Three Circles

Until dawn, the last screw was finally tightened.

Six gleaming Heavy Logging Guns sat side by side on the test stand, their cold muzzles aimed straight at the workshop doors.

Rovi straightened his back, a dull ache running through his spine.

He took the towel Buck handed him, wiped the grease from his hands, and walked up to the test stand.

"Load them."

Two servitors hoisted heavy ammunition boxes and pressed golden belts into the feed mechanisms.

"Buck, you test-fire." Rovi stepped back, yielding the firing position. "Remember, burst fire. Don't hold the trigger down like a madman. These barrels can't take prolonged overheating."

"Got it!"

Buck rubbed his hands together in excitement.

He gripped the rough handle like caressing a lover.

"Brrrrp."

The muffled roar of gunfire echoed through the sealed workshop, stinging eardrums.

Flames spat from the muzzles, half a meter long.

Shell casings rained onto the floor with crisp clinks.

In the distance, several thick scrap steel targets were instantly riddled with holes, sparks flying.

"Stop."

Rovi raised his hand.

The gunfire ceased abruptly.

Smoke curled from the muzzles, carrying an intoxicating scent of gunpowder.

"No jams, no bursts." Rovi stepped forward to check the actions. "Cooling's normal. Looks like the Machine Spirit is satisfied."

Buck grinned, baring yellowed teeth.

"Now that's a man's romance! With these beauties, even if a Chimera comes charging at us, I'll put it down!"

"Don't get too cocky."

Rovi poured cold water on him. "This firepower can at most suppress light infantry."

"If it's a Space Marine, or something worse, these guns are no better than fire pokers."

He turned, gazing at the sky gradually brightening outside the workshop.

Gray morning mist shrouded the entire granary.

The unsettling tension in the air hadn't faded with the sunrise—it had only grown heavier.

"Mount the guns at key points in the trench. Two at the main gate, two at the Eastern Sector irrigation canal entrance, the last two as a mobile reserve."

Rovi issued the orders. "Also, have Priest Alpha modify the Incendiary Grenades into booby traps and set them in blind spots."

"But Advisor, we only have fifty grenades..."

"Then use them where they count." Rovi said coldly. "Remember, we're not fighting a positional war—we're defending home. Anything that dares step onto this land will pay the price."

Meanwhile.

In the basement of Workshop Seven.

The entity now called "Kais"—the Wetware Server—hummed softly.

The brain that once belonged to the obese Supervisor now floated in a glass tank filled with Nutrient Paste.

Electrodes and tubes bristled from every surface.

Freed from the shackles of flesh, stripped of useless desires, this brain displayed astonishing computational power.

Countless data streams poured in through the conduits, were processed rapidly, and redistributed.

Grain stockpiles, fuel consumption, personnel shifts, trench progress...

Every detail of Granary Seven was under this brain's surveillance.

Yet, on this morning.

This efficiently running brain detected anomalous data fluctuations.

Readings from the groundwater quality monitoring system.

The water quality indicators for the Eastern Sector's Irrigation Canal were slowly changing.

Not toxins. Not bacteria.

But an eerie shift that couldn't be measured by conventional chemical metrics.

The water's viscosity was increasing.

The surface tension of the water was decreasing.

And at certain specific frequencies, the sound of the flow was no longer a gurgling rush.

Instead, it became a low, murmuring whisper.

"Alert... logic error... cannot parse..."

Kais's brain twitched faintly in the Nutrient Paste.

Then emitted a jumble of chaotic electronic signals.

But soon, this anomaly was suppressed by some powerful will.

A will from the Warp, ancient and decayed.

It was like a drop of ink falling into clear water.

Silently seeping, spreading, dyeing everything the color of despair.

The data stream quickly calmed.

This faint ripple of abnormality was cleverly concealed.

As if it had never existed.

By the time Rovi returned to his office, it was already eight in the morning.

He had slept less than two hours, yet he forced himself to sit upright at his desk.

The desk was piled high with reports and documents.

He picked up the top one.

It was about the "Mixed Protein Formula"—

the report feedback on that pot of green soup made from rats and cockroaches.

"No obvious adverse reactions after consumption. Physical recovery is good."

"Some Laborers reported a slight improvement in taste and hope to increase the supply..."

Rovi looked at the report and gave a bitter smile.

Human adaptability was truly terrifying.

As long as they could survive, even eating this kind of stuff, they could find merits in it.

He picked up a quill and scrawled a line on the report:

"Approved to increase supply by 10%."

"At the same time, strengthen water filtration to ensure the soup water must be boiled three times."

After writing this, his hand suddenly paused.

A nameless sense of palpitation surged into his heart.

He instinctively touched the lead plate on his chest.

The Amulet Fragment sealed inside was neither hot nor vibrating now.

It was as quiet as a piece of ordinary scrap metal.

But that only made Rovi feel more uneasy.

Like the calm before a storm.

Too quiet.

Since that Black Robe Cultist died, aside from the failed poisoning attempt, Nurgle's followers had vanished without a trace, making no further moves.

This wasn't right.

Chaos never gave up easily.

They were like a bone-gnawing maggot.

Once they set their sights on a target, they would fight to the death.

What were they waiting for?

Rovi stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the square below.

Laborers were drinking the green soup, their faces glowing with satisfaction.

Defense Force soldiers were wiping down their newly issued weapons, their eyes full of fighting spirit.

Everything seemed normal.

So normal it was abnormal.

Just then, his gaze landed on an inconspicuous corner.

Below the administration building, a rainwater collection tank.

Because of last night's acid rain, the tank was filled with a layer of murky rainwater.

Several flies were dancing around the surface of the water.

There was nothing strange about that in itself.

In a place like an agri-world, flies outnumbered people.

But...

Rovi narrowed his eyes.

The flight paths of those flies seemed a little too orderly.

They weren't flying about in chaos.

Instead, they circled, dove, and circled again in a pattern.

They traced a shape in the air.

Three circles.

Arranged in a triangle.

One above, two below.

Rovi sucked in a sharp breath.

That was the mark of Nurgle!