There can't be a Harvest Moon in the RimWorld.

This guy seems like a coward who's all bark and no bite. Why would he do this? Is he lying to me, or is there some other reason?

The man in the red turban said with lingering fear, “I was originally an apprentice at the blacksmith’s shop in town, but the lord required all young men over the age of 16 to be enlisted in the militia for training. I had only been a town guard for a little over half a month when, because I was strong enough, I was picked up by the privateers.”

Upon hearing this, I suddenly asked, "So you know this town very well? Tell me everything you know, and maybe I'll spare your life."

Overjoyed, the woman in the red headscarf hurriedly spilled the beans, revealing the entire situation of the loader's collar.

This Loader's Territory was founded by a battle gunner from the Andnavara faction. The founder was a top-notch artilleryman in the faction, with extensive experience in siege warfare, and was favored by the faction leader. He was eventually ordered to come to the western edge of the desert and establish this town, hence the name Loader's Territory.

This territory is similar to the Jiedushi (military governor) during the Tang Dynasty. The lord in this region has complete administrative, economic, and military rights. His mission is to fight against and contain the booming God-Slaying Vajra pirate group, so as to give the Andenavara faction a head start.

The city has a total population of only a thousand, but it has a militia of nearly three hundred men. Some of them guard the town's security, while others roam the wilderness, carrying out raids and plundering missions. These two groups are rotated regularly to prevent the militia from weakening.

Young people like those wearing red headscarves were required to participate in the work of the armed forces; otherwise, they would be driven out of the town or reduced to slavery and stripped of all ownership of their property.

...This plot sounds familiar, and I feel offended.

The mayor, appointed by the Andnavara faction, controls the town's armed forces, making his position as secure as a rock. He doesn't need to worry about politics, as the local councilors handle daily affairs.

These councilors were elected by the loader's lord, the big merchants, the big factory owners, and the retired combat regiment leaders. They usually made decisions by voting. The Red Headscarf said that the order to destroy Ten Pine Manor this time also came from their resolution.

Below them was a large urban class engaged in construction, handicrafts, farming, forging, and other work. They were responsible for paying taxes, fulfilling military service, and receiving protection from the town. These people were often skilled individuals from the wasteland who joined alone later in life, and therefore did not wield much power and were unable to join the council.

Chapter 311 Bringing Educators

But the social strata that followed these people were not so glamorous. Distinguished from the permanent residents of the town was the class of town merchants.

These people are not actually residents of the Loader's Territory; they are simply merchants who travel between various factions and outposts and have established trade routes. Their stay in the Loader's Territory is similar to obtaining a local green card and thus having residency rights, but apart from paying commercial taxes, they are not subject to military service or poll tax.

These powerful merchants, relying on their economic strength, traded and exchanged goods between factions. Aside from the barbarians who only knew how to shout "waaaaaaagh!", everyone welcomed their presence, as they regularly purchased local goods, contributing to the prosperity of the region's economy. Compared to the rigidly factional towns, the identities of these town merchants were more ambiguous, making it easier to carry out clandestine missions such as espionage.

For example, the big merchant in the loader's territory is suspected of having a behind-the-scenes identity and also occupies a secure seat in the legislature.

Other merchants, however, were treated as second-class citizens. Because of this, these town merchants formed their own guards to protect their property and goods from threat. They knew that if they were attacked and robbed in the wild or even in town, no town guards would come to their aid—they would be lucky if the thieves didn't join in the looting.

The next class down consisted of town traders like those in Shisongzhuang.

Town traders may sound prestigious, but they are essentially royal merchants supported by factions, responsible for making money and supplying the towns. Since they do not create value themselves, they do not hold a high position within the Andenavato faction.

The lord of the Loader's Domain once declared that traders were nothing but a bunch of vampire bulls on the backs of oxen, and that being killed by their tails was their own fault.

However, Shisong Village was even more unfortunate. They were not a village of the Andenavato faction, but a stronghold of the Tesienya faction. This faction was a moderate group of outsiders, sharing the same origin as the barbaric Andenavato faction, but their styles of doing things were completely different. It was only because of the historical relationship between the two factions that they reluctantly accepted the existence of Shisong Village and treated it as a merchant.

In my guess, only newly established armed towns like the Loader's Territory, lacking a solid foundation of strength, would not have their own town traders and instead rely on other factions as their traders.

If it weren't for the fact that Shisongzhuang still had tangible industries like brewing wine and growing tobacco, it would probably have been wiped out long ago. Those who are not of our kind are sure to have different hearts; this is an age-old truth.

Finally, Andenavara, as a violent alliance of outsiders, also possessed a unique class: slaves.

These slaves included prisoners of war, residents of towns who had been deprived of their personal rights, and goods captured by privateers in the wild.

These humanoid animals numbered over two hundred in the loader's command. They were responsible for the most dangerous and lowest-paying jobs, such as mining in the wild, reclaiming wasteland, and working in the ironworks. Every accident would result in the death of a slave, and then more slaves would be brought in to replace them.

Slaves with skills and talents can join the town after fulfilling the requirement of five years of labor and having three or more residents as guarantors. The wealth they create thereafter belongs to them.

