Getting Stronger in Marvel with Warhammer Simulator Chapter 59 - 059: Necrons: 100 Bloody Days (Part 1)

In the lounge, Nolan removed his combat armor piece by piece and set his chainsword aside. He sat cross-legged on the tal floor, still warm from his training session.

He reopened the simulator interface.

Forty-eight hours remained before the next simulation beca available naturally.

Nolan frowned, considering his options. He could consu accumulated cooldown reduction to accelerate the process.

Hydra's ergence had rekindled that familiar sense of crisis. The feeling of being underprepared, outgunned, vulnerable. He needed more simulations. More power. Better equipnt.

The threats were multiplying faster than he could adapt.

"The Emperor Protects.," Nolan muttered, making his decision. He initiated another simulation imdiately.

[Simulation starting—]

[Current identities available: Catachan Recruit, Death Korps of Krieg Grenadier, Kashezin Sergeant Major, Letalis Storm Squad Trooper]

[Please select identity for deploynt.]

[If you refuse selection, deploynt will be randomized.]

[Identity selection refused.]

[Simulation starting—]

[You have descended into the Warhamr universe.]

[Ti: M41.997]

[Location: Milky Way Galaxy, Ultramar Segntum, Orpheus Sector]

[You have materialized above planetary surface...]

[You find yourself falling through open sky.]

[An uncontrollable scream of terror tears from your throat as wind rushes past your face.]

[You plunge heavily into a freshwater lake, the impact like hitting concrete.]

[The violent collision drives consciousness from your body. Blood pours from your nose and mouth, clouding the water around you.]

[You sink slowly into the warm depths of the lake, suspended between life and death...]

[You are dying...]

[You regain consciousness. Against all probability, you survived.]

[You find yourself lying in the sidecar of a hoverbike, covered by a colorful heavy blanket that slls of machine oil and dried grass.]

[You turn your neck carefully—every movent sending lances of pain through your bruised body—and see a young woman piloting the bike.]

[She wears windproof goggles perched in her short hair. The fading glow of sunset illuminates her fair skin, revealing fine downy hair along her jawline.]

[Your gaze drifts almost unconsciously across thin pink lips, up past her high-bridged nose, finally settling on a pair of purple eyes that shine like polished athyst.]

[For a mont, you forget where you are. Forget the pain. The world narrows to just her profile against the sunset.]

["Hey! Big guy! You awake or brain-damaged?" The short-haired woman's crisp voice cuts through your haze.]

[You shake your head, clearing the cobwebs. You take a deep breath and carefully express gratitude for saving your life.]

[The young woman pilots the hoverbike with practiced skill, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Hearing your thanks, the corner of her mouth curves into a faint smile.]

["Big guy, welco to our agricultural world—ah, no! Welco to Orpheus! Haha!" She laughs freely, the sound bright and genuine.]

[As your senses sharpen, you notice endless green fields stretching in every direction around you.]

[Further away, massive agricultural machines walk among the crops like chanical giants, constantly spraying pungent fertilizers and reclaid water through their nozzles.]

[Day One: Seriously injured, you're brought to a base by the short-haired woman.]

[The facility is actually a repair depot for agricultural machinery—massive warehouses filled with spare parts, hydraulic lifts, and the sll of industrial lubricants.]

[The young woman's na is Zoya. She lives here with her grandfather. Their family has maintained these machines and managed nearby agricultural harvests for generations.]

[You thank Zoya again, but she just stares at you while fidgeting with the windproof goggles in her hair, studying you with undisguised curiosity.]

[Then she calls for her grandfather.]

[A muscular old man approaches, moving his chanical prosthetic leg with the confident gait of soone who's worn it for decades. Servo motors whir softly with each step.]

[He studies you expressionlessly for a long mont. Then the old man speaks to Zoya: "This kid doesn't look like a rebel or cultist..."]

["I am nothing more than a resource of the Emperor's Will." You barely manage to prop yourself upright despite the pain. The phrase erges automatically—standard Imperial identification.]

[The muscular old man freezes montarily. Then his weathered face breaks into a wide grin.]

["May the Emperor bless you! Welco to my ho, soldier!" He extends his calloused palm, chanical hand gripping yours with surprising warmth.]

[Day Two: Your injuries heal completely overnight.]

[You're accustod to this accelerated recovery by now. Zoya and her grandfather are absolutely shocked, staring at your previously broken ribs and torn flesh with wide-eyed disbelief.]

[You ask the grandfather and granddaughter how to leave this remote location.]

[Zoya's smile turns apologetic as she delivers bad news.]

[Agricultural worlds like Orpheus are vast but sparsely populated. Except for the cargo haulers that arrive once monthly on harvest day to collect food and resupply garrison personnel, there's no long-distance transportation available to reach the cities.]

[Even more unfortunately, this month's cargo ship departed just yesterday.]

[Day Three: Temporarily stranded, you choose to join Zoya's patrol duties.]

[You accompany her on rounds, inspecting the massive machines operating throughout the green fields. Checking for chanical failures, monitoring fertilizer distribution systems, ensuring servo-skulls maintain proper crop data.]

[You prove remarkably adept at this work, earning Zoya's enthusiastic praise.]

[Under the bright sunlight, you can't help but smile genuinely. The expression feels strange on your face—you've smiled more in three days here than in months of combat.]

[Day Four: Your communication with Zoya deepens naturally.]

[You accidentally reveal fragnts of your combat experiences to her during a long patrol. Stories slip out despite your usual caution.]

[This seems to resonate powerfully with Zoya.]

[You learn that she has an older brother currently serving in the city's Planetary Defense Force. If Grandfather Wade wasn't elderly and requiring care, Zoya would have already joined the PDF herself. She dreams of fighting for the Imperium and the Emperor alongside her sibling.]

[Your lips move, prepared to speak. Then you choose silence instead.]

[You can't change—and don't want to shatter—a dream she's cherished for years. Let her keep her idealism a little longer.]

[Day Five: Boredom drives you to seek out Old Man Wade and learn agricultural knowledge.]

[Wade begins asking roundabout questions about your specific origins and background.]

[You select so combat experiences you can safely share as conversation topics, carefully editing out classified or traumatic details.]

[This greatly stimulates Wade's interest. His eyes light up with recognition and nostalgia.]

[He even shares his treasured alcohol reserve with you—bottles he's been aging for years, waiting for the right occasion.]

[The two of you talk late into the night, conversation flowing easily.]

[Wade, under the influence of alcohol, keeps rubbing his chanical prosthetic absently. His eyes reveal deep nostalgia—mories of his own service, perhaps. Wars long past but never forgotten.]

[Week One: You seem to be enjoying one of the few genuinely peaceful periods of your existence.]

[Only sunshine and breeze accompany you daily, along with the pungent sll of agricultural fertilizers that you've sohow grown accustod to.]

[At so point—you're not sure when it started—the enthusiastic Zoya began constantly surrounding you, persistently pestering you to share stories about past battles.]

[You refuse most of the ti, maintaining appropriate distance. But occasionally you can't resist her persistent and playful offensive.]

[When she wears you down, you teach Zoya practical combat techniques instead of stories. Hand-to-hand fighting. Weapon handling. Situational awareness. You try to use physical training to exhaust the young woman's seemingly boundless energy.]

[Old Man Wade not only doesn't stop your instruction—he actively encourages you to increase Zoya's training intensity. He nods approvingly when he sees her practicing combat drills.]

[You've beco Zoya's teacher without quite realizing when the transition occurred.]

[You seem to have adapted to this current life. Found sothing resembling peace.]

[The distance between you and Zoya has blurred considerably. Professional boundaries softening into sothing harder to define...]