The victory of Seventh Squad injected a powerful boost into the entire Helldivers company.
News of the victory spread rapidly among the players, and coupled with Cain's exaggerated achievements, everyone's morale was greatly boosted. The dense echoes of steel boots hitting the metal floor became more urgent and powerful.
The players quickened their overall march, intending to root out the xeno cultists entrenched there in one fell swoop.
Meanwhile, on the defensive line established by the genestealers, the cult Magus Kyle also received news of the vanguard's annihilation.
He stood by like an ordinary genestealers, watching other genestealers work. A faint psychic whisper permeated the air, reflecting his pale and calm face. A third-generation hybrid knelt on one knee, head bowed low, meticulously reporting the front-line situation to him.
Kyle listened quietly, and when he heard how the ogryn had torn through the line with abnormal combat skill and efficiency, a great confusion appeared in his psychically glowing eyes for the first time.
An ogryn with tactical intelligence? In his understanding, this was an absurdity bordering on the impossible.
Kyle felt a hint of regret over the annihilation of the vanguard commander and his warriors. He had initially thought this unit would at least heavily damage the enemy, creating better conditions for the subsequent encirclement. But he quickly detached himself from such useless emotions, viewing it as a necessary investment.
Beside him, a pureblood genestealer lurking in the shadows let out a hiss, transmitting its question telepathically: "Lord Kyle, what should we do next? Retreat temporarily?"
"No," Kyle said calmly, "Fischer and their sacrifice were not without value. At least it allowed us to confirm that the enemy is purely an infantry unit; they have no armored forces, or very few, only serving as support."
"Since that's the case, our current strength is absolutely sufficient to pin them down here. No matter how brave, they are ultimately just mortals."
Kyle's confidence was not unfounded. In his view, this Astra Militarum company, having ventured deep, was like an insect caught in a spider's web; no matter how much it struggled, its ultimate fate was sealed.
Meanwhile, the players, having just achieved a resounding victory, had indeed become somewhat overconfident. They believed that the so-called genestealer cult was nothing special, and that once confronted head-on, they would be as vulnerable as the vanguard unit Seventh Squad had encountered.
With this thought, when the scouts confirmed that the exit of the front passage led to an open nutrient paste processing area, the entire company rushed out in a swarm, almost without any additional reconnaissance or tactical planning.
They scrambled out of the narrow passage, but the sight before them instantly stunned the players at the very front.
Not far in front of them lay a wide trench. But this could not be called a trench at all—or rather, it was a one-way death trap. The trench wall on the players' side was a normal, jumpable slope; but on the side closer to the genestealer position, the trench wall had been completely flattened, forming a nearly vertical, several-meter-high smooth wall.
This meant that once they jumped into the trench, the players were like prisoners being led to an execution ground, with an almost insurmountable firing squad wall behind them.
And for those players who had already instinctively jumped down, the chill in their hearts instantly reached its peak as they looked up at the enemy positions not far away.
At a glance, not a single active enemy could be seen. The entire opposite side of the processing area was filled with bunkers constructed from temporary metal plates, discarded machinery, and piled rocks, with only dark firing slits. Ferocious auto-turrets extended their barrels from behind cover, and several large industrial trucks had been welded with heavy metal plates and converted into makeshift armored vehicles, lurking silently like steel beasts.
Before the players could even recover from their shock, the enemy's firepower began to roar.
"Boom! Tat-tat-tat-tat—!"
A dense barrage of automatic gunfire, the piercing sound of heavy weapons firing, and countless laser beams intertwined into a deadly net of fire, instantly engulfing the entire trench. The players hadn't even found any targets to counterattack, only managing to fire a few scattered laser shots at the firing slits before being riddled with holes in this steel storm.
As for the massive Cain, it goes without saying. His enormous body in the open ground was simply the perfect target. He had originally intended to charge forward, relying on the thick metal plate armor he wore, to create an opportunity for his comrades behind him.
However, he had only taken two steps when a rocket, trailing a fiery plume, whistled out from a dark firing slit, hitting the ogryn's massive head with extreme precision, right on target.
"Boom!"
With a loud bang, Cain's enormous head, along with part of his upper body, instantly exploded into a mist of blood and shredded flesh. His huge, headless body swayed twice, then crashed heavily to the ground, immediately sending him back to Robert, the company commander, who was located in the rear.
Under this devastating, almost genocidal, attack, even the most hot-headed players completely sobered up.
The fanaticism and overconfidence brought by victory were instantly extinguished by cold reality. The charge came to an abrupt halt, and the subsequent players desperately pinned themselves at the exit of the passage, using the corner as cover, no longer daring to step into that open death zone.
The players who had respawned at the rear command node also no longer mindlessly rushed back to the front line, but instead stayed in a relatively safe place, exchanging information in the passage with lingering fear.
Soon, the passage erupted into chaos.
"Holy cow, how are we supposed to charge this position?" a newly revived player asked with lingering fear.
"I didn't even see the enemy before I was sent back next to the squad leader..." another echoed, his tone full of frustration.
"So this is how trench warfare can be played? I thought it was just digging a ditch and squatting in it." A new player voiced his question, clearly taught a lesson by this textbook trap.
An old player immediately chimed in: "Then you're underestimating trench warfare too much."
"Aren't those cultists just like that? Foolishly digging a ditch, sometimes not even digging a ditch... Speaking of which, I suddenly feel so embarrassed that we were overrun by such trash during the second closed beta."
"Don't mention it, my face hurts. So, what do we do next?"
As this question was posed, the passage fell silent for a moment, and then a clear and definite consensus quickly formed.
"Report to the company commander, wait for his orders, and follow the company commander's orders."
"Exactly, this kind of thing needs professionals. We can't push through."
"Understood! Loyalty!"