"War is really coming?"
Al was tucked under the Centigor's arm, his head pressed right against a pair of firm, heavy breasts.
In most fantasy worlds, the main themes were killing and fucking.
But in the world of Warhammer, there was only one true rhythm:
Slaughter, slaughter, slaughter, slaughter, and more slaughter!
Al hadn't expected to experience so much on his very first day, as if everything were being served up at once.
"War..."
He felt no excitement, no sense of glory—only the primal fear of the unknown.
Sure, in a video game, he could micro-manage a Heroic Victory or an Epic Win.
But in reality? Two runty Snotlings could probably poke him to death.
A Goblin Archer's arrow was just as lethal as a cannonball to a soft human body.
Not to mention the endless spells, plagues, and other horrifying dangers lurking in the dark.
Al didn't suffer from the delusion that playing games made him a general.
His military education in his past life had been a single-year mandatory course, followed by optional electives.
Moreover, real life didn't have a "strategy view."
A hammer-wielding giant wouldn't charge the front lines while remote-controlling handgunners fifty meters to the left.
Can we just skip the team fights? I just want to farm and level up.
Al struggled to turn his face upward, but his vision was completely blocked by Alina's massive chest.
He wanted to speak, but seeing her so ecstatic and battle-hungry, the words died in his throat.
Despite her claim to be his "mother and wife," Al didn't really know Alina at all.
Their relationship was built on the foundation of the "Blood Mother"—the gender-bent Blood God.
Aside from her saying she didn't hate him and actually liked him, he didn't know what else bound them together.
He didn't know how to start a real conversation.
Al had never been the type to make his own big decisions.
His birth and his future had been mapped out by the State Socialization Agency since he was a toddler.
If nothing had gone wrong, he would have followed that path without question.
At age twenty, he would have moved to the Siberian Forest Belt Metro-Zone as a "Builder-Migrant."
He would have worked the job assigned by the United Nations of Earth and lived there until retirement at sixty.
Then, he would have enjoyed a long retirement in the year 2076, where life expectancy was over ninety-three.
His classmates were headed to Central Africa, the Pacific Island Cities, or even the Moon.
He was seventeen, just about to graduate from the Agency.
At eighteen, he would have been given two years of absolute freedom to do whatever he wanted.
Looking back, his generation was born into such incredible luck.
Seventy years earlier, the old people had been born into a world of overcrowding and endless hustle.
In some places, they endured brutal exploitation and low wages, used as "demographic dividends" like cattle.
In others, populism ran rampant, political correctness was a plague, and nations tore themselves apart.
Al remembered digging through the internet archives of the early 21st century.
He felt the pessimism and gloom of those generations, much like they had looked back at the 19th century.
But everything eventually reaches a tipping point and swings back.
The people who fought for his country a century ago couldn't have imagined the prosperity of the mid-22nd century.
The Great Revolution of the 21st century came a bit late for those who bled for it.
But the survivors could still drag their aging bodies into a future where they could finally enjoy their final years.
They no longer had to pour their youth into machines or mind-numbing "bread and circuses."
Al's generation didn't fear unemployment; they had eight-hour workdays and healthy entertainment.
Civilization was pushing into space, fueled by curiosity and the instinct to explore.
Every day was better than the last.
It was their Golden Era!
Suddenly, the Centigor's arm tightened, squeezing Al so hard it hurt.
He curled his body, and a stray tear flew from his eye, shattering on the grass and soaking into the dirt.
The pain snapped Al out of his memories.
This wasn't a dream, and this wasn't a 70% immersion VR simulation.
He was truly in this magical, monstrous world.
The Centigor set Al down on the ground.
He rubbed his dizzy head and looked around, realizing they were standing on a small hill.
Rustling sounds and frantic shouting echoed from the forest in the distance.
Al watched as a visibly corrupted Beastman burst from the trees, stumbling onto the plain.
It was wounded and desperate. Suddenly, an arrow hissed from the woods and pierced its skull.
It collapsed and lay still.
A moment later, a figure dressed as a hunter stepped out to inspect the kill.
Al watched with a mix of tension and curiosity.
Zip! Another arrow flew from the forest, but this time, its target was them.
Snap!
With lightning speed, the Centigor reached out and snatched the arrow mid-air before it could hit her face.
With a slight squeeze, she snapped the shaft into two pieces.
Three more arrows followed in quick succession, with one aimed directly at Al.
But this time, he didn't even see how the arrows vanished—they just fell to the ground, broken.
Alina maintained a wild, manic grin, her exotic face looking more demonic than ever.
She took Al's hand and turned back to meet the approaching Thal and his followers.
"Watch over him."
Alina handed the boy over to a massive Minotaur, then gripped her hammer.
She transformed into a crimson storm, leaping high from the ridge of the hill!
"BLOOD! MOTHER!"
Her war cry shook the heavens, followed immediately by the trembling and moaning of the earth!
Blocked by the hill, Al couldn't see the carnage on the other side.
He could only hear a massive CRUNCH, followed by the sounds of shattering wood and breaking bone.
Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the gloomy world.
In that brief flash of light, Al saw a terrifying phantom:
A colossal beast wielding a giant hammer, smashing the very mountains into dust.