In the safe zone on the periphery, Robert was systematically confirming the progress of each squad via walkie-talkie. Overall, everything was going smoothly. The genestealers seemed to enjoy fighting wars of attrition with the players, and the players, quite obviously, were equally enthusiastic about it. Each kill meant an increase in merit. The front line was steadily advancing; though slow, it was exceptionally resolute.
If the genestealers wanted to swarm them, finish the job in one go, and overwhelm the players in a single wave, the players would be even happier. They would simply strap on high-explosive charges; whoever chickened out was a coward. After all, resurrection only took a few seconds.
After Robert once again confirmed the situation on the front lines, the walkie-talkie relayed various complaints from the squad leaders.
"Without a God's-eye view and zero-delay communication, being a commander is too difficult."
"I'm so bored I've started counting ants on the ground."
"Don't tell me, I actually want to see what a warhammer ant looks like. Can you describe it?"
"The main problem is still resurrection. Positional warfare is fine; we can fight together on the front. But if you die while breaking through, you have to run all over the map. We really don't dare to push."
"Speaking of which, where's Cain? Why haven't I heard him speak?"
"He's a noble ogryn. Killing ordinary genestealers is truly like slaughtering chickens for him, unlike us fragile mortals who dare to die in front of you after a couple of hits."
They even started trying to play imaginary chess during their idle chatter. However, amidst this seemingly relaxed atmosphere, continuous explosions suddenly erupted, becoming increasingly dense.
Everyone was already familiar with this sound; it was clearly the players self-detonating again. This also meant that the genestealers were once again gathering for a large-scale charge.
At first, Robert thought it was just another player self-detonation, as this "tactic" was already commonplace. But soon, his brows furrowed tightly. The explosions became exceptionally dense, no longer sporadic, scattered roars, but continuous, successive thunderous blasts, as if the entire processing zone was trembling.
"This isn't right…" Robert murmured to himself. Being experienced, he immediately realized this wasn't the spontaneous action of ordinary genestealers. A single genestealers commander couldn't order an attack simultaneously across all fronts.
Even a pureblood couldn't do it. Only higher-level cultist Psykers had the ability to issue such unified and decisive commands to a large number of their kin scattered in various places in such a short time.
As he pondered, the voices of the players after their resurrection came through the walkie-talkie, their tones marked by evident confusion and a hint of bewilderment.
"Report, it's a mess here, but the genestealers have all fled!"
"Same here, only remnants are left, no living ones in sight."
"Company Commander, we resurrected, and the surroundings are empty, not even a breathing soul."
Robert quickly summarized these scattered pieces of information, and his judgment was confirmed. This was by no means accidental.
The explosions were too dense, like continuous thunder, which was clearly not the self-operation of individual genestealers commanders, but a direct order from a high-level entity! Their purpose was to temporarily force back the players; they intended to withdraw!
"Attention, everyone!" Robert's voice came through the walkie-talkie, "The genestealers are in a large-scale retreat! This is not an ordinary rout; it's an organized withdrawal!"
He paused, his tone resolute: "All squads, one squad pushes forward to scout, the other stays put! Be quick! Confirm enemy movements! They wouldn't retreat without reason!"
"Yes!"
The players of the Seventh Squad were the fastest. They didn't self-detonate; relying purely on their superb hacking skills and a bit of their ogryn squad leader's strength, they relentlessly cut down all the genestealers that surged forward to intercept them. Upon receiving the order, they immediately began to pursue.
Then, they happened to run into the cultist Psyker Kyle, who was walking slowly.
The Seventh Squad abruptly halted, watching the opponent warily. Kyle also stopped, its gaze sweeping over this peculiar squad of mortals, a hint of doubt arising—primarily directed at the ogryn.
According to its knowledge, ogryn should immediately charge forward with grunts and attacks. The words 'caution' and 'defense' exceeded the brain capacity of ogryn.
But it didn't matter. This strange Astra Militarum had given it enough doubt. Now, it would personally kill these damned mortals.
"I didn't expect you mortals to inflict such heavy casualties on my kin," Kyle said with a grim face, its voice filled with suppressed fury. It had originally intended to hold its ground and wait for reinforcements, but the death rate of its subordinates was beyond its imagination.
In just an hour, thousands of its kin had returned to the embrace of the void lord. At this rate, by the time reinforcements arrived three days later, each of its kin would owe these Astra Militarum at least three lives!
"However, everything ends here." Kyle raised its hand, and on its pale palm, purple psychic energy began to swirl and gather, "You will slaughter each other in terror…"
Kyle's right hand was wreathed in dense purple psychic energy, attempting to use psychic power to bind the players' souls, driving them into madness, causing them to collapse in mutual slaughter.
This was one of its most skilled attack methods; it had used this trick to plunge countless enemies into despair and infighting. However, just as it was about to unleash its psychic power, its hand suddenly stiffened.
Because when it tried to extend its psychic power, it discovered that, from the warp perspective, there was nothing where souls should have existed, yet from the real-world perspective, it could see these mortals standing before him.
This violent conflict between the warp and real-world perspectives stimulated Kyle's brain nerves. For a moment, two completely contradictory yet factually existing situations began to attack each other, using its body and soul as a battlefield.
"Where are the souls? Where are the souls?!" Kyle, who intended to drive the Helldivers into frenzy, instead fell into frenzy itself. It was like a physicist who suddenly discovered that the rules of the universe were not uniform, or a mortal who saw a ghost in broad daylight. "How is this possible? How can this be?!"
The universe where the players actually resided didn't even have a warp, and they weren't even physically present; they were merely a piece of information fabricated by Terrabyte. How could players possess souls under the warhammer worldview for Kyle's psychic energy to twist and control?
The players of the Seventh Squad watched Kyle suddenly descend into madness before them, and they, who had been arrayed in strict formation, collectively stood dumbfounded.
"What's wrong with this boss?"
"It's said that Psykers' psychic powers are very unstable; the stronger the Psyker, the less he can control himself. Psychic power constantly suppresses the brain, leading to a weak self-awareness. Maybe he accidentally made a mistake just now and blew up his own brain nerves."
"You mean, this genestealer had a stress reaction?"
"Uh, probably? After all, I've only read GW's official settings; I'm not a real Psyker."
"That situation is for wild Psykers, right? Do genestealer Psykers also have this problem? It can't be, can it?"
"Anyway, quickly get Mua'dib over here! This is a great opportunity to spit Hell Fire!"