Chapter 254: Test Passed! Chief Pharmacist! City of Benevolence!
Before long, several hundred warriors had selected their weapons and firearms, making sure to bring ample ammunition. Following their usual training configurations, they completed their weapon loadouts.
"Attention cadets, please enter the simulated battlefield for this live combat assessment."
A voice crackled through the comms system again. "You may form teams freely or operate solo, but your ultimate goal is—survival!"
"There will be four waves of enemy assaults in this assessment. The final survivors will receive generous rewards and be officially inducted into a battle regiment. May victory be with you all."
The endgame of the universe is always about official placement. Even the most stoic, composed warriors couldn't help but feel a surge of blood-pumping excitement. A clear path to promotion, exceptional benefits, and access to the most elite weapons awaited them.
The gates to the massive corporate empire's resources stood wide open. Glory and power were within reach—all they had to do now was clear the trial.
"Hahaha! Hell yeah, this is exactly what I've been dreaming of! A real spot in a regiment, top-tier weapons, and the hottest babes—all mine!"
"Hey, tone it down a notch. Focus on the assessment first. This one's way tougher than anything we've faced before. Don't get yourself killed halfway through."
"Heh! No test can hold us back. Bring on the Bloombeasts, Quantum Wraiths, clones—whatever!"
"With the addition of hard-light weapons this time, could this assessment possibly include the Flood?"
"…"
As the broadcast ended, the fully-equipped Astartes warriors began cheering each other on and quickly formed tactical squads.
Following their training, they organized effective team compositions—who would be the assault trooper, who would handle demolitions—everyone knew their role by heart.
Humans are, after all, social beings. Cooperation, communication, and interaction are key to maximizing each individual's potential and performance.
Even the top fighters among these recruits eagerly joined teams to boost their chances of survival.
"Everyone, the final 30-second countdown begins now. Ready or not, the assessment is starting. I hope you make it out alive."
"Go claim the honor and rewards that belong to you!"
With that, the broadcast cut off. A mechanical click echoed through the air, followed by a deathly silence as the gates sealing the waiting area began to slowly open.
This was it—the simulated battlefield assessment.
Looking out, the battlefield had been set up to resemble a modern metropolis: towering skyscrapers and chaotic urban cover created countless places to hide.
But just the same, danger now lurked in every shadow.
The 30 seconds were gone in a flash. As the opening cue for the assessment rang out, the warriors stepped into the test zone, raising their guns and scanning their surroundings with caution.
Beneath their tactical helmets, every face was solemn and tense. The sound of rapid breathing filled their ears, while the thunderous pounding of their hearts fueled their fighting spirit.
This was a matter of life and death—and their personal future. No one could afford a misstep. Survival wasn't enough; they had to fight fiercely and make a powerful impression for the higher-ups watching from behind the scenes.
These live-combat graduation assessments were often overseen by commanders from various battle regiments, scouting for promising talent.
Those chosen might be placed directly into elite units, like the Celestial Vanguards or the Ace Forerunners—truly a fast track to the top.
Everyone kept their eyes locked ahead, coordinating tactics in real time, hoping to shine in this brutal test.
But as the warriors advanced cautiously into the battlefield's depths, they quickly noticed something unusual—an eerie silence. There were no enemy units in sight.
No howls from bio-tyrants, no ambushes from clone soldiers, no roars from juvenile Bloombeasts, and no stealthy incursions from Quantum Wraiths.
Watching their compact radar feeds, the warriors exchanged puzzled glances, wondering what kind of enemies they were truly up against this time.
Grrrrrk—!
Suddenly, aided by the sound-enhancing features of their powered armor, the warriors caught a muffled, strange noise—like someone speaking underwater.
Next, their pulse scanners lit up with alerts. The radar screens filled with swarms of red blips.
It became obvious: these were weakened versions of the Flood, bio-engineered by the corporation's biotech division from elite Crimson samples. But even these diluted variants were still highly lethal.
The megacorp had been considering deploying the Flood as bioweapons, though the current prototypes were still in testing. They had reduced infection strength but retained aggressive combat behaviors—and couldn't yet be controlled.
Upon realizing this, the Astartes immediately heightened their vigilance, executing a practiced tactical formation designed for overlapping fields of fire.
"Damn it! We're actually fighting the Flood?! This test is seriously trying to kill us."
"The bigger the storm, the bigger the catch! Just shut up and fight—don't tell me you're scared of a few bugs!"
"…"
Some warriors swore loudly over comms as tension surged through the ranks.
Now knowing their foes were the infamous Flood, the atmosphere at the street junction turned grim in an instant.
