The Deathwatch was a force under the Inquisition dedicated to fighting Xenos.
So after Daviro executed the nobles in the name of the Inquisition, the entire spire immediately underwent a smooth transfer of power.
Daviro also informed Sith of his next assignment. In three days, Sith would lead an elite force to supplement Daviro's strength after the loss of an Astartes, accompanying him and another member of the Deathwatch into the lower hive.
During this time, Sith could replenish his forces as much as possible. Daviro also needed to gather enough intelligence on the Hive City and access permissions for its passageways to prepare for entering the lower hive.
And now, it was the third day since Sith had arrived at the spire.
The former noble household guards had dyed their uniforms black and all joined Sith's command as new recruits.
As for the rebels, after launching several attacks against the spire, which held little value, they had withdrawn again.
The sky was dark blue as ever.
Fresh air from high above turned into a cold wind, sweeping past the buildings and refreshing the senses.
In the enormous spire plaza.
Densely packed recruits were undergoing training.
Besides the veterans and the already elite household guards, there were even more conscripts drawn from the refugees.
On the plaza's tall tower, Sith watched the soldiers carpeting the ground below like ants, while Brunok stood beside him with a report, briefing him without pause:
"Fortunately, this noble wasn't willing to abandon his Hive City, so not only did he leave his supplies here, he even stockpiled quite a lot."
"These resources are enough for us to replace our losses and expand our forces to a hundred and fifty thousand."
"Also, although we have enough uniforms, the newly joined household guards seem interested in following our example. They've voluntarily dyed their uniforms black."
"That's prompted the conscripts to dye theirs black too."
Sith raised an eyebrow slightly at this. He had never expected that a choice forced upon him earlier would gradually become part of the army's culture after he had led them through so much fighting.
It had reached the point where soldiers seemed unworthy of being called soldiers of the 101st Regiment unless they wore black uniforms.
When Brunok finished, he handed the report to Sith.
Sith reached out to take it and quickly scanned the inventory. The weapons and equipment at the beginning were fine. Not only had they brought his forces back to full strength and equipment, they had also allowed him to add another five infantry regiments.
And these soldiers were no longer in their former state, with barely one gun per man and precious little heavy firepower.
The twenty-five infantry regiments under Sith's command were fully armed to Astra Militarum standards, and he had even equipped an artillery regiment.
In future battles, he could finally bombard the ground with artillery before drawing his blade and charging in.
But as Sith reached the final section on provisions, the corners of his mouth, which had been rising as he scanned the inventory, instantly froze.
"Why is there so little food?"
He could even be called astonished. With so many military supplies, there was no reason not to stockpile food.
Brunok pursed his lips and explained helplessly:
"If we only counted the nobles and household guards, these provisions would last a hundred years."
"But if we include all the refugees who fled up here, they'll only last a month."
Rather than clearing up Sith's confusion, this only deepened it.
Pointing at the conscripts below, who were concentrating on their training because they had food to eat, and the several refugee camps in the distance, Sith frowned:
"Didn't these refugees need to eat before we arrived?"
Brunok was helpless:
"They did."
"Then what did they eat before?"
"Refugees."
Sith: "..."
His brow instantly relaxed. Looking at the even more apparent helplessness on Brunok's face, Sith suddenly felt that his question had been a little naive.
Brunok sighed and pointed at a distant factory that was still belching thick smoke despite the complete fall of the middle and lower hive:
"To hold out for the long term, the noble installed a starch factory in the spire."
"Before we arrived, the only food available to the spire's refugees was the corpse starch produced inside."
Sith followed his gaze. When he saw the factory, even his hands dropped helplessly to his sides.
The factory was currently a bustling scene with ample raw materials, and cartloads of starch were being shipped out without pause along the main road leading away from it.
And the largest share was actually going not to the refugee camps, but to the camps of Sith's various regiments.
All Sith could do now was remain silent and quietly prepare to accept reality. But when he returned the inventory to Brunok, Brunok opened his mouth and closed it again, looking hesitant.
