Sacred Purification Certificate

The battle was over.

But on this land, another, more insidious and deadly "war" had only just begun.

The war of bureaucracy.

Before this colossal, soul-crushing machine of the Imperium, even a survivor who had just crawled out of a pile of corpses must first learn to bow to those stacks of yellowed Parchment.

As a Rank 4 Scribe, Special Agricultural Advisor, and the de facto wielder of authority as acting Supervisor of Granary Seven, Rovi had no chance to catch his breath.

He had to forcibly switch his mind—which had just been calculating ballistic trajectories and Warp thermal energy—back into the low-efficiency mode of processing documents.

For four whole hours, He was trapped behind a desk stained with grease and blood, like an emotionless stamping machine.

The head of the Health Department, a gaunt old man in a Gas Mask whose speech whistled through gaps in his teeth, Clutched a thirty-page "Cadaver Decontamination Approval Application," droning on about the importance of "standard incineration procedures."

Rovi had to patiently sign his name on the form and add a note:

"No incineration required. Use directly as raw material for Fermentation Vat Three."

This decision made the old man's eyes widen in horror, as if he'd seen a blasphemous monster.

But under Rovi's icy stare, he tremblingly stamped it with the red seal of approval.

In that instant, a flashback hit Rovi's mind.

That afternoon, the obese, mountain-like Supervisor Kase had similarly pressured him into stamping and signing a fraudulent ledger full of holes.

Back then, he was the lamb to the slaughter.

Now, their positions were swapped.

The only difference was that back then, if he hadn't stamped it, Kase would have found a way to kill him and turn him into a pile of shredded meat.

Next came the Logistics Department's requisition form.

One item, "Additional Fuel Consumption," was viciously circled in red by Rovi.

He not only had to explain why the coolant consumption of the Heavy Logging Gun was five times the standard rate, But also fabricate a plausible reason for the several Power Furnaces that had burned out from overload.

Something like, "Short circuit caused by excessive ambient humidity."

Every word had to be weighed.

Every reason had to hold up when the Ministry of the Interior's tax auditors came calling.

What Rovi feared most, however, was the Ecclesiarchy's priest, Father Simon.

This bloated man wore a deep red robe trimmed with gold.

The Priestly Robe, which should have been sacred and solemn, was spattered with mud, But he didn't seem to care.

In his hand, he swung a Brass Censer, whose thick, suffocating medicinal scent barely masked the sour stench of someone who spent his time in the Slums.

"Praise the Emperor, a holy victory, Advisor Rovi."

Father Simon stepped through the mud into the office.

His small eyes, squeezed into slits by his fat, didn't look at Rovi but scanned the inventory list just tallied on the desk.

"I hear some... unusual 'miracles' appeared on the battlefield?"

He pointed a fat hand, loaded with cheap gemstone rings, out the window and smiled meaningfully.

"Some believers tell me that wall seemed alive. And that purple flame spewing from the gun barrels... doesn't look like standard Imperial tech, does it?"

Rovi's heart jolted.

These priests weren't just spreaders of faith; they were also unofficial eyes and ears for the Ordo Hereticus.

If Father Simon so much as moved his lips, he could slap Rovi with a label like "Heretical Technology" or "Contact with Chaos."

Even if Rovi had just saved the entire granary, he'd be tied to a pyre tomorrow.

His life, Was now in this greedy fat man's hands.

"That's the latest research result from the Adeptus Mechanicus Alpha Priest, Father."

Rovi looked up, his gaze frank and devout.

"It is the Omnissiah's reward to the faithful. To fight those filthy plague monsters, we need a fiercer flame, don't we?"

"Of course, of course. Flame is always good." Father Simon chuckled, his little eyes darting between Rovi and the inventory list. "But flame needs Fuel, just as faith needs offerings."

"Our church's relief porridge is running low. The poor faithful are still going hungry. If they get desperate enough, they might start having some... unwanted visions."

"For example, treating those sacred Machine Spirits as creations of demons."

This was blackmail.

And also a tacit transaction.

Rovi understood.

If enough "hush money" was paid, the metal walls would be a "miracle"; if too little, they'd be "heresy."

"Two crates." Rovi held up two fingers, his voice calm. "Two crates of Special Synth-Starch Blocks. Additionally, I'll donate fifty gallons of fuel to the church in the name of Granary Seven, for the 'Purification Ritual.'"

Father Simon's eyes lit up instantly.

His meaningful smile shifted into a satisfied, benevolent one.

"Ah, the Emperor will see your piety, Advisor."

He quickly pulled a pre-prepared parchment from his wide sleeve.

On it was already stamped with a bright red Ecclesiarchy Seal—the Sacred Purification Certificate.

"Those metal walls are sacred; those flames are pure. I have already felt the Emperor's will."

The Father slapped the certificate onto the table.

