Day 348, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Hive Spire
The atmosphere along the long marble corridor leading out of the Hive Spire was silent. Only the sound of Valen Korvax's steady and graceful footsteps could be heard, followed by his personal guards in copper-colored iron armor in orderly fashion. But then his footsteps halted as a tall figure in a general's uniform emerged from the dark corner of the corridor. Vann stood there, his single remaining eye staring at his hated brother with an expression too complex to describe. A pistol was tucked into his waist.
"You made your decision sooner than I thought, Vann," Valen said, his voice flat but with a deep sense of satisfaction. Vann, hearing his brother's words, merely chuckled softly.
"I didn't do it for you..." "Valen, I just don't want to see this city reduced to ashes by the foolishness of those greedy nobles," Vann said in a voice that was almost hoarse and full of a hint of coldness as he stepped forward and stopped in front of his hated older brother. Valen thought that his younger brother couldn't possibly be so naive as to not know what might happen—that those greedy nobles might seize the position of Planetary Governor. No, that was impossible, because his brother was too cunning.
"I'll temporarily side with the Korvax family to maintain peace... and the citizens of Hive City. But tell me honestly, brother," Vann narrowed his eyes, staring at Valen's handsome and cold face.
"All these plans... pressuring me, forcing that gun on me 15 years ago, and now this—are you just paving the way to become the new Planetary Governor? Is the power over everyone on this planet really that tempting?"
Vann asked, his voice clearly demanding an answer. Hearing this, Valen frowned slightly, a faint wrinkle appearing on his forehead before quickly disappearing. To be honest, he didn't hate his younger brother that much. Even though fifteen years ago his brother had been a dissolute, fat, spoiled brat, he still loved him a little. Back then, he'd decided to give him a gun.
" Planetary Governor , huh?" Valen repeated, shaking his head slowly. He wanted to laugh at his brother. If he wanted to be the new Governor of the Stars, he would have openly offered himself. Besides, it wouldn't benefit him at all.
"Don't underestimate me like that. You're either overestimating me or underestimating the situation, Vann. In this dark world, that position isn't just a throne; it's a huge target mounted on your forehead." He moved closer to Vann, whispering with a decisive tone.
"I'm doing all this for stability. If bloodshed occurs from the power struggles of those brainless nobles, the Korvax family and Hive City must suffer the least possible impact... As for the governorship? Hmph. I've only managed to recover half of my territory from the war. Bearing the burden of the entire star right now would be foolish of me to do." Valen patted Vann's shoulder lightly. It was a touch that reminded Vann of the chilling coldness of gun handles in the slums years ago.
"Take good care of your PDF soldiers, Vann. Prepare for the 'storm' that's coming. I don't know what will happen after the governor election... As for power? Let's wait until this city has clean water and all the factories are fully operational before we discuss that." Valen said with a smile. Anyway, he now indirectly had an increased military force, even if it wasn't entirely his. Vann looked at him as if he had something important to say or a request.
"Brother, please listen to me about the risk of a workers' rebellion. According to my intelligence, there's a high risk of further unrest. Could you reduce the workers' working hours by one or two hours?" Vann asked pleadingly. Valen carefully considered his brother's request.
In about a year, it would be time to pay taxes, and he didn't want the production of armored vehicles and weapons to drop. Reducing working hours by one or two hours might cause production targets to fall. He wanted to keep the working hours at the normal 12 hours, of course. Because it would reduce the stress on the workers and the chances of resistance and rebellion. But he couldn't do it... not now.
"I'll think about this... take care of yourself," Valen said, then led his guards past his younger brother, heading towards his mansion, leaving Vann standing alone in the hallway.
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Day 348, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Upper Hive
A week had passed with a schedule so packed that Eric barely had time to breathe. When it was time to leave work, he wasted no time heading to the flat area on the edge of the Upper Hive where Livia's small hair salon was located.
When he first saw her shop, he found it quite similar to any other hair salon he had ever seen, nothing particularly remarkable.
Eric stood in front of the shop, adjusting his coat collar. His eyes peered through the frosted glass into the interior, where Livia was busy arranging bottles of hair products on the shelves. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to go in, but finally decided to push the door open.
_But were his shoes stained with oil?_ Eric thought, pausing to check his shoes. Some areas in the factory where he worked were inevitably oily, and he had to walk through them. He didn't want to stain his friend's shop floor. As he bent down to check the floor for oil on his shoes...
"Boo!"