Everyone understood just how lethal the Crimson could be. No one had expected to face such a deadly threat in what was supposed to be a graduation trial.
"They're here! Goddamn freaks—these bastards are disgusting!"
An Astartes stationed at the northern end of the street initiated a visual share, showing the others what he was seeing.
All eyes turned to the swarming horde of squid-like creatures—the Flood in their infection form!
"Open fire!"
"Wipe these bastards out!"
A split second later, a barrage of gunfire erupted. Blue-hued beams burst from gun barrels, streaking toward the incoming Flood.
The ultra-high energy blasts struck the first wave like needles popping balloons—many of the Flood exploded into vile slime.
The hard-light weapons proved brutally effective against the Flood.
Some savvy warriors had already anticipated the Flood's involvement based on the presence of hard-light tech and stocked up accordingly. With covering fire from teammates, they executed alternating assault patterns that successfully held off the first wave!
Clack!
As the frontline warriors reloaded, their teammates—already prepped for rotational fire—stepped forward to maintain pressure.
Within mere minutes, the first wave was repelled. The good news? They had survived. Not a single casualty.
But the bad news was—three more waves of Flood assaults were incoming. The warriors had to prepare their tactical strategies in advance and manage their remaining ammunition wisely to deal with the next waves of Flood units!
Without any argument or unnecessary chatter, they quickly reloaded their weapons, tightened their defensive formations, and secured advantageous positions. Right then, the second wave of the Flood struck.
"Come on, you sons of bitches! Let me treat you to a full magazine of Hardlight rounds—don't hold back!"
"Keep firing! Don't stop!"
The warriors roared encouragement at one another and continued their battle against the Flood. Another round of intense gunfire erupted across the battlefield.
Not long after, the Astartes, having run dry on ammo, finally endured until the end of the fourth assessment round.
The simulated battlefield released the Scorptail virus, wiping out all remaining Flood spores and survivors.
Boom!
Any lingering Flood that still clung to life were instantly broken down into spores the moment they made contact with the Scorptail virus, disintegrating completely.
At the same time, Templar Guardians joined the purge, firing beams of light to eliminate Flood hiding in concealed locations.
This final graduation assessment involved a total of 300 warriors—eight of whom died in action. The rest survived.
The fallen would be posthumously honored as First-Class Martyrs of the Corporation, and their families would receive generous pensions, support, and benefits.
As for the survivors—they had successfully graduated and stood on the brink of a new life.
Most members of the evaluation committee gave this combat assessment high marks. After all, not a single warrior had abandoned a teammate to save their own skin.
Not one had fled from the fight. When their bullets ran out, they charged in with chainswords for brutal close-quarters combat—buying precious time for their comrades to reload.
It was thanks to this that the squad didn't collapse due to a few weak links, avoiding a catastrophic domino effect of panic and casualties.
In high-intensity warfare like this, the best strategy is to power through in one go. The first to falter is the first to fall.
If one person breaks rank, countless more will follow.
And if that happens—the battle is as good as lost.
---
At this moment, inside the Isolation Zone of the Testing Center—
The surviving warriors had removed their power armor and changed into hospital gowns, preparing to undergo further viral screening.
This procedure was meant to ensure that none of them had accidentally inhaled Flood spores and triggered a latent infection. Only after passing a full inspection would they be allowed to resume normal activity.
Once the tests were complete, blood samples and biomaterials collected, and all results came back clear, the warriors finally allowed themselves to relax.
"Congratulations to all of you. I'm truly glad to see you alive. Now, you're about to begin a brand-new chapter of your lives."
"I am Viktor Vekto, Chief Apothecary of LA Universal Megacorp. I will personally perform your organ transplant surgeries. Close your eyes—and enjoy the ride."
"I guarantee that when you wake up, a brilliant new life will be waiting for you. Strength and honor shall walk with you always."
At that moment, Old Viktor—wearing his visual assistance rig—approached the control panel and offered his congratulations to the warriors lying on the operating tables.
Over the years, Viktor had become the dedicated Apothecary of the Iron Hand legion, specializing in gene-seed cultivation, organ transplants, and cybernetic augmentations.
Of course, Viktor hadn't forgotten his original trade—he could still do cyberware installations too, though less frequently now.
After all, a chosen one like V, who could withstand both gene-seed modification and full-body cybernetic integration, was exceedingly rare.
Originally, Viktor only offered surgeries to truly exceptional warriors—like David Martinez.
But the outstanding performance of this current batch impressed many on the evaluation panel, earning them the rare privilege of Viktor's personal surgical work.
