Through the piercing lens of "Warp Insight," Nimrod discerned the turbulent fluctuations in Rosicky Cech's emotions, a tangled posture of inner conflict and hesitation.
"What matter brings you before me?"
The Tech-Priest, upon hearing Nimrod's query, cast aside his reservations. He dropped to one knee in the traditional manner of Vostonia's people, his voice resolute as he spoke.
"Rosicky Cech pledges his loyalty to King Nimrod."
Nimrod did not immediately accept the oath. Instead, he drew upon the psychic disciplines gleaned from the Fra'ow data crystal, attempting to probe Rosicky's mind with a mind-reading technique.
His consciousness, subtle as an unremarkable insect, extended toward the Tech-Priest. Simultaneously, he posed a challenging question to divert Rosicky's focus toward formulating a response.
"Why do you suddenly offer your allegiance to me?"
Nimrod's consciousness crept closer to Rosicky, guided by the precision of "Warp Insight." He navigated the swirling vortex of the Tech-Priest's emotions, locating the heart of his psychic defenses—the gate to his mind.
The Tech-Priest's mental barrier diverged from Nimrod's expectations. It was not a monolithic, iron-grey portal forged solely from cold, unyielding logic and steel-like resolve.
Instead, its surface shimmered with vibrant hues of desire, interwoven with the pulsing crimson of ambition, restless and alive.
Nimrod's consciousness lingered, circling the gate for a moment. A portion of his awareness, like the delicate tendrils of a snail, extended from the "insect" of his psychic probe, tentatively reaching toward the kaleidoscopic region of the mental barrier, seeking a point of entry.
The instant his "tendrils" brushed against Rosicky's mental gate, Nimrod's physical eyes caught the faint furrowing of the Tech-Priest's brow.
He realized Rosicky's sensitivity exceeded his anticipations. Considering this was his inaugural attempt at mind-reading, with techniques yet to be mastered, Nimrod opted to abandon the attempt to breach the heart of Rosicky's psyche, turning instead to a less guarded region.
"My king, the Cech family has long been allied with the Finde family across generations. I have known Howard for many years, and he often extols your virtues, urging me to join him in pledging loyalty to you."
Nimrod withdrew his consciousness from Rosicky's mind, redirecting it toward the Tech-Priest's brain—a realm more susceptible to infiltration.
Compared to the sanctified purity of the mind, the brain was a chaotic sea of thoughts, far easier to penetrate.
For most, the mind, relative to the teeming turbulence of the brain, was a tranquil lake. A single drop of foreign influence in the mind would ripple ceaselessly, like a pebble disturbing still waters.
In contrast, a drop infiltrating the brain merged seamlessly into its churning tides, less likely to arouse the host's suspicion.
"During my time at your side, I have witnessed the manifold miracles you have wrought—boarding alien warships, conquering the Cradle of the Sea. Never have I heard of another capable of forging such deeds as you."
As Nimrod's consciousness infiltrated Rosicky's brain, he encountered a tempest of countless arrows, each varying in hue and size, streaking through the mental expanse.
According to the Fra'ow aetheric masters of the psychic disciplines, a creature's thoughts were perpetually dominated by a single prevailing notion at any given moment.
This dominant thought represented the subject's primary focus, the idea they consciously recognized as paramount.
The myriad other thoughts, swirling in the periphery, were shaped by diverse influences.
For instance, when facing an enemy, fear might seize dominance, prompting thoughts of surrender.
Yet, if fear was subdued by reason or courage, the subject might remain unaware of its influence, though it could still manifest subtly—tightened muscles, a surge of adrenaline.
Upon infiltrating Rosicky's brain, Nimrod's consciousness swiftly locked onto the most prominent arrow streaking through the "sky" of the Tech-Priest's mind. It blazed with a multicolored radiance, looping endlessly in intricate patterns.
Nimrod's consciousness darted forward, arrow-like, positioning itself along the trajectory of the vibrant projectile as it arced back.
The instant the arrow passed, his awareness latched onto its flank.
In that fleeting moment, Nimrod grasped Rosicky's thoughts: [Within the Adeptus Mechanicus, the zenith of my aspirations would be to become a Magos, a rank that would demand at least fifty-six years of service, by the most optimistic reckoning based on my family and mentor's standing.
Yet, if I pledge myself to King Nimrod, the prospects shift dramatically. His ambition is boundless, far too vast for the Vostonia system to contain. With only Wojciech as his technical adept, I would have vast opportunities for advancement.]
Having read Rosicky's thoughts, Nimrod's understanding crystallized. He withdrew his consciousness back into himself.
The exertion of this process, for a novice in psychic mind-reading, was considerable. Yet, for a gene-forged Primarch with a formidable consciousness, it merely induced a slight weariness.
Having completed his first mind-reading, the Primarch reflected inwardly: [As expected, my acute perception manifests in the psychic arts as well.
The discipline of mind-reading is the psychic school most suited to me. In merely five work cycles, I have grasped its rudiments and executed my first reading, and my target was no defenseless fool.]
A faint smile curved Nimrod's lips. He harbored no qualms about Rosicky's ambition.
"Rosicky Cech, I accept your pledge of loyalty."
The single second of waiting felt interminably protracted to Rosicky. He bowed deeply, declaring, "My king, I shall exert every ounce of my strength to fulfill your every command."
Nimrod inclined his head slightly, pondering for a moment before issuing his next directive.
"Wait outside. Return in five minutes."
"As you command, my king."
The Tech-Priest executed Nimrod's order with precision, re-entering the chamber exactly five minutes later.
Nimrod gestured toward the table, where fragments of a Standard Template Construct (STC), recently retrieved from the Nation of Disorder, lay arrayed. He spoke with authority.
"You are to immediately replicate the construction template data on this table."
Rosicky, acknowledging the command, approached the long table. He observed five distinct data storage media: two dataslates, a data crystal, a chip, and an optical disc.
His mechanical tendrils lifted the nearest item, a delicate rectangular chip etched with familiar patterns.
Inserting the data chip into the interface embedded at the base of his neck, the Tech-Priest's augmetic eye flickered with a torrent of streaming data.
[As suspected, this is a portion of the sacred construction templates held by the Finde family. Howard, as I surmised, has offered absolute loyalty to Nimrod, explaining his elevated status.]
After a shift's duration, Rosicky's mechanical limbs set down the dataslate.
"My king, I have replicated and backed up all the data."
"I require you to devise an implementation plan immediately, to deploy these templates across the twelve hives under my control."
"In particular, the mag-lev train systems must be established within and between each hive, and subsequently installed on every warship."
Rosicky's heart—still partially flesh—thundered in his chest. The first task entrusted to him by Nimrod was a monumental undertaking, unprecedented in Vostonia's history.
From Nimrod's words, he felt an infusion of strength and soaring resolve.
"My lord, as you decree."
As the Tech-Priest withdrew, Nimrod transmitted a message to Yelena, ordering her to implement Tezwok's reforms across each hive and tasking Buksa with rebuilding the garrison forces.
He paused his campaign of conquest, recognizing that his current territories required time to stabilize. He awaited the regiments' replenishment and the establishment of new garrison forces before resuming his expansion.
In the underhive of Naryanmar, within a shadowy corridor, Bukayo, clad in furs, turned to Company Commander Grzegorz, his voice laden with inquiry.
"So, Mrozek, driven by relentless assaults on his enterprises, has led a force into the underhive, intent on exterminating us?"