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

Curze looked up at the sun in the sky, his lips curled up slowly, "I regret this. Ask the Emperor to give me the 19th Legion. I will teach them what true justice is."

"What a bad taste." Sevatar's thoughts passed silently like a sharp blade in the shadows. His genetic father has had such a bad taste since he was a child, and he has not changed it over the years.

As the Eighth Legion officially joined the Great Crusade, the chain of responsibility was wrapped around it like a shadow.

It is a fine tradition of the Empire to have the old lead the new. Legions whose Primarchs have not yet returned will usually be commanded by legions that already have Primarchs for a period of time in order to better unleash the power of the legion.

In addition, the Emperor has always intended to let the returning Primarchs command multiple legions, so no matter how you look at it, Curze's behavior at this moment perfectly meets the Emperor's expectations for the Primarchs.

But considering that Coze had just repeatedly chewed on Corax's name, it was difficult for Sevatar to convince himself that the Father of Genes had good intentions.

Chapter 105: House Demolition Effect (5K)

Erin pointed to the black building outside the window. "That's the Black Tower."

Lycaeus' landmark building is the kilometer-high black tower rising from the foundry. It is like a giant black sword piercing the sky, and the defensive turrets all over the tower are like the teeth on the sword blade.

Surrounding this metallic behemoth is a spiderweb of ancient prisons, with twisted bridges connecting these buildings to the scarred mines on the surface. The entire area looks like some kind of mechanical tumor growing from the ground.

Lycaeus is a barren, rocky moon with no atmosphere, its surface bare and exposed to the torment of the vacuum.

But beneath the surface, dozens of giant exhaust facilities, like rusted metal lungs, pump unfiltered, turbid gases into the ground day and night.

Deep in the mines that wind like blood vessels, millions of slaves rely on these "gifts" from the surface to survive in eternal darkness.

"The overseers of the Technical Guild all live in the Black Tower. They patrol the various prison areas regularly, but they almost never go to the mines on their own initiative, unless someone is selected to inspect the exhaust facilities."

Erin lowered his voice very low, because they were now in the eighth district on the surface.

Lycaeus implemented a strict shift system, forcing slaves to work continuously in the depths of the underground for a week before they could return to the prison area for a short rest.

Because they had to return to the prison area regularly to replenish food and water, although the overseers were cruel and always tightened the rations tighter than a noose, they did not dare to let all the slaves starve.

What they feared was not riots, but who would mine the minerals for Chiavar's factory if the miners all starved to death?

"The ruling class of Kiavar is the technical guilds, each of which is managed by a guild master. These guild masters are the true rulers of Kiavar, possessing incredible wealth and almost unlimited political power."

"That's the gravity well, connecting the two worlds, constantly transporting refined ore to Kiaval to feed the greedy factories on the surface."

Corax astutely got to the heart of the matter: "Who are they selling what they produce to?"

Erin: "Kyaval has a free trade agreement with other worlds in the surrounding system, and the goods they produce are already pre-ordered before they even leave the conveyor belt."

Corax: "But the warp storms block warp travel. They can only travel in space at sublight speeds. Doesn't that mean each transaction will take more than ten years?"

"Not that long." Erin recalled, "The same cargo ship returns once every five years on average."

Wop: "They should have regular hyperdrive."

In fact, humans in the Golden Age had already mastered conventional superluminal travel technology, but it had never been popular because the subspace engine was too convenient.

即使是短途亚空间跳跃也可以在1-2天之内抵达5光年之外，在亚空间的体感时间只有1-2小时，速度在912-1825倍光速之间。

If guided by a navigator, conventional long-distance travel can exceed tens of thousands of times the speed of light. A master-level navigator can even allow the spacecraft to accurately pass through the turbulence of subspace at millions of times the speed of light.

In the face of such an efficient subspace engine, the cost-effectiveness of conventional superluminal solutions is too low, and human engineers in the Golden Age were too lazy to even look at it.

When the Age of Strife arrived, the warp engine became useless in the face of the warp storm, and conventional hypersonic engines were briefly reborn.

Kocorax frowned, "Their technology is far superior to ours."

Wop: "That's exactly why they need you."

In the Stone Age, slaves could rebel against their masters by simply grasping a sharp piece of flint.

In the Bronze Age, the sharpened wooden spears of common people were not as sharp as swords, but they could still kill people.

In the Warhammer world, the technological gap between the lower class and the exploiting class can no longer be measured in years.

This is also a manifestation of the Matthew effect, where the strong become stronger and the weak become weaker.

The spontaneous resistance of the lower classes often finds it difficult to form an effective organization; they must be guided by someone, either a Primarch, a cult, or a gene stealer.