Before the warriors could even process their shock and excitement, Viktor had already activated the sedatives, gently putting them to sleep.
"Beginning surgery. May your futures shine bright."
As he spoke, Viktor initiated the procedure from the console, simultaneously conducting organ transplants and enhancements on more than two hundred warriors lying secured on surgical tables.
---
Shield World – Core Region
At this moment, over a thousand Megacorp-affiliated ships—carriers, cruisers, and escort frigates—were stationed steadily in the upper atmosphere. Transport shuttles flew to and fro in countless numbers.
Ever since Li Ang subdued the UNSC's Smart AIs via the AI Council, all of the UNSC's ship schematics, data, and tech had fallen into Megacorp's hands.
Thanks to this freely acquired technological windfall, the Corporation mass-produced a fleet of cost-effective, tactically versatile warships.
Take the Carthage-class Supercarrier, nearly five kilometers long—originally considered a supercarrier by the UNSC. It made for a perfect, more economical substitute for the Corporation's Infinity-class carriers.
Most of the time, the Corporation's navy found itself overequipped for standard missions, wasting valuable military resources.
Not every task required an Infinity-class carrier; more modest missions were better suited for Carthage-class vessels.
That said, Carthage-class ships weren't easy for the UNSC to come by either.
Based on the current Halo timeline, most of the UNSC's primary carriers were outdated cruisers refitted for the role.
If it hadn't been for the rising tide of colonial rebellions, which demanded a stronger fleet and more powerful carriers, the UNSC likely wouldn't have committed to building the Carthage-class at all.
As was their habit, they would've just slapped upgrades on some old cruisers or patched up a transport ship to pass as a colony vessel.
But no matter how you polished that junk—it still wasn't fit for a real war.
You couldn't expect a pile of scrap to win battles.
That's why the UNSC Navy finally launched the New Era and Carthage-class carrier programs in 2460, aiming to produce a powerful new generation of supercarriers.
After thirty years of development, both the New Era and Carthage classes were fully commissioned—used to suppress rebellions across the galaxy.
At this point, the Covenant fleet, having received clearance, was cruising out of the Shield World's core and moving toward the surface.
Soon, the fleet reached low orbit and held position, awaiting further orders.
---
Inside the CCS-class flagship's command bridge—
Fleet Commander Moramee issued an order to the communications team:
"Inform all units—we jump in five minutes. Next destination: Charity Prime!"
During their stay inside the Shield World, Moramee and other Sangheili elites like Vadam had spent their time not only dueling the Astartes—like David—but also listening intently to speeches from Megacorp's supreme leader, Li Ang .
Over these past few months of "learning," Moramee had become like Sun Wukong studying under Patriarch Subodhi, awakening to greater wisdom.
Most importantly—he had learned how to evolve.
Now, Moramee carried out Li Ang 's mission: to return to the Covenant capital of Charity Prime and stabilize the Prophets.
He was essentially a time bomb—waiting for the signal from Megacorp to strike a decisive blow.
"Yes, sir!"
The communications officer promptly relayed the orders across the fleet.
Moramee then turned to the Astartes officers standing beside him reed and Jack Wells.
The two would accompany Moramee to Charity Prime, partly as overseers, but also with the intent to help him flip the entire Sangheili faction.
"Gentlemen, we'll reach the Covenant capital in approximately 72 hours. I'll report back to the Prophets as planned and keep them calm."
Moramee glanced at Reed and Jack—he clearly understood why Li Ang had sent them. Their job was to make sure he followed through.
With those two watching, there was no room for double-dealing.
That suited Moramee just fine—if someone kept accurate records, then his achievements would be properly recognized. When it came time to divide the spoils, his share would be secure.
Reed nodded. "Our top priority is still turning the entire Sangheili race. As for the Prophets—they won't stay fooled for long."
"Plan for the worst. Be ready for when things go south."
The Prophets had never trusted the Elites. The fact that only Sangheili returned from exploring the Shield World would surely arouse suspicion. They might even send investigators to verify things.
That's why preparing for an all-out confrontation—flipping the table, so to speak—was the smart move.
"Just don't forget the boss's orders," Reed reminded him again, clearly signaling that with him and Jack here, there'd be no room for betrayal.
Or else—the entire Sangheili faction would be buried with him.
"Yes, sir!"
Moramee replied without hesitation.
As the three spoke, the central console's holographic display reached zero. A bluish vortex opened before the fleet.
With a roar from the engines, the slipspace jump initiated—and with Moramee's command, the fleet vanished into the starry void.
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