"Long live the Governor!!!"
No one knew who shouted it first, but the voice was thunderous and filled with fanaticism. Then, cheers erupted from the riverbank like a tidal wave, sweeping across the main gate of the Hive City in a grand, deafening display.
Though the Upper Hive elites remained reserved, they too raised their hands to clap vigorously, their fawning smiles becoming even more pronounced. The Mid-Hive workers waved their caps and shouted at the top of their lungs, their faces beaming with genuine joy. The Under-Hive dregs screamed with every ounce of their strength; some were so moved they wept, while others knelt once more to perform kowtows toward Raynor. Even the wildmen raised their spears and choppas, letting out coarse roars filled with awe and loyalty.
Standing within the escorting ranks, Gus watched the scene with complicated emotions. He once believed that Raynor had stolen everything from him, and his heart had been filled with resentment and envy. But now, looking at the figure standing atop the tank receiving the cheers of ten thousand people—witnessing that heartfelt fanaticism and reverence—he understood. Even if he were the Governor himself, he could never have achieved what Raynor had. He lacked Raynor's courage, his strength, and above all, his resolve to protect the people of Brevis. His past resentment was nothing more than a product of his own jealousy and cowardice. Thinking of this, the bitterness in Gus's heart gradually dissipated, replaced by a sense of calm and genuine admiration.
The ripper hidden in Raynor's sleeve watched the cheering crowds quietly through its compound eyes. She didn't quite understand why these humans were so excited, or why they knelt and shouted "Long live" at him. But through their conscious link, she could perceive Raynor's emotions—it was the joy of being recognized. Sarah's antennae twitched happily, nuzzling against Raynor's arm.
Raynor's gaze slowly swept across everyone on the bank—the fanatical dregs, the respectful workers, the fawning elites, and the loyal wildmen. He recalled the scene of his first entry into the Brevis Hive. Back then, there was only the hypocritical welcome of the Upper Hive "people"; at the time, no one understood why he had come.
But this time, he had returned. He brought with him the glory of victory, the loyalty of the ice plain wildmen, the reverence of the Vanguard, and the adoration of the masses. He was no longer a chess piece to be manipulated at will, but the master of Brevis and the hope of all its people. These cries from the hearts of the Imperial citizens—this genuine joy and respect—were what he truly wanted to see. Not only had he secured a territory for Sarah to develop, but he had also satisfied his own vanity. It was a victory on two fronts.
Among the Upper Hive elites, the core nobles wore smiles as stiff as masks, their hearts filled only with deep panic and unease. Looking at the figure receiving the cheers of the masses and the innate majesty he radiated, their spines felt chilled. Many of them had already guessed what the Governor would do next. He would not be satisfied with merely defending Brevis or clearing out the remaining Greenskins. He would overhaul the Hive's order, strip them of their hoarded grain and wealth, and shatter the interest structures they had maintained for centuries. They feared a reckoning; they feared losing everything they possessed. But they were powerless. With the support of the people, a powerful military, and the recognition of the Ecclesiarchy, Raynor was untouchable. They could only pray fervently that he would spare them.
Night fell, and the Brevis Hive, which had been boisterous all day, finally returned to silence. Inside the Governor's office, the lights were bright, and a holographic screen emitted a soft blue glow. Raynor had finally shed his heavy power armor and stretched out, collapsing into a wide leather chair. The ripper crawled out from his sleeve and curled up on his lap, its compound eyes half-closed, occasionally nuzzling his hand with its antennae.
Sarah's voice rang out through the conscious link: "What is... the plan?"
Raynor rubbed his throbbing temples and tapped the holographic screen, bringing up a star map of the Hilis System. The map clearly displayed three primary celestial bodies: the Brevis Hive World, the Dorido Agricultural World, and a smaller body between them—Karl II.
"Karl II." Raynor pointed at the speck of light. "An old space station. Decades ago, it was a logistics hub between Dorido and Brevis. After the Greenskins took Dorido, they captured it and converted it into an outpost to store supplies and deploy troops. It's their vanguard springboard for attacking Brevis."
Sarah analyzed rapidly: "To counter-attack Dorido, we must first take Karl II. Without it as a transit station, logistics for the invasion cannot be guaranteed. But the Brevis Navy is too weak to break through the Greenskin defenses."
Raynor nodded. "The Brevis Navy only has a few frigates left, far below the requirements for an expedition to Dorido. However, while sorting through the starport supplies, I discovered a Gothic-class cruiser. Though it's fallen into disrepair and cannot navigate normally, if we repair it, it can serve as our capital ship for the counter-offensive."
Sarah was silent for two seconds before saying: "Repairing it will require massive resources. Will you seek help from the Adeptus Mechanicus or House St. Gallus?"
Raynor didn't argue, but instead pulled up another data-slate. It was the Brevis Hive production report compiled by Carter, detailing Mid-Hive factory output, resource reserves, and grain circulation.
"It's not just about repairing the ship. Even if we take Karl II, the ground war after landing on Dorido will be the real challenge. Dorido is the Greenskins' home base in the Hilis System; there could be tens of billions of them entrenched there. Even if I deployed the entire swarm to support us, we wouldn't be able to take Dorido quickly. Doing so would also risk exposure, and we'd be hunted down as heretics by the Ecclesiarchy. We must rely on human strength and possess sufficient heavy fire support. More soldiers, more shells, and more tanks. Only then can we seize the advantage in ground combat and recover Dorido swiftly."
Sarah affirmed Raynor's perspective, then added: "From current data, the production capacity of the Mid-Hive guilds we control is indeed insufficient. Existing factories can only meet basic armament needs. To manufacture more weapons, we must recruit more guilds and more workers."
A flash of determination appeared in Raynor's eyes. "That's why I'm going to implement 'Work-for-Relief.' I'll have the Under-Hive dregs and the migrated refugees enter the Mid-Hive factories to participate in production. This will solve the labor shortage to expand capacity and address the employment issues for refugees and dregs, giving them food to eat and work to do, thereby stabilizing the Hive's order."
Work-for-Relief was easy to say but difficult to execute, especially regarding wages. While Brevis's grain reserves weren't exactly scarce, most were hoarded in the hands of the Upper Hive nobles; the lower-class citizens didn't have enough. If reasonable wages couldn't be paid to ensure workers were fed and clothed, the policy couldn't be implemented.
But Raynor wasn't worried. During this time, Sarah had been using "Isud" to collect massive amounts of grain circulation data from the Brevis Hive. This intelligence had revealed a terrifying truth.
The entire food supply system of the Brevis Hive had been constructed to support a standard population of at least thirty billion. Whether in terms of grain storage scale or production capacity, it could meet the basic survival needs of thirty billion people. However, according to the population data compiled by Carter, the actual population of Brevis was currently only a little over ten billion—less than half of the design capacity.
Where did the other half of the grain go?
The answer was self-evident. Raynor and Sarah locked eyes. Then, their gazes turned simultaneously toward the window, looking at the magnificent, gold-leafed estates of the Upper Hive.