Agrippina

Magos Magellan extended a precise mechanical claw and picked up the folio.

His optical sensors rapidly scanned every line, every forged ancient seal upon it.

Though crude.

Though some parts failed to meet Mars's standard of aesthetics.

That core logic of "self-repair using ambient biological matter" did indeed carry the shadow of the Golden Age's "simple yet ruthless" technology.

Greed took root in the Magos's logic core.

If this truly was a lost STC variant...

If he could bring this technology back to Mars...

His standing within the Cult would skyrocket.

He might even qualify to establish his own Forge World.

Yet the Warp aura emanating from this wall was far too dense.

"Logic conflict."

The Magos returned the folio to Rovi, his voice frigid.

"Even with the schematics as evidence, the Warp thermal reaction still exceeds acceptable limits. To ensure purity, I must cut open its core, conduct a physical inspection, and extract a core sample."

Rovi's heart lurched.

If the Melta Cutter sliced through the Metal Casing on the wall's surface.

What would be exposed before the Magos would be no precision gears, servo-motors, or hydraulic pistons representing the wisdom of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Beneath the cold steel skin, no mechanical logic remained.

Inside were only purplish-red flesh buds, already fused with the Ceramite, still pulsing wildly.

And a tangled network of blood vessels, oozing murky pus.

This was no "adaptive mechanical structure"—it was breathing Warp-flesh.

Once those profane purple innards were exposed to the air.

Once the thick stench of sulfur and decay spilled out.

All the lies about "STC schematics" would collapse in an instant.

At that point, only summary execution awaited them.

The Faith Militant pressed forward again.

Just as the Melta Cutter's nozzle was about to spew lethal heat.

The Black Ring on Rovi's body suddenly lit up.

A ghostly blue holographic projection, riding a forcibly injected low-level communication protocol, tore straight through Magos Magellan's private data chain.

"I am Alicia van Valantius."

A metallic voice echoed across the rain-shrouded plaza.

Though merely an illusory hologram.

The pressure of ancient bloodline froze the restless air around them in an instant.

"The lawful ruler of this planet, and the twelfth-generation bearer of Holy Terra's Pioneer's Charter."

At the sound of that final title.

Magos Magellan's normally impassive mechanical frame suffered a visible rigidity.

Among the accompanying Mechanicus personnel, this was an exceedingly rare reaction.

He slowly turned his head.

Multiple optical sensors converged simultaneously on the Family Crest floating before the projection's chest.

If she were merely an ordinary planetary Governor, even one wielding life-and-death power over an entire star system.

In the eyes of Mars's envoy, she would be no more than a foreman managing mortal livestock.

Utterly unqualified to interfere with the Mechanicus's sacred inspection.

But a "Rogue Trader" was different.

These were ancient nobles, holding charters personally signed by the Emperor.

Empowered to freely explore, trade, and even wage war beyond the Imperium's borders.

In their family vaults.

Often slumbered xeno-tech relics retrieved from the galaxy's edge, or star charts from the lost Golden Age.

Things that would make even a Fabricator General of Mars salivate.

For a Magos hungry for knowledge.

Offending a Rogue Trader's descendant was more than just a political headache.

It also meant the risk of being permanently added to the "Tech Blacklist," losing all access to those priceless treasures.

This was an incalculable potential loss.

The Magos halted his movements.

The originally cold electronic voice now carried a note of caution born from calculated self-interest:

"Heir of House Valantius, this unit has verified your authorization code."

"Lord Governor, I am conducting a sacred review on behalf of the Adeptus Mechanicus. There are serious suspicions of heresy here..."

"What exists here is the 'Wartime Special Agricultural Experiment' I approved." Alicia cut off the Magos with unyielding force.

"Granary Seven currently bears over seventy percent of this planet's Imperial Tithe quota."

"Every technical adjustment made by Advisor Rovi has been authorized and guaranteed by the Governor's Mansion."

An electronic authorization document, stamped with the Governor's golden seal and etched with intricate anti-counterfeiting patterns, was transmitted directly to the Magos's retinal display.

"Magos, you can cut open that wall. But let me remind you: if your 'inspection' causes the defensive line to collapse, allows the plague forces to break in, and results in the next quarter's Imperial Tithe failing to be delivered on time..."

Alicia paused, then threatened:

"I will submit a formal report to the Ministry of the Interior and the Department of Munitions, accusing the Mars Forge Hall of sabotaging the Empire's critical agricultural facilities, leading to a default on the Imperial Tithe."

"I doubt the Fabricator General would appreciate taking the fall for someone else's mess."

It was a killing blow.

Within the Empire's vast and bloated bureaucracy.

No one wanted to bear the responsibility for a "default on the Imperial Tithe."

It meant endless investigations, purges, and utter ruin.

Magos Magellan's logic core churned at full speed.

On one side: "suspected heresy, but possibly precious STC technology."

