84: Chapter 84 Oh my god, so the outhouse door was open!
Chapter 84: Oh! Good Heavens, The Outhouse Door Has Been Opened! (Kneeling for Subscriptions, Second Update)
The next day at noon, the third training ground.
The Adeptus Arbites transport arrived on time.
When the hatch opened, what greeted Fu Haoran was not the soldiers he had been longing for, but a stench—a foul mixture of Underhive sludge, cheap grease, and sweat—as if a cesspit fermented for three months had been blasted open.
Fu Haoran instinctively took half a step back, covering his nose.
The first to step out of the hatch was a massive silhouette nearly three meters tall, its shoulders so broad they almost jammed the doorway.
The fabric of the camouflage uniform strained against bulging muscles on the verge of tearing, the pant legs ridiculously short, exposing shins covered in dark, hard keratin.
One, two, three—fifty in total.
They stood clumsily in the center of the training ground like a tribe of primitives who had stumbled into the civilized world—if that chaotic gathering could even be called a formation.
One had his left foot tangled in the right shoe's lace—if that greasy strip of cloth could be called a shoelace.
Another stood in place, intently picking dirt from under his fingernails, utterly oblivious to his surroundings.
Yet another stared slack-jawed at the contrail of a transport ship that had just flown past in the sky, letting out a dumbfounded 'Whoa—'.
Fu Haoran covered his nose, utterly dumbstruck.
An officer in a gendery uniform jogged over. His salute was textbook perfect, but his eyes darted nervously, avoiding Fu Haoran's gaze. His fingers trembled slightly as he handed over a data-slate.
"Report, Governor! The entire fifty-strong Ogryn recruit unit, 'Wisdom Squad', has been transferred! Here are the gendery transfer orders."
Fu Haoran took the data-slate. The first line, in bold font, stabbed at his eyes:
[Imperial gendery Official Classification: High-Quality Heavy Assault Unit]
[Applicable Scenarios: Siege Warfare, Wall Demolition, Heavy Cargo Transport]
[Remarks: Recruits, no systematic military training. Recommend assignment of a dedicated Political Commissar for basic socialization guidance.]
At the very bottom of the page, a line of small, crooked handwriting scrawled in grease pencil: 'Good luck. — Valerius Costa'
The moment Fu Haoran looked up, the officer had already scrambled back into the transport. Before the hatch was fully sealed, the engines roared to life. The transport shot into the sky as if its tail were on fire, vanishing from sight in an instant.
The training ground fell into complete silence.
Fifty pairs of eyes, clear to the point of stupidity, swiveled in unison to stare at Fu Haoran.
Their gaze resembled that of a pack of oversized, overgrown puppies waiting to be fed—utterly naive and curious.
Looking at the fifty three-meter-tall behemoths before him, Fu Haoran suddenly recalled the 'Temporary Adeptus Arbites Command Authority' notification that had popped up from the system that morning. He finally understood the meaning of 'the cesspit is too foul to behold'.
Indeed, the outhouse door had been opened, and squatting inside were fifty Ogryns capable of smashing the training ground to rubble.
A thought flashed through his mind: Was he really supposed to take this bunch into the Underhive to fight Grave-Thieves?
Fu Haoran took a deep breath, frantically trying to psyche himself up: It's fine. At least they can serve as meat shields.
He glanced at the Ogryns still picking dirt, then at the persistent red dots of Grave-Thief infestation flashing in his mind's eye, and silently lowered his expectations for 'meat shields' by half.
Probably... maybe?
Fu Haoran silently added a mental retort: The system was right. It did pull in people. But the system didn't mention it would be this caliber of people.
His heart sank, a chill spreading through him.
"Why does it feel like the sky is about to fall?!"
With no other choice, Fu Haoran steeled himself and stepped onto the makeshift podium. He cleared his throat. "Soldiers! From today onward, you fight for me, for the Hive City! Glory and courage will be your companions—"
The Ogryns nodded in unison, their eyes shining with the light of... intelligence.
"In simple terms, we're going to fight bad guys," Fu Haoran simplified.
The Ogryns nodded, looking confused.
"Fight bad guys, get rewards from me."
The Ogryns looked at him encouragingly and continued nodding.
Fu Haoran stopped talking. They were still nodding.
Fu Haoran looked at the logistics officer. The man's face was expressionless. "Sir, they nod whether they understand or not—it's what they were taught during training. Respect for superiors."
Fu Haoran took a deep breath, inhaling a lungful of foul stench, and nearly vomited.
He felt he wasn't standing on a training ground, but on the surface of a decaying stellar core.
"Count off!"
"One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Four! Three! One! Four—Food!"
Amidst the chaotic numbers, a cry of 'Food!' mixed in. Fu Haoran covered his face.
"Stop. What are your names?"
"Bak!"
"Didi!"
"Ogg!"
"Grin!"
The names were simple to the point of being perfunctory.
Fu Haoran stepped down from the podium and realized he only came up to their chests.
He reached out and pinched the arm of an Ogryn named Tychus. It felt like pinching reinforced concrete.
It was only then that Fu Haoran realized Ogryns were actually a subspecies of abhumans, a full size larger than even the Emperor's Angels. And the sheer muscle mass made Fu Haoran absolutely certain these abhumans could go toe-to-toe with a Space Marine in bayonet combat!
The Ogryn named Tychus grinned at Fu Haoran, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. The stench intensified.
As Fu Haoran instinctively stepped back, he caught a fleeting glimpse of startling clarity in the Ogryn's eyes—so fast it might have been an illusion—before it was completely overridden by pure, unadulterated simple-mindedness.
Fu Haoran retreated back to the podium, his face pale.
It's fine. He was just about to throw up. The smell was too much!
And to top it off, these big oafs were all staring at him with expectant eyes, leaving him completely unable to back down.
Soon, Fu Haoran realized something.
That is, fools don't understand what awkwardness is!
Fu Haoran looked pleadingly towards the logistics unit. Helplessly, the logistics officer walked up to the podium carrying two items.
Fu Haoran stared dumbfounded, because what the man held was a rice bowl half a meter in diameter and a stir-fry spatula larger than his own face.
Fu Haoran was absolutely certain these were not meant for human use!
Any larger, and it could serve as a bathtub for a child!
*Clang! Clang! Clang!*
Three deafening strikes.
"Chow time—!"
The Ogryns erupted, cheering as they stampeded towards the mess hall, the ground thundering under their feet.
Fifty three-meter-tall beasts running at once made the ground tremble as if an earthquake had struck.
Fu Haoran stood on the now-empty training ground, holding a rice bowl larger than his head, as the wind whipped dust into his face.
Looking at these hulking brutes, even someone as slow on the uptake as Fu Haoran could see it now. The so-called reinforcements from those nobles were meant to make a laughingstock out of him!
Fu Haoran pinched the bridge of his nose, about to lose his temper, when he suddenly remembered Tychus's reinforced-concrete-like arm.
"That brute strength... if harnessed properly, tearing down a Genestealer incubation chamber would be twice as effective with half the effort!"
"Fools they may be," Fu Haoran muttered, watching the stampeding beasts fighting over food, his mouth twitching. "At least we won't need explosives to knock down walls."
But one problem remained—
Fu Haoran turned to Wade. "I recall our new Political Commissar has already arrived. Go and fetch him immediately. He starts today."
Wade was taken aback. "So urgently?"
Fu Haoran glanced at the Ogryns still brawling over food in the mess hall. "If we don't hurry, I'm afraid the Political Commissar will run away first."