Eager to get the Pumpkin Power Armor, Datch left the strategy room and went straight to the hangar, taking a gunship down to the planet.
Before even setting foot in the quarantine camp, the stench and the sound of weeping hit him like a wave.
The mont he entered, even the battle-hardened Astartes felt moved by the misery before them.
Rows of makeshift beds were filled with soldiers tornted by the plague.
All suffered from severe, swollen, rotting eyes, leaking thick, foul-slling tears that glued their eyelids shut and dripped down their faces, leaving them blind and in agony.
"Primarch... Lord Guilliman... please, look at us..."
"It hurts so much... my eyes... they're rotting!"
"Kill , please, make it end!"
The camp was filled with pain, despair, and hopeless cries.
Priests of the Imperial Cult, faces solemn, moved among the beds, vainly reciting prayers to comfort souls in tornt.
dics in white coats rushed about, cleaning festering eyes and applying ointnt,
But everyone knew such efforts were useless against a supernatural plague.
Suddenly, a soldier grabbed a dic's arm, sobbing desperately.
"Kill ! Please, I can't take it anymore!"
A priest pressed him down, voice hoarse but firm.
"The Emperor despises cowards, child. Hang on—live. Salvation will co soon."
All of this, as Grand Master Voldus had said, was Nurgle's malicious sche—
He wanted to use the suffering of the Imperial people to keep Guilliman occupied.
Datch surveyed the camp. He had no clue how this plague worked.
But that didn't matter.
In the Warhamr ga, with so many crossover IPs, there were plenty of magical items.
No need for expertise—just the right tool.
Datch opened the in-ga shop, switched to the dical category,
His gaze swept the myriad items, and he locked onto a rental tool.
[Item: Incredible dicine Machine (7 days)]
[Effect: Can produce dicine for any disease, guaranteed cure.]
If it's a cold, it can use a fan to blow out powder and dispel the illness.
If it's tooth decay, it can use a bug net to catch the bacteria.
[Review: As long as your imagination is big enough, there's no disease you can't cure!]
Datch imdiately redeed it.
With a flash, a gleaming industrial machine appeared in the camp, drawing every pained and bewildered gaze.
"Weeping Plague—tears an sadness..." Datch reasoned absurdly. "So let's get happy. Start with a back-scratcher. If it tickles, they'll laugh, and won't feel so bad."
He grabbed a few back-scratchers and tossed them into the machine's input.
The machine roared, lights flashing inside.
Seconds later, it spat out a packet of shimring powder.
Datch mixed it in water and had nurses feed it to the most severe cases.
At first, both dics and patients were skeptical—how could such a childish thod cure this plague?
But as an Emperor's Angel, Datch's orders were obeyed.
The mont the dicine went down, a miracle happened.
The sticky tears evaporated,
The swelling faded away,
And sight returned to the once-blind.
"I... I can see!"
"The pain's gone! This is unbelievable!"
"Does he... does he have the Emperor's power?"
The camp, once shrouded in despair, erupted in joyous disbelief.
The accompanying Tech-Priests analyzed the powder, but their instrunts couldn't detect any effective ingredients.
Its chanism seed to defy all known laws.
Their only conclusion:
This must be the Emperor's power.
Datch ignored the praise. The mission prompt told him this was only half the job.
According to intelligence, the plague would keep coming back. The source had to be destroyed.
"The tears are gone, but the mites are still here."
Datch pondered, then threw a few bug nets into the dicine machine.
Soon, another batch of powder was ready.
He mixed it with water and ordered everything—gear, beds, the whole camp—to be wiped down with it.
Wherever the dicine touched, the tiny mites were wiped out, breaking the chain of infection.
In half an hour, the plague that had stymied the Imperial army and exhausted Guilliman was solved in a way that defied all logic.
Datch produced more dicine, sending it to other infected worlds.
The powder was so magical that any amount of water mixed with it beca an instant cure.
A biologist even poured it into the sea, turning the entire ocean into a cure for the Weeping Plague.
It was truly miraculous.
…
anwhile, in the warp's Garden of Nurgle, where decay and vitality, disease and healing, coexisted in grotesque harmony,
Father Nurgle, stirring a huge cauldron of new plagues, suddenly froze.
He sensed his carefully crafted Weeping Plague was failing everywhere,
Not only had it stopped infecting humans, its transmission had been utterly cut off by a force he couldn't comprehend.
As Nurgle's rotting, bloated face twisted in pure confusion,
A few plague flies buzzed in with the latest news—the Weeping Plague had been defeated by a naless Astartes using unbelievable ans.
Learning that soone had used back-scratchers to make dicine to dispel the sadness-causing plague,
And bug nets to create powder that wiped out the plague-spreading mites,
Nurgle's pus-filled, bloated head popped up a giant question mark.
This... this makes no sense at all!
Even if we ignore the laws of the real universe, at least respect the basics of the warp!
This is just brute force, without any logic or reason—what kind of god is this guy?!
...
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