On the other: "enormous political risk and Imperial Tithe liability."

As a high-ranking Magos who had survived for centuries, he knew how to calculate gains and losses.

After a few seconds of silence.

The servo-skulls behind the Magos stopped their shrieking.

The Faith Militant's meltaguns lowered.

"Logic restructured."

Magos Magellan turned away, no longer looking at the wall, and spoke to Rovi instead:

"Based on the Governor's Mansion's guarantee and the data provided by Priest Alpha, this unit determines that this facility is in a 'Wartime Special Status.'"

He extended a mechanical arm.

And stamped a crimson sacred seal of the Adeptus Mechanicus onto the forged schematics Rovi had presented.

"This mechanical construct is temporarily designated the 'Agrippina-VII Adaptive Bio-Harvester.'"

"Its technical blueprints will be taken back to the Mars Forge Hall for an extended purity review."

"Before the review results are released—which may take up to two centuries—this facility is permitted to continue operation as a 'field-test prototype.'"

Rovi's back was soaked in cold sweat.

"A review lasting two centuries" was standard procedure within the Adeptus Mechanicus's operational pace.

It meant.

As long as he didn't die.

This wall was legal.

"Praise the mercy of the Omnissiah." Rovi bowed deeply, his posture flawless.

The Magos said nothing more.

For the Adeptus Mechanicus, as long as they obtained the data—even if it was merely suspected STC data—and avoided liability, their objective was met.

As for whether that wall was truly heresy...

As long as it was fighting Chaos.

As long as the Governor was willing to vouch for it, it was simply "pending judgment."

The gray, drizzling rain continued to fall.

Carrying the scent of volcanic ash, it pattered down, drumming against the battered plaza of Granary Seven.

Magos Magellan's Arx-class Heavy Transport did not lift off immediately as Rovi had hoped.

Its Anti-gravity Engine remained on standby.

A low-frequency hum pulsed through the air.

It made the mud on the ground tremble in tiny ripples.

The cargo hatch stood wide open.

A squad of red-robed Faith Militant, marching in perfect unison, silently shuttled between the granary's supply depot and the ship.

Their movements were precise and emotionless, with no unnecessary chatter—only the faint crackle of electricity from their Servo-limbs could be heard.

Rovi watched from nearby as crates stamped with the "requisitioned" tag disappeared into the depths of the Cargo Hold.

One feeling: a deep, gnashing ache.

That was three hundred High-energy Fuel Rods!

Five tons of Double-filtered Purified Water!

And two full crates of High-purity Machine Oil that had originally belonged to the Defense Force!

"These are necessary supplies, Advisor."

Magos Magellan's explanation came from behind his cold metal mask, carrying no hint of apology.

As if it were only natural.

"To arrive before the War Storm fully seals this sector, this machine's engine performed three Overload Warp Jumps, consuming 42% more fuel than the standard rate."

Rovi nodded without expression.

His hands were clasped before his stomach, maintaining a humble and professional posture.

"It is Granary Seven's honor, Your Excellency the Magos. To fuel the emissary of the Omnissiah is the finest fate these supplies could have."

He was lying.

In his mind, he had already tallied the cost:

The value of these supplies was enough to buy half a company of Mercenaries on the Black Market.

Or to sustain the entire Refugee Camp's rations for a week.

But this "protection fee" had to be paid.

It wasn't just to keep the Adeptus Mechanicus quiet—it was to make them leave as fast as possible.

As long as these Red Robes lingered even one more second, the risk of exposing the Metal Wall that was still quietly digesting the Ogryn Flesh would increase.

"Your response time is unnaturally fast."

Rovi steered the conversation elsewhere.

Trying to divert the Magos's attention from the Metal Wall.

"I thought that, in this season of shattered Warp Routes, it would take Mars's fleet at least half a year—maybe several standard Terran years—to arrive."

Hearing this, Magos Magellan turned.

His optical sensor flickered.

He gazed at the gray horizon in the distance.

"Because we were nearby," the Magos replied.

"For the past three standard Terran years, the Recovery Team has been cruising the edge of the Gothic Sector. We were executing a sacred mission of Data Archaeology."

"Archaeology?"

Rovi feigned a hint of curiosity at just the right moment.

"Searching for lost Standard Template Construct fragments." The Magos seemed unbothered by revealing this to a mortal.

Perhaps, in his eyes, it was like a human explaining calculus to an ant.

"Intelligence suggests that, during the Dark Age of Technology, the Gothic Sector was a key Agricultural Colony node."

"We hoped to find fragments related to the 'Atmospheric Terraforming Engine.'"

At this, the Magos's mechanical vocoder emitted a sigh-like crackle of static.

"Unfortunately, the yield was meager."

"Most of the valuable data was corrupted over the long ages."

"And some was melted down by ignorant savages, reforged into hoes as if it were scrap metal..."