"Ah!!!" Eric cried out, jumping and almost losing his balance when a heavy, cold hand grabbed his right shoulder. Instinctively, Eric whirled around, wary, only to find Livia grinning behind him. Her metallic left hand still rested on his shoulder.
"Don't get startled so easily~" Livia laughed, pulling her hand back. The sound of her omatic arm's joints clicking softly echoed.
"Livia! Don't do that! Don't do that!" Eric grumbled, clutching his rapidly beating chest. His face flushed with embarrassment, but deep down, he felt good seeing Livia happy.
_If Maria and Rosa were still alive, everything would be so much more colorful_ Eric thought to himself with a touch of sadness before shaking off the thought. There was no point in dwelling on the past and the dead.
He glanced at her omatic left arm again. It looked simple and inexpensive enough for her to handle. Although it was a bit bulky, it made Livia seem... "Completely restored" after seeing her with one arm missing, Eric felt an overwhelming sense of relief. At least he didn't have to fear his friend becoming disabled and living a difficult life anymore.
"New arm... looks good, doesn't it? How is it? Is it alright?" Eric asked, moving closer to examine the prosthetic arm. At first glance, it looked like a typical prosthetic arm used by tech priests, but Eric could immediately tell the difference.
The cybernetic limbs used by tech priests were much shinier and more complex than Livia's prosthetic arm. And importantly, their prosthetic arms smelled of incense and spices.
"It's good, even though it's a bit heavy and unbalanced, and it makes a lot of noise at night. But it helps me cut hair again," Livia lifted the metal arm, wiggled her fingers, and rotated it.
"And you? How's the accounting job at the factory? I heard it's incredibly strict there, isn't it?" Livia asked, sounding slightly skeptical about him getting a job as an accountant at a factory. Eric sighed and walked over to sit on one of the metal chairs in the shop. Even his friends were puzzled. Why were the people in the upper hive so prejudiced against those in the lower hive?
"Ugh... don't even get me started, Livia. Everything has to be 'perfect' there. Even a single decimal place error and my boss practically kills me. But... at least it's much better than the job I used to do in the lower hive," Eric said, thinking of his extremely strict, meticulous, and fussy department head. Two days ago, he made a single decimal point error and was lectured for three hours, even threatened with dismissal. He was afraid of losing his job, but luckily, the head seemed hesitant to fire him, whatever the reason.
This work environment reminded him of when he was a new accountant and had a similar boss. Back then, he was just a freshman, but he didn't get scolded much before his salary was slightly cut.
Since then, Eric has been more careful at work. He's started opening up to her more, though he still maintains a somewhat insecure demeanor. Livia has told him about the strange customers who come to the shop. The two chatted casually.
For Eric, sitting and talking with Livia like this was a moment that made him feel safe and secure. He didn't have to worry about what she might do to him, and besides, she understood him to some extent.
He should find something fun to talk about with her, and he had an idea.
"And you know, don't you, those Arbites who patrol around here…?" Eric moved closer to Livia, lowering his voice. Livia, hearing this, immediately knew who he was talking about. She smiled slightly before replying with a laugh:
"Arbites who keep repeating the same phrases in a funny voice. They're hilarious…" Livia giggled, lightly tapping the table with her mechanical arm.
"Hahaha! We're here to uphold the law and collect taxes, not to please the people or the nobles!" Eric mimicked the Arbites' voice, maintaining a straight face. Livia just chuckled softly. They were chatting animatedly until Eric glanced at an old metal clock hanging on the shop wall. He froze for a second before his eyes widened in shock.
"Hey! Livia! What time is it!?" Eric yelled, jumping up from his chair.
"Uh... curfew is in ten minutes. Why?" Livia replied in a low voice.
"Ten minutes! Oh no!" Eric was on the verge of losing his mind. His paranoia was through the roof. He pictured himself being arrested by those arbitrators for breaking the law, simply for gossiping and making fun of one of them. If he were actually caught saying those things, it would be utterly ridiculous and unacceptable. What if he had to be photographed and subjected to a body search for evidence?
_Just thinking about it was terrifying_ Eric thought anxiously, picturing the three arbitrators examining him when he arrived at the refugee camp to confirm he wasn't an outcast or a mutant.
"Wait, Erika! Your bag!" Livia shouted, but it was too late.
Eric grabbed his bag, held it tightly, and ran out of the shop, the shop bell jingling rapidly. He quickly decided that running through the narrow alley was his only way out. And it was the only way for him to get back to his accommodation on time.
"Why did it have to be