For the Green Soup

Yet this did not mean safety.

Rovi rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping over the headless black-robed corpse.

And the pool of blood on the carpet, reeking with a foul stench.

That was the blood of a Follower of Nurgle.

Even with the man dead, the Warp Virus contained in his blood remained active.

If left unattended, this office would soon become a breeding ground for fungus and pustules.

It might even spawn a few Nurglings.

Pests far more troublesome than rats.

"Barker."

"Here, Advisor."

The one-eyed commander was currently toying with the dagger confiscated from the black-robed man, a look of disgust on his face.

"Don't touch that thing, unless you want your hand to rot off." Rovi glanced at him, his tone flat.

"Send someone to the Repair Workshop, ask Tech-Priest Alpha for two barrels of 'Holy Purge'—that's high-concentration industrial bleach mixed with Promethium Fuel."

"That much trouble?" Barker blinked.

"If we don't handle it this way, in a few days, whatever grows out of here will devour everyone in the entire Executive Building."

Rovi walked to the corner of the wall.

"Also, notify everyone to seal off the Ventilation Ducts on this floor. I don't want spores drifting into my coffee."

He paused, then added:

"Announce to the public that we are conducting a necessary ritual to purify the ill fortune left behind by Supervisor Kase."

"Understood." Barker shuddered and tossed the dagger far away. "So... what about those people downstairs? They've been standing for an hour."

Rovi walked to the window.

Through the thick, bulletproof glass, the square below was a sea of black.

Fifty thousand newly armed Farm Workers stood like silent statues.

They held sickles, wrenches, even spears sharpened from steel pipes.

This was a dangerous force.

If guided properly, they were the most efficient production machines;

if they spiraled out of control, they were a flood that could overturn the entire base of the Hive City.

"They aren't waiting for me. They're waiting for a certain future."

Rovi straightened his collar.

Though it was just an ordinary Defense Force coat, he put it on with care, ensuring every button was fastened in its proper place.

In this chaotic world, image was an extension of order.

"Let's go. To the balcony. It's time to put an end to this 'coup.'"

The third-floor terrace of the Executive Council faced the square below.

This was originally where Kase reviewed his Private Soldiers, indulging his vanity.

The railing was even plated with a thin layer of gold leaf.

Though now it was corroded and mottled by acid rain.

When Rovi's figure appeared on the terrace, the previously deathly still crowd below stirred with a ripple of unrest.

Not cheers, but uneasy murmurs.

Rovi did not rush to speak.

He walked to the loudspeaker, reached out, and patted its rust-caked casing.

"Zzz."

A piercing screech of static instantly drowned out the crowd's murmurs.

Rovi frowned.

He pulled a small bottle of lubricant from his pocket, dripped it into the crevices of the speaker's knob, and muttered a low phrase:

"Praise the Machine God, may this oil soothe your temper."

This was, of course, no prayer—just routine mechanical maintenance.

But to onlookers, it appeared as a mysterious ritual performed by someone bearing the title of "Tech-Priest."

The static died down.

Rovi gripped the railing, his deep brown eyes looking down at fifty thousand pairs of eyes filled with fear, hunger, and confusion.

He didn't wave or offer a friendly smile.

His expression was as cold and hard as stone.

"I am Rovi."

His voice echoed across the square through the loudspeaker, carrying a metallic quality.

"I know what you're worried about."

"You're worried whether tomorrow's green soup will be canceled, whether you'll be gunned down by the Defense Force as rioters, whether the new supervisor will be greedier than Kase."

The crowd fell silent.

Rovi had spoken the deepest fears in their hearts.

"I can tell you plainly: Supervisor Kase, due to 'health reasons,' has gone to the Adeptus Mechanicus for 'deep treatment.'"

This was the truth.

Though that treatment process was usually called "Wetware Conversion."

"From now on, Granary Seven is under my command."

Rovi's voice rose a few notes, carrying an unyielding coldness.

"I won't promise you freedom, nor will I promise you wealth."

"Under the Emperor's gaze, that is a peace only the dead can enjoy."

"I promise only one thing: order."

He raised a finger, pointing at the row of deep fermentation tanks rumbling in the distance.

"As long as you follow my rules, report to work on time, and complete your harvest quotas, the daily green soup ration will increase in concentration by 20% from the baseline."

"First-class laborers who perform exceptionally well can receive a real Synth-Starch Block each week."

A stifled gasp erupted from the crowd.

A Synth-Starch Block!

That was a "delicacy" only overseers and guards could occasionally taste.

Though it was compressed from Corpse Starch and some kind of algae, it was at least solid food—something that let you feel your stomach exist.

"But!"

Rovi's tone shifted sharply, his words as biting as a blade.

"If anyone tries to slack off, sabotage the machines, or pull any tricks behind the scenes... the fermentation tanks are always short on raw materials."

"I wouldn't mind turning you into next year's fertilizer, making your final contribution to the Empire's agriculture."

"Understood?"

"Yes!"

Scattered responses rose at first, then quickly converged into a mighty roar.

"Praise Advisor Rovi!"

"For the green soup!"

Rovi watched this scene, his heart utterly unmoved.

This wasn't some kind of personal worship; it was just the instinct of living things to survive.

In a world where human lives were cheaper than fuel, whoever could give you a bite to eat was a god.

He turned his back on the cheering crowd, and the cold hardness on his face instantly faded, revealing a trace of weariness.

"Barker," he ordered in a low voice.

"Here."

"Have the guards guide them back to the barracks in batches. Reinforce the mutual responsibility system. Impose a curfew tonight—no one leaves the dormitory area without my orders."

Rovi glanced at the sky.

The thick radiation clouds were churning, faintly tinged with an ominous purple-red.

That was a sign of an approaching Warp Storm.

"Notify Priest Alpha. Have him send two heavy Enginseers immediately."

"I plan to seal off all the irrigation canals around the Executive Council building and convert them into a Defensive Trench."

Barker was taken aback: "Defense? Against who? Isn't Kase already taken care of?"

Rovi shook his head, his gaze deep.

"Kase was just a puppet pushed to the front. That Black Robe Cultist is dead, but the master behind him is still out there."

"Followers of Chaos are like cockroaches—when you see one, the cracks in the walls are already packed full."

Rovi touched the Amulet Fragment beneath the lead plate on his chest.

That nauseating feeling of being watched hadn't disappeared; instead, it had grown stronger.

"I have a feeling the real trouble is just beginning."