Accomplices

The moment the liquid touched his skin, the Priest's body jerked violently.

He let out a bloodcurdling scream.

It was like some program running into a serious logical conflict.

The red light in his eyes began flashing wildly, so fast it was hard to follow.

"Warning. Logic error... Core rebooting..."

A broken electronic voice forced its way out of his throat.

Rovi breathed a sigh of relief.

It seemed that physically disconnecting him from the network and adding chemical stimulation had worked.

However.

Just as Rovi was about to release his grip and check the water tank,

a servo-arm, its tip crackling with pale-blue arcs, emerged from beneath the Priest's voluminous red robes.

It didn't tremble in the slightest, nor did it hesitate.

Like a venomous snake poised to strike.

"Vrrm."

The nozzle of a plasma cutter pressed directly against Rovi's throat.

It was less than two millimeters from his skin.

Rovi could feel the heat, hot enough to vaporize flesh and blood in an instant, scorching his Adam's apple.

He froze.

Cold sweat soaked his back in an instant.

That reaction speed, that precise control—

there was no way a Tech-Priest who had only just awakened from his frenzy, his logic in disarray, could manage it.

"Logic gate assessment... Passed."

Priest Alpha's voice abruptly changed.

The dazed, feverish tone vanished without a trace.

His voice returned to its utterly emotionless mechanical coldness.

Though droplets of the liquid still clung to the half-mask of human skin on his face, the eerie "blissful smile" had disappeared.

"Subject: Rovi Dann."

"Status: Sanity intact. No signs of advanced corruption detected."

"Threat level: Lowered to 'stable and controllable.'"

The servo-arm didn't move away. It remained trained steadily on Rovi's vital points.

The Priest slowly turned around.

His red bionic eyes were now exceptionally clear.

Like two burning rubies, they scrutinized the mortal before him.

"My organic components were indeed affected by the plague's 'bliss' just now. That pleasure was undeniable, and it demonstrates how potent the plague's code is against flesh."

The Priest explained calmly.

"However, my logic core was running an independent 'final defense protocol' in the background the entire time."

Rovi understood. "So you were testing me?"

"Obviously, Advisor."

The Priest's mechanical tentacle moved slightly as it performed some sort of data filing.

"I was waiting to see what you would choose. Once you saw me fall into a frenzy, once you saw this blasphemous technology display its astonishing power on the battlefield..."

"If you had chosen not to wake me just now, but instead looked greedy and tried to exploit my madness to continue researching Chaos technology..."

"Or if you had worn that 'blissful' smile yourself..."

The Priest raised another mechanical hand and pointed at the mechanical clock on the wall, still ticking away.

"A Mars-based Tech-Reclaim Squad will arrive in this star system in four standard Terran hours."

"Before then, to ensure the purity of the Omnissiah, I will initiate the self-destruct sequence."

"First, I'll use this cutter to slice you into thirty-six standard pieces. Then I'll detonate the Power Furnace in the basement."

The Priest's voice didn't waver.

He might as well have been saying, "I'm going to change the machine oil."

"To the Adeptus Mechanicus, a fallen Priest and a corrupted mortal Advisor dying together in an 'experimental accident' is an entirely acceptable loss. A necessary sacrifice."

Rovi stared at the plasma cutter humming in the Priest's hand.

He didn't feel angry.

Instead, the relief of having narrowly escaped death, along with a newfound understanding, welled up inside him.

He'd always thought he was using the Priest.

He'd thought he was the one controlling the situation, the player moving the pieces.

He'd thought he was saving this poor soul who had been corrupted.

In truth, he'd just taken a walk through the gates of death.

If he'd hesitated for even a second.

If he'd had even the slightest thought of controlling the mad Priest so he could continue researching stronger, more blasphemous Chaos weapons...

Then he'd already be a pile of minced flesh.

This dour, fanatical Tech-Priest wasn't nearly as easy to fool as Rovi had imagined.

His logic core had always retained a final firewall called "loyalty."

It was absolute rationality, bought at the price of self-destruction.

Rovi forced down the violent pounding of his heart.

He held out one finger and gently pushed aside the blade at his throat.

