Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

The deputy director initially planned to join Elena. If he could win the favor of this female director, he might have the opportunity to follow her to Chiaval.

But Elena looked down on him, and the deputy director was already resentful.

It happened that Elena made a wrong decision, and the deputy director was ready to report the losses of the second team to the technical guild.

I just hope the Technical Guild can hold Elena accountable and replace her with a new supervisor.

……

"The day has finally come."

Corax's gaze passed through the glass curtain wall of the hall, where a large number of small transport boats were slowly moving towards Lycaeus along the tractor beam of the gravity well.

It was loaded with tons of supplies to meet Lycaeus's huge needs.

What's funny is that Lycaeus is clearly Chiavar's property, and the slaves work day and night to provide Chiavar with sufficient minerals.

But even the supplies the Chiavari gave to Lycaeus were not free. The overseers had to exploit the slaves harshly, using minerals beyond the standard quota in exchange for the necessary survival supplies.

The reason why supplies are only supplied once a year is that all the expenses of the supplies, including the use of the gravity well, must be paid by Lycaeus!

The capitalists in Chiavar have taken exploitation and oppression to the extreme. Their greed is like a bottomless abyss, and they will squeeze out every last drop of oil even from the bone marrow.

And Lycaeus's overseers and slaves were never united.

Although 99% of the materials that the overseers exchanged with Chiavar every year were prepared for slaves, the value of the materials given to slaves only accounted for 5% of the total value!

The remaining 95% are reserved for the supervisor class, which is only 1% of the slave class in number.

Although this also includes necessities such as mining explosives purchased from the Technology Guild, the value of these items only accounts for a very small part of the total, and the vast majority of them are used to maintain the extravagant rule of the overseers.

Chiaval exploited Lycaeus, and the overseers also exploited the slaves in between, which was the reason why the slaves lived in hardship.

They have been waiting for this day for too long.

Corax had no time to contact other jurisdictions, but they had already agreed that the uprising would begin at 19th standard hour when the supply began.

Because of the shift work, most of the slaves are underground. Whoever is in the jurisdiction at that time will be responsible for launching the uprising.

Corax and Wop are the exceptions.

Because they can avoid regulatory searches and stay in the Eighth District and wait for the opportunity.

They were the planners of the uprising, and the uprising could not have been without their leadership, otherwise the resistance would have eventually degenerated into a riot that was doomed to be crushed.

Evelynnia tore open the stitches of the quilt and secretly took out the small laser pistol hidden inside. Erin and the Neff brothers also secretly took out the shotgun hidden in the ventilation duct.

Thirteen-year-old Nafilem Salt was standing guard outside.

These guns were captured from the Second Battalion.

Although the supervisors pretended to search the cells for any suspicious items during the first ten days after the Second Brigade "disappeared", they soon became lax.

The slaves seized the opportunity and smuggled guns into the precinct through various means, such as having Wop use his psychic powers to blind the overseers, or having Corax use his incredible stealth skills to bring them in.

Overseers occasionally searched, but they always found nothing.

Because the slaves were united enough, they were fully prepared every time the supervisor came.

"You can't go in!"

"Get out! What are you doing in there?"

Nephilim stumbled forward, her thin arms like dead branches blocking the overseer.

The overseer slapped Nephilim in the face, causing her to stagger back and hit the back of her head hard against the metal wall.

Sharokin clenched the dagger he had seized from the Second Battalion. When the overseer walked towards the depths of the cell with his back to him, he approached silently and stabbed the tip of the knife into the other's lower back.

The supervisor's body suddenly stiffened, and just as he let out a cry of pain, it was suppressed by Sharokin's hand.

The Nate brothers stormed out of the cell and instantly dragged the overseer back in. Their daggers gleamed coldly in the dim light as they stabbed silently and efficiently. The dull thud of each blade entering flesh mixed with splattering blood, staining the cell red.

They are about to revolt, why would they care about you?

Whoever comes today will die!

Wop: "They're doing pretty well, aren't they?"

Corax suppressed the corner of his mouth that had just risen, and deliberately added a bit of coldness to his voice, "Too naive. He should have been killed with the first blow."

"You can't judge them by the Primarch's standards. He's still a child, after all. He's too tall to reach his neck. Stabbing him in the heart might get stuck, so stabbing him in the kidneys is the right approach. From now on, these are all your sons, especially Sharokin. He's your most outstanding son."

Corax: "What about me? Am I the best among my brothers?"

Wop: "You are also one of the most outstanding Primarchs."

Corax knew that Wop would treat everyone equally, and in his heart every Primarch was the best, but Wop's deliberate pause still made Corax smile.

Corax saw an overseer approaching the cell. The children were still too slow, and there was still blood on the floor tiles at the cell door.

Although Nephilim tried very hard, her clothes were too dirty and only got dirtier the more she wiped them.

Wop: "The time is not right yet. There are still six standard Terran hours before the scheduled uprising."

The sound of sharp whistles pierced the corridor, the supervisors yelled at the top of their lungs, and chaotic footsteps approached from all directions.

Corax could hear at least three patrols closing in, their heavy gear clashing like death-defying chains.

Corax: "Are you suggesting I abandon them?"

"I'm reminding you that it's time to make a choice."

The word "choose" brings Corax's memory back to the trolley problem, where he also made a choice, but he was unable to realize the correct answer.

Corax asked softly, "Father, in the future you saw, I sacrificed Lycaeus?"

"And the revolutionary flame that you ignited with your own hands."

"Then I am a traitor," Corax said. "I have betrayed those who trusted me, betrayed the fallen soldiers, and tarnished the banner of the Revolution."

"You're doing it for the Empire."

"It's just a high-sounding excuse. I only see a coward running away from his sins. Just as I turned and ran from my brothers, I am a coward at heart. The Primarch's skin deceived everyone, making them mistakenly believe that I was a hero."

"But that hasn't happened yet."

"Because you came." Corax's mouth curled into a sharp arc. "So that coward is dead, father. Do you think I can be the hero in your mind?"

Wop: "Don't you think that's a little corny?"

"Father, has anyone ever told you that you are not good at reading the atmosphere?"

"Maybe not."

Corax: "Pretend I never said that."

"You've always been a hero, Corax." Wop's voice was soft, but every word was clear, as if he didn't want the other person to miss a syllable. "You're just not perfect, but who in this world is perfect?"

"Then I'll work on becoming a better hero."

Corax stepped forward, performing his best trick, just as he had when he first came into this world.

Corax moved through the crowd like a shadow, twisting one overseer's head at a strange angle, the crack of a cervical vertebrae snapping distinctly audible. He pinched another's larynx, his thumb digging deep into his trachea, the feel of the Adam's apple cartilage cracking under the pressure radiating through his fingertips.

The corridor has turned into a Shura field.

Blood flowed on the white floor like little scarlet snakes, spreading over the scattered broken fingers and bones.

A headless corpse leaned against the wall, its carotid artery still twitching and spurting, staining the mottled wall like an ink painting.

A disemboweled overseer lay on his back, his intestines piled at his side like untied ropes, and his still warm liver slid to the ground, mixed with undigested food residues, making a wet, muffled sound.

Many mistakenly believe Corax to be a precise assassin, but he is actually a berserker.

While he was certainly skilled in stealth and assassination, his combat was never graceful.

He would not be as obsessed with slitting people's necks as Coze, he would just kill the enemy with the highest efficiency.

Even among all the Primarchs, Corax's battle scenes were often among the bloodiest.

This is also related to his favorite weapon. Others use swords and hammers, but he uses claws.

While the kills were clean, corpses don't usually like clean cuts.

"Lord Corax,"

Nephilim slumped in a pool of blood, her knees sunk deep into the sticky scarlet, her body shaking uncontrollably.

"Are you alright?" Corax held out his hand to her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I messed up." Nefilem sobbed, tears mixed with blood leaving two pale marks on her cheeks.

"No." Corax knelt on one knee and gently wiped the girl's tears with his sleeve. "You are not wrong. They are wrong."

A broken sob escaped Nefilem's throat. "But they are dead."

"Death cannot wash away the sins they have committed. Don't be afraid, I am here for you."

Corax grasped the girl's trembling wrist and slowly pulled her out of the dark red pool of blood.

His eyes swept over every face in the cell. "The uprising has been brought forward, but the outcome will not change. We will win, and dawn will come."

Evelynya's slender fingers tightened, and the cold gun handle pressed tightly against her palm.

In the distance, the hurried footsteps of the supervisors were mixed with panicked curses. When the first terrified face appeared at the corner of the corridor, the index fingers of the two Nate brothers holding shotguns pressed the trigger at the same time.

"boom!"

Amidst a deafening roar, a rain of steel shotgun shells whizzed out, carrying with it scorching smoke. Before the supervisors could even raise their arms, their bodies were torn apart like fragile pieces of paper by the violent metal storm.

Blood and bone fragments splattered in a scarlet fan-shaped pattern in the narrow corridor, and several severed fingers were still bouncing convulsively on the ground.

Erin said worriedly, "But we haven't prepared the explosives yet."

Corax: "Perfect preparation doesn't exist, and timing only matters when you seize it."

Sharokin and Ephrenia followed Corax, then the Nate brothers, Aelin, and the other rebel fighters.

The hydraulic system of airlock door No. 12 hissed, and fully armed suppression troops poured out like a tide.

Despite this, the rebels were still dwarfed by the well-equipped suppression forces.

But they also had guns now, they were more numerous, they were more united than the Overseers, and most importantly, they had a Primarch.

"Follow me!"

Corax rushed into the enemy camp like a shadow, the dagger between his fingers drew a track of death in the air, turning into a claw to reap life.

Chapter 112: Not a Savior, but a Revolutionary (5K)

The suppression soldiers who had just stepped out of Gate No. 12 didn't even have time to raise their weapons before scarlet flowers bloomed in their throats, spurting out sticky liquid.

This is an art of slaughter that is precise to the nanosecond, and every action of the Primarch follows the most brutal aesthetics of efficiency.

The Primarch is the master of killing, and everyone else just needs to follow!

Evelynya's laser gun hissed, and the Neff brothers' shotguns roared.

A scarlet beam pierced a soldier's chest, and a hail of shrapnel turned an entire row of suppressors into splattered meat.

The price was that all the guns were pointed at Corax, and hundreds of guns burst out with dazzling flames at the same time, pouring down a rain of bullets on the black shadow.

The barrage of bullets carved honeycomb-like holes in the alloy wall, and the ricochets refracted wildly in the confined space like the Grim Reaper's scythe.

Even the Primarch's body would have found it difficult to remain unscathed while moving through the narrow corridors amidst a hail of bullets.

The laser burned black marks on his pale skin, and blood oozed from the wounds caused by the bullet.

Corax could have waited.

In just a few hours, Bertin would lead the main force of the rebels to capture the elevator and reach the Eighth District. That would be the perfect opportunity for battle.

This is another trolley problem.

As long as we give up those children, we don't have to take huge risks.

If he were just an ordinary person, he might have felt guilty for the rest of his life for abandoning them, but he would not hesitate, nor would he have any regrets, because the revolution could not afford to fail.

Save one person or save five people, it’s not a difficult choice.

But he is not an ordinary person, he is the Primarch, he can do more.

The choices of mortals are determined by the pull of the lever of fate, but the Primarch can stop the tram that crushes all living beings!

"Boom!"