As Warboss Redeye's body was kicked cleanly in half, the WAAAGH! energy that had fueled every ork with fanaticism and fearlessness burst like a punctured balloon.
Across the battlefield, the orks who had been locked in a desperate struggle with the players suddenly lost the savage crimson glow in their eyes.
They stared blankly at the weapons in their hands, then at the mountains of dead comrades surrounding them. The courage and bloodlust that had sustained them seemed to vanish along with their Warboss.
Then one ork broke.
No one knew who fled first, but it no longer mattered.
The entire battle line collapsed in an instant.
Weapons clattered onto the ground as thousands of orks turned and ran, shoving, trampling, and climbing over one another in blind panic. The terrifying horde that had charged forward without fear moments before dissolved into utter chaos.
As the saying goes, chasing ten thousand fleeing pigs would take three months. Chasing fleeing orks—who ran far faster than pigs—would be even more futile.
Seeing the rout, Joker immediately gave up any thought of pursuing them.
"All units, cease pursuit! Hold the defensive line! Treat the wounded! Let them run!"
If they escaped, then so be it. There would be other battles.
Inside the temporary command post after the battle, Joker finally met the two Space Marines who had descended onto the battlefield like gods of war.
He brushed the soot from his uniform, straightened his posture, and offered them a crisp military salute.
"We owe the outcome of this battle largely to the two of you."
"Oh, not at all." Andrew waved both hands modestly. "If your forces hadn't pinned the orks down here, we'd have arrived only in time to watch them tear the battle barge apart."
Joker nodded before asking curiously,
"That reminds me... where are your boltguns and other equipment? Aren't those supposed to be inseparable from an Astartes? I was hoping to see someone charge in with a chainsword."
His eyes shifted toward the silent Caleb.
Only then did he notice that Caleb's right leg rested at an unnatural angle.
"...Your leg. Are you injured?"
"We don't need all that." Andrew proudly raised his fists. "These are the best weapons we have."
"I pushed a technique beyond my current limits," Caleb answered calmly. "You could call it a martial arts training injury. Mild cases cause internal damage. Severe cases end with your body exploding."
He paused.
"This one's mild."
"With an Astartes' recovery rate, I'll be combat-ready again in about half an hour."
"...I see."
Unable to think of any sensible response to such a perfectly player-like explanation, Joker wisely changed the subject.
"Our troops captured several live orks. Would you two like to see them?"
"Absolutely." Andrew's eyes lit up. "I've always wanted to see what a captured ork looks like."
A few moments later, several player-soldiers escorted in a massive ork restrained by heavy-duty power shackles.
Despite his enormous frame and bulging muscles, the captive shrank under everyone's gaze, trembling like a cornered animal.
"I... I told you everyfing!" the ork pleaded in heavily accented Gothic. "Don't kill me!"
"It's hard to believe," Joker sighed, completely ignoring the ork's begging. "The same creatures who fought so fearlessly a few minutes ago are now terrified simply because their leader died."
Andrew studied the ork with obvious curiosity before nodding knowingly.
"That's pretty common."
"Orks, Tyranids—even certain Necron forces—depend heavily on leadership. Remove the Warboss or the synapse creatures, and the rest often lose coordination, freeze up, or even start fighting each other."
He shrugged.
"Partly that's because, in Warhammer, high-end combat power genuinely can decide entire wars."
"And partly..."
A grin spread across his face.
"...because it's more exciting to read."
"Think about it. Which makes for a better story? A hero spending three months methodically wiping out an army one soldier at a time..."
"...or a hero killing the enemy commander and watching the entire invasion collapse?"
He laughed.
"Convenient for the writers."
"And, fortunately, convenient for us."
"Agreed." Joker nodded.
"Our ability to revive makes decapitation strikes incredibly practical. We can attempt operations that would be outright suicidal for anyone else."
Halfway through the sentence, his expression suddenly changed.
"Oh."
He turned toward Archer.
"By the way... has the tactical nuclear bomb buried beneath headquarters been dug up yet?"
Archer blinked.
"Not yet."
He tilted his head.
"Should we?"
Silence.
The room fell so quiet that even the captive ork stopped whimpering.
Andrew and Caleb's smiles froze.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
They turned toward Joker.
Their expressions looked as though they'd just seen a daemon emerge from the floor.
"...What?"
Andrew asked.
"A tactical nuclear bomb?"
Caleb repeated.
Joker cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
"It's just a precaution."
He gestured matter-of-factly.
"If the enemy ever tries the same kind of decapitation strike we pulled today, we'd rather deny them the headquarters entirely."
"It's mutual-assured destruction."
He smiled as though explaining tomorrow's lunch menu.
"Besides..."
"We can respawn."
That explanation somehow made things worse.
Respawning was one thing.
Being instantly vaporized by a tactical nuclear weapon detonating beneath your own feet was another entirely.
Besides, ordinary players could simply reappear as fresh recruits.
Space Marines...
That would require a much more awkward explanation.
"We should get going."
Andrew's expression instantly shifted back into a polite business smile.
Before Caleb could object, Andrew grabbed him by the arm.
"There are still enemies left in the hive city."
Without waiting for another word, the two towering Space Marines turned on their heels and strode toward the exit.
At a pace that looked suspiciously like fleeing.
"If anything comes up, let us know!"
Andrew's voice drifted back through the doorway.
A second later, the two iron giants had disappeared from sight.
The command post remained silent.
Then everyone quietly looked down at the floor beneath their feet.