Warhammer, I really didn't intend to form a second empire!

Zhao Zheng turned and walked towards the higher ground behind him, his steps neither fast nor slow.

He stopped at the top of the earthen slope where he had first observed the battlefield. From here, he could overlook the entire fortified complex. The gray stone walls appeared sickly bluish-white in the moonlight. The surface of the walls was covered with crisscrossing scorch marks, some left several years ago, with the edges of the marks weathered and peeling off, and others from the last few weeks, with the carbonized layers still retaining clear textures.

This fortress has been breached at least five times.

Zhao Zheng gleaned this information from the distribution and depth of the burn marks. Each breach was followed by signs of repair, with the replacement bricks being lighter in color than the old walls, newer towards the bottom and older towards the top.

Those Dark Eldar preferred to break through from the ground, then systematically slaughter and capture humans from the inside out, slamming them one by one against the walls like baby mice pulled from their nests.

Zhao Zheng tapped his fingers lightly twice on his arm guard, bringing up the preliminary analysis report that Hua Tuo had just sent back.

At least three synthetic toxins were detected in the weapon samples made from black bean sprouts. Each of them is a highly effective lethal agent designed to target the human nervous system, with an action time ranging from a few seconds to a few minutes. If used in combination, there is almost no antidote.

Moreover, almost all of them are the kind of poisons that cause slow, agonizing death, while the black bean sprouts watch them die.

As Zhao Zheng closed the report, a noise came from the direction of the fortress.

The sound of a rusty chain slowly turning between the hinges could still be clearly heard by the Primitive even from nearly two kilometers away.

Then came the dull, drawn-out scraping sound of a metal bolt being pulled open from the inside, like a low growl squeezed from the depths of the throat of some large mammal.

The main gate of the fortress was not fully opened; only a crack about one meter wide was pushed inward, through which dim candlelight spilled out, casting a narrow strip of light on the ground.

A figure stood in the shadow of the crevice, hunched over, holding an oil lamp in his hand.

He was very old, his gray hair was tied back with a rough cloth, and the wrinkles on his face were as deep as furrows. He was wrapped in a dark robe with countless patches.

He stood inside the threshold for a long time, his hand holding the lamp trembling slightly. His cloudy gaze swept through the crack in the door over Xiang Ji and his squad, who were standing fifty meters away, then over the Red Guards who were silently arrayed in the night, and finally over the silhouettes of the Golia mechs and the raider armor in the distance.

His body swayed, and he almost lost his balance.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered violently in the night wind, illuminating a distorted expression on his withered face. Fear still hung heavily on his brows and the corners of his mouth, but another emotion was squeezing out from the gaps in those wrinkles, slowly rising to his eyes.

He threw down the oil lamp, then lay prostrate on the ground inside the door, his forehead pressed against the ground, as if all his strength had been drained away.

More torches lit up from within the walls, from the depths of those low buildings, from the openings of cellars, and from the cracks in the ruins.

The firelight leaped and passed between the walls, illuminating the faces within the fortresses that had been imprisoned by fear for who knows how many years.

They wore the same coarse cloth clothes, were equally thin and hunched over, and had the same look in their eyes that was a mixture of fear and disbelief.

They knelt along the main road of the fortress, stretching from the inside of the city gates all the way to the center of the square.

No one spoke; only low breathing and suppressed sobs echoed throughout the fortress.

“Father, they’ve opened the door; they should be willing to make contact.”

Zhao Zheng turned around on the earthen slope and strode in that direction.

“Leave the Red Guards where they are. I’m going over there. Xiang Ji, keep your formation unchanged. Don’t go into the gate. Let them decide for themselves whether to come out or not.”

"Yes."

As he walked across the land that had been plowed and turned over by artillery fire countless times, the scorched earth beneath his feet still radiated warmth.

The night wind carried the suppressed sobs and whispers from the direction of the ramparts to his ears. The sounds were soft and fragmented, revealing a wariness and distrust of this hard-won hope.

Zhao Zheng stopped twenty paces from the city gate, a distance that was enough for everyone inside the gate to see his figure and face clearly without causing them any sense of oppression.

He didn't speak, but simply stood there, sideways, his gaze calmly fixed on the aged faces kneeling throughout the street. In the moonlight, the Primarch's body resembled an ancient, sculpted statue, immense and imbued with divinity.

"No one will come to arrest you anymore. We're here, and we're not leaving."

Chapter 11

The night wind blew in through the open gates of the main city, carrying with it the mixed smells of old dust, grease, candle wax, and sweat.

Zhao Zheng did not move. He remained standing twenty paces from the city gate, the moonlight casting a long shadow that obliquely covered the heads of the people kneeling in the street.

The old man remained lying on the ground, his calloused hands pressed against the soil, his knuckles white from the pressure.

The people kneeling behind him trembled more rapidly after Zhao Zheng spoke; some began to breathe heavily, while others pressed their foreheads even lower, almost embedding them into the cracks in the bricks of the ground.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment before the old man finally raised his head, his deeply lined face covered in dust and tear stains.

