Before Frederick could fully make sense of the chaotic scene before him, events once again spiraled beyond his expectation.
The Commander, who called himself "Gordon", visibly panicked after his Deputy Commander exposed his delusion.
He pointed a finger at the Deputy Commander's nose and cursed, "Damn it, did you have to expose in front of an outsider?!"
Then, as if a thought suddenly struck him, his eyes widened with an "I see it all now" expression: "I get it! No wonder you've been waking up earlier than these past few days!
You insidious worm, you're trying to usurp my command! Watch cut you down!"
With that, the Commander actually drew a tactical combat knife from his waist and lunged at the Deputy Commander with a roar. The blade was sharp and whistled through the air—it was no staged act!
The Deputy Commander, 'Yujiro Hanma', sneered in response, and without hesitation, drew his entrenching tool from his back: "Bring it on! Your old man has been waiting to teach you a lesson in brawling!"
"Clang!"
Knife t shovel, exploding in a shower of sparks.
Frederick watched, dumbfounded, as the highest-ranking officer of this unit and his second-in-command actually engaged in a real, life-or-death fight right at the camp entrance, in front of the newly arrived Commissar and a massive crowd of subordinates!
And based on his rigorous training at the Schola Progenium, Frederick could confirm with absolute certainty that these two were not sparring; every attack aid for a vital point—they genuinely intended to kill each other!
What an utterly absurd spectacle!
Could the Commander and Deputy Commander hold a deep, unresolved feud from so previous cause? Frederick was forced to consider this. If so, future political work would be fraught with extre difficulty...
What shocked him even more was that the surrounding Helldivers made no move to separate their superiors. They all stayed put, watching the show.
In fact, the crowd only grew, and so people even pulled out snacks from their pockets, munching away while pointing and comnting on the fight in the arena.
Was it possible… that these two n were genuinely unpopular in the regint, and everyone was simply hoping they would die?
Frederick's mind raced. If that were the case, rushing forward and risking injury to stop the fight might not earn him any gratitude; instead, he might earn the resentnt of everyone present!
Just as Frederick struggled with his internal dilemma, the two combatants clashed loudly for over a minute, then separated just as abruptly as they had started.
The Commander leaned on his knife, panting heavily, and pointed a finger at his opponent: "This ti… this ti, I'll let you go, for the sake of Commissar Frederick's arrival—it'd be bad luck to have an imdiate death! Next ti, I won't hold back!"
The Deputy Commander was equally defiant, slamming his entrenching tool onto the ground: "Hmph, with your amateur skill, who dies next ti is still up for debate!"
Seeing the potential for the argunt to restart the brawl, Frederick quickly seized the opportunity to intervene. From the information leaked during their fighting and mutual insults, he had learned their real nas.
"Commander Gordon Freeman, and Deputy Commander Yujiro Hanma!" Frederick said, struggling to project an authoritative voice. "Work is paramount. Let us proceed to the Command Post imdiately!"
This sentence seed to remind Commander Freeman of sothing. He suddenly reached out to Deputy Commander Yujiro.
"Oh right, my radiation debuff is almost maxed out. I'll die in another ten minutes. Give so more of that Rad-Away."
Yujiro grumbled, pulling a small vial from his pocket and slapping it into Freeman's hand: "Why don't you just hurry up and die already!"
Gordon unceremoniously twisted the cap, shook out half of the pills, and crunched them in his mouth like candy beans. Then, he turned and offered the remaining half-vial to Frederick.
At this point, Frederick couldn't figure out if these two had a good relationship or a terrible one.
If their relationship was good, why had they genuinely tried to kill each other monts ago? But if it was bad, why did one dare to offer life-saving dicine and the other dare to take it?
Their relationship seed to transcend all known categories of human social interaction Frederick had ever learned.
Frederick hesitated for a mont before accepting the vial: "I should take so too?"
"You're not a Helldiver, so you especially need to take it, or what if you die of radiation exposure?" Freeman stated matter-of-factly. "We're in the rear, but the closer we get to Plantidium's urban centers, the heavier the radiation is."
"I'm not a Perditian, so I must take it?" Frederick pondered. "What does that an? Are Perditian people especially resistant to radiation? But he just said he was about to die of radiation too…"
The logical contradiction knitted his brow tightly.
