Seventh Reclamation Group

Morning at Granary Seven carried none of the refreshing scent of dew.

There was only the smell of machine oil, acidic mist, and a stale odor like fermented dough.

The enormous exhaust fan blades turned slowly beneath the dome hundreds of meters overhead, creaking dully.

Rovi stood on a hastily erected platform, holding a cup of cloudy hot water.

He did not drink it immediately. Instead, he used the faint warmth radiating through the cup to warm his stiff fingers.

His gaze passed through the curling steam and settled on the worksite below, bustling to the point of madness.

Fifty thousand refugees dressed in coarse gray clothing—

No, they should now be called the "Seventh Reclamation Group," laboring in the fields like worker ants.

The Steel Beast he had personally overseen the modification of, which the Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus had hailed as a "miracle," rumbled with deafening force.

Its massive Serrated Roller mercilessly devoured everything in its path, whether golden wheat stalks or mutated rodents struggling to survive between the furrows.

Rovi took a small sip of the hot water, his brows knitting slightly.

It tasted of rust.

Yet this was already the "special supply" of water available to a Special Advisor.

"The efficiency is even higher than expected."

A voice crackling with electrical static spoke at his side.

Rovi did not need to turn around to know it was Alpha.

The recently promoted Tech-Priest was staring at the Steel Beast with rapt fascination, red light flickering in his bionic eyes.

"This is only the beginning." Rovi set down his cup, his tone calm. "A machine needs more than a powerful heart. It also needs a constant supply of blood."

He pointed toward the row of Fermentation Tanks emitting green smoke in the distance.

"How many more days will the Nutrient Paste last?"

The red glow in Alpha's eyes dimmed slightly, as though he were performing some calculation.

"Based on current consumption, as well as that Harvester engine's demand for corpse fat... three days at most. After three days, we'll have to raid the morgues in the Lower Sector for bodies."

Rovi nodded. This was within his expectations.

"There's no need to raid them." He turned around, his gaze growing profound. "Soon, someone will deliver the raw materials right to our door."

Alpha froze for a moment, seemingly unable to understand the implication behind those words.

Rovi did not explain.

He straightened his robe, stiff from washing, and took a pocket watch from his chest.

It was the only "luxury" left behind by the previous Rovi. A worn Eagle Emblem had been engraved into its brass cover.

"It's about time," Rovi murmured. "Supervisor Kase's patience should be at its limit as well."

Kase truly was on the verge of going mad.

He sat behind a broad mahogany desk, his face—usually fixed in a greasy smile—now utterly grim.

A report that had just been delivered lay on the desk.

It was Granary Seven's latest production estimate.

The numbers were glaring.

At the current pace, Rovi would not only complete that damned twenty-percent production increase, but even exceed it.

What terrified Kase even more were those fifty thousand refugees.

They were no longer lowly wretches who would wag their tails like dogs for a bite to eat.

Under Rovi's near-harsh Joint Liability Law and Green Soup Rationing System, they had been trained into an army that obeyed every command without fail.

Though they held sickles in their hands, Kase had no doubt that, with a single order from Rovi, those sickles would cut toward his throat.

"We can't wait any longer."

Kase rose to his feet, his obese body knocking over a wine bottle beside the desk. Dark red wine spilled across the carpet.

In the shadows, a figure clad in a black hooded robe stirred.

"Supervisor, are you certain you wish to do this?" the man asked hoarsely. "Once that is used... the cost will not be small."

"The cost?" Kase sneered, greed and fear intertwining in his eyes into a crazed gleam. "If that brat Rovi truly rises to power, I'll be raw material at the Fertilizer plant. That's the price I can't afford to pay!"

From the deepest part of a drawer, he took out a small box wrapped in black velvet.

When he opened it, there was a strangely shaped Talisman inside.

It resembled the carapace of some insect, covered in twisted runes and faintly giving off a nauseating fragrance.

"Tell those people." Kase tossed the Talisman to the Black Robe Cultist. "Tonight, I want Granary Seven to become a true hell. I want that wheat... to rot in Rovi's stomach."

The Black Robe Cultist took the Talisman, and his body visibly trembled.

"Yes, my lord."

Night fell.

Granary Seven was not completely swallowed by darkness.

Giant searchlights pierced the murky night sky, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow across the wheat fields.

Rovi did not return to the dormitory.

He sat in a corner of the Repair Workshop, flipping through a thick copy of the Imperial Agricultural Machinery Maintenance Manual beneath the dim lights.

Although he had already memorized the book from cover to cover, he still had the habit of doing something while thinking, using it to conceal the anxiety in his heart.

He was waiting.

Like a patient hunter waiting beside a trap for the moment his prey stepped into it.

"Advisor."

Buck walked in.

The One-Eyed Commander was fully armed, his Carapace Armor polished to a shine, his Boltgun hanging in the most convenient position across his chest.

"Something happened?"

Rovi closed the book, gently rubbing its spine with his fingers.

"Yes." Buck nodded, his expression grave. "As you instructed, we left several gaps in the outer perimeter. The patrol just discovered a group of unidentified people slipping in through one of them."

"How many?"

"Two or three hundred, roughly. Their equipment is a mess—Autoguns, homemade bombs. They look like gang members from the Lower Sector."

The corner of Rovi's mouth lifted slightly, revealing a trace of coldness.

"Gang members... Kais really has no better tricks."

He rose to his feet and straightened his collar.

"No, that's not right."

Rovi abruptly stopped, his brows knitting tightly.

If they were merely gang members, Kais had no reason to wait until now.

Those people who had tried to burn the Fermentation Tanks earlier were a clear precedent.

Kais knew perfectly well that violence alone could hardly destroy Granary Seven as it was now.

Unless...

Rovi's gaze fell upon the machinery manual.

In his mind flashed the feverish look in the Adeptus Mechanicus Magos's eyes when he saw the modified Harvester.

And that faint, unsettling intuition.

"Buck." Rovi's voice grew urgent. "Which direction did those people come in from?"

"The Eastern Sector, near Irrigation Canal Three."

"Irrigation Canal Three..." Rovi swiftly constructed a map of the granary in his mind. "It connects to the underground water circulation system. It's the water source for these wheat fields."

They had not come to burn the grain.

They had come to poison the water.

Or perhaps something even worse.