All three possess some kind of supernatural power that can offset the generation gap in technology and equipment under certain conditions, break the logic of conventional warfare, and create asymmetric tactical advantages for the weaker side.

"Ephrenia," Erin lowered his voice. "Call everyone here quietly. Don't let the overseers get wind of this."

Different prisons in Lycaeus hold different mortals. The eighth district is mostly filled with political prisoners, the seventh district is mostly filled with the elderly and babies, and it is also the only district where people do not have to work.

This was not because the supervisors suddenly became kind-hearted, but because the prisoners in other districts voluntarily extended their working hours and supported the Seventh District with their blood and sweat.

All the people gathered by Evelynnia were half-grown children. The youngest was only five years old, and the oldest was no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. But they were no longer innocent children. Long-term oppression had taught them to store anger and endure life.

Just give them a weapon and they will become determined warriors.

“You can give them lessons here, but only for a maximum of four hours at a time.”

It wasn't that Erin was stingy, but each shift only lasted 12 hours. Although the beds in the precinct were very simple, they were still much better than underground.

Wop: "I can teach even from underground."

Erin: "But they have to work underground. If we can't hand in enough mineral quotas, we won't even have these 12 hours!"

"Have you never considered going on strike?"

Erin frowned at Wop's words. The word "strike" was like a piece of pig iron, suddenly hitting his mind, with a rough and unfamiliar feeling.

Wop: "Mobilize the miners in other jurisdictions to strike simultaneously. Not a single grain of ore can be turned over."

Erin's eyes froze instantly, and he casually glanced at the supervisor nearby. "You're crazy! If we fail to hand in even a kilogram of ore, we'll be deprived of our rest time. If we don't hand in any ore at all, the supervisor will kill us!"

"They don't dare. A strike only means you have demands. If they agree to them, production will resume. But if they kill all the miners, who will mine for them?"

"So what if we all die? Do you think the Tech Guild would care? There are billions of people on Kyaval!"

Every word Erin said was filled with suppressed anger. He suddenly realized that he had made a fatal mistake. Wop was simply a complete lunatic!

"This is different." Wop's voice was as calm as a blunt knife scraping across metal. "If millions of people died and the bodies piled up there, rotting and stinking, it would soon become a breeding ground for plague. If the bodies weren't cleaned up, how would the next people come to work? If the bodies had to be cleaned up, who would do it? The overseers? Would they be able to do it?"

"Chiaval has billions of people, but it's not easy to recruit millions of young and strong men to fill the mines of Lycaeus. Your strike is just a temporary pain, at most shutting down the mines for a few days. A massacre is like amputation, paralyzing the mines for at least six months."

"Besides, there are also conflicts of interest between the overseers of Lycaeus and the Technical Guild of Chiavar. If something as catastrophic as the massacre of millions of people paralyzed the mines, do you think the Technical Guild would hold the overseers accountable? I guarantee you, if a massacre really happened, these overseers would be the first to be exiled to the mines to serve their sentences!"

Erin listened attentively, the anger in his eyes gradually turning into a glimmer of thought. He had to admit that what Wop said actually made some sense.

"Really no one will die?"

"meeting."

"But didn't you say they didn't dare?"

"They don't have the guts to massacre, but they do have the courage to make an example of someone, and it's very strong. If one or two corpses can scare the others into stopping the strike, do you think they would hesitate?"

Erin subconsciously asked, "What should we do then?"

"Unity is the only answer."

Wop: "A strike is a zero-sum game. It won't last long and will inevitably end with one side compromising. While sacrifices are inevitable, as long as you unite and hold to the bottom line, they will be the ones to compromise."

"The overseers had two options: either kill one slave as a warning to the rest, using bloody repression to intimidate the people; or bribe the foremen to disintegrate the slaves from within; or do both. But in all cases, the goal was to destroy this hard-earned unity."

"The most dangerous thing at this time is not the threats from the overseers, but the traitors hiding among you, those scabs who sell out their fellow men for their own selfish gain."

"Once the unity of the slaves is broken, the overseers will spare no effort to instigate internal strife. Only by letting the slaves kill each other can they rest easy."

"Then I..." Erin's Adam's apple rolled, and his voice was dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

His rationality told him that the plan was perfect, but his emotion told him that he was crazy for believing the nonsense of a madman!

"Then, what conditions should I propose?"

Wop: "It depends on what you want."

Erin thought for a moment and said, "Extend the break time by at least four hours."

"Then you propose to extend the break by 24 hours."

"The overseer won't agree to that."

"But didn't you ask for four hours? It's because you wouldn't agree to 24 hours that you can agree to four hours."

Erin was stunned. Is this even possible?

