.

Ordinary civilians who had not undergone faith tempering and did not have strong bodies often had minds as fragile as a sheet of thin paper.

People like these had personally witnessed their kin mutate and devour relatives, heard the roars of Waa'gh in the dead of night, and hovered on the edge of death countless times.

People like these were most likely to breed despair, fear, and other negative emotions in their hearts.

And these emotions were exactly Chaos's best nourishment.

Many worlds were like this: the front line repelled the Chaos Army, but the rear collapsed because refugees collectively broke down.

Letting the Chaos Forces take advantage of the weakness, ultimately ending in total collapse.

By common sense, those who survived this Nurgle Plague would have severe psychological trauma.

But earlier at the Starport, he saw those conscripts awaiting recruitment, mostly numb and obedient, with very few hysterical breakdowns.

He originally thought the screening was strict, selecting only those with firm minds.

Until today, when he saw the "guards" around the plaza.

They were dozens of armed Apostles clad in heavy power armor.

Unlike the ordinary Believers in gray robes in the monastery, these Apostles were covered head to toe in dark purple exquisite power armor.

The armor was carved with intricate patterns, adorned with dark gold Holy Eagle Emblems on the shoulders and chest armor.

At first glance, they were not unlike legitimate Imperial armed forces.

Their faceplates were tightly closed, they held extended laser rifles, stood straight as pines, and exuded a solemn aura.

Rather than cult guards, they were a well-trained elite troop.

They scattered around the plaza, firmly enclosing thousands of refugees in the center.

No shouting, no shoving, but that invisible oppression made all the refugees dare not move a muscle.

A sense of absurdity instantly seized Dominic's heart.

What kind of "safe settlement" was this? It was clearly an open-air cage.

The so-called settling of refugees was nothing more than concentrating and watching them like livestock.

But he suppressed the impulse to rush out immediately.

He wanted to see what these people were gathering so many refugees here for.

Not long after, the metal gate on the other side of the plaza slowly rose.

The heavy air pressure valve let out a long "hiss~", and a figure slowly walked out from behind the door.

It was a woman.

She wore a set of exquisite power armor in purple and gold, the armor lines smooth and dignified, Gothic shoulder armor raised high, edges inlaid with fine golden patterns.

She wore no faceplate, revealing a face that could be called perfect.

High nose bridge, cold lip line, purple eyes deep as the night sky, every move carrying an innate noble bearing.

It was as if she were not standing in the filthy Bottom City underground, but in the Upper City's Royal Cathedral.

The most striking thing was her bald head.

Her smooth scalp had not a trace of hair, glowing with a faint jade hue under the dim lights of the Square.

This appearance closely resembled the high bishops revered in the State Religion.

After all, in the traditions of the State Religion, many high clergy shaved their hair to show devotion to the God Emperor and cast off worldly distractions.

It also had to do with her advanced age.

She held a staff as tall as a person in her hand, the staff forged from dark gold metal, topped with a perfectly cut purple gemstone.

Faint light swirled within the gemstone, like solidified psyker flame.

As soon as the woman stood still, the originally noisy and chaotic Square strangely fell silent.

All the refugees subconsciously raised their heads, their gazes uncontrollably drawn to her.

The hysterical crying stopped, the numb muttering disappeared, even their breathing grew much quieter.

The Silent Sister beside Dominic moved slightly, her fingertip pressing against the hilt of the power sword at her waist.

There was psyker fluctuation.

Very gentle, but with extremely strong penetration.

The two exchanged a glance for an instant, and Dominic's brow furrowed even tighter.

A spirit energy user, and not weak.

A bottom city folk cult actually hides a spirit energy user of this level?

The next second, the woman's voice sounded.

Her voice was not loud, but carried a strange penetrating power, clearly landing in every person's ear in the Square.

Like cold stream water passing over scalding wounds, carrying a strange soothing power.

"Lost children."

She spoke, her voice calm and solemn, "You need not be afraid."

"The plague you see, the ruins beneath your feet, the loved ones beside you who have passed... all of this is not disaster."

Her purple eyes swept over the whole scene, her gaze carrying pity, and also the dignity of one in a superior position.

"This is the God Emperor's trial."

As the first sentence fell, a faint commotion rose among the crowd.

Dominic gave a cold smile.

This same old cliché again; the pastors of the State Religion always say the same when giving relief.

But most of the time, these words make no difference from empty talk to refugees on the verge of collapse.

But the woman did not stop.

Her voice continued to flow, accompanied by extremely faint, almost imperceptible psychic ripples, like a fine spider web, silently covering the hearts and minds of every refugee.

"The God Emperor tempers your flesh with plague, and hones your soul with fear."

"The weak, the unclean, those with impure hearts, will all turn to ash in this trial."

"And you, you who survive."

She raised her tone, the purple gem at the top of her staff faintly lighting up, "You yourselves are miracles."

"Clean seeds personally chosen by the God Emperor from among billions of departed souls."

The commotion in the crowd gradually subsided.

Someone raised their head, and light appeared for the first time in their cloudy eyes.

Someone let go of the hand holding their loved one's corpse, blankly looking at the figure on the platform.

The fear and despair deep in their bones, as if gently held up by these words, no longer drowned them like a tide.

Dominic's expression gradually grew serious.

He heard it out.

This was not simple comfort; it was reshaping cognition!