His gaze lingered on Zhao Zheng's perfect face for a moment, his lips moved a few times before he uttered a hoarse, almost unrecognizable syllable.

"Are you... a god?"

Zhao Zheng looked down at the old man's cloudy eyes.

He could feel the crowds emerging from the depths of the walls waiting for his answer, countless eyes cast upon him through the breaches in the walls.

That gaze was a mixture of fear and longing, and the faint hope that remained after being crushed too many times.

This was not the first time Zhao Zheng had faced this problem, nor the first time he had faced these gazes.

The remnants of the dragon kingdoms on Qiankun Star also looked up to him in the same way, when he was still assembling the first steam engine in the workshop of Chiyang City, when he was demonstrating new farming methods in the fields, and when he walked down any street. Their gazes were all similar.

Even now, especially when Zhao Zheng built the Qin Empire into such a prosperous and powerful state in such a short period of time, almost no one believed that Zhao Zheng was still human.

He is God!

Zhao Zheng is certainly not a god. Although he has clearly stated this, he is indeed not human, even though he always uses his human skin to say things that even a child wouldn't believe.

The people standing here at this moment are not the remnants of the Dragon Kingdoms, but some humans who have been imprisoned by fear for countless years.

Suffering can completely destroy the spirit of a race. If such suffering lasts long enough and is severe enough, they will not only lose the courage to resist, but also the ability to think independently.

In other words, his spine was broken.

Zhao Zheng did not want to become their new god.

The word "god" carries too many sordid connotations in the Warhammer universe. The Chaos Four are gods, the Eldar gods are gods, and the false gods worshipped by the Xenomorphs are also gods. Each one represents ignorance, sacrifice, exploitation, and disaster. What they represent has been distorted far too much.

Even emperors are no exception.

Zhao Zheng didn't want to become one of these things, nor did he want to be targeted by them.

"I am not a god."

His voice, neither too loud nor too soft, pierced the night wind and clearly reached the eardrums of everyone inside the city gate.

"There is no God. They are not, and neither am I."

“I am also a human being, only taller and stronger than you. Stand up. Kneeling should only be used to show your respect, not to make you kneel and wait to die. Only by standing up can you prove that you have the right to continue living with dignity.”

The old man was stunned. His lips moved a few times, but he couldn't make a sound.

A subtle commotion arose from the kneeling crowd behind him; some whispered among themselves, while others furtively raised their eyes.

Zhao Zheng did not urge him. He remained standing there, his six-meter-tall frame like a silent mountain wall, but his posture was relaxed, with his hands hanging at his sides, without making any intimidating gestures.

Zhao Zheng's descendants and soldiers behind him did nothing, simply watching him use utterly unconvincing words to persuade a group of people whose fear had been ingrained in their bones for hundreds of years.

Not to mention that the allure of a Primarch is something that a group of mortals cannot resist.

"Stand up. I don't want to say it a second time."

Zhao Zheng's words came again, his expression still as calm and composed as ever.

After a long while, the old man finally slowly got up from the ground. His knees were stiff from kneeling, and he could only stand up by holding onto the door frame. His joints made a series of crisp cracking sounds.

He glanced back at the people inside the door, said something in his dry voice, and then the crowd began to slowly stand up, their movements sluggish, supporting each other like a group of cave-dwelling creatures just awakening from a long hibernation.

Zhao Zheng watched them stand still one by one before continuing.

“My name is Zhao Zheng, and I am the emperor of the Great Qin Empire. Now that I have taken control of this place, you are my subjects.”

“Those things you just saw should be familiar to you. They have been attacking you for many years. From now on, they will not come again, at least not on this land.”

He tilted his head, his gaze passing over the old man's shoulder to the low, dilapidated houses and thin figures deep within the fortified walls.

"But I didn't come here to be a savior."

"I need people, land, and resources. I will incorporate this planet into the Qin Empire. You can choose to join or leave."

"You will be forced to join the Great Qin Empire, abide by my rules, obey my orders, and participate in my construction. If anyone tries to resist me, all that awaits you is death or being taken to the mines as a mining slave."

The old man's body swayed almost imperceptibly.

The words "join" and "obey" sounded too distant to him; the raiders never said those things when they came down. They said they wanted to make them slaves and toys.

A hint of fear resurfaced in his eyes, and the crowd began to feel fear again; they didn't want to fall into the tiger's den after escaping the wolf's lair.

“My rules are very simple: those who can work must work, children must go to school, enter colleges to serve in the military and engage in grassroots construction, clear out those waste dumps to grow crops, and re-cultivate the scorched fields outside the city walls. We must establish complete arsenals and production lines.”

“I will provide you with food seeds and technical guidance, and I will also send people to guard this place, so you will no longer need to keep watch on your own.”

He paused for a moment, a hint of undeniable indifference appearing in his voice.

