The Shepherd

After finishing the report from the "Kais" servitor, Rovi raised his hand and turned the black ring on his ring finger.

The communication connected.

In the holographic projection, the masked face of Captain of the Guard Lilith appeared.

Her background noise was filled with the clamor of gunfire and the roar of Boltgun rounds.

It seemed the Governor's Spire was no peaceful place either.

Rovi narrowed his eyes slightly.

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

Instead, it was the crisp crackle of standard-issue Boltgun weapons exchanging fire.

This meant the trouble Governor Alicia faced was likely more than just the plague outside the city walls.

Perhaps it was political rivals seizing the chaos to strike.

Perhaps it was a corrupted guard force of Rebels.

Or perhaps some collateral branch of a family long coveting the governor's seat thought tonight was a good time for a "change of dynasty."

In the Warhammer universe, the transfer of power was never a secret—it was an unspoken norm.

Compared to the slow-spreading, life-devouring plague in the depths of the Hive City, usurpation and coups were more sudden and left no room for mercy.

A ruler who sat securely on the governor's throne yesterday might become a sacrifice in the game of power tonight.

And the distant Empire on Terra was always indifferent to this:

as long as the new ruler still bowed to the Golden Throne and paid the full Imperial Tithe on time, the Emperor's light would silently sanction the victor of this slaughter.

As for whose head the governor's crown landed on, to an empire spanning a million worlds, it was nothing more than insignificant dust.

"I thought you'd send a distress signal, or maybe a suicide note, Advisor Rovi," Lilith said, somewhat surprised.

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

Rovi sent a data packet over.

"This is the post-battle audit report for Granary Seven. We repelled the enemy and secured the core assets. Losses were severe, but the defensive line remains intact."

Lilith was silent for a few seconds, clearly scanning the report quickly.

When she saw the data on the "Wall of Gluttony" and "Warp thermal damage,"

her gaze sharpened.

Even through the holographic projection, Rovi could feel the piercing scrutiny.

"You used some unconventional methods."

Lilith's voice dropped low.

"According to the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, that's enough to put you on the pyre. Advisor, I'm curious—how did a Scribe buried in ledgers learn such 'knowledge'?"

This was a trap.

Knowledge of "Chaos" was strictly controlled.

A low-level Scribe shouldn't know how to harness Warp power.

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

Rovi didn't panic.

He had been mentally prepared.

In a universe filled with superstition and ignorance, the source of knowledge was often the best cover.

"This is the 'Gift of the Swamp Elder,' Captain of the Guard."

Rovi used a term from the local indigenous mythology.

His gaze was calm and devout.

"The old farmers on Fertility II all know that if the muck deep in the swamp isn't burned, it'll grow man-eating mushrooms."

"But if you boil it with high heat, that muck turns into the richest Fertilizer."

"I just applied the farmers' crude method of boiling muck to those monsters. It's a 'field technical adaptation under wartime emergency conditions.'"

He deliberately displayed a rustic cunning and pragmatism to mask his knowledge as a transmigrator.

Lilith seemed to accept this explanation, snorting coldly.

"Swamp Elder"... Hmph. You locals always have a knack for giving filthy things fancy names.

She dismissed the tactical map on the holographic display.

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

"A hundred years ago, a great plague erupted here, killing half the population. The Imperium quickly shipped in new settlers to fill the gaps."

"Fifty years ago, another plague. More dead. More settlers..."

Lilith's tone carried a bone-chilling detachment.

"The Dark Powers... they're like shrewd ranchers. They know that as long as they don't devour the flock in one go, leaving some breeding stock behind, the Imperium will keep sending fresh lambs."

"It's a twisted symbiosis."

Rovi's heart tightened.

This confirmed his suspicions.

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

They might have already seeped into the planet's ecological cycle.

The Imperium's rule here, in a sense, was feeding Nurgle a steady stream of "biomass fuel."

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

Rovi said, keeping his composure.

He paused, then laid out his bargaining chip.

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

"What do you want?"

"Barrel replacements and High-Energy Batteries."

Rovi's tone grew heavier.

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

Lilith's gaze darkened, her fingers tapping lightly on her sword hilt.

"Supplies will be airdropped as soon as possible."

Then.

A prompt for signing an electronic document popped up.

Much faster than Rovi had expected.

"Take this authorization."

"It's not to pardon your blasphemy, but to assert the Governor's Mansion's 'jurisdiction': that blade of yours may be dirty, but it's held in the Governor's hand."

"The Adeptus Mechanicus might care about technological purity, but House Valantius only cares who calls the shots on this planet."

"Governor Alicia holds a Rogue Trader bloodline and charter from Holy Terra. On this planet, if the Governor says it's a legitimate experiment, it's a legitimate experiment."

Before cutting the comms, Lilith left a pointed warning:

"Don't break that blade, Advisor. If it breaks, it's just a scrap of filth-ridden metal, and we don't recycle scrap."

Rovi exhaled, leaning back in his chair.

By using local myths to mask his knowledge source, he'd barely dodged Lilith's probing.

And he'd traded this merit for a valuable political endorsement.

But just then, alarms blared through the granary again.

Not the red of enemy attack.

But the yellow of uncontrollable chaos.

Rovi stood and walked to the observation slit.

On the horizon, a dark tide was surging.

Not Nurgle's army.

People.

Tens of thousands of them, ragged, gaunt, starving.

Refugees fleeing from Granary Four, Granary Nine, and the surrounding ruins.

Driven by war, they surged like a panicked flock toward this lone "safe zone."

At least a hundred thousand.

And behind them trailed a pack of hunting Walking Dead.

As Captain of the Guard Lilith had said, this was a drive for "sustainable harvest."

Nurgle's Shepherd was herding the scattered flock into a pen, waiting for the next slaughter.

This was a disaster.

If we take them in, the Granary's Fuel will run out in three days.

What's more, there are bound to be countless virus carriers mixed in among the crowd.

If we don't take them in, this desperate tide of people will crash against the defenses.

They'll either be slaughtered outside the walls.

The resulting death aura and despair will become Nurgle's finest offering.

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

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

"Hold fire. Open the outer gates and set up a checkpoint at the Second Line of Defense."

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

"Anyone with spots on their body—expel them on the spot. Anyone who causes trouble—send them straight to 'fermentation.'"

"As for the healthy ones, hand them shovels and pickaxes. Let them clear the battlefield and reinforce the walls."

Having arranged everything, Rovi turned away, refusing to look any longer at the hellish scene.