"What if we want to double our food rations?"

"Then the initial conditions required a five-fold increase."

Corax looked up and asked, "What is this called?"

Woppe: "For the supervisor, it's the lesser of two evils. But for us, it's called the demolition effect."

"For example, if you say the room is too dark and you want a skylight, they'll definitely say no. But if you suggest tearing down the roof, they'll compromise and agree to the skylight."

"If you first make a larger, more difficult request to the other party, and then make a smaller, easier-to-achieve request, the other party will be more likely to compromise on the second condition."

“What if they don’t compromise?” asked a child in the crowd.

Wop's gaze slowly fell on him. He remembered that the boy's name was Sharokin. "The reason they won't compromise is because they bet that you will."

Human individuals are never lacking in wisdom, and these ways of dealing with the world are not obscure and difficult to understand.

However, due to the meticulously woven ignorant education by the technical guilds, and the lack of systematic summarization, refinement, and systematic transmission of knowledge, it is difficult for the general public to find these scattered stars in the fog and gather them into a prairie fire of awakening.

This is also a common problem in most human worlds in the galaxy. The upper class monopolizes ancient advanced technology, and the chasm of knowledge is carefully constructed into class barriers, while the lower class is often unenlightened and always struggles in the quagmire of ignorance.

This deformed ruling model is like a double-edged sword: in the short term, vested interests can indeed maintain their privileged position through knowledge monopoly; but in the long run, the entire civilization will fall into terrible cognitive degradation, and in the end even the ruling class will be bitten by the ignorance they have carefully cultivated.

This model of rule has prevailed across the galaxy for thousands of years, with Lycaeus and Chiavar being examples of this.

"I..." Erin swallowed hard, "I need to contact the heads of other jurisdictions and discuss this with them. Do you have any other suggestions?"

Wop looked at him calmly. "The choice is yours. I'm just handing you a key. Forbearance is the wisdom of survival. Temporary forbearance is to accumulate strength, but excessive forbearance will only erode the will to resist day by day, until even the courage to raise your head is exhausted."

Strikes are a dangerous game.

In the cruel reality of labor surplus, workers' struggles often fall into a vicious cycle where if you don't do it, there are plenty of people who will.

Capital is always looking for cheaper gears, and strikers have to fight not only capital but also the entire army of unemployed people waiting to fill their jobs.

But in Lycaeus's deformed system there are only two classes, overseers and slaves.

Since there was no competitive pressure in the labor market, no threat of a large number of unemployed people, and no crisis of job replacement, the slaves' struggle actually gained a unique advantage.

This kind of strike under extreme oppression is incredibly destructive because it completely cuts off the lifeline of production.

When all the slaves lay down their tools at the same time, the entire system of exploitation will collapse like a building with its foundation removed.

This is the deadly trap that the oppressors set for themselves: when they push oppression to the extreme, they also forge the most powerful weapon for the rebels.

The basis of resistance is unity, and the price is sacrifice, neither of which can be missing.

A sharp light flashed in Sharokin's eyes, like a star suddenly lighting up in the darkness: "Is this what you want to teach us?"

Wop's gaze pierced through the crowd: "What I want to teach you is civilization. Resistance is the beginning of civilization."

Sharokin: "Then I will study. I only need to sleep four hours, so I can study eight hours a day!"

Wop shook his head. "Practice makes perfect. Optical theory is useless. Four hours a day is enough. You won't be able to digest more than that."

Even true insights cannot create a perfect person, otherwise there wouldn't be so many Primarchs with character flaws, let alone only theoretical knowledge?

Environment shapes personality, and class determines stance.

The same theory, if learned by the son of a slave, will lead workers on strike, but if learned by the son of an overseer, will only sharpen the knife faster.

Learning is an important part, but it is not the only part. Education is.

As a mentor, Wop not only teaches them what the theory is, but also how to use it and why.

Wop slowly bent his knees and squatted, his eyes level with Corax's, his voice low and clear: "What about you, do you understand?"

Corax nodded, he had to understand.

……

Each jurisdiction is an isolated island, and the iron gate at the end of the corridor is always closed.

Although the overseers did not know what the slaves were plotting, their instinct to rule preceded their cognition, and they had already cut off the possibility of collusion among the lower classes.

But the supervisor could only seal the visible doors on the ground, but he could not seal the underground passages that meandered in the darkness.

When their shift was over, the slaves were driven by their overseers to a huge industrial elevator, where the rusted iron cages sank into darkness, deep underground.

But Erin quietly deviated from the planned route and sneaked towards the mine tunnel leading to other areas.

The supervisors usually never go underground and know nothing about the extensive mine tunnels.