Tech-Priest

Rarely, Yarrick fell into silence.

Even he, for a moment, could not comprehend the other's words; a galaxy seemed to bloom in his mind.

After a long pause, Yarrick finally spoke:

"If I'm not misunderstanding... you're saying you have the ability to meet my conditions?"

Lord Rowan showed no surprise at Yarrick's incredulous reaction.

"I believe I've made myself quite clear. All the conditions you mentioned, I can satisfy."

"Including those super-heavy tanks?"

"Including those super-heavy tanks."

A similar exchange occurred once more, but this time, the roles between the two were completely reversed.

"Could you elaborate on exactly what kind of super-heavy tanks you need?"

Rowan inquired.

Could it be that the Space Marine Strike Cruiser had similar equipment supplies on board?

Finally, Yarrick gave up trying to reason it out.

"Very well, then I'll be direct. First, our regiment is at a numerical disadvantage, so we need armored units capable of quickly clearing clustered light infantry. Therefore, at least one Storm Lord."

"To thoroughly breach the Xenos' defenses and meet the requirement of destroying enemy positions in urban street fighting, Storm Swords are also indispensable—at least two of them."

"Additionally, due to the complex terrain of the Hive City, we'll need some Hellhound armored vehicles, no fewer than five."

Rowan noted each point down on paper.

"Anything else?"

"...No."

Yarrick already felt his demands were excessive.

Such equipment was already considered extremely precious.

For the Departmento Munitorum, compared to handing out these rare assets, it would be more cost-effective to simply transfer a few infantry regiments and grind the Orks into a meat grinder.

But for Yarrick, as a Commissar, he was truly unwilling to waste his soldiers' lives needlessly within the Hive City, especially when it might be an ineffective sacrifice.

["Life is the Emperor's currency; spend it well."]

Rowan looked up, his gaze somewhat peculiar as he regarded him.

"Just this little bit of equipment is all you need?"

"Huh?"

Yarrick was stunned.

Was this some kind of... Terra noble-style sarcasm he couldn't understand?

In any case, he didn't take those words literally.

Every super-heavy tank, due to the technology required to manufacture these colossal units, had become increasingly scarce in the now-rigid and corrupt Imperium. Their numbers were so few that Astra Militarum armored regiments revered them like holy relics.

How could they just be available on demand?

"Rest assured, if this is all you ask, it can be easily fulfilled barring any unforeseen issues."

Rowan put away his paper and pen, pocketing them. "But before that, I'd like to ask if your armored regiment has a Tech-Priest attached. I wish to discuss a few things with him."

"Of course we do."

Yarrick answered immediately. "Without a Tech-Priest's maintenance, our armor wouldn't even move."

"The 252nd Regiment's attached Tech-Priest is named Damian. He should still be at the rear logistics base doing routine maintenance. I can have someone guide you to find him."

"Then I'll be in your debt."

Rowan nodded.

Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, he gestured to the Custodes.

"Leonardo, you stay here and protect Commissar Yarrick's safety. I have sufficient security with me for now."

Leonardo nodded and moved to stand silently beside Yarrick.

Soon, following the Commissar's orders, a soldier of the Armageddon Steel Legion led the way, guiding Rowan and his party toward the rear base.

On the way, Sibyl turned to Rowan and spoke: "Lord Rowan, is your plan to use that Tech-Priest's memories and knowledge as a blueprint to create usable equipment?"

"Of course."

Rowan was not surprised by her sharpness, as he had done this once before. "As long as we arm this Astra Militarum force and amplify its threat, when they push into the Hive City's interior, it will put immense pressure on that Ork Warboss. Then, amidst the chaos of the battlefield, not only will the Ork Warboss's position be exposed, but the chances of a decapitation strike will also rise significantly."

"But there's a problem here."

Suddenly, Lucia, who had been silent, spoke up. "That Tech-Priest likely won't comply with your request. They value the secrecy of information and knowledge more than their own lives."

"Or, do you plan to subdue him and forcibly pry into his memories? That could also be a solution."

"That won't be necessary."

Rowan shook his head. "I guarantee, according to my plan, that Tech-Priest will willingly offer up his knowledge."

At that moment, his eyes blazed with conviction, his expression utterly assured—a display that made Sibyl and Lucia silently brace for trouble.

It seemed the Emperor's Contractor had cooked up yet another new scheme.

The guide soldier walked swiftly, leading them into the Astra Militarum's logistics base.

After passing through the checkpoint with remarkable efficiency, Rowan and his group advanced deeper into the logistics base.

The further they went, the more clearly the sounds of machinery and the hum of engineering circuits rang in their ears.

After another stretch of walking, Rowan's field of vision finally revealed the location of that Tech-Priest.

In an open area, a Venomblade tank sat quietly under repair—likely the second tank of their armored regiment that Yarrick had mentioned, clearly not participating in this campaign but left behind in the logistics base for maintenance.

Beside this Venomblade tank stood a Tech-Priest, his body bearing obvious marks of mechanical modification, clad in a red robe.

He held an Omnissiah's Axe, his form flickering with intermittent light, directing a group of servitors in repairing the tank through methods incomprehensible to outsiders.

Sensors detected the arrival of strangers, and the Tech-Priest slowly turned his head.

"Basic translation module activated: Greetings. Commissar Yarrick has sent me a communication explaining your identities. Now, state your purpose."

The moment his words left his mouth, Sibyl—as a Psyker—felt a sixth-sense premonition that something unpleasant was about to unfold.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

Rowan stepped forward with supreme confidence and spoke bluntly.

"You may call me Rowan. I am the agent of the Omnissiah. In the name of the Omnissiah, I require you to provide me with the blueprints related to the Super-heavy Tank."

The moment those words were spoken, silence fell around them.

Even though most of the Tech-Priest's face was covered by full mechanical structures, the other two present could tell from the white vapor gradually venting from his body that this Tech-Priest was not in a good mood.

Simply put, he was red-hot with rage.