In Warhammer, My System is Minecraft

Chapter 233: WAAAGH

The commander let out a weary sigh. The holographic battle map floated dimly before him, dyed in a sea of blood red. Red numbers ticked upward one after another; behind every single digit was a human life lost.

The number of Greenskin Orks was simply overwhelming—a full sixteen times the Imperium’s forces, swarming the earth and blotting out the sky.

Even though the Imperial warriors fought with valiant skill, and despite the peculiar supplies delivered from high command, they were still losing ground by the minute.

"Commander, the broadcast is live. We are ready," a female voice called out, reminding the planetary governor.

The commander finally snapped back to reality. Straightening his posture, which had grown hunched from days and nights of sheer exhaustion, he took a deep breath. "We can delay no longer."

He walked out of the underground bunker and stepped into the external trenches.

Dust and fire choked the entire landscape, compressing daylight visibility to a mere five meters.

The Imperial soldiers, whose gun barrels had long overheated, did not even notice the commander’s arrival. Roaring, they aimed their muzzles at the Greenskin heads poking over the trench walls, unleashing torrents of bullets to temporarily drive the enemy back.

"Citizens of Armageddon. Soldiers of the Imperial Guard," the commander spoke into the vox-caster. His voice echoed throughout the trenches, simultaneously transmitting via radio to every other frontline.

"For decades, we have guarded this world. Some of you were born and raised here, knowing nothing but war your entire lives. Some of you have slowly grown old on these very battlefields. I thank you all."

The fierce, unyielding combat had long numbed everyone’s hearts. Listening to their commander’s speech, the soldiers in the trenches felt no ripples of emotion—until they heard his next sentence.

"But look at what this world has become. Corpses litter the ground. There is nothing but ash and despair... There is no hope left."

"The next wave of the Greenskin offensive is imminent. They come with terrifying ferocity, in numbers we have never seen before..."

What does this mean?

The Imperial soldiers threw their heads up, looking at each other in disbelief. Spouting such defeatist rhetoric on the battlefield... is this a sick joke?!

"We were prepared to die at our posts to hold the line, but we simply cannot. There is no victory to be found here." The commander’s words tumbled out faster and faster, his voice cracking with hysteria—because he had already seen it.

In the distance, a vastly more massive Greenskin tide was rolling in, accompanied by earth-shattering WAAAGH! battle roars.

Ork Gargants crushed the earth beneath them. These scrap-metal titans, built in the crude likeness of Gork and Mork, bristled with bizarre weapons of war and were covered in jagged, mismatched armor. They flattened everything in their path. Trenches were crushed into ruts, and the Imperial warriors within were ground alive into the mud.

Witnessing these gruesome deaths, the commander was pushed beyond the brink of terror. With trembling hands, he gripped the vox-caster and finally screamed the words he had been holding back:

"Flee! Everyone, run for your lives! Flee! Head to the nearest evacuation transports!"

"Hurry! Leave if you can! Get off this planet! You shouldn’t have to die on this hopeless world—"

BANG.

A single gunshot rang out.

The commander initially thought a soldier in the trenches had fired at the Orks, until a sudden, agonizing pain tore through his chest.

Sluggishly, he lowered his head. Blood was gurgling from the bullet hole in his chest, spilling out uncontrollably. His strength drained away along with his lifeblood. The commander slumped to his knees with a heavy thud, the light rapidly fading from his eyes.

In his final moments before death, he heard the steady rhythm of footsteps approaching from behind.

With a desperate effort, the commander raised his head and finally saw the figure.

He was a short, aged man. His face was etched with profound wrinkles, as if carved into his skin blade by blade by time and endless war.

One arm had been replaced by a heavy, archaic mechanical prosthetic; his left eye was modified into a glaring laser bionic. In his human hand, he gripped a pistol. The muzzle was still slowly smoking.

"Com... Commissar Yarrick," the commander rasped, his voice broken. "You... aren’t you already dead?"

Trembling, the commander reached out, wanting to grab onto something, but he was greeted only by the cold steel of Yarrick’s pistol pressing against his skull.

"Desertion in the face of the enemy. By my authority, I am executing you on the spot."

A sharp burst of static crackled through the broadcast. A few Imperial soldiers nearby instinctively covered their ears.

The deafening gunshot rang out once more, followed by the sound of a body hitting the dirt.

He unceremoniously kicked the commander’s corpse out of the way, stepped into his place, and picked up the vox-caster.

"I am Commissar Yarrick. I am taking over this broadcast." The aged, deeply commanding voice rang out, spreading to absolutely every corner of the frontlines.

"Com... Commissar Yarrick," a veteran muttered. "It’s him... it’s his voice..."

Something explosive ignited within the crowd.

"Yarrick! It’s Commissar Yarrick!"

The shouts cascaded from one end of the trench to the other, like a spark igniting dry tinder, sweeping across every single inch of the defensive line. For the first time, a new expression broke through the numb, ash-covered faces of the Imperial warriors. It was pure hope. It was absolute ecstasy.

"I’ve heard of him!" A young comrade babbled, incoherent with excitement. "My father told me his legend! They all said he died, but he didn’t! He’s not dead!"

"Of course he’s not dead!" The veteran threw his head back and laughed heartily. "How could Commissar Yarrick ever die?!"

The gunfire grew denser—so intense it blurred into one continuous, deafening roar. The Imperial soldiers in the trenches were no longer just holding the line; they were actively counterattacking. Trampling over spent shell casings, roaring the war anthems of their respective homeworlds, they emptied every last bullet they had and then drew their bayonets.

And it wasn’t just the human side whose blood was boiling.

At the vanguard of the Greenskin tide, the Warbikers with the sharpest ears faintly caught a specific word amidst the chaotic roars of battle.

–

"I fink I just ’eard dat name," a Warbiker muttered, rubbing his hairless green head. For the first time, a flicker of genuine apprehension crossed his features.

"Humies is all squishy scum, deserve to be stomped to def! ’Cept for Ol’ Bale Eye. He knows how to scrap wiv us proper."

A Loota Boy showed a look of genuine pity. "Shame ’e croaked a long time ago."

The Loota’s sentiment earned unanimous nods of agreement from his surrounding mates. The news of Yarrick’s death had long since spread throughout the entirety of Greenskindom.

Rumor had it that even the hardest, most brutal Ork Warlords had shed actual tears upon hearing of Yarrick’s demise. The Greenskins’ supreme commander, Ghazghkull Thraka himself, had been severely depressed by the news for a long time. When he finally snapped out of it, he had been loudly clamoring to march straight up to the Humies’ Big Golden Boss and demand He bring Ol’ Bale Eye back.

"Nah, dat ain’t right," an Ork Boy grunted, furrowing a brow thicker than a brick.

He pricked his ears up again. In the brief lulls between artillery fire and roars, that name drifted over clearly once more.

"Yarrick!"

In the center of the Imperial trench, standing tall amidst the billowing smoke and fire, was that humie.

Mechanical power claw. Laser eye. Holding a remarkably ordinary-looking pistol.

But the sheer aura radiating from that single figure made the legs of these Greenskin Boyz—for the very first time on any battlefield—disobey their WAAAGH! instincts and freeze in their tracks.

The news ripped through the Greenskin tide faster than an artillery shell.

"WAAAGH! It really is ya!"

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