The Storm Approaches

"Don't worry."

Rovi's gaze was as calm as still water.

"Do you remember that batch of Black Robe Cultists we had the harvester dispose of in the Eastern Sector warehouse?"

Barker froze for a moment, then his face paled slightly. "You mean the twenty-three that Supervisor Kase sent to the Irrigation Canal entrance to spread the Chaos virus?"

"But... Advisor, for fifty thousand mouths, that much meat isn't even enough to fill a crack between their teeth."

"You've miscalculated, Barker. That's a 'High-Energy Additive,' not a main course."

Rovi corrected his phrasing.

His tone was precise, as if discussing a chemical formula.

"Those twenty-three Black Robe Cultists are just the 'primer.' The real protein source lies in the byproducts of the cleanup process."

He raised a finger.

And drew a circle on the table.

"The Eastern Sector Irrigation Canal and the bottom of the granaries are dark and damp year-round, home to Mutant Rat Swarms and Giant Food Cockroaches in staggering numbers."

"The fire and toxic gas from the harvester didn't just kill the invaders—it smoked all the pests in the area to death in their burrows."

Rovi paused, then delivered a cold statistic.

"According to Alpha Priest's scan, the Biomass Accumulation Layer beneath that area is over half a meter thick."

"Scoop up the charred rats, the smoked cockroaches, along with the undigested grain in their stomachs."

"That's the best mixed-protein feedstock, rich in multiple trace elements."

Hearing this, Barker's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

As if he was fighting back the urge to vomit.

"Run the Fermentation Tank at full power, and notify the Logistics Department to take out all the Moldy Wheat from the warehouse, grind it up, and mix it in."

"But Moldy Wheat will give people diarrhea if they eat it..."

"High-temperature fermentation will kill most of the mold," Rovi said flatly. "As for the remaining toxins, that's a necessary loss. As long as it doesn't kill anyone and they have the strength to work, it's acceptable food."

He pulled a stamp from the drawer.

And pressed it onto the material requisition form Barker had handed over.

"Remember, Barker. We're in a state of war now. Here, human lives are a renewable resource, but food is not."

Barker stared at the crimson stamp, his Adam's apple bobbing again.

But he still straightened his back and saluted.

"As you command, Advisor."

Only after Barker left did Rovi put down his pen and rub his throbbing temples.

He didn't enjoy this kind of cold-blooded calculation.

But in the world of Warhammer 40,000, mercy was a terminal illness that led to total annihilation.

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 heretics, more shrewd than bureaucrats.

He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside, the sky had gone completely dark.

The beams of searchlights swept across the square, stretching the shadows of the Engineering Servitors and Laborers digging trenches into long, distorted shapes.

The roar of machinery, the shouts of Overseers, and the heavy thud of excavation wove together.

A symphony of industrial violence and aesthetics.

And further off in the darkness.

Within the rolling radiation clouds, faint purple lightning could be seen flickering.

That was a rift in the Warp, breathing.

Rovi instinctively touched his chest.

The Amulet Fragment, wrapped in layers of lead plates, was now radiating a faint warmth.

It was not just evidence, but an alarm.

"Nurgle..."

Rovi murmured the forbidden name under his breath.

As a transmigrator, he knew exactly what this meant.

Plague, decay, despair.

The Black Robe cultist was merely a pawn.

True offensives are often launched at the moment when people believe the crisis has passed and let their guard down.

He turned and walked back to his desk.

Picking up the report he had just finished writing, prepared to submit to Governor Alicia.

On the back of the envelope, he added a line of coded shorthand:

"The storm is coming, prepare an umbrella. The ribs are ready, only the skin is lacking."

This was to tell the Governor:

I have already set up the defensive framework here (the umbrella ribs).

But there is a shortage of sufficient heavy weapons and elite troops (the skin) to withstand the full-scale impact about to arrive.

He did not directly ask for reinforcements.

Directly asking for reinforcements would appear incompetent.

What he displayed was an attitude of, "I have done my best with the groundwork; now I need you to complete the final piece."

This would minimize the Governor's displeasure as much as possible.

At the same time, it demonstrated his own value.

"Someone come."

Rovi pressed the call bell on his desk.

A young messenger entered, his expression tense.

"Deliver this letter to the Governor's Mansion, and hand it personally to Captain of the Guard Lilith."

Rovi handed him the envelope. "Tell her this is a 'classified' document concerning the next quarter's tithe production forecast."

"Yes, sir!"

The messenger took the letter, turned, and ran out.

Eastern Sector Warehouse.

Accompanied by the grating sound of gears meshing.

The massive conveyor belt began to crawl slowly.

This track-driven machine, originally used to transport grain, was now carrying a far more unsettling cargo.

It was the "protein" cleaned out from the bottom of the Eastern Sector's irrigation canals—

A viscous mixture composed of charred Mutant Rat corpses, giant cockroaches smoked to death, rotting fungal chunks;

Mixed in with soil and undigested grain residue.

It emitted an indescribable stench of burnt flesh and rot.

Like a black river of death.

It flowed slowly toward the roaring entrance of the Fermentation Workshop.

Rovi stood on the high iron platform, holding a pocket watch, his gaze calm as he watched it all.

He wore no mask.

Even though the air quality around him was bad enough to make any noble from the upper Hive City faint on the spot.

"Inlet flow rate is stable at 1.5 tons per minute."

Priest Alpha beside him asked, "Detected significant fluctuations in organic content. Do we need to adjust the acid spray concentration?"

Rovi glanced down at his pocket watch.

The second hand was ticking with a reassuring rhythm.

"Increase the Industrial Hydrochloric acid injection by 15%."

He said calmly.

As if directing a precise chemical experiment.

"The bones of these rodents have a high degree of calcification. We need a stronger acidic environment to soften them and ensure the calcium can be fully liberated."

He paused, then added, "Also, raise the Reaction Kettle temperature to 120 degrees and maintain high pressure."

"I don't want to see any living parasite eggs in the final product. In this godforsaken world, even diarrhea can kill a man."

"Command confirmed. Adjusting logic circuits."

With the order given.

A pungent white mist rose from the workshop below.

The giant mixing blades began to spin wildly.

Crushing, stirring, and dissolving those nauseating raw materials.