He grabbed two Material Requisition Forms, turned, and walked away briskly.

Rovi let out a long breath.

At least for now, he was safe.

Father Simon hadn't dug deeper, meaning he had temporarily passed the "Political Screening."

In this world, greed was often more reassuring than fanaticism.

Because greed could be satisfied.

But fanaticism couldn't.

Within this vast and bloated Imperial machine, efficiency was an ancient word forgotten ten thousand years ago.

Only procedures—tedious, rigid, even absurd procedures—were the eternal truth.

Every document needed a signature.

Every decision needed a stamp.

Every damn process was like a rusted gate.

If you didn't grease it with lubricant called "bribery" or "intimidation," it wouldn't budge even if the sky fell.

By the time Rovi finally signed the last name on the "Wartime Temporary Special Allowance Distribution Form for Granary Seven,"

and shook off the department heads buzzing around him like flies, it was already late at night.

His wrist ached more than when he'd gripped a gun.

Fatigue urged him to lie down and rest.

But just as he was about to loosen his collar button, a suffocating tightness suddenly gripped his chest.

Then came a burning heat.

The Amulet Fragment, carefully hidden in his inner pocket and sandwiched between Double-Layered Lead Plates, was actually growing warm!

Rovi's gaze froze.

This fragment, stripped from the corpse of a Follower of Nurgle, was a twisted creation of Chaos.

A medium used by Nurgle's followers to identify each other and sense "blessings."

Rovi had always treated it as a Geiger Counter for early warning.

Whenever an abnormal Rotting Power surged nearby, it would react like a compass needle to a magnet, generating some heat.

But according to the Kais Wetware Server's monitoring, the plague army in the surrounding area had already retreated, and even the spore concentration in the air was dropping.

If there was no external threat...

The only possibility was internal.

Right where the Warp Crystal was stored, where the Blasphemous Experiment had taken place.

Simple logical deduction instantly dispelled all drowsiness.

Rovi didn't hesitate.

He quickly smoothed out his slightly wrinkled uniform and fastened the top button of his collar.

He strode briskly toward the Elevator leading to the Underground Bunker of the Seventh Repair Workshop.

The air in the basement was even more foul than outside.

It was thick with the damp heat of High-Pressure Steam leaks and the burnt tang of overheated metal.

The old, worn Grating Floor groaned underfoot.

The six blasphemously modified Heavy Logging Guns—the weapons that had done so much in this fight—were now nothing but scrap.

Their barrels had completely melted, drooping over the firing ports like pools of congealed wax.

The rifling inside had been ground smooth by the High-Energy Plasma Stream, and the red-hot metal was cooling slowly, crackling with sharp pops.

The Warp Crystal, placed in the Water Tank as the core heat source, had also shattered.

Only a pile of gray-white powder remained, floating on the murky coolant.

Clearly, Tech-Priest Alpha's repair work had failed.

It had not only destroyed the Heavy Logging Guns but also the Warp Crystal core, triggering a radiation of plague energy.

Alpha stood in the middle of the wreckage now.

Several of his Mechanical Tentacles were gently coiled around the melted barrels.

His movements were soft, as if caressing a lover's skin.

The red light in his bionic eye was fixed, unmoving.

Instead of scanning data as usual, it held a dazed, distant look.

"Such perfect repair and evolution..."

The Tech-Priest's electronic voicebox crackled with static, like a sleep-talker's murmur.

"The sacred fusion of organic and inorganic... This is the revelation of the Omnissiah..."

"Heat, life, steel—they were always meant to be one..."

A chilling sense of "bliss" was spreading through the Tech-Priest's logic circuits.

Rovi's pupils narrowed.

He glanced at the ashes in the Water Tank, his mind racing to an unsettling conclusion:

That Warp Crystal, after being modified into an energy source, had also become a trap.

It didn't just provide heat.

It was subtly implanting a cognitive code of "life's great harmony" through the data interface, corrupting the user.

And Alpha, as the direct contact, had clearly been infected by the Digital Plague.

Rovi had to go back to the office.

When he returned, he was carrying the Silver Suitcase the Governor had airdropped.

The "Clarity" agent inside had long been used up by the Defense Force officers.

But there was an empty bottle, with a few last drops of pale blue liquid at the bottom.

He walked up behind the Tech-Priest.

Without a moment's hesitation.

He reached out, grabbed the Main Data Cable connecting to the Nerve Center at the back of Alpha's neck.

And yanked it out.

"Zzzt!"

Sparks flew.

At the same time, Rovi splashed the last few icy drops of the liquid directly onto the remaining half of the Tech-Priest's human face.

"Wake up, Alpha!"

Rovi warned sharply.

"This is a virus, not repair or evolution!"

"Look at these guns—they're ruined. That so-called miracle is just Chaos's filth!"