Industrial Alchemy

This was akin to industrial alchemy.

Under the effects of chemical agents, high temperature, and high pressure, rot transformed into nutrients, and corpses became rations.

No magic, no miracles.

Only the cold equations of chemical reactions, faithfully carrying out their work.

Rovi put away his pocket watch, turned, and walked toward the control console.

There sat a beaker, filled with a dark green liquid just drawn from the sampling port.

Thick and viscous, like the secretion of some kind of slug.

A suspicious layer of grayish-brown grease floated on the surface.

After high-temperature sterilization, the nauseating stench of rot had been masked by the scent of chemical flavoring.

"This is the Mixed Protein Formula."

Rovi picked up the beaker and gave it a gentle swirl.

Standing beside him, Barker's face turned pale.

This Defense Force commander, who killed without blinking, had his eye twitching.

"Advisor... are we really going to feed this to them?" Barker asked with difficulty. "This stuff looks like sludge from a sewer."

"Technically speaking, it does originate from the sewer."

Rovi's tone was flat.

"But chemically speaking, it's rich in protein, calcium, salt, and enough calories to sustain heavy physical labor."

He raised the beaker to eye level.

Through the murky liquid, he observed the refraction of light.

"Barker, do you know what hunger is?"

Rovi didn't wait for an answer, speaking as if to himself:

"Hunger isn't your stomach growling. It's your body starting to break down your own muscles. It's your brain beginning to stop thinking. It's your moral sense melting away like snow and ice."

"When a person is starving to the extreme, they'll find this drink sweeter than the Sacred Oil bestowed by the Emperor."

"But..." Barker wanted to say something.

"No buts." Rovi waved a hand.

"Our food stores only last three days. If we don't implement this plan, in three days, these fifty thousand people will turn into beasts."

"By then, we'll either have to kill them all, or be eaten by them."

Having said that, Rovi made a move that left Barker stunned.

He raised the beaker to his lips and, without a moment's hesitation, took a large gulp.

Warm, thick.

A strange salty taste, similar to low-grade synthetic meat.

Unpleasant, but not enough to make him retch.

Rovi swallowed without changing his expression.

After finishing, he smacked his lips like a wine connoisseur.

"The texture's a bit astringent. The bone meal wasn't ground finely enough."

He set down the beaker and took out a handkerchief to wipe the corner of his mouth.

"Have Priest Alpha install an extra set of filters on Grinder Number Two."

"Oh, and add a bit of thickener extracted from red algae, to make it look more like 'porridge' than 'soup.'"

Having witnessed all this, the surprise in Barker's single eye quickly settled into a complex expression blending fear and reverence.

In this world, where class divisions were as insurmountable as trenches, those of higher station typically had only two attitudes toward the food of their inferiors:

Ignore it, or avoid it like the plague.

Yet Rovi had not only touched it, but drunk it.

Not only that, he had seriously pondered how to improve the taste of this sludge, as if he were appraising Amasec Wine.

This was no simple matter of "humble origins" that could explain it.

Barker had lived many years and seen plenty of men who clawed their way up from the bottom.

Once those people got power in their hands, they were often more brutal than those born to nobility.

They were more eager to use whips and exploitation to wash away the stench of poverty clinging to them.

As if by trampling their former peers into the mud, they could make themselves a little nobler.

But Rovi was different.

When he drank that stuff, there was no condescending charity in his eyes, nor any affected reminiscence of past hardships.

Only a chilling calm.

That calm seemed to say:

As long as it was for survival, for that ultimate goal, whether turning people into fertilizer or rats into rations, there was no essential difference to him.

This frightened Barker more than sheer brutality.

Because brutality often stems from emotion.

But this extreme rationality came from some powerful will that Barker couldn't understand, yet instinctively wanted to submit to.

"Go, Barker." Rovi straightened his collar again. "Notify the cafeteria, extra meal tonight."

"Tell everyone, this is to celebrate our repelling of the heretics, specially prepared 'High-Energy Nutritional Supplement'."

"Yes, Esteemed Advisor!"

Barker straightened his back and gave a standard military salute.

This time, there was no hesitation in his movements, only obedience.

Night fell.

On the square of Granary Seven, searchlight beams pierced the darkness.

Fifty thousand laborers held all kinds of containers in their hands.

Some had deformed lunchboxes, others half plastic buckets.

Some held rusty helmets.

They formed a long line.

Large stainless steel insulated barrels were brought out.

Steaming, dark green viscous liquid was ladled out spoonful by spoonful.

Just as Rovi had predicted, no one complained about what the ingredients were.

For these bottom-tier people who had been in a state of semi-starvation for years.

Being able to eat this sticky, warm, salty, and oily food was simply a luxury.