"Seems your logic core can do more than calculate. It can also set traps for suspects, Priest."

Rovi straightened his collar, a self-mocking smile on his face.

"Now that I've passed your 'Turing test,' does that make us accomplices?"

At that, Priest Alpha fell silent for two seconds.

The deadly servo-arm slowly withdrew beneath his robes.

The red light in his eyes flickered as he weighed and defined something complex.

"Yes, Advisor."

"We are... necessary heretics walking along the edge of the abyss. So long as the result is pure, the data from the process can be corrected."

With that, the Priest turned and began clearing the ashes from the water tank.

His movements had returned to their usual precision and efficiency.

Rovi studied the hunched figure, propped up by mechanical limbs, and the coldness in his eyes eased a little.

In this desperate universe, full of madmen, monsters, and holy fools,

finding a clever person who understood both "flexibility" and "boundaries," even if he was a half-man, half-ghost Mechanic...

was a rare stroke of luck indeed.

Clearing the basement was a meticulous and time-consuming job.

Rovi helped Priest Alpha seal away the ashes of the Warp core, the remains of blasphemy and madness, along with the wreckage of six Heavy Logging Guns, warped and melted beyond repair, inside lead-lined recovery crates.

Then, after they'd stamped the crates with "Grade Three Industrial Waste" labels, pushed open the heavy airtight door, and emerged from the Underground Bunker,

the horizon outside was already tinged with a sickly glow.

The purple-red sky weighed oppressively overhead.

But the suffocating fog had thinned considerably.

Rovi felt tired.

It wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was also the mental strain of dancing on the edge of a blade.

"Ahhh!"

A bloodcurdling scream rose from the trench ahead, shattering the stillness of dawn.

Then came more cries, one after another.

The "bliss" effects of the Enhanced Green Slop had worn off completely.

The laborers, who had felt no pain during the battle and had smiled as they lost limbs, were now facing the backlash of reality.

Pain swept over them like a rising tide.

Some broke down sobbing as they stared at their empty sleeves;

others clutched their festering wounds and writhed in the muddy water;

and some, unable to bear the psychological shock, began smashing themselves against the walls like madmen.

Buck stood at the edge of the trench with several soldiers.

The One-Eyed Commander showed little joy in victory.

He had simply injected himself with Clarity Agent ahead of time.

So he had experienced the pain of regaining his senses earlier than anyone else.

When he saw Rovi approach, Buck hurriedly gave him a respectful salute.

"Advisor." Buck pointed at the wounded and began his report. "A lot of them are badly injured, and some are starting to develop spots."

Rovi stopped.

He looked at the human shapes struggling in the mud.

The Priest had taught him a lesson in the basement just now:

in this damned universe, only absolute rationality and coldness could keep you alive.

"Separate them into groups."

Rovi issued his order calmly.

"Give the severely wounded an overdose of painkillers, especially those whose wounds have started developing abnormal spots and those suffering mental collapse with no chance of returning to work. It'll let them go with some dignity."

Buck trembled. "And then?"

"Then send them to Fermentation Vat Three." Rovi adjusted his glove. "We've used up too much fertilizer, and next quarter's production needs raw materials."

"As for the lightly wounded, bandage them and give them double rations. We need them back at work."

"Yes, Advisor."

It was cruel.

But it was fair.

Anything without value had to be turned into something valuable.

Rovi returned to the Command Tower office.

He connected to the "Kais" server.

Dense green characters flickered across the monitor.

"Compile the surrounding intelligence," Rovi ordered.

An electronic voice rang out almost immediately.

"Large-scale heat signatures detected... The main plague force has bypassed the Granary Seven defensive perimeter..."

"Redirecting to attack the Granary Four and Granary Nine defensive zones... Estimated contact in two hours..."

Rovi nodded.

Just as he'd expected.

The Plague Gardener lurking behind the scenes was a shrewd businessperson.

After taking a beating at Granary Seven, it had chosen to cut its losses and reap the easier pickings elsewhere.

That was exactly what Rovi wanted.

He had no desire to be a savior.

He only wanted to guard his own little patch of land and balance the books as a Scribe.