But such cases are extremely rare. Most slaves die like dead dogs in some dark corner before they can even display their talents or learn skills.

In my understanding, such a so-called possibility is nothing more than leaving these desperate slaves with a glimmer of unattainable hope, preventing them from collapsing or rebelling. A slave group of two hundred people is clearly a carefully calculated and controllable group, preventing them from forming cliques and secretly revolting.

According to Redheads, the Andenawara faction owns many similar towns of varying sizes on this planet, and Loader's Territory is just one of them. And the Andenawara faction itself is just one of many factions on the planet.

I wanted to ask more about other towns and other forces, but Red Turban stammered and couldn't answer. After all, he was just a genuine country bumpkin from the town. If he hadn't become a privateer, he might never have left the loader's territory in his life. He only knew about the outside world from hearsay from merchants.

It seems that more information can only be obtained from Burnett. A businessman like him, who has traveled all over the country, certainly knows more details than the Red Turbans.

The woman in the red headscarf spoke until her throat was dry, and said sadly, "I never expected them to do such a thing... If I had known, I would have broken both my legs that day and never come out..."

I smiled and said, "Stop making excuses. If you had been bolder yesterday, you would be a qualified privateer by now. It's only a matter of time for that to happen. Your biggest mistake was running into me."

I stroked the cheetah's head and said, "I never thought that an ordinary person like me would find a sense of God in the wilderness. You know, it's very difficult for me to make a reasonable judgment on your crimes—I just send people to the death penalty for things I can't decide."

"Please spare me..." the woman in the red headscarf knelt on the ground, pleading desperately.

Judging from his companions' words and attitude, Red Turban was indeed different from these beasts in human form; at least he hadn't taken the step of degenerating into scum.

Reverence for life relies on empathy, maintaining hope for life and fear of death, which ultimately combine to form a sense of reverence within the heart.

Without reverence, there is no fear, and only then can one do anything.

Burnett's sense of awe was so intense that I had him go and see the bodies of his deceased relatives and friends, and personally collect their bodies. By facing the horrific death, he could overcome his fear and regain his courage.

The man in the red headscarf before me had already teetered on the edge of humanity, but thankfully he hadn't crossed that line. This reverence saved his life today, but I fear that one day he too will become a bloodthirsty wolf, turning against my mercy today.

Mercy to the enemy is the greatest cruelty to oneself.

To intensify his fear, there is only one way...

“You,” I pointed to the red headscarf on the ground, “first clean this tavern, then bury the headless corpse at the entrance. It’s disgusting to look at; I can’t do business here anymore. Finally, go out and give them some tequila so they don’t die too quickly.”

There's no better lesson than empathy. This is a case of making an example of someone.

Let him see these dead privateers, let him realize that he could become one of them at any moment, either dying a mutilated death on the spot or impaled on a wooden stake outside the door, suffering a fate worse than death. I don't believe he won't be afraid.

The same empathy can be used to inspire Burnett's courage, or it can be used as a warning to the Red Hoods. Hurry up and type "educator" in the chat!

Chapter 312 Cutting Surgery

Over the next few hours, Red Headscarf cleaned the tavern inside and out, and even fetched water from the beach to wash the dirty tables and chairs. After finishing that, he went to the beach and dug up a large bucket of fine sea sand, then rearranged the sandy floor of the tavern's main hall.

It must be said that labor reform is a very effective and scientific method. If this guy were locked up in a cell and made to reflect on his mistakes for a hundred years, he probably wouldn't understand what he had done wrong, let alone intend to truly repent.

However, while working in the tavern, the woman in the red headscarf was able to transform her inner hesitation and uncertainty into motivation, channeling it into her work. This behavior exemplifies a process where reality determines perception, and perception, in turn, influences reality.

Driven by the will to survive, the hands and feet have already hijacked the brain to take action and engage in the labor of atonement and repentance. When the brain comes to its senses, it will prejudicially find the logic behind its behavior and actively reflect on it.

For example, even though Red Headscarf ran out three times, he never once tried to escape. His injured leg was only simply bandaged, and pain during activity was inevitable, but only in the pain of such strenuous activity could he feel a sincere sense of atonement.

"Come here, you don't need to do anything anymore."

I looked out at the sky from the bar and felt dusk approaching. By then, the work inside the bar was almost done.

The man in the red turban was still wiping the wooden walls of the tavern—how could he even think of that? The wooden walls of the tavern are exposed to the wind and sun every day, even if he wipes them, how many days will they stay clean? If I hadn't stopped him, I bet he could have sifted out all the sand in the desert by its size.

Upon hearing my words, the woman in the red headscarf turned ashen-faced, put down the rag in her hand, and walked heavily into the tavern, standing before me like a piece of dead wood.

"Do you understand my intention?" I asked calmly.

The red-turbaned man's eyes had lost their bewilderment and confusion; only when he saw the privateers howling in agony on the wooden stake outside the door did a flicker of fear cross his face. "Boss, I know we deserve to die... I don't know why... why we did such a thing..."

His voice slowly choked up, "I was afraid of dying... and afraid of not being able to go back... At that time, all I could think about was wanting to be like them, wanting to kill someone to prove myself... but I just couldn't bring myself to do it..."

