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

Mondak's abilities may not be superior to those of the other sages, but he is Dammecus's confidant, so he ranks third.

"My Lord." Mondak saluted Dammex.

Dammex immediately asked in surprise, "Mundak, how did you know that this laurel crown was given to me by Perturabo?"

……

“Why do you want to adopt so many orphans?”

On the way down the mountain, Heraclon couldn't help but ask in a low voice.

Wop did not pause, nor did he explain; it was Perturabo who spoke.

"In five years, they'll be great fighters, and in ten years, they'll unify the Olympia for me."

"Can they really do it?" Heraclon didn't understand. He really didn't have the talent to be a monarch.

Perturabo: "The difference in status between nobles and commoners is as great as heaven and earth. Through generations of intermarriage, nobles have almost monopolized the possession of beautiful women. Their offspring are often more beautiful than commoners, but the genes of nobles and commoners are not superior or inferior."

"Children of ordinary people just lack opportunities, and I will give them opportunities."

Monopoly is human nature.

The nobles monopolized all resources, including education, so the common people could only be common people their entire lives.

Even if they don’t need the resources, they won’t give them away for free.

But there is still no essential difference between nobles and commoners. What determines the difference between the two is never blood, but resources.

Therefore, the nobles had to use blood, etiquette, and titles to weave a gilded lie, pretending that they were born nobler than the common people.

If one were to analyze it, the ancestors of all the people in Olympia could be traced back to Terra ten thousand years ago.

Going back tens of thousands of years, their ancestors were primitive people living in caves.

If they could mutate into psykers or immortals, or get the chance to be transformed into Space Marines or even Custodes, then their genes would indeed be nobler than those of mortals, and the difference could not be made up by hard work.

Otherwise everyone is the same.

Perturabo despised the lies of the nobles and treated everyone equally, be they nobles, commoners, or slaves.

But Perturabo did not believe that everyone was equal. In his eyes, people had different statuses, but this status was determined by value rather than blood.

Some are smart, some are dull.

Some people are born with supernatural powers, while others are weak and sickly.

Some people beg for a living, but end up conquering the world.

Some people were grandsons of serfs, but eventually became national leaders.

There is also a royal family in a certain country where close relatives are often married, and the only heir is suspected to be mentally retarded.

Individual differences are an objective fact. Given the same opportunity, some people achieve success while others achieve nothing.

This difference has nothing to do with blood, but as long as individual differences exist, there will be no absolute fairness.

All people want is relative fairness.

At the beginning of the dynasty, the gap in relative fairness was smallest.

But as time goes by, the nobles will monopolize or merge various resources, and the gap will become wider and wider.

This is the case with Rocks today. The nobles and priests have monopolized almost all resources, and class barriers have made class crossing a luxury.

This requires relying on the system to ensure a relatively fair foundation. Unfortunately, Lockes' system is too rigid, so it must be reformed.

Heraclon did not understand these principles, but Perturabo did.

He gave the orphans a chance, and the orphans offered him their loyalty.

"My lord."

Miltiades led a group of warriors and knelt on one knee outside the orphanage.

Perturabo: "Mitiades, how many children have we taken in?"

Miltiades: "There are now one hundred and seventy-three of them, not all of them orphans, but many of them are children of common people."

As Wop had expected, many civilians sent their children to get free food.

Anyway, the orphanage is run by the royal family and its credibility is guaranteed.

Perturabo pondered for a moment. "Since not all of them are orphans, calling it an orphanage is no longer appropriate. From now on, this place will be called Camp Anvil!"

Perturabo didn't like the orphanage; it felt like a ticking timer for him.

Caliphonie tilted her head slightly, "Abo, why an anvil?"

Perturabo answered without hesitation, "The anvil is the beginning of the forge. They are raw steel, untempered and full of impurities."

"They will be tempered here, and I will be the hammer that forges them!"

Perturabo used crude steel to compare the children of ordinary people not out of arrogance; in his eyes, everyone is crude steel.

The Olympians don't have the skills to forge steel, but he will forge these children into sharp swords!

"After a thousand hammerings and temperings, fine steel is made!"

Perturabo: "Mitiades, gather everyone."

Miltiades lowered his head. "As you command, my lord."

Although Perturabo was only six years old, the young boy exuded unquestionable majesty.

The majesty was exactly the same as that of a tyrant, or even stronger.

When Perturabo gave the order, Miltiades obeyed it almost reflexively.

Anvil Camp was formerly an old military camp and still retains many of its fully military-standard facilities.

Under Miltiades' harsh scolding, the 174 children reluctantly formed a crooked square formation, with Zoris among them.

