"Don't worry."
Rovi's gaze was calm as still water.
"Do you remember those black-robed men the Harvester dealt with at the Eastern Sector warehouse?"
Buck froze for a moment, then his face paled. "You mean the twenty-three men Supervisor Kase sent to the Irrigation Canal entrance to spread the Chaos virus?"
"But... Advisor, that little bit of meat wouldn't even be enough to fill a tooth for fifty thousand mouths."
"You've got the numbers wrong, Buck. That's a 'High-Energy Additive,' not a staple food."
Rovi corrected his wording.
His tone was precise, as if he were discussing a chemical formula.
"The twenty-three black-robed men were just the 'bait.' The real source of protein lies in the byproducts of the cleanup."
He held out a finger.
He drew a circle on the tabletop.
"The Irrigation Canal in the Eastern Sector and the bottoms of the granaries have been dark and damp for years. They're home to huge numbers of Mutant Rat Swarms and Giant Food Cockroaches."
"The fire and toxic fumes caused by the Harvester didn't just kill the invaders. They also smoked out every pest in the area, killing them in their burrows."
Rovi paused, then gave a cold figure.
"According to Priest Alpha's scans, the Biomass Accumulation Layer beneath that area is over half a meter thick."
"Scoop up the charred rats, the smoke-killed cockroaches, and the undigested grain in their guts."
"That's the best mixed-protein raw material, rich in all kinds of trace elements."
At this, Buck's Adam's apple bobbed violently.
He seemed to be struggling to hold back the urge to vomit.
"Run the Fermentation Tanks at full capacity. Then notify the Logistics Department to bring out all the moldy, aged wheat in the warehouse. Grind it up and mix it in."
"But Moldy Wheat gives people diarrhea if they eat it..."
"High-temperature fermentation will kill most of the mold," Rovi said evenly. "As for the remaining toxins, that's a necessary loss. As long as it doesn't kill people and gives them enough strength to work, it counts as acceptable food."
He took a stamp from his desk drawer.
He pressed it onto the requisition form Buck had handed him.
"Remember, Buck. We're in a state of war. Here, human lives are a renewable resource, but food isn't."
Buck looked at the bright red stamp, his Adam's apple bobbing once.
Then he straightened up and gave a military salute.
"Yes, Advisor."
Only after Buck had left did Rovi put down his pen and rub his aching temples.
He didn't like this kind of cold calculation.
But in the world of Warhammer 40,000, mercy was a terminal illness that could wipe out the entire group.
If he wanted to survive.
If he wanted to pull this planet back from the brink of destruction.
He had to be more ruthless than the heretics and more shrewd than the bureaucrats.
He rose and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside, the sky had grown completely dark.
Searchlights swept across the plaza, stretching the shadows of the Engineering Servitors and laborers digging trenches into long shapes.
The rumble of machinery, the Overseers' shouts, and the heavy sounds of excavation blended together.
They formed a symphony steeped in the brutal beauty of industry.
Farther away, in the darkness.
Purple lightning flickered faintly within the roiling radiation clouds.
It was a tear in the Warp, breathing.
Rovi instinctively touched his chest.
The Amulet Fragment, wrapped in layer upon layer of lead, was giving off a faint warmth.
It was not only evidence. It was also an alarm.
"Nurgle..."
Rovi murmured the forbidden name.
As someone who had crossed into this world, he knew exactly what it meant.
Plague, decay, despair.
And the black-robed cultists were only pawns.
The real assault often came just when people thought the crisis was over and let their guard down.
He turned back to his desk.
He picked up the report he had just written, ready to submit to Governor Alicia.
On the back of the envelope, he added a line in tiny coded script:
"A storm is coming; we need umbrellas. The ribs are ready, but the canopy is missing."
It was his way of telling the Governor:
The defenses here—the umbrella ribs—were already in place.
But they lacked enough heavy weapons and elite troops—the canopy—to withstand the coming full-scale assault.
He didn't ask for help outright.
Asking directly would make him seem incompetent.
Instead, he showed that he had done everything he could to lay the groundwork, and now needed her to complete the final piece of the puzzle.
That would minimize the Governor's displeasure.
At the same time, it would demonstrate his value.
"Someone come in."
Rovi pressed the call bell on his desk.
A young messenger entered, looking nervous.
"Take this letter to the Governor's Mansion and deliver it personally to Captain of the Guard Lilith."
Rovi handed him the envelope. "Tell her it's a 'top secret' document concerning next quarter's Imperial Tithe production forecast."
"Yes!"
The messenger took the letter and ran out.
Eastern Sector warehouse.
With the grating clatter of interlocking gears,
the massive Conveyor Belt began to move slowly.
This tracked machine, originally used to transport grain, was now carrying something far more unsettling.
It was "protein" cleared from the bottom of the Eastern Sector Irrigation Canal—
a mixture of charred Mutant Rat carcasses, Giant Food Cockroaches killed by smoke, and rotting clumps of fungus;
soil and undigested grain residue were mixed in, forming a thick slurry.
It gave off an indescribable stench of smoke and decay.
Like a black river of death,
it flowed slowly toward the entrance of the roaring Fermentation Workshop.
Rovi stood on an elevated iron platform, holding a pocket watch and observing everything with a calm gaze.
He wore no mask.
The air quality around them was bad enough to make any noble from the upper levels of the Hive City faint on the spot.
"The input flow rate is stable at 1.5 tons per minute."
Priest Alpha asked beside him:
"The organic matter content is fluctuating considerably. Should we adjust the concentration of the acid spray?"
Rovi glanced down at his pocket watch.
The second hand ticked in a steady, reassuring rhythm.
"Increase the Industrial Hydrochloric Acid injection rate by fifteen percent."
He spoke calmly.
As if he were supervising a precise chemical experiment.
"These rodents' bones are highly calcified. We need a stronger acidic environment to soften them and ensure the calcium is fully released."
He paused, then added:
"Also, raise the Reaction Kettle's temperature to 120 degrees and keep it under high pressure."
"I don't want to see any living parasite eggs in the finished product. In this damned world, diarrhea can kill people too."
"Command confirmed. Adjusting logic circuits."
As the command was issued,
a pungent white mist rose from the workshop below.
The massive mixing blades began spinning wildly,
pulverizing, stirring, and dissolving the nauseating raw materials.
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