"Die, Chaos scum!" A curse ground out through clenched teeth rang out.
The voice drew the attention of both Zeke and the fat zombie.
They saw the Whiteshield from before, trembling as he raised his lasgun, aiming it at the zombie.
While Zeke had been fighting fiercely, this Whiteshield soldier had been struggling to reach the fallen lasgun.
Nice assist, Zeke thought to himself, immediately backing away.
Sensing something, the fat zombie roared and charged toward the Whiteshield.
The Whiteshield soldier didn't fire blindly. He knew his physical condition, so he waited quietly as the fat zombie got closer and closer.
"Die!" the Whiteshield growled low, using the last of his strength to squeeze the trigger.
Firing from the hip meant the lasgun's accuracy was poor, the shots scattering wildly.
But the close range made up for it perfectly. Several laser beams slammed into the fat zombie's torso.
The sickening sizzle of burning grease filled the air. The fat zombie howled in pain, its body swaying.
In the final moments of its life, its oily green eyes locked onto the dying Whiteshield in front of it. Its bloated body began to expand like an inflating balloon.
It's going to explode!
At this distance, if Zeke turned and ran, he would definitely survive.
But that Whiteshield soldier was right next to the fat zombie...
The Whiteshield obviously realized this too. A fleeting fear of death and a longing for life crossed his eyes.
But soon, those emotions were burned away by a fire within, leaving only grim determination.
"Grandfather, Father, Brother... I'm coming to join you."
He clenched one hand into a fist, hammered it heavily against his chest, and shouted with all his might:
"Cadia Stands!"
Just as the word "Stands" left his mouth, a figure charged into his field of vision against the flow, sprinting madly toward him.
The Whiteshield's pupils constricted in shock.
"Dammit, get out of here!" the Whiteshield shouted at Zeke.
The next second, he saw a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.
Facing that rapidly expanding body, the newcomer simply pulled out a... cube?
Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.
Square stone blocks were placed on the ground, snapping together seamlessly, stacking layer upon layer.
In the blink of an eye, a rough stone wall rose up, forming a barricade.
This scene, which defied all common sense, made the Whiteshield soldier's mind go blank for a moment.
In the shadow cast by the stone wall, the only sounds were his own heavy panting and the calm breathing of the man beside him.
BOOM! The massive sound of the explosion came from the other side of the wall.
Chunks of flesh and gore slapped against the stone but were completely blocked.
The Whiteshield soldier turned his head in a daze, looking at the calm profile of the man beside him—composed, as if everything was under control.
That was close. Zeke faced the stone wall, cold sweat pouring down his back.
Thank god I mined enough blocks underground. Coupled with the hand speed I practiced from years of PVP, that was a close call but safe.
Zeke turned around and looked at the Whiteshield.
The Whiteshield's lips were trembling. He tried his best to squeeze out a smile for Zeke, but combined with his horrific infected wounds, it looked terrifyingly grotesque.
Up close, Zeke realized this Whiteshield was very young, likely only around 16 years old—fitting the Cadian policy of training them from childhood.
His irises were purple, bearing a striking resemblance to the Eye of Terror.
The mod displayed that his 20 HP bar had only 5 HP left. He also had a debuff called [Zombie Plague] with a duration of 72 minutes.
72 minutes likely represented the time until the plague fully transformed him.
Zeke felt a wave of regret. Even if he wanted to save him, he didn't have the means.
This was the work of Nurgle, after all. What could a block-man do...
Wait a minute. Maybe I actually do have a way. Zeke's eyes lit up.
Since this so-called Zombie Plague was displayed in the buff bar, that meant it was treated as a status effect.
Did this mean [Milk] could clear this state?
The more Zeke thought about it, the more possible it seemed. But soon, a bucket of cold water was poured over his hope.
Cows have been extinct in Warhammer for ages. Where am I going to find one?
Seeing the strange man in front of him remain silent for so long, the Whiteshield's eyes subtly swept over the stone sword in Zeke's hand, flashing with suspicion.
A strange man, holding a primitive weapon, yet his movements are agile, comparable to the Kasrkin. Was that weird trick he just used the power of the Warp?
The Whiteshield was very conflicted. On one hand, this man was arguably his savior.
But on the other hand, he had heard stories from the Kasrkin veterans.
Some Chaos Daemons loved to play the savior—giving hope first, extracting intelligence, and then torturing you to death.
The Whiteshield unconsciously shifted his body toward the lasgun on the ground.
"I'm Zeke Mason. You?" Zeke looked at the Whiteshield.
The response was tight lips and a guarded stare.
You look alert on the surface, but your heart has already betrayed you.
Zeke had already seen through the rookie soldier's disguise. Why? Because the bright discount on the Trading Interface exposed everything.
Villager (Novice Weaponsmith)
15 Coal -> 1 Emerald
16 Emeralds -> Iron Sword [Fire Aspect]
But why a Weaponsmith?
In Minecraft, a villager's profession is determined by their workstation. But in Warhammer, what determined the profession?
Zeke first guessed it might be related to personal experience.
He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you have experience forging weapons?"
The muscles on the Whiteshield's face tensed for a split second before he forcibly suppressed it, but Zeke caught that fleeting look of shock.
That's an opening.
Zeke immediately threw out a few irrelevant questions: today's date, where they were located.
The Whiteshield opened his mouth, almost speaking several times.
Until Zeke's third question: "Why are you here?"
The Whiteshield's Adam's apple bobbed, and he finally spoke:
"Damn it... it was that ship. It forced its way into Cadian airspace without permission. Multiple warnings were ignored."
"Plagues have been rampant in the sector recently, so Command ordered it to be shot down directly."
The Whiteshield continued, "Under that density of anti-air fire, it actually managed to crash-land successfully."
"Our squad was ordered to investigate." His voice suddenly choked up as his gaze swept over the scattered limbs around them.
"Inside were infected zombies. Those sluggish zombies were no threat... it was something else. Fast. It broke our formation."
The Whiteshield gritted his teeth and punched the ground weakly.
After the Whiteshield's rapid breathing calmed down slightly, Zeke fell silent for a moment, then tried to change the subject to distract him.
"Do you know where I can find a cow around here?"
"Cow?" The jump between topics was too large for the Whiteshield. He looked up, confusion written all over his face.
"Yeah, a type of livestock," Zeke gestured as best he could. "Produces a milky white liquid, smells creamy, drinkable."
"Never heard of it." The Whiteshield shook his head.
Seeing the Whiteshield was so weak that even speaking was difficult, Zeke didn't want to press further.
After confirming the area was safe via the Minimap, he settled the Whiteshield there temporarily, placed a torch next to him as a marker, and walked toward the spot where the zombie had exploded.