Accomplice

The moment the chemical solution touched his skin, the Tech-Priest's body convulsed violently.

He let out a piercing, agonized scream.

It was as if some running program had encountered a severe logical conflict.

The red light in his eyes began to flicker wildly, at a dizzying frequency.

"Warning, logic error... core reboot..."

Stuttering electronic tones squeezed out from his throat.

Rovi breathed a sigh of relief.

It seemed that physical disconnection from the network, combined with chemical stimulation, had done the trick.

But then.

Just as Rovi was about to let go and check the Water Tank.

A servo-mechanical arm, its tip crackling with blue arcs of electricity, emerged from beneath the Tech-Priest's wide red robe.

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

Like a venomous snake coiled to strike.

"Hum."

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

Less than two millimeters from his skin.

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

He froze.

Cold sweat soaked through his back in an instant.

That reaction speed, that precise control.

Absolutely not something a Tech-Priest who had just woken from madness, with a scrambled logic core, could manage.

"Logic gate judgment... passed."

Alpha's voice suddenly shifted.

The dazed, fanatical tone vanished without a trace.

It returned to the cold, emotionless mechanical monotone.

The half-human skin on his face still bore the wet stains of the chemical solution, but the eerie "smile of bliss" was gone.

"Subject: Rovi Dann."

"Status: Reason intact. No signs of deep corruption detected."

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

The servo-mechanical arm didn't withdraw. It remained steady, aimed at Rovi's vital point.

The Tech-Priest slowly turned around.

His red bionic eyes were now perfectly clear.

Like two burning rubies, scrutinizing the mortal before him.

"Just now, my organic components were indeed affected by the Plague's 'sense of bliss.' That was undeniable pleasure—and also the strength of the Plague code targeting flesh and blood."

The Tech-Priest explained calmly.

"But my logic core was running an independent 'Final Defense Protocol' in the background the entire time."

Rovi suddenly understood, and asked, "So, you were testing me?"

"Obviously, Advisor."

The Tech-Priest's Mechanical Tentacle gave a slight twitch, as if archiving some data.

"I was waiting for your choice. When you saw me fall into ecstasy, saw these blasphemous technologies display astonishing power on the battlefield..."

"If you hadn't chosen to wake me just now, but instead showed greed, trying to exploit my madness to continue researching Chaos technology..."

"Or if you had also shown a 'blissful' smile..."

The Tech-Priest raised his other mechanical hand, pointing at the ticking mechanical clock still dripping on the wall.

"A technical retrieval team from the Martian sect will arrive in this star system in four standard Terran hours."

"Before that, to ensure the purity of the Omnissiah, I would have initiated the self-destruct sequence."

"I would have first used this cutter to slice you into the standard thirty-six pieces, then detonated the Power Furnace in the basement."

The Tech-Priest's voice carried no inflection.

As flat as if he were saying, "I'm going to change the Machine Oil."

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

Rovi stared at the humming plasma blade in the Tech-Priest's hand.

He did not feel anger.

Instead, a sense of relief at having survived, accompanied by a newfound understanding, surged within him.

He had always thought he was using the Tech-Priest.

Thought he was the player controlling the board.

Thought he was saving this poor, corrupted wretch.

In truth, he had just brushed past death's door.

If he had hesitated for even a second just now.

If he had harbored even a shred of intent to control the maddened priest and continue researching more powerful, more blasphemous Chaos weapons...

Then he would already be a pile of shredded meat.

This seemingly rigid, fanatical Tech-Priest was not as easy to fool as Rovi had imagined.

Deep within his logic core, there remained a final firewall named "Loyalty."

It was an absolute rationality paid for with self-destruction.

Rovi suppressed the violent pounding of his heart.

He extended a finger and gently pushed aside the blade pressed against his throat.

"It seems your logic core doesn't just calculate—it also baits and entraps, Priest."

Rovi straightened his collar, letting out a self-deprecating cold laugh.

