Chapter 79: A Vow of Iron and Blood
The Grade-4 Carapace set was a masterpiece of mid-tier industrial defense. It didn't just protect the vitals; it featured articulated pauldrons for the shoulders, brassarts for the upper arms, and a heavy-duty groin-plate (codpiece) designed to protect a man's "lineage" without restricting his movement.
Visually, it resembled the ancient "Defender-pattern" heavy rigs used by the shock troops of Old Terra, but its composition was pure 41st Millennium. On this backwater Agri-World, where combat intensity was relatively low, this armor made a man a walking tank.
The common PDF regulars used Grade-3 solid-slug ammunition. Against Grade-4 reinforced plate, those rounds were essentially pebbles. Unless a soldier stood perfectly still and allowed an entire magazine to be emptied into his chest, he was functionally invulnerable to small arms at range.
Even more impressive? The armor could tank a direct hit from a Lasgun.
On standard power, a las-bolt carried the kinetic and thermal energy of a Grade-4 armor-piercing round. The Carapace could absorb one hit—the ceramite would scorch and crack, dissipating the heat—but a second shot in the same spot would burn through.
If I were a normal man, the heat from the first shot would still cook my liver, Kian thought. But with my 'System' calculating damage by percentage, I could probably take a third hit before the 'blacked-out' status kicks in.
To truly master the "Las-Meta," he needed Refractive Ablative Coating—a specialized chemical layer that deflected light-based weaponry. He didn't have the precursors for it yet, so standard plasteel-ceramite would have to do.
Beyond the chest plate, the Level 3 Machinist's Station could forge Grade-4 combat helmets and full-face tactical masks. A complete Juggernaut-set took eight hours to manufacture and cost roughly 1,200 scrips in raw materials. It was the best bargain in the Hive.
Kian had been "printing" armor non-stop. He had achieved total "Armor Freedom" for himself and had begun outfitting his inner circle. Even the women, Sansa and Mara, were issued light Grade-4 vests. He didn't expect them to storm trenches, but if a rival gang breached the brewery, he wanted them to survive long enough for him to jam a Regen-Bolt into their necks.
Kian was in the middle of a gravity-lifting session when a rhythmic drumming echoed off the Sanctum's blast door. He cycled the locks and found Shiv standing in the corridor, hauling several heavy bags of industrial waste and brass scrap.
"Boss, I've got the metal you asked for. Twenty industrial detonators, too. I bought them from Master Nephal's private stock."
Shiv's loyalty had shifted entirely. He no longer called Nephal "Boss"; the dealer was now just "Master Nephal"—a business associate, not a master.
Kian took the bags. "Good. We're starting another munitions cycle. I want fifty thousand rounds of autogun lead in the crates by next week."
Kian went to close the door, but Shiv hesitated, shuffling his feet.
"Something else?"
"Boss... I want to bring my mother here," Shiv said quietly, looking at the floor. "She's only forty, but she's spent twenty-five years in the chemical vats. Her lungs are grey, and she looks like she's eighty. If she stays in the Syndicate factorums, the rot will take her by next winter. This place... the air is cleaner. The food is real. I want her to have a few years of peace."
Kian nodded without a second thought. "Bring her. Build a hab-unit in the eastern conduit. We have the space."
Kian reached into his tactical rig and pulled out a shimmering Regen-Bolt. He pressed it into Shiv's hand.
"If her lungs are failing or her joints are seized, give her this. It'll fix most biological trauma. If it doesn't work, then her soul belongs to the Throne, and there's nothing more I can do."
Shiv's eyes turned a watery red. He looked like he wanted to fall to his knees and worship Kian. He gripped the injector like it was a fragment of the True Cross.
"Boss... one more thing. I want to leave the Syndicate with honor. A 'clean break.' I don't want Nephal thinking I'm a runaway or a spy. Can I give him a parting gift? Something to settle the debt of the years he fed me?"
Kian turned back to his stash and pulled out two pristine PDF-pattern autoguns and five hundred rounds of ammunition. He slammed them into Shiv's arms.
"Take these. Tell Nephal the blood-debt is settled in Imperial lead. From now on, you work for the Voss Syndicate. No moral burdens. No divided loyalties. Clear?"
[FERTILIZER SYNDICATE - TRADING POST]
Nephal sat behind his counter, staring at the two military-grade rifles and the mountain of ammunition Shiv had just laid out. He looked at his former lackey, noting the boy's straight posture and the way his hand rested naturally on his own holstered weapon.
Nephal was a cold trader, a man of calculations. He had originally assigned Shiv to Kian to act as an "eye"—a way to monitor the mysterious scavenger's rise. But Shiv's intention was now clear. He was bringing his mother to Kian's brewery. He was offering a massive "severance" gift. This was a total severance of ties.
Nephal felt a flicker of rage, but he suppressed it. He was a survivor, and survivors didn't pick fights with rising storms.
Over the last month, the rumors of Kian Voss had reached the ears of the Syndicate's upper leadership. Boss Iron-Eye had initially planned to raid the "independent" brewery to seize the vats. But then, Overseer Reno of the Water Guild had been spotted entering the brewery with a full armed escort. They hadn't gone in for a raid; they'd gone in for a dinner party.
Reno was a fringe noble, but he controlled the taps. The Fertilizer Syndicate needed water to process their "Explosive Chemicals." If they touched Kian, Reno would cut their supply, and the Syndicate's production would grind to a halt.
Kian Voss had unintentionally built a "Ceramite Shield" around himself using military and guild connections.
Nephal forced a thin, yellow-toothed smile. "A wise choice, Shiv. As they say in the Spire: 'Water flows to the lowest point, but men climb to the highest'."
He patted the autoguns. "Tell Boss Voss I accept the settlement. The Fertilizer Syndicate recognizes his territory. Tell him that if he ever needs a partner for... larger projects... our doors are always open to a man of his standing."
Shiv gave a curt nod. "I'll deliver the message, Master Nephal. Stay safe in the dark."
The boy turned and walked out, his steps echoing with the confidence of a man who no longer feared the Sump. Nephal watched him go, then turned to the rifles.
A scavenger who can produce military hardware and host Guild Lords, Nephal thought. I need to stop thinking of him as a customer. I need to start thinking of him as a peer.
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