However, he understood the latter part of the statent. He activated the wrist-mounted device on his arm, running a quick toxicity scan on the pills.
After confirming they were only high-intensity anti-radiation compounds with no toxicity, he cautiously dispensed two of the so-called [Rad-Away] pills and swallowed them.
He dared not emulate Freeman's casual gulp of half the bottle. He felt as though his worldview had been constantly assaulted and was now on the brink of shattering from the mont he stepped into this camp.
Following Freeman and Yujiro, Frederick entered the Helldivers' Command Post—a prefabricated building.
Upon entering, a strange sll, a mix of machine oil, sweat, and so kind of instant nutrient paste, assailed him. The Command Post was not, as Frederick had imagined, filled with running communicators relaying orders or staff officers working at desks.
It was a chaotic ss. In one corner, several opened ammunition crates were stacked, but they contained not ammunition, but multicolored snack wrappers. On one cot, a soldier was even lying down with his helt on, emitting steady snores.
The tactical table, which should have been the heart of the Command Post, was a horrifying sight.
The large tal surface, ant to display a holographic star-chart, was covered in a thick layer of dust, clearly unused for a long ti. It was cluttered with random papers, data-slates, and even a few empty liquor bottles.
Frederick's brow furrowed into a knot. This was no longer just a discipline problem; this was the lair of a band of brigands!
"Co, co, Commissar, over here." Freeman seed entirely unfazed. He strode to the tactical table, rummaging through the ss like a scavenger, casually sweeping aside the scrap paper to reveal a parchnt list underneath. He blew the dust off and handed it to Frederick.
"Take a look, Commissar. This is our regint's upcoming mission. Please follow it and issue the orders."
Frederick took the list, his mind filled with doubts. But when his eyes fell upon the paper, he was stunned.
In stark contrast to the chaotic environnt, the content of the list was ticulously detailed.
From the unit's assembly ti, attack route, and fire preparation, to the estimated consumption of logistical supplies and casualty evacuation plans—everything a combat regint should be responsible for was planned logically, clearly, and could even be called excellent.
He looked up at Freeman in confusion: "Since you have already planned what needs to be done, why aren't you executing it?"
"Oh, well, we were waiting for you to arrive, right?" Freeman suddenly straightened his back, his face adopting an expectant and solemn expression.
He even executed a rather sloppy military salute towards Frederick, and his tone sharply elevated.
"Commissar! Issue the order!"
His voice was loud and passionate, as if every word Frederick was about to speak would be a sacred decree.
But this sudden enthusiasm, far from inspiring Frederick, made alarm bells ring in his mind. The whole thing was too unnatural.
A unit so undisciplined that its Commander and Deputy Commander fought with weapons in public, yet it could produce a flawless combat plan; a Commander who showed no respect for the command post, yet displayed such exaggerated formality when it ca to "issuing the order."
There had to be sothing suspicious going on.
Frederick did not respond to Freeman's suddenly heightened passion. He simply placed the list back on the table, examining the Commander with a dubious look, and slowly said:
"I have just arrived and am unfamiliar with the unit's situation and the battlefield environnt. I would like to inspect the regintal camp first… For now, please allow Commander Freeman, who is more familiar with this place, to execute the plan."
He decided to retreat to gain the advantage. Until he figured out the truth about this unit, he would not easily issue any command.
Hearing Frederick's words, the exaggerated passion on Freeman's face instantly vanished, replaced by an obvious, bored disappointnt, as if his expectations had been dashed. He pouted and waved his hand dismissively.
"Fine, but hurry up, okay? We're all waiting for you to give us the quest."
With that, he turned and walked aside, beginning to whisper with Deputy Commander Yujiro about things like, "This NPC is so cautious," and "Is the affinity level too low?"
Frederick stood there, hearing every word. While so of the vocabulary was unfamiliar, he heard the word "quest" clearly.
The word "quest," spoken by this Commander, seed to refer to so… so specific item that needed to be "issued" by him.
Frederick took a deep breath, feeling as if he hadn't entered a military camp but a massive enigma.
He decided that he must imdiately, thoroughly, and completely investigate exactly what kind of entity this unit, known as the "Helldivers," truly was.
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I've been translating a new book, you won't guess what it's about, players joining the 40K universe xddd.
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