On the labyrinthine, intricate streets of the Upper Nest District, a squad of Helldivers Legion players marched with brisk, determined strides.
The dull, rhythmic thud of their footsteps contrasted sharply with the surrounding dead luxury. Their target was a magnificent estate not far ahead.
The building's gate was less a gate and more a small city wall. Forged from adamantium alloyed with plasteel, it was intricately carved with complex family crests and reliefs symbolizing wealth. In the midday sun, the gilded ornamentation gleamed with a dazzling light, silently proclaiming the owner's power and status.
The gate was tightly shut, sturdy and secure, clearly showing no intention of opening for these uninvited guests.
Naturally, the players had no intention of knocking either.
The heavy weapons specialist firmly braced the autocannon's bipod on the ground. Accompanied by a grating mechanical whine, the next second, a deafening roar tore through the tranquility of the Upper Nest District. High-explosive warheads slammed violently into the ornate gate.
With the first impact, the gate vibrated violently, its gilded ornamentation instantly flaking off. This was followed by the second, then the third...
The shells battered the sturdy alloy until it looked as if it had been gnawed by a giant beast, twisted, deformed, and splintered. Finally, with a colossal, overburdened crash, the entire gate was blown to pieces, countless metal fragments mixed with stone shrapnel whistling into the estate.
Before the smoke could even clear, the players launched their assault without hesitation. Lasguns and autoguns in hand, they surged through the breach like a tide, locking onto every life form marked with a white outline in their sight.
"Contact! Twelve o'clock, balcony!"
"Right flank corridor, three white outlines!"
"Free fire!"
A dense net of firepower instantly enveloped the courtyard and foyer. Those with white outlines were mostly private guards kept by the Upper Hive nobles. After all, anyone who dared to maintain sufficient clarity of thought after the earth-shattering roar of the gate being blown open by artillery, and even dared to harbor murderous intent towards the Imperial soldiers who had broken in, thus being marked as an enemy by the system's friend-or-foe identification, was clearly no ordinary person.
They might have been well-trained, but against this group of "Helldivers" who feared no death, their resistance appeared pale and futile.
Most people in the estate, when faced with such a situation, found their minds blank. Fear gripped their hearts, leaving them paralyzed on the ground, unable to do anything but scream.
Those Upper Hive nobles who usually prided themselves on their superior bloodlines often performed worse than the Lower Hive scavengers in such moments of life and death.
The players' indiscriminate outpouring of firepower naturally affected those without white outlines. Grenades exploded among the crowds, and laser beams precisely pierced the panicked bodies that blocked the line of fire. But clearly, no player felt any guilt about this.
Firstly, from their perspective, this was merely an extremely realistic game; accidentally injuring or even killing a few NPCs was simply not a big deal.
Furthermore, if they truly approached this with the mindset of "this is a real world, and killing requires caution," and first undertook time-consuming and laborious investigations and vetting... then these "accidentally killed" individuals would surely not have died so easily.
As the saying goes, a prime minister's gate has seven-rank officials. Anyone living and working in this estate, even the lowest servant, had noble ties, and their hands were certainly not clean. In this purge triggered by betrayal, there were no innocents.
Ten minutes later, the sporadic gunfire within the estate completely ceased. The Helldivers had successfully taken control of the situation — or rather, most of those in the estate who dared and were able to resist had been obliterated by bullets and explosive rounds. The air was thick with the heavy smell of gunpowder, ozone, and blood. Bodies lay strewn across the ornate carpets, and shattered artworks and spent casings were everywhere.
The surviving servants and noble family members were herded into the center of the courtyard, hands clasped over their heads, trembling as they knelt in a line.
"You," the squad leader of this group of players casually pointed his gun barrel at an old man in a butler's uniform among the crowd, "who is the highest authority in this estate?"
At these words, everyone kneeling, including the old butler, instinctively shifted their gaze towards a severely mutilated, almost unrecognizable corpse not far away. That had once been their master, the lord of the estate.
"Uh, alright," the squad leader scratched his helmet, realizing his question was flawed, so he added a condition, "I mean, among those who are still alive."
This time, everyone's gaze simultaneously converged on a single person. It was a tall man, clad in close-fitting armor, whose back remained ramrod straight even while kneeling. His face was sharply chiseled, giving him the appearance of an unyielding tough guy. He was the estate's guard captain.
However, this guard captain's character was clearly not as unyielding as his appearance suggested. After becoming the center of attention, he first stiffened, then immediately put on a fawning smile, almost scrambling on all fours to the player squad leader's feet, looking up and saying, "I don't know... I don't know, my lord, what do you wish for me to do?"
"Take us to this noble's collection. Preferably things that are historically significant or have some story behind them," the squad leader lightly tapped his forehead with the muzzle of his gun, saying in a flat tone, "If you satisfy me, I can give all of you a quick death."
"Yes, yes! My lord, please follow me, I know everything!" The guard captain, as if granted a great pardon, responded repeatedly. He had thought it through clearly: being executed on the spot by these Astra Militarum Soldiers was already a merciful good ending.
Otherwise, if they were taken alive to another place and handed over to institutions like the Ecclesiarchy, the Inquisition, or the Adeptus Arbites, that would truly be a fate worse than death. Therefore, although his heart was filled with bitterness and despair, he showed no sign of resistance.
Meanwhile, similar intelligence gathering was underway in various corners of the Upper Nest District. Soon, dossiers on the purged noble families were compiled and sent to the Governor's mansion, which Ghostface had temporarily requisitioned.
Freddy, carrying a thick stack of printed papers, placed them on the mahogany desk in front of Ghostface with a dull thud.
Ghostface reached out and felt the thickness of the stack of papers, which was about three centimeters thick. He raised an eyebrow: "Is that all? It seems there are rather few nobles in this Upper Hive."
"This is the catalog," Freddy corrected him expressionlessly, "and it only lists the surname of one family. If converted into actual population, this catalog represents approximately 700,000 people."
"Uh..." Ghostface withdrew his hand, "Alright, you can take it away quickly, I'm too lazy to look at these things."
Freddy retrieved the documents and continued to report: "Additionally, the executive members of the Military Committee generally reported that most of the nobles' collections are quite worthless. They are either ceremonial equipment that is flashy but impractical, or merely food and alcohol for consumption, as well as paintings and statues that are difficult to move and serve no practical purpose."
"So, no decent spoils of war were found?" Ghostface leaned back in his chair, his voice full of disappointment, "I thought these guys would at least have some taste in their collections..."
"Then let's purge the Mid-Hive gangs as well. These gangs are constantly fighting, so they should have some good stuff," Ghostface said, tapping the desk with his finger, "The charge will be — colluding with these Upper Hive nobles who betrayed the Emperor. After all, they are basically all front organizations for the nobles... The evidence is ironclad, leaving no room for them to argue."