Slurping and swallowing sounds rose and fell.

Rovi stood in the shadow of the administration building, watching the scene through the floor-to-ceiling window.

He did not go out to accept cheers.

As a qualified manager, maintaining a sense of mystery and distance at such times was more effective than being approachable.

"Data shows the crowd's emotional index has risen by 30%."

Priest Alpha appeared behind him at some point.

Several Mechanical Tentacles deftly operated the data board in his hands.

"The incidence of fights and brawls has dropped to zero in the past hour. It seems carbohydrates and protein are indeed the best sedatives for maintaining order."

"This is only a temporary measure."

Rovi turned around.

He did not let his guard down because of the temporary peace.

"Full bellies mean strength, and strength means ideas."

He walked to his desk.

Picked up a material consumption report that had just been delivered. "We need to find an outlet for this extra strength."

He used a quill to draw a few lines on the back of the report.

"Starting tomorrow, increase the intensity of trench digging. Change the original three-shift rotation to two shifts. Since they're eating better, they naturally have to work harder."

"Logical." Priest Alpha's artificial eye flickered. "However, Esteemed Advisor, I noticed your instruction to add trace amounts of antibiotics to the formula earlier..."

"It's a preventive measure."

Rovi walked to the map on the wall.

It was a detailed structural map of Granary Seven and the surrounding area.

Several key nodes were marked in red pen.

"We burned those poisoners and cleaned the Irrigation Canal, but the contamination left by the Lord of Pestilence... I mean, those heretics, might be more stubborn than we think."

Rovi pointed to a drainage outlet in the Eastern Sector.

"While observing the food distribution earlier, I noticed slight red spots on the arms of a few laborers."

"The color is very faint, looks like ordinary allergies or eczema. But the distribution is suspicious, all near lymph nodes."

Priest Alpha's mechanical body stiffened slightly, and he asked seriously:

"You suspect it's a Chaos virus infection?"

"I don't suspect. I plan for the worst."

Rovi's voice dropped low.

"Alpha, I need you to find those people. Make up any excuse—say it's a 'nutritional imbalance causing adverse reactions.' Isolate them in a separate medical tent."

"And then?"

"Then use your Industrial UV Lamp to give them a thorough 'treatment.'"

Rovi's gaze was cold as ice.

"If the red spots fade, send them back. If they start to ulcerate or ooze pus..."

He didn't finish the sentence.

He just made a throat-slitting gesture.

Mercy to a few is cruelty to the many.

To keep these fifty thousand people alive, sacrificing a few potential infection sources was a necessary calculation.

Just then, the communicator on the table rang, cutting through the oppressive silence between them.

It was an encrypted channel on the command frequency.

Rovi strode over and pressed the answer key.

"This is Granary Seven. Rovi speaking."

Barker's voice came through the communicator, urgent but excited:

"Advisor, a convoy's arrived. Not Defense Force issue—by the paint job... it's the Governor's Mansion's Black Armor Guard!"

Rovi's hand tightened slightly around the communicator, his tone steady: "Who's leading them?"

"Captain of the Guard Lilith, here on the Governor's orders for an inspection."

Rovi exchanged a glance with Alpha the Priest.

Here they come.

Faster and more direct than expected.

"Let them in." Rovi issued the order quickly. "No obstruction, no inspection. Escort them directly to the square in front of the admin building. I'll wait for her there."

He ended the call.

Rovi straightened his slightly worn Defense Force greatcoat.

Then touched the cold lead plate against his chest.

This was the first real political test he'd face since crossing over.

Facing Supervisor Kase before—that was an intellectual stomp.

Facing Tax Officer Marquez—that was a game played within the rules.

But now, facing the special envoy of the Governor, the highest authority on this agricultural planet.

Any tiny mistake.

And all his efforts so far would turn to nothing.

"Alpha." Rovi stopped at the door. "Tell those Engineering Servitors to crank up the noise."

"I want the Captain of the Guard to see a fortress running at full speed, not a refugee camp waiting for handouts."

"As you wish, Advisor."

Ten minutes later.

With the low roar of engines.

Three "Chimera" armored Personnel Carriers, coated in matte black paint, rolled over the freshly laid gravel road and stopped in the square before the admin building.

The doors opened.

A squad of fully armed Black Armor Soldiers jumped out swiftly.

They expertly seized the high ground around the perimeter.

Their movements were sharp, ruthless, carrying the killing intent of elites who had truly seen blood.

Compared to them, Barker's ragtag Defense Force in mismatched armor looked like farmers in uniforms.

Finally, the hatch of the middle vehicle slowly opened.

A foot encased in a black metal combat boot stepped onto the ground.

Captain of the Guard Lilith emerged.