"Don't expect me to support idlers. Those who can do the work must complete their assigned labor quota each month. If they don't meet the standard, they can only get basic food rations. Those who exceed the quota will receive extra rations."

"Lazy people and those who are disobedient will be sent to the mines, where there will be heavy physical labor every day."

After hearing the last sentence, the old man slowly straightened his back.

Although the terms "labor quotas" and "food rations" were unfamiliar and mandatory, they sounded like an order he could understand—a system with rules, boundaries, and clear rewards and punishments, rather than a chaotic massacre and plunder.

He took a deep breath, then bent down and performed an awkward but sincere bow.

"We...are willing to obey your orders."

Zhao Zheng nodded slightly, said nothing more, and simply turned to the side and waved his hand behind him.

Meng Tian led a squad of thirty Red Guards out of the night, dressed in gray-white Red Guard Type I armor, and lined up at the foot of the city wall.

Zhao Zheng turned around and walked towards the earthen slope outside the wall, but stopped after taking a few steps.

"Someone will come to register the population and supplies after dawn tomorrow. Everyone stay inside the fortress tonight and rest. Don't be afraid, my people are guarding outside."

"Get ready, dismantle this city wall, and then participate in the construction of your homeland."

He returned to the top of the hill just as Li Jing's communication request came through.

"Father, the orbital scan has revealed more information."

"At least 46 similar human settlements exist in the mid-latitude region of Yuanshuo-1, distributed across three different mountain ranges and two major river basins, with a total assessable population of approximately 200 million."

"Three of these settlements are similar to the one we arrived at. Most of the rest are too scattered and have low population density. Most of the small settlements have between 10,000 and 50,000 people, which is a large number in total."

Zhao Zheng tapped his fingers lightly twice on his arm guard.

The moonlight bathed the gray stone wall in a cold white light, and the firelight inside the city gate flickered in the night wind. The crowd remained gathered around the gate; no one dispersed, nor did anyone retreat back inside. They stood there, as if simply to confirm that the outline of the fortress would not be swallowed by darkness again.

"Forty-six settlements, two hundred million people."

Zhao Zheng repeated the two numbers, then removed his fingers from his arm armor, letting them hang down at his sides. His fingertips rubbed the edge of the armor, an unconscious habitual gesture he made when thinking.

There is no doubt that he needs manpower.

The population of Qiankun Star was insufficient to support the scale of the empire he envisioned. Although genetic modification and Astartes surgery improved the individual quality of soldiers, the shortage in numbers remained enormous.

A fleet, a planet, a star system, or even a star field—the operation of government affairs requires countless hands to maintain, and each hand needs to undergo basic literacy training and assessment, followed by rigorous training and evaluation.

The arrival of these 200 million people on Yuanshuo-1 was timely, but the problem is that these people have lost their spirit.

Zhao Zheng saw something familiar in the eyes of the people inside the walls. Fear and servility were deeply rooted in their hearts, and numbness had become their norm. Zhao Zheng had given up hope of turning them into the remnants of the Dragon Kingdoms.

They were willing to obey and accept orders, but that wasn't loyalty; it was merely the inertia of a survival strategy. Their obedience to Zhao Zheng and their fear of the Dark Spirit Clan were essentially no different—both were simply about seeking advantage and avoiding harm, attaching themselves to the strong, and sticking together for survival.

This means that only time can weed out some people. The new generation must receive sufficient education before they can join Zhao Zheng's team, and they cannot be like this group of people.

It's not that Zhao Zheng is hypocritical, but in a world like Warhammer, especially with time so pressing, some necessary sacrifices are essential.

He couldn't afford to waste resources on people who were destined to contribute little to the Qin Empire; ultimately, only the young adults and children were still worth investing in.

Zhao Zheng didn't intend to give them too much time to adapt; time was always a luxury for him.

"Li Jing, have the engineering team of the Lishan prepare to land, bringing enough SCVs and prefabricated modular building materials. After dawn tomorrow, the outer walls of this fortress will be completely demolished, and the stones will be crushed and ground on the spot to be used as aggregate for paving roads and foundations."

"Father, are the population registration and inventory of supplies being carried out simultaneously?"

"Well, starting with those settlements that are willing to come out, for each registered family, we will provide them with three months' worth of basic food rations, and at the same time assign them specific labor tasks."

Zhao Zheng paused for a moment.

"The tasks are divided into three levels: labor quota, construction quota, and military reserve quota."

"Labor quotas are for elderly people who cannot adapt to heavy physical labor, mainly responsible for taking care of crops and livestock; construction quotas are the majority, and everyone, regardless of gender, must participate in infrastructure construction as long as they are physically fit; military reserve quotas are for strong and healthy young people, who are directly assigned to training camps after registration."

"Also, tell them the rules: anyone who dares to hoard or conceal grain or property without reporting it will be sent to the mine for hard labor for at least two years; anyone who hoards weapons or incites trouble will be killed without exception."