Operation Drought

"You're telling me there are actually Tzeentch and Khorne cultists?"

Peter was a bit skeptical, after all the main continent showed no signs of corruption whatsoever.

Filon puffed out his chest and answered with righteous conviction:

"Big brother, how long did we spend in that demon world back in the day? You think I can't recognize a Chaos Cultist when I see one?"

As he spoke, Filon pulled out some herbs.

"These cultists chew on this stuff. I had the Apothecary analyze it—it's all substances with stimulant and hallucinogenic effects."

Peter was genuinely worried Filon had misidentified them, that what they thought was Chaos worship was actually just a bunch of locals chewing hallucinogenic herbs, practicing primitive ancestor worship and totemism. After all, different continents on the same planet had been separated for hundreds or even thousands of years—how could their exposure to Chaos corruption be so drastically different?

Fine. He chose to trust Filon:

"Alright, gather all the brothers. We'll go take a look. And bring that new Tech-Priest, Yamila."

Ten hours later, in a tent village at the center of a forest clearing, the bonfire still burned, but over a hundred corpses lay scattered across the ground, most of them barely recognizable as human. Nineteen battle brothers stood guard.

Apothecary Dioscorides and Tech-Priest Yamila were examining the bodies, nearing a conclusion.

Apothecary Dioscorides said:

"Though the external appearance isn't too severe, internally there's moderate mutation. Their bodies have been twisted by Warp energy, bearing the marks of Khorne's blessing."

Tech-Priest Yamila replied in a sharp but slightly magnetic voice:

"Fifth random sampling, spanning five major regions across the continent. It can be inferred that the majority of humans on this continent are corrupted by both Khorne and Tzeentch."

Peter moved closer to the two and spoke:

"From what you're saying, the people on this continent are worthless? Can't be used for industrial labor or formed into disciplined armies. Keeping them around would be nothing but a disaster."

Tech-Priest Yamila stated:

"Error. Denial. Moderate mutation is acceptable. They still have value if converted into Servitors. Among the Tzeentch cultists, there are some wild Psykers—even more valuable."

Peter looked at the Tech-Priest, knowing she didn't understand the difficulty of such a capture operation, and explained:

"Tech-Priest, if they gathered together and attacked us, that wouldn't be a problem. We could just use capture nets and scoop them up. But we don't have time to crisscross this entire continent hunting them down one by one. This continent has about a million people, most in settlements of only a few hundred or a thousand. My brothers and I can't spend our time capturing primitives in batches of a few hundred."

Tech-Priest Yamila:

"Error. Denial. A kingdom exists on this continent. Its technology level is low. It worships Quetzalcoatl as a Tzeentchian deity and has built small pyramids. The capital and its surrounding areas hold over 100,000 people. Additionally, in the north, there are connections between Khorne tribes numbering roughly 70,000 who worship the Blood Hand Butcher."

Anthony, standing nearby, was not particularly polite. He shrugged indifferently and cut in:

"You mean those two primitive tribes? They're just a bit larger in number. The moment we charge in, they scatter. Instead of chasing after such scraps, we might as well sweep the whole continent with a few orbital lance strikes."

Tech-Priest Yamila's shoulders twitched as she made a sound:

"These are the only two locations where we can capture a large number of slaves. Theoretically, this would reduce costs by 40% compared to acquiring them from other star sectors."

Faced with this situation—too meager to bother with, yet too wasteful to discard—Peter carefully considered his tactical options. Sweep the continent with lance strikes? But this was their Homeworld. The threat from these Chaos Cultists was actually minimal; the real problem was how hard they were to wipe out completely. It wasn't worth destroying the Homeworld's environment over this.

Besides, while this continent wasn't as large as the main one, its soil was fertile, its forests lush, and its plains vast. It could become an excellent agricultural region with great development potential. Destroying it with lance strikes—he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Tech-Priest Yamila, how long would it take to build a Weather Control System covering this continent?"

Yamila was confused:

"According to the plan, the Weather Control System is a project scheduled for seven years from now."

"Expedite it immediately?"

Tech-Priest Yamila stood motionless, seemingly calculating. Peter didn't rush her.

"Confirmed. Suspending other work and beginning construction of the weather control facilities for this continent ahead of schedule. Estimated completion time: 2.4 years."

"Good."

Peter nodded in approval, then called out through the internal comm channel:

"Wonaby, Filon—both of you, come here."

The two named men walked over and joined them. All the commanders on site gathered around their lord.

"Here's my strategy. Since these two continents have coexisted peacefully for so many years, and now with our monitoring in place, the chance of something going wrong is only smaller."

"The Dark Mechanicus will prioritize building this continent's Weather Control System. The moment it's finished, we begin the operation."

"At that point, we'll gradually reduce rainfall over this continent, starting from the outer edges and moving inward—like a tightening noose. The outer natives will be forced to gather toward the center. During this process, the old, weak, sick, and disabled will be weeded out naturally."

"Over one to two years, by controlling the water supply, we'll gradually force them to concentrate in the central area. By then, only the able-bodied will remain, and most of the high-value targets like the Psykers will survive to the end as well."

"Then, in a small area, we can pick and choose as we please. Anyone who tries to leave the zone will die of thirst. Anyone who tries to come back will face our capture nets."

"After we've secured the raw materials for Servitors and captured the Psykers, we can even let the land remain barren for a few more years, eliminating the local ecosystem in this gentle manner. Then, once we let the rain return, we can plant whatever we want."

Wonaby pondered for a moment before giving his answer:

"A perfect plan. Aside from the time it takes, there are few flaws. If this were anywhere else, such a tactic would be unacceptable. Weather control equipment could be destroyed, aircraft could leave the continent, Astropaths could send out distress calls."

"But under these specific conditions, it's absolutely perfect. This continent has no deserts, abundant rainfall, and no one has a habit of storing water. It's nearly impossible for any Chaos Cultist to survive a prolonged drought. The slaves and Psykers we capture are a solid profit, and we haven't used chemical agents to ruin the soil—the land is just short of water."

Wonaby praised the strategy, and the others agreed. Thus, the operation named "Operation Drought" was easily finalized.

And the million people and countless billions of living creatures on this continent had no idea that their fate had just been casually decided by a handful of men in some nameless little settlement.

Once the strategy was set, the group boarded their aircraft and returned to the main continent. After all, they now had Gene-seed. They had to begin the most important task for all Space Marine organizations—Legions, Chapters, Warbands, all of them.

Recruitment.