"Now that I've passed your 'Turing test,' are we accomplices?"

Hearing this, Alpha the Tech-Priest was silent for two seconds.

The deadly mechanical arm slowly retracted beneath his robe.

The red light in his eyes flickered once, performing some complex weighing and definition.

"Yes, Advisor."

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

With that, the priest turned and began cleaning the ashes from the Water Tank.

His movements regained their usual precision and efficiency.

Rovi studied the priest's hunched back, propped up by mechanical prosthetics, and the coldness in his eyes receded slightly.

In this despairing universe full of madmen, monsters, and zealots.

To encounter another intelligent person who understood both "flexibility" and "bottom lines," even if that person was a half-human, half-ghost Mechanic...

That was an absolutely rare stroke of luck.

Cleaning the basement was a meticulous and time-consuming task.

Rovi assisted Alpha the Tech-Priest in sealing all the ashes of the Warp core—symbols of blasphemy and madness—along with the remains of six completely twisted and melted Heavy Logging Guns, into lead-lined recycling containers.

Then they affixed seals labeled "Grade Three Industrial Waste," pushed open the heavy airtight door, and stepped out of the Underground Bunker.

Outside, the skyline was already tinged with a sickly glimmer.

The purple-red sky was oppressive.

But the suffocating fog had thinned considerably.

Rovi felt somewhat exhausted.

This fatigue came not just from his body, but from the mental strain of dancing on a knife's edge.

"Ahhh!"

A series of miserable screams came from the trench ahead, shattering the dawn's stillness.

Then came more cries, rising and falling in waves.

The "euphoria" effect of the Enhanced Green Slop had completely worn off.

The laborers, who had smiled and felt no pain as they lost limbs in battle, were now hit by reality's backlash.

Agony flooded them like a tide.

Some collapsed, wailing as they stared at their empty sleeves;

Some writhed in the mud and water, clutching festering wounds;

Others, unable to bear the psychological whiplash, began slamming their heads against the walls in madness.

Buck stood by the trench with a few soldiers.

The one-eyed commander's face showed little joy in victory.

He had injected himself with a Clarity Agent early on.

So he had experienced the pain of returning to clarity sooner than anyone else.

Seeing Rovi approach, Buck quickly saluted with respect.

"Advisor." Buck pointed at the wounded and began his report. "Many are badly hurt. Some are starting to develop spots."

Rovi stopped in his tracks.

He looked at the figures struggling in the mud.

Back in the basement, the Priest had taught him a lesson:

In this damned universe, only absolute rationality and ruthlessness could keep you alive.

"Triage them."

Rovi gave the order calmly.

"The severely wounded—especially those with mutating spots on their wounds or whose minds have collapsed beyond recovery—give them an overdose of painkillers. Let them go with dignity."

Buck shuddered, then asked, "And after that?"

"Then send them to Fermentation Vat Three." Rovi adjusted his gloves. "We've used too much Fertilizer. Next quarter's production needs raw material."

"As for the lightly wounded, bandage them and give them double rations. We need them to keep working."

"Yes, Advisor."

It was cruel.

But it was fair.

Whatever had no value had to be turned into something valuable.

Rovi returned to his office in the Command Tower.

He connected to the "Kais" server.

On the monitor, dense green characters flickered.

"Compile surrounding intelligence." Rovi issued the command.

The synthesized voice soon rang out.

"Detected large-scale heat source movement... The Plague Gardener's main force has bypassed Granary Seven's defensive perimeter..."

"Shifting to attack the Fourth and Ninth Granary defense zones... Estimated contact in two hours..."

Rovi nodded.

Just as he'd expected.

The Plague Gardener, lurking in the shadows, was a shrewd businessman.

After smashing its head bloody against Granary Seven, it chose to cut its losses and go reap easier fruit elsewhere.

That was exactly what Rovi wanted.

He wasn't trying to be a savior.

He just wanted to be a Scribe who kept his own little patch of ground and balanced the books.