Sith noticed, and confusion returned to his previously silent expression.
After all, there weren't many things that could make his foul-mouthed adjutant hesitate even to speak.
"Speak!"
Really not in the mood to wait for Brunok to speak on his own, Sith gave a direct order.
Brunok, who had been holding it in for quite some time, finally exhaled and spoke with a strange expression:
"Ana has a technique for processing promethium, chemical waste, and corpses into large quantities of starch."
Sith's eyes lit up. After all, who knew how long they would stay here? There could never be too much starch.
But as he took in Brunok's strange expression, Sith gradually caught on, and the light in his eyes faded.
Because of those three raw materials, the most normal one was fucking corpses!
Sith looked stunned. After staring blankly at Brunok for a few moments, he turned and headed down without waiting for any further explanation.
Sith wanted to see just what kind of monstrosity this starch was!
Soon, Sith arrived at a recruit camp with Brunok.
As this was where Ana conducted her experiments, the recruits here had become her first batch of guinea pigs.
In return, they received an unlimited, ample supply of starch.
At that moment, Ana was standing among the crowd, admiring her own great invention.
Unlike the other camps, where the food was eaten almost immediately, every soldier here had solid chunks of starch in his bowl. Combined with a reasonably generous amount of fat, it actually left the soldiers eating with satisfied expressions.
The soldiers were too busy wolfing down their food to react, but Sith froze the moment he reached the camp.
Because at that moment, Sith felt as though he wasn't leading humans, but a bunch of "T'au" wearing the wrong equipment!
"Why have all my soldiers turned blue???"
The T'au of the T'au Empire had blue skin.
Sith couldn't even stop himself from blurting it out. Brunok was also speechless, his expression utterly at a loss.
Ana, on the other hand, looked even prouder when she saw that Sith had come to inspect her masterpiece.
Walking over with her head held high, Ana looked at Sith with eyes full of expectation, hoping for his praise.
But after looking for a long time, Sith simply couldn't find any words of praise. His lips shifted several times before he pointed at the soldiers and couldn't help asking:
"Ana, are you sure there's nothing wrong with your starch???"
Ana hadn't expected Sith's first words to be a challenge rather than praise.
She paused, but she wasn't angry. Instead, she very rationally accepted her client's question, turned around, and began seriously inspecting her product.
Walking up to the soldiers, Ana activated almost all her observation equipment and even released two Servo-skulls to scan every soldier.
Ana herself even pulled open one soldier's eyelids with her own hands to examine his eyes.
The auxiliary mechanical arm behind her wasn't idle either. As one soldier stared wide-eyed, a thick needle plunged into the back of his neck and drew a whole container of blood.
And without that container of blood, the soldier became even bluer.
Seeing Ana take this seriously, Sith inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. What if Ana was color-blind? What if this half-baked member of the Adeptus Mechanicus could fix it?
But Sith's hopes went unfulfilled. After wasting all that time, Ana returned to Sith with an earnest, even solemn expression. Then, holding up various readings Sith couldn't understand, she declared with complete certainty:
"Regimental commander, there's nothing wrong with my starch!"
Sith: "...???"
His cheek twitched uncontrollably. Sith even wondered whether he had seen things wrong, rubbing his eyes and taking another careful look.
Once Sith confirmed that these soldiers really had eaten themselves into "T'au," he didn't hesitate again and pointed straight at them:
"But they've all fucking turned blue!"
This time, Ana's confusion at Sith's question finally disappeared, replaced by sudden understanding.
Nodding slightly, Ana wore an expression of complete comprehension:
"If that's what you're referring to, regimental commander, then from a biological perspective, my great starch does indeed have one tiny flaw."
"But considering the career span of the soldiers under your command, my starch is perfect and pure!"
Sith's eyes instantly widened. He hadn't expected this to somehow involve him.
Sith couldn't hold back:
"Then what if they don't die?!"
At this, anger finally appeared on Ana's face, even the indignation of someone being made to take the blame:
"Don't die?"
"Isn't that something you should be reflecting on, sir?!"