Shepherd

After hearing the report from the "Kais" servitor, Rovi raised his hand and turned the Black Ring on his ring finger.

The call connected.

On the hololithic projection appeared the masked face of Captain of the Guard Lilith.

Behind her, the air was filled with the din of gunfire and the thunder of exploding bolter rounds.

It seemed things weren't peaceful over at the Governor's Spire, either.

Rovi narrowed his eyes slightly.

The background noise didn't sound like the distinctive snarls and chewing of Nurgle's Walking Dead.

Instead, it sounded like the sharp, explosive cracks of standard-issue boltguns firing at one another.

That meant Governor Alicia's troubles probably weren't limited to the plague beyond the city walls.

Perhaps it was political rivals taking advantage of the chaos.

Perhaps it was a corrupted rebel guard.

Or perhaps it was a branch of some family that had long coveted the Governor's seat, deciding tonight was the perfect time for a "change of regime."

In the Warhammer universe, shifts in power were never a secret. They were simply the unspoken norm.

Compared with the slow-spreading plague devouring lives in the lower Hive City, usurpations and coups were more sudden—and left no room for mercy.

A ruler seated on the Governor's throne yesterday might become a pawn in the game of power tonight.

And the Imperium, far away on Terra, had always been indifferent to such things:

As long as the new ruler still bowed before the Golden Throne and paid the full Imperial Tithe on time, the Emperor's light would tacitly approve whoever won the slaughter.

As for whose head wore the Governor's crown, to an empire spanning a million worlds, it was no more significant than dust.

"I thought you'd be sending a distress signal—or perhaps a will, Advisor Rovi," Lilith said, sounding surprised.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Captain of the Guard."

Rovi sent over a data packet.

"This is the post-battle audit report for Granary Seven. We repelled the enemy and protected the core assets. Our losses were severe, but the defenses held."

Lilith fell silent for a few seconds, evidently scanning the report.

When she saw the figures for the "Wall of Gluttony" and "Warp thermal casualties," her eyes narrowed slightly.

Even through the hololithic projection, Rovi could feel her sharp scrutiny.

"You used some very unconventional methods."

Lilith's voice grew low.

"According to the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, that's enough to get you burned at the stake. Advisor, I'd very much like to know where a Scribe who spends all day buried in ledgers learned this kind of 'knowledge.'"

It was a trap.

Knowledge of Chaos was strictly controlled.

A low-ranking Scribe shouldn't know how to harness the power of the Warp.

He shouldn't even know the name "Nurgle."

Rovi didn't panic.

He'd been prepared for this.

In a universe steeped in superstition and ignorance, the source of one's knowledge was often the best cover.

"It was a gift from the Swamp Elder, Captain of the Guard."

Rovi used a phrase from local folk mythology.

His gaze was calm and devout.

"The old farmers on Fertility II all know that if you don't burn the muck in the depths of the swamp, man-eating mushrooms will grow in it."

"But if you boil it at a high temperature, the muck can become the richest fertilizer."

"I just used the farmers' crude method of boiling muck on those monsters. It was a field adaptation made under 'wartime emergency conditions.'"

He deliberately put on a rustic air of cunning and pragmatism, hiding the knowledge he'd gained as a transmigrator.

Lilith seemed to accept the explanation and snorted.

"'The Swamp Elder'... Hmph. You locals always give filthy things such strange names."

She closed the tactical map on the hololithic display.

"But since you mentioned a 'gift,' you should know that the muck on this planet has never truly been burned away."

"A hundred years ago, a great plague broke out on this planet. Half the population died. The Imperium quickly sent new settlers to fill the empty places."

"Fifty years ago, there was another plague. More deaths, more new settlers..."

An unsettling coldness crept into Lilith's voice.

"Dark forces... They're like clever shepherds. They know that as long as they don't eat the whole flock at once, as long as they leave some breeding stock, the Imperium will keep sending new lambs."

"It's a grotesque symbiosis."

Rovi's heart tightened.

It confirmed his suspicions.

Nurgle's forces had been entrenched on this planet for far too long.

They might have infiltrated the planet's ecological cycle.

In a sense, the Imperium's rule here was providing Nurgle with a steady supply of "biomass fuel."

"If it's a symbiosis, someone has to break the cycle."

Rovi spoke without giving anything away.

He paused, then put his bargaining chip on the table.

"Granary Seven is now the only safe haven in this region. I can take in the wounded and provide some 'specially processed' fuel. But I need more resources."

"What do you need?"

"Spare gun barrels. High-Energy Batteries."

Rovi emphasized the words.

"I also need an authorization, signed by the Governor's Mansion, for a 'Special Experimental Weapon Field Test.' I don't want to be burned as a heretic by my own people before the reinforcements arrive."

Lilith's expression darkened. Her fingers tapped lightly against the hilt of her sword.

"The supplies will be airdropped as soon as possible."

Then an electronic document appeared, prompting him to sign.

It was much faster than Rovi had expected.

"Take this authorization."

"This isn't forgiveness for your blasphemy. It's a declaration of the Governor's Mansion's jurisdiction: your blade may be dirty, but it's in the Governor's hand."

"The Adeptus Mechanicus may care whether technology is pure, but House Valantius only cares about who rules this planet."

"Governor Alicia possesses the Rogue Trader lineage and warrant granted by Holy Terra. On this planet, if the Governor says it's a legal experiment, then it's a legal experiment."

Before ending the call, Lilith left him with a pointed warning:

"Don't break your blade, Advisor. If it breaks, it'll be nothing but a piece of filthy scrap, and we won't be taking scrap back."

Rovi let out a breath and leaned back in his chair.

By using local mythology to disguise the source of his knowledge, he'd managed to get past Lilith's test, at least for now.

At the same time, he'd used his recent accomplishments to secure valuable political backing.

But just then, the alarm rang out across the entire Granary again.

It wasn't red, the signal for an enemy attack.

It was yellow, the signal for uncontrollable chaos.

Rovi got up and went to the lookout.

A vast, dark tide appeared on the horizon.

It wasn't an army of Nurgle.

It was people.

Tens of thousands of people, dressed in rags and gaunt with hunger.

They were refugees who'd fled from Granary Four, Granary Nine, and the surrounding ruins.

Driven by the fires of war, they surged toward the only "safe haven" like a flock of panicked sheep.

There were at least a hundred thousand of them.

And close behind them came a pack of pursuing Walking Dead.

Just as Captain of the Guard Lilith had said, this was a roundup for "sustainable harvesting."

Nurgle's shepherds were herding the scattered flock into a cage, where they could wait for the next slaughter.

It was a disaster.

If Rovi took them in, the Granary's fuel would run out in three days.

And the crowd was certain to contain countless virus carriers.

If he refused them, this desperate tide of people would crash against the defenses.

They would either be slaughtered outside the walls,

and the stench of their corpses and their despair would become the finest offering to Nurgle.

"Advisor, they're charging!" Buck's voice trembled. "Should we open fire? We don't have the Logging Gun, but we still have rifles and Flamethrowers!"

Rovi stared at the heaving sea of people and said coldly:

"No firing. Open the outer gates and set up a checkpoint at the Second Line of Defense."

"Have Priest Alpha prepare the scanners. Everyone entering must be screened."

"Anyone with spots is to be turned away. Anyone who causes trouble goes straight to 'fermentation.'"

"Those who are healthy get shovels and entrenching tools. Put them to work clearing the battlefield and reinforcing the walls."

Once he'd arranged everything, Rovi turned away, no longer looking at the hellish scene.