"If you can't adapt, you don't have to go back," Alex advised Sea Hare gently, seeing his pale face and slightly trembling hands.
He handed Sea Hare a cup of hot tea and watched as he mechanically took the cup, yet even the movement of bringing it to his mouth seemed stiff.
Alex fully understood his friend's feelings.
As a doctor from the peaceful era of the 21st century, Sea Hare's living environment made it difficult for him to adapt to the raw brutality of the 40k.
Thinking of this, Alex couldn't help but smile bitterly.
This reminded him of the online jokes about transmigrating to the Warhammer World: those hammer-wielders who constantly shouted "For the Emperor" would probably cry like a stepped-on goblin if they actually transmigrated to this universe.
Even more ironically, there was even a joke circulating online about "System detected you transmigrated to Warhammer 40k, automatically uninstalling."
These dark humors all revealed the essence of this universe—a desperate abyss where even darkness was too bright.
What Sea Hare saw was actually not that cruel, not even mental pollution. If Chaos invaded, everything in sight would be more terrifying and disgusting than executing a few deserters, and what Khorne cults liked most was chopping off people's heads.
The atrocities of Khorne followers had long surpassed mere slaughter. During the rebellion in the Mariupol Sector, the Blood God followers transformed an entire grand cathedral into an altar for the Blood God.
Thousands of civilians were hung upside down from the Gothic arches, their throats slit, and their blood flowed down the stained-glass windows, converging on the ground into an eight-pointed star pattern.
Skulls were piled up in the streets to form pyramids, and the face of each skull was frozen in extreme agony.
Just a glimpse of such a scene was enough to cause permanent psychological trauma to any sane person.
However, compared to the revelry of Slaanesh followers, Khorne's atrocities seemed "pure" and "direct."
In a horror movie from Alex's childhood, there was a scene that deeply impressed him: a gambler lost a bet with a ghost and kept grinding his hands on the table, eventually grinding himself and his body into a puddle of flesh.
However, in the eyes of the Dark Prince followers, this was merely an entry-level pastime.
True Slaanesh rituals pursued the ultimate distortion of the senses: living sculptures were transformed into "resonators" capable of simultaneously experiencing all known pains; victims' brains were implanted with pleasure chips, gradually dissolving in eternal pleasure…
Not to mention the "artworks" sculpted from human flesh, each challenging the boundaries set by the creator.
Most horrifyingly, these victims often found some twisted pleasure in endless torment, actively participating in this feast of depravity.
Nurgle's plagues presented another form of horror.
On plague planets, the internal organs of living people would spontaneously transform into wriggling parasites, crawling out of their orifices; entire cities would melt into a bubbling stew under the blessings of Father Nurgle / Nurgle, with the inhabitants still retaining conscious awareness.
And Tzeentch's schemes were often the most covert and lethal—the inhabitants of a certain planet might unknowingly have relived the exact same life hundreds of times, each reincarnation a cruel experiment meticulously designed by the Dark Gods.
Compared to these, the scene of an Inquisitor executing deserters was simply child's play.
The shock Sea Hare experienced was merely the outermost layer of darkness in the Warhammer World.
True Chaos corruption would erode the sanity of observers, causing even the most steadfast warriors to collapse instantly.
Battlefields contaminated by Chaos often required fire purification units to clean up for months—not because of physical contamination, but because the sights themselves would spread madness.
Alex looked at Sea Hare's pale face and slightly trembling fingers, his brow furrowing unconsciously.
He knew his friend too well—how could a doctor who saved lives and healed injuries suddenly adapt to the brutal, gory world of 40k?
Even Alex himself had gradually experienced various things to adapt to the brutality of 40k. Sea Hare, right from the start, experienced a grand expeditionary war, a scene that brought massive death. How could he bear it?
"Listen to me, this is not the time to be brave." Alex put down his cola, his voice carrying a rare seriousness: "Look at your reaction! This was just watching an execution. If you really encounter a Chaos invasion…"
Sea Hare took a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists, seemingly wanting to stop the damned trembling.
"I understand your concern, but this isn't a question of whether I can bear it," Sea Hare's voice was much steadier than expected. He slowly raised his head, his eyes, which usually held a gentle smile, now gleamed with a determination Alex had never seen before: "Those wounded need doctors. Every minute, every second, people are dying because they don't get timely treatment.
I can help, and that's enough! I can't just flee the battlefield because I saw a few heads roll, can I?"
At this point, Sea Hare suddenly paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as if swallowing some ineffable emotion.
He took a deep breath and continued, "If even those of us who know what a beautiful world should be like choose to retreat, then who can change that hell?"
Alex sighed deeply, shook his head helplessly, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth: "Should I call you naive? Or should I call you great? You actually want to change that cesspit of 40k! Something even the Emperor couldn't do, and you actually…"
His voice gradually trailed off, but soon he looked up again, his gaze becoming serious: "But you're right, if none of us are willing to change, then how can anything get better?"
At this point, Alex suddenly turned and walked towards his bedroom.
Sounds of rummaging came from the room, and a moment later, he emerged with a metal box bearing a red cross.
"These are some medications for post-traumatic stress," he handed the box to Sea Hare, his voice tinged with worry: "I don't know if you'll need them…"
Sea Hare took the box and gently opened the lid.
When he saw the contents, his brow furrowed unconsciously, and a complex expression appeared on his face.
"These are all controlled substances!" He looked up, his gaze questioning: "Where did you get them?"
"Don't worry about that," Alex grinned, patting Sea Hare's shoulder: "I have my ways, just use them if you need to."
His expression then became serious again, and his voice lowered a few notches: "Remember, if you can't handle it, don't force yourself. It's okay to retreat, rest, and then set out again."
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