Nimrod, accompanied by two underlings, arrived at the heart of the Khantemansi Dome, where a three-story gray building stood. Two guards clutching weapons flanked the entrance.
"You're Nimrod?"
"That's right."
The guards eyed the lasgun slung across his back warily.
"You can only enter alone, and no weapons allowed."
Nimrod complied, unstrapping his lasgun and chainsword, handing them to his men.
The guards exhaled in relief. The one on the left spoke.
"Lord Dimitrov awaits you in the arbitration hall on the third floor."
Passersby gawked at the boy in astonishment.
"Is that the one who killed Vulture?"
"Vulture must've been drunk to get taken out by a kid like that."
"I heard his marksmanship's unreal, better than King Boleslav's own guards—every shot pierces an enemy's eye."
"…"
Nimrod's keen ears caught the hushed murmurs around him, but he strode calmly to the third floor.
The entire four-hundred-square-meter third floor was occupied by the arbitration hall. The two guards at the door frisked him again to ensure he carried no weapons before letting him pass.
Nimrod entered the hall. A figure in a gray uniform, left arm replaced by a steel augmetic, stood with his back to him, gazing out a window.
"Woof, woof…"
A Chemical Dog, reared on chemical elixirs, loomed as tall as a man, its bulk rivaling a tiger's.
The beast lunged toward Nimrod, its green eyes locked on his inky black ones, its long tongue lashing toward his face, a pungent chemical stench wafting even beyond the door.
"Yogane, back!"
Dimitrov turned, and the dog trotted to its master's side, tail wagging.
The Arbites stroked the dog's fur, eyeing Nimrod.
"I heard a boy killed Vulture. I thought it was an exaggeration, but you're even younger than I imagined."
"Yogane, don't scare the child."
Dimitrov emphasized "child" with a deliberate weight.
"Ancient Terra had a saying: 'Heroes heed not youth.'"
"If your dog misbehaves, I wouldn't mind teaching it a lesson—like ripping off its head."
Dimitrov's eyes narrowed, scanning Nimrod from head to toe, confirming he was unarmed. A confident smile crept across his face.
Since becoming an Arbites, he'd nurtured Yogane, enhancing Vostonian formulas with potent augmenting agents.
No matter how vicious an underhive criminal, once Yogane set upon them, they'd be torn to shreds.
If Nimrod had a gun, Dimitrov might've been wary, but an unarmed boy was at his mercy.
Of course, such a remarkable boy would be a pity to waste.
"This beast could use a lesson. If you can rip off its head, I won't hold it against you."
"But if it pins you down, it proves you're too young and need guidance. You'll study under me."
With that, he slapped Yogane's head. The dog sprang into a frenzy, leaping high and pouncing at Nimrod.
Nimrod's black eyes tracked the Chemical Dog. Through its dense brown fur, he spotted a faintly yellowed patch at its throat—a telltale sign of Yogane's habits.
After gulping chemical elixirs, the dog savored them briefly, and years of corrosion had weakened its already vulnerable throat, though its thick fur concealed the flaw.
Enemies facing it were often intimidated by its massive frame and choked by the acrid chemical fumes.
The Primarch sidestepped slightly, and the Chemical Dog's lunge missed, crashing headfirst into the floor.
Nimrod's arms clamped around the dog's neck, precisely at the yellowed line, his legs locking tightly around its body.
With a sickening crack, the Arbites watched, stunned, as the boy snapped the Chemical Dog's neck.
Dimitrov stared at Nimrod as if beholding a human beast, incredulous that someone could break a Chemical Dog's neck barehanded.
"I'll take this dog's head."
Nimrod needed only the tongue, but claimed the entire head to conceal the "Lawyer" potion's key ingredient.
"Uh…" The Arbites' eyes fixed on the bloodied dog corpse. "Foundry D-46 is yours. Carry on as usual."
"Agreed."
Nimrod turned to leave, sensing no killing intent from Dimitrov. He had no desire to challenge the Khantemansi Dome's old order just yet.
Outside the arbitration hall, he pulled out a pre-prepared rope, tied the dog's head securely, and slung it across his body.
Onlookers, recognizing the Arbites' Chemical Dog, gaped at the boy in shock.
Nimrod rejoined his men. "Take me to the hive's giant rats."
"Yes, Boss."
Moments later, his two underlings led him to a narrow, elongated tunnel.
"Boss, this tunnel is the largest giant rat nest among the hundreds surrounding the Khantemansi Dome."
"Let's go."
"Boss, just the three of us? Shouldn't we fetch your men?"
The underling with a gray rat-head tattoo on his left arm asked, astonished.
"Boss, you don't understand. This tunnel's swarming with thousands of giant rats. Your marksmanship's godly, but even that can't hold back a tide of them."
"I have my ways," Nimrod said, eyeing the pair. "Do you want rat meat or pelts?"
The two gawked at Nimrod, sword in hand, their eyes brimming with doubt. Even if his swordplay matched his shooting, his boyish frame was smaller than each giant rat.
Worse, those rats were swift, their teeth could shear through steel, and their numbers were overwhelming. In a tunnel like this, they'd engulf the trio in moments.
If they had a choice, they'd rather not go, but they didn't dare refuse.
Nimrod killed without hesitation—one shot, one kill. They'd seen it firsthand.
Exchanging a glance, they read the bitterness in each other's eyes and spoke in unison.
"Boss, we're with you."
They trailed Nimrod into the ten-man-wide, dimly lit tunnel, then watched him ignite his chainsword.
The weapon's roar echoed harshly through the passage.
The tunnel quaked, shrill squeaks prickling their scalps, countless scarlet eyes making their legs tremble.
Too late to stop him or flee, they sighed inwardly.
[We're doomed. Thought we'd hitched our wagon to a powerhouse, but he's just an arrogant kid.]
Then Nimrod moved.
Each swing of his blade felled a giant rat.
The men's eyes adjusted to the gloom, widening as the boy ahead became a relentless killing machine.
Suddenly, a near-two-meter-long giant rat leapt from the tunnel's ceiling, lunging at Nimrod.
"Boss, watch out!"
Nimrod's reaction outpaced their warning. He dodged sideways, evading both the overhead ambush and the frontal assault.
The two rats collided, the ambusher squealing. The smaller rat froze, only to be bitten dead by the larger.
As it raised its head, Nimrod was at its side, delivering a kick to its skull.
The giant rat collapsed, dazed, and the others halted, then turned and fled.
The rat-tattooed underling slapped his head.
"Boss, you got the Rat King! The swarm's scared off!"
Nimrod slung the chainsword onto his back. "Each of you, carry two giant rats. You'll feast on meat tonight."
"Thank you, Boss! You're mighty and wise!"
"The Boss is the king of the underhive!"
The two vied to flatter their leader, now convinced that following him promised a bright future.
Nimrod hoisted the unconscious giant rat over his shoulder. "Let's move."
Each man hefted a meter-long giant rat. Rodents were light; each weighed about thirty kilograms, a manageable sixty kilograms for men accustomed to a cutthroat life.
Nimrod didn't return to the foundry immediately. He first traded a meter-long hive giant rat for two thousand milliliters each of black, gray, yellow, and green Rasvort.
He needed only black Rasvort, but traded for all four to mask the potion ingredient.
[Back to the foundry for a Wire Grass stalk, and the potion ingredients are complete.]