As he spoke, he collapsed to his knees, pounding his head in frustration. "I deserve to die... I deserve to die for having such thoughts... There must be a demon inside me... No, no... They are the demons!"

Huh? This guy realized his mistake so quickly? Is labor reform really that effective?

But I quickly realized that it wasn't that labor reform was omnipotent and could reform even the most heinous criminals; rather, the "red-headed turban's" crime wasn't serious. Even if he were sentenced, it would only be considered attempted murder. Those who commit crimes of passion usually reflect on their actions and feel fear after calming down.

This emotion can prompt humans to defend themselves in times of crisis, and it can also help people escape in time to save their lives; it is also a kind of human instinct.

If it were those old criminals at the gate, their crimes would be countless. Getting them to genuinely repent and turn over a new leaf would be no less difficult than getting them to commit suicide. Values ​​and worldviews cultivated over a long period cannot be changed overnight—even if they reflect on their actions, they will rebound and relapse in a short time, almost beyond redemption.

As for Red Turban, he was just a blacksmith's apprentice from the countryside, who had never seen much of the world, so naturally he couldn't take torture and looting for granted. What I did was simply restore his conscience, which had been suppressed like a spring, to its original shape.

"Now that you've come to your senses, I'm about to announce your trial."

I said coldly, watching the red-turbaned woman in front of me lower and lower her head, standing there trembling.

“There’s nothing shameful about being afraid of death. If you’re not even afraid of death, then nothing in this world can restrain you,” I said gently. “Next, I’m going to subject you to a form of punishment called a head keratin excess group separation and cutting surgery. Are you ready?”

"What... kind of punishment is that?"

"Oh, it's just using special tools to perform surgery on your head and cut off some extra stuff."

The red headscarf made his scalp tingle. He finally dared to raise his head and let me see that his eyes were filled with tears. He only heard things like "head", "protein", and "cutting". It must have been a very cruel operation.

"Is it one of those taming surgeries? I've seen the town doctor use it on disobedient slaves... He inserts a long needle into their eye sockets and stirs it around in their brains. After that, even the worst slaves become incredibly obedient, but they become dazed and confused, like they've lost their souls, and die a few years later without eating or drinking..."

Perhaps out of fear, the woman in the red turban began to ramble on about her thoughts, without even a hint of pretense, "They also said it's just about cutting out the unnecessary parts of the slaves' heads..."

This is... a prefrontal lobotomy?

I never imagined that someone in the loader's rank would do such a heinous thing.

Each hemisphere of the brain is divided into four lobes, with the frontal lobe being the largest, accounting for about one-third of the volume. A prefrontal lobe resection involves artificially removing this portion. After its removal, a person will lose many functions, including a significant portion of their personality.

It was once used as an effective treatment for violent psychosis, but the person after the operation was almost a walking corpse. The only thing that was the same as a normal person was that they could still breathe.

If you can't even use your brain, your mental illness will naturally get better.

The level of law and morality in this region is truly astonishingly low; it has at least been moving backwards for the past fifty years, and the reversal of history has reached a point where it is already on the fast track.

"Close your eyes and stick your head out. If you move around, I can't guarantee your safety."

I kicked him down, stepped on his back to knock him to the ground, and took off his red headscarf, throwing it away. Only then did I realize that he was covered in sweat, his hair completely soaked.

"Waaah... Help me... Someone save me..."

The red-turbaned girl's pleas for mercy were faint yet persistent, as if she were praying to the gods and Buddhas of the surrounding villages, hoping for a response that would save her.

I said to him expressionlessly, "You don't need to think about it anymore. Even if someone in this wasteland can save you, they are definitely not righteous people. This place is rotten to the core; do you expect it to bear the fruit of utopia?"

As I spoke, I suddenly thought of the nauseating prosperity of the dazzling metropolis. "Even if utopia truly exists, it can't be achieved through mere superficial glamour. Now that I'm here, I'll show you what it means to wreak havoc!"

After saying that, the scythe on his right arm guard popped out, and after a flash of cold light, he swung the blade down without hesitation!

Chapter 313 A Life as a Tool

"Stand up, it's over." After making the final cut, I lifted my foot from his back and patted the red headscarf that was dripping with sweat and had his eyes closed.

Oh no, now we should call him Bald Qiang.

The so-called "excess keratin in the head separation and cutting surgery" is just cutting hair.

Otherwise, can someone explain what keratin in the head is? Can horns grow on a person's head?

The bald man stood up, staring blankly at the hair scattered on the floor, a fool's expression on his face. He looked at the ground, then at me, "This is..."

I glanced at him disdainfully and saw him touching his bald head with a look of relief on his face. I couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark.

"The procedure of separating and cutting off the excess keratin in the head, also known as the shaving punishment. In our area, this is already a punishment worse than death, but look at you, you can still smile? This shows the extent of the moral decay in the wasteland."

Punishment requires a balance of kindness and severity. Indiscriminate killing might solve everything, but it leaves one isolated and alone. However, if the punishment used fails to demonstrate authority, it might reveal one's weakness and breed resentment in the victim.