Angar jolted awake, his skull cracking against the medicum machine's frame with a loud crack, fragments of an elusive nightmare dissolving like smoke, unremembered.

His body screamed in protest, throbbing beneath layers of bindings and analgesics, but the fog of oblivion receded, leaving him aware he lay in the sterile hum of the Aedificium Medicum.

A soft giggle drew his gaze leftward. There sat Anka's widow, Fella, propped against the pristine wall, her infant nestled in the crook of one arm while a slate balanced on her lap.

She was clean, hardly stinking at all now, and wearing an ill-fitting imperial dress, her thick and broad shoulders straining against the seams.

Her lips curved in amusement at his accident, but her eyes, those two brutal pits, stared, boring unerringly into his soul.

Why in the Holy Trinity's name was she here? She belonged in Tormina, awaiting the transport that would deliver her and the first batch of girls to Cloisteranage in a couple weeks.

He looked away, inventorying his wounds. Bandages swathed his head, immobilizing a jaw that throbbed agonizingly.

His left forearm, encased in a rigid cast extending above the elbow, bore the reattached hand. His regeneration would knit severed sinews and vessels, and he'd have its use back much faster than waiting for a new one to regrow.

Something warm enveloped his abdomen and right thigh, concealed beneath a blanket, and his body was numb from the chest down.

The pharmaceutical slurry coursing through his veins dulled the agony some, but it clouded his mind as well.

With a thought, his Visio Aeterna implant displayed the time. Only seven hours or so had elapsed since his audience with Tormina's first group of girls.

"As destiny ordains me your wife," Fella proclaimed in a voice like steel wrapped in velvet, "I decided to forgive your earlier transgression, this once. While you slumbered, I could have killed you, but I restrained myself. Never again shall you test me, nor disrespect me. And never again question my love or devotion to our son."

Her stare pinned him like a specimen under scrutiny. Angar met it unflinchingly, his pulse quickening in the charged silence, a standoff of wills stretching like a taut cable. Neither yielded.

At last, she did, lifting the slate, its screen casting an unflattering glow on her sickeningly pallid and pocked features. "This has details of the battle's damage. Jon left it for you. As you've slept, I've been figuring out its workings."

Rising with an awkward grace, she approached and handed off the device. "I've met his mother, Veerta. She's incredibly kind and got so excited to learn I'll be your wife. She demanded I stay here with her until I leave for Cloisteranage."

Annoyance ignited in Angar's chest like a skyspark. Propping the slate up, he hunted-and-pecked a response out.

In the Holy Empire, it's improper for an unwed woman to linger unchaperoned with a man, save in the fulfillment of ordained duties. And I will not have a wife. Our cult can't use that word, or husband, marriage, matrimony, and the like. It's covenant and partner instead. For the sanctity of your reputation, depart this building. Return to Tormina. Wait there until collected.

He extended the slate. Fella scanned the missive, her lips twisting into a full smile that sent unwelcome feelings through him.

"No," she decreed in an unyielding tone, clutching her infant closer. "We'll be bound monogamously. I'll bear your children. I'll be your wife, and you my husband. Words mean things, and that's what those words mean."

She leaned in, her hunched form still somehow attractive to him. "Veerta explained what prostitutes are and how they're viewed. She warned me not to mention that part to anyone off-world. It seems that'd scar my reputation worse than watching over my severely injured husband-to-be as he slept."

Straightening, resolve hardened her features. "Now that you're awake, I'll depart the building, but not South Point. I hate disobeying you, but for this, it's necessary. I must learn all I can before leaving this world. I refuse to be seen as ignorant by the elongated stick-girls at Cloisteranage."

Angar exhaled heavily, the sigh escaping as a muffled rasp through his bound jaw and melted mouth.

Saint Salvador, well-versed in the ways of the Nofelim, had ordered all vessels orbiting Tribute, including his own light-class cutter, to stand by on high alert, weapons primed for action, as he rode to engage Azgoth.

The instant the Fallen had dissolved into profane mist and retreated to his anchored mainstay aboard the shipping frigate, Salvador issued the command to unleash a full orbital bombardment on the imperial vessel.

None of the ships had heavy artillery or military-grade armaments. Or crews with much skill, as their aim proved erratic at best, scattering the barrage, inflicting unintended devastation.

The aftermath of the battle and bombardment of South Point was grim, the extensive damage sorely driving up expenses, straining what funds Hidetada had made available.

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Among the most devastating losses was the permanent power generator and its reinforced housing, obliterated in the orbital bombardment.

The components weren't allowed to be fabricated, and were far too massive or too complex for the on-site fabricator even if they were, so replacements had to be sourced off-world at an exorbitant expense.

But, despite the wreckage, only eight lives were lost, six of them from the shipper's crew, and none were children. Angar offered silent thanks to the Holy Trinity for that small grace.

It was a setback, but he wouldn't let it deter him one bit. He reviewed the reports and authorized the necessary expenditures and supply orders to keep construction moving.

Progress at North Point, undamaged, unaffected by the events at South Point, proceeded smoothly. Its workforce, bolstered by hiring some of the brighter monkeys of Amaravati, proved effective.

Jon advocated for a similar approach at South Point, and though Angar held a deep-seated hatred for those filthy, cowardly monkeys, he relented. He refused to let personal bigotries undermine his vision for Tribute.

At Jon and Aude's insistence, plans expanded beyond the southern hemisphere. Amaravati and Iramvati City would be modernized on par with Kondune, establishing another imperial bastion and spaceport in the north.

Angar refused at first, wanting to keep his word to Lord Dikaiosyne, but, strangely enough, Fen wanted that too. It'd diminish Kondune's importance, but allow for Tribute to grow much faster.

This dual-hemisphere infrastructure promised far greater efficiency, facilitating resource flow and off-world trade.

The battle's resolution also unveiled more of Hidetada's cunning foresight, his keen ability to utilize his subordinate as effective bait.

Knowing Azgoth would target Angar, Hidetada had bribed the renowned Saint Salvador to conceal himself covertly on Tribute.

The bribe? The top-of-the-line battlecycle he'd ridden in on, the most expensive model in production, among only a handful capable of true flight.

Salvador had arrived weeks before Angar, concealing himself in the shattered craters of Mecia's exploded volcanoes, patiently waiting.

Why Hidetada had insisted that Garioch accompany the Saint remained a mystery. Even Garioch himself had no idea.

With Azgoth slain, Salvador vanished back into hiding, abandoning the fifth-Tier Knight at South Point without a word.

Complications arose closer to home as well. The bold and maddening Fella, whose presence somehow stirred both great annoyance and an unwelcome but strong longing in Angar, had overstepped her station.

She demanded Jon cancel all remaining meetings with the groups of girls under sixteen, and inexplicably, Jon complied.

This infuriated Angar, who swiftly issued orders for everyone to disregard any commands from her. She held absolutely no authority, despite her delusional claims.

Even as these problems arose, the Lord Hungers cult took root with a blazing fervor.

Though not yet formal clergy, many Tributeans, and all Mecians and Torminians, had sworn oaths to its tenets and begun incorporating them into daily life where possible.

One core tenet was the purification of the soul through labor, and members aged six and older were required to tithe eighty hours a month toward the Holy Trinity's glory.

Weapons, armor, and equipment were provided to cult adherents, so primitive crafting and related Classes were being phased out.

For the vast majority of cultists, there were no houses to clean, or cleaning supplies to clean with if there were. There were no crops or cattle to tend either.

Hunting fell under the cult's training requirement, leaving mining of the planet's resources the only fitting form of labor.

Hence, the free labor he'd informed Aude about.

Angar led by example, refusing to exempt himself despite his grievous injuries.

As he had no family, he was unable to train or hunt as the tenets demanded, so he compensated by toiling for the vast majority of hours in a day, his enhanced body enduring the grind.

The rest of the day was spent handling issues Jon couldn't, psychic practice, trying to attain the Mindscape again, and praying, shoring up and hardening his foundation. He was getting closer and closer to being ready to ascend to the third Tier.

Resource extraction focused on Tribute's most profitable bounties, all considered rare despite their abundance across the galaxy, and more efficiently extracted from terraformed worlds.

Native sulfur crystals, fluorite, and phosphoric anhydride were prioritized for their value in industrial reagents, biotech, and even terraforming worlds.

Scandium and yttrium, essential elements for advanced technology, followed closely, alongside tellurium for electronics and radiation shielding.

While hematite, magnetite, and pyrrhotite offered high iron content, they were less lucrative and sidelined for now.

Angar and Hidetada's comprehensive plans ensured no necessity went unaddressed.

Plenty of highly-educated specialists arrived from off-world, including civil to system engineers, architects, technicians, mechanists, material specialists, and more.

These experts laid the groundwork for self-sufficiency, though cult clergy would eventually assume these roles.

Specialized tools and wiring, treated to withstand the corrosive atmosphere, were imported at great cost. In time, local foundries would rise, leveraging the world's plentiful iron and on-planet treatments to produce everything needed.

The world would be scoured for exotic goods, such as delicacies, to sell to the galaxy's elite at exorbitant prices too.

Key to all this were individuals like Simo's daughter, Mari, and her husband, Fateh, a seasoned materials specialist from one of Kryon Systems' factories on Zanaya, with years and years of expensive education.

Because of Tribute's state, though it wasn't easy, Hidetada was able to have formal education requirements waived in favor of an apprenticeship system.

Mari now apprenticed under Fateh, learning to harvest local flora and fauna to create substances such as biological resins to shield metals from sulfuric decay.

Similar innovations, like obsidian tubing, would enable structures outside the protective domes to house powered systems without constant degradation.

This apprenticeship model extended broadly. Many wives trained under their husbands alongside locals who'd fill the cult's Technovex ranks.

The off-world communities like South Point would remain smallish, with housing and all services provided for free, all specialists paid at the top scale for their rank, allowing the dual spousal incomes from apprenticeships to be banked and saved.

These were strong incentives, helping to secure professionals willing to endure living on the terrible planet, and Hidetada sweetened the deal with promises of safe empowerment to the third Tier, a very rare and coveted boon.

In return, Tribute would gain immensely from the free training of its people in advanced professions.

Military trainers rounded out the influx, instructing Lord Hungers members in modern weaponry and armor, which Hidetada provided plenty of. All quality stuff too, much better than the guards had equipped.

Ranged combat's superiority was undeniable, prompting adaptations to align Classes with imperial standards.

Some rare blaster and lancer-type weapons qualified as bows or spears for Ability requirements, allowing a great amount of seamless integration.

Those with melee and crafting focused Classes adopted ranged Classes on top of them, evolving into hybrids.

It was the best that could be done. However, the next generation would embrace modern ranged doctrine fully from the outset, forged to bathe the ground in blood from cradle to grave.

At six years of age, cultist children were outfitted with auto-blasters and modular armor that'd grow with them.

Angar still faced much to do. His time was limited, and Hidetada would collect him far too soon.

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