Thump.
The sound was heavy, meaty, final. A male brown bear, weighing three hundred and fifty kilogram of muscle and fat, slid off Nolan's Power Armor with a wet thud. The massive corpse hit the frozen ground, snow compressing beneath its bulk.
The prey's death had been neither quick nor clean. Its face remained locked in an expression of shocked terror, eyes wide and glassy, features disfigured by brutal force. The bear had been dragged from its hibernation den, ripped from winter sleep, and beaten to death with armored fists.
Kane pushed through the crowd of onlookers, his small form squeezing between the men, women, and children who had gathered to watch. Their faces showed shock at the bear's size, fear at the violence of its death. But Kane ignored their reactions completely.
The boy's green eyes fixed on Nolan with pure curiosity. He watched, fascinated, as the armored giant bent down and began processing the bear's flesh and hide. Power armor servos whined softly as Nolan worked, his movements practiced and efficient despite the massive gauntlets.
Time passed. Craig remained in the cave, still examining injured and disabled members of the Rebel Army, conducting his medical rounds with methodical care. But the other Stormtroopers returned from their own hunts.
The Bane brothers arrived first, carrying two red deer between them. Osprey and Gao Qi followed, each bearing another deer across their armored shoulders. The animals were massive, each weighing around one hundred and fifty kilogram. Additionally, they'd gathered over a dozen rabbits of varying sizes from the mountain forest, small game to supplement the larger kills.
David remained more than ten hours away from returning with supplies from the base. The Valkyrie's journey would take time, and until large quantities of food arrived, the Rebel Army's immediate needs required emergency measures.
Zora and the other logistics personnel had been racking their brains to maintain everyone's rations. The strain showed in their faces, the constant calculations of who could eat what and when. But hunting had been problematic. Dense gunshots would expose the stronghold's location, so they'd been forced to use quieter methods that couldn't reliably bring down large prey.
With winter's icy grip tightening, the dwindling food supply had become critically stretched. Starvation loomed closer each day.
To some extent, what truly earned Nolan and his team the trust of the Rebel Army wasn't their miraculous medical methods, the panacea capsules that could cure seemingly any ailment. Instead, it was their generous sharing of captured prey that successfully made everyone drop their initial guard. Food spoke louder than medicine when stomachs were empty.
Bonfires rose across the clearing, flames crackling and spitting sparks into the cold air. The mixed meats were laid across makeshift grills, simple racks of green wood that smoked and hissed. Rock salt, the only seasoning available, was sprinkled sparingly across the cooking flesh.
Nolan personally distributed the portions, ensuring every member of the Rebel Army received an equal share. His armored hands moved with surprising gentleness, passing out chunks of roasted meat to weathered hands that trembled slightly as they accepted.
His eyes narrowed, observing the crowd. In everyone's faces, he saw something shift. A glimmer of light rose in eyes that had been dull with despair. Color returned to pale cheeks. Shoulders straightened fractionally.
Hope.
The word formed silently in his mind as he watched the transformation. Hope, fragile as new ice but growing stronger with each bite of food.
Nolan muttered to himself, voice too low for anyone else to hear. Then he slowly turned, his portion of roasted bear meat held in one armored hand. He walked away from the gathering, heading toward a nearby hill.
Before leaving, he'd already informed the Stormtrooper Squad and Zora, who was temporarily acting as his deputy. He needed to meditate, to think about his next course of action. Strategy required clarity, and clarity required solitude.
Unless enemies attacked, he wanted no disturbances.
A few minutes of climbing brought him to an excellent spot near the hill's peak. The position offered a clear view of the entire starry sky, constellations spread like diamonds scattered across black velvet. The Milky Way arced overhead, a river of light flowing through infinity.
Nolan drove his power armor down into a cross-legged sitting position. Servos locked, holding him stable and comfortable. He began to eat slowly, chewing the not-so-tasty roasted bear meat with mechanical efficiency. The meat was tough, gamey, but fuel was fuel.
As the gradually cooling roasted meat slowly entered his stomach, providing warmth and calories, Nolan wiped congealed grease from his metal hand. Snow nearby provided a convenient cleaning agent, the white crystals scrubbing away the worst of the fat.
Then he opened the long-silent simulator.
The interface flickered to life in his mind's eye, familiar and waiting. His heart formed a silent prayer, words that had become ritual. Emperor protects.
Without hesitation, he started the simulation.
[Simulation starting...]
[Current Identity: Space Wolf Blood Claw Warp, Inquisitor, ….]
[Please choose your identity first]
[If you refuse, you will be randomly assigned]
[Identity selection rejected]
[Simulation starting...]
[You have landed in the Warhammer Universe]
[Time: ???]
[Location: ???]
[You successfully landed in the mid-level cabin of a Conqueror-class armed freighter.]
[You are sitting on a metal bunk bed that emits a faint smell of decay.]
[You blinked a few times, gradually adapting to the dim light in the cramped room.]
[You looked down at yourself and found that you were wearing a heavy suit of armor with the green paint polished off, and a dusty, blood-stained grey hooded cloak over it.]
[You slowly stood up and stretched your muscular, yet unreinforced, large hands and feet.]
[You walked to the washbasin in the cramped room.]
[In the blurry reflection of the mirror, you saw a solemn, bronze-skinned, shiny bald head with a pair of thick eyebrows.]
[You couldn't help but force a very ugly, stiff smile at the mirror.]
[You turned to compare yourself to the door frame and the nearby metal bunk bed, roughly estimating your height to be around two point six to two point seven meters.]
["Unless born with extraordinary talent, otherwise, with this physique and height, and not wearing Power Armor... Emperor protect, please don't let it be a Fallen Angel hiding from the Dark Angels' pursuit!" You couldn't help but blink your deep eyes, turning to look at your reflection and muttering to yourself.]
[You vaguely sensed a bad premonition.]
[You immediately turned and searched for anything in the cramped room.]
[You only found a Las Pistol carried on your person and a strangely shaped silver metal spear, separated into several parts, placed in a metal box.]
["Hmm? Xenos weapon?"]
[You instinctively squatted by the bed to examine this never-before-seen, fragmented weapon.]
[You skillfully assembled all the parts, and a two point two-meter-long double-headed silver spear was tightly held in your palm.]
[You couldn't help but thrust it forward a few times, and a terrifying hum and tremor seemed to instantly erupt in the murky air.]
[You also unexpectedly discovered that the double-headed spear could be transformed into dual short spears at any time.]
[Just as you were about to continue studying this strangely shaped xenos weapon, a clear sound of footsteps from outside the cabin reached your ears.]
[You casually tucked the xenos weapon, which had just been disassembled into dual short spears, behind your waist, and covered most of it with your hooded cloak.]
[The next second, the metal door of the cabin was violently pulled open.]
[Streaks of dappled light from the ship's corridor also shone on your expressionless, bronze-skinned face.]
[At the same time, a middle-aged burly man with a red nose and wearing dirty Captain's attire stared at you expressionlessly.]
["Big lug! I didn't let you hitch a ride for free! If you want food and a ticket to the next stop, get up and work!"]
[The middle-aged burly man occasionally blurted out some coarse slang from among the ship's sailors, while grumbling loudly at you.]
[You instinctively blinked a few times.]
[You immediately analyzed the middle-aged burly man's specific identity through his words, actions, and attire.]
[A boatswain or first mate under a Rogue Trader... Of course, it's also possible he is a Rogue Trader with unique tastes.]
[You silently stood up and walked with slow steps to the middle-aged burly man.]
[You slightly lowered your head, looking down at the middle-aged burly man, who was nearly a meter shorter than you, still without uttering a word.]
[As time passed, a biological fear gradually appeared on the middle-aged burly man's face, and even his red nose became even redder.]
[However, just as his lips slightly moved, seemingly intending to swallow back the words he had just shouted.]
["What kind of work? If it's killing... that's a different price."]
[You instinctively forced a terrifying, ferocious smile onto your solemn, bronze-skinned face, which you thought was very gentle but actually looked very scary.]
["Terra above..."]
[The middle-aged burly man standing in front of you immediately rolled his eyes and fell straight backward with a heavy thud.]
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