Perturabo stood on the dais, surveying the children lined up below.

They were ragged, thin, and their formations were crooked, which was far from his ideal image of a warrior.

But there was no disappointment in Perturabo's eyes. It was precisely because they were crude steel that he needed his hammer to remove the impurities from them!

Otherwise, what's the use of him?

Perturabo caressed the Evolution Trustee in his arms and murmured, "Become light, Perturabo!"

Just as Woppe had hoped.

He is the Primarch, he was born to be the brightest star, no matter day or night!

Perturabo surveyed the crowd with a sharp gaze, then gradually fell silent.

He is the Primarch and knows everything by nature, but he cannot teach his children.

If he was facing a group of soldiers, he could passionately tell them why they were fighting and inspire their fighting spirit.

But he was facing a group of children who had no idea what justice was. They had no education and came here just to fill their stomachs.

They are still at the level of physiological pursuit and they don't understand anything.

Perturabo realized he had made a mistake, for he was silenced before he could even speak.

They must first learn to read and write before they can acquire knowledge.

They must have dignity before they can learn to cherish it.

They must have enough food and clothing before they can pursue higher ideals.

But he was just a child himself.

He couldn't give any of these now.

Steel needs to be tempered and hammered over and over again, and knowledge needs to be accumulated over time.

Nothing can be learned overnight, they have to learn.

But what should he do now?

Perturabo was silent, feeling a little embarrassed.

Why did he have to go on stage?

It was his damn twisted mentality that was at work, he was eager to prove to Wop that he was worthy of his expectations!

But he was too impatient, and neither he nor the kids were ready.

Before he even started hammering, he was eager to show the steel to Wop.

He is now in a difficult situation, it's his own fault!

Perturabo wanted to swat the mosquito, but he restrained himself.

He couldn't just step down in disgrace, he had to say something!

But what should he say now?

The children looked up at him with a mixture of expectation and fear, and they twisted and turned uncomfortably in the line.

He was curious about why Perturabo was so slow to speak, and he was also afraid of being punished.

"Goo!"

Someone's stomach was protesting, and Perturabo's brows knitted together. "They haven't eaten yet?"

Miltiades knelt on one knee and said, "My Lord, please forgive me. The kitchen is already busy preparing food."

The Anvil Camp was a key project funded by the royal family. With ample funds, the renovation of the old military camp progressed rapidly. Under the order of Dammecus, Miltiades led his soldiers to serve as instructors.

But the only thing they forgot to find a cook for Camp Anvil.

The warehouse at Anvil Camp was filled with supplies sent by the royal family, and bags of flour were piled up like small mountains.

But these flours cannot be swallowed directly after all. They need to be kneaded, fermented and baked before they can become delicious bread.

Teenagers are in the growth stage, and preparing food for more than a hundred hungry children is a workload that is simply not feasible for a human being!

The burden now fell entirely on Miltiades and his warriors, but Perturabo ordered them to assemble, and they dared not disobey.

Perturabo's expression was solemn. "Disband! Go eat first. I don't need hungry warriors!"

"Long live!"

A childish voice suddenly sounded in the crowd.

When everyone's eyes gathered around him, he timidly covered his mouth again.

Perturabo tried to maintain a serious expression, but then he raised his voice and shouted, "I can't hear you! Speak louder!"

"Long live! Long live!!"

The children threw away their previous restraint and cheered with all their might.

They don’t know who is standing on the stage, but as long as they can have enough food to eat, it’s worth their cheering!

Only Heraclon quietly approached Caliphonie and asked in a low voice, "Did he forget the words?"

Perturabo tilted his head slightly; he heard it.

In fact, he had no words at all. He was too confident and sure that he would not be speechless no matter what the situation.

Even the most speculative philosophers are not as good as him, but his quick thinking is aimed at adults and will not work on children.

No matter how profound the truth is, it is like a heavenly book to children, and dry preaching will only make them drowsy.

Telling them stories can help them concentrate. Vivid stories can help children understand the truth without realizing it, which is subtle and effective.

That's what Wop taught him.

Perturabo was suddenly stunned. He seemed to know how to teach these children.

Because Wop had already told him the method!

……

The aroma of bread wafted through the cafeteria of Anvil Camp. The children sat around a long table, staring at the instructors distributing freshly baked barley bread.

They are called bread, but in fact they are thick flatbreads made from unfermented dough that is simply flattened and baked. The taste is far inferior to the fluffy and sweet snack bread on the tables of aristocrats.

But barley bread does not require baking, is easy to make, and has a longer shelf life.

The hungry children also ate voraciously. No matter what the food was, as long as it filled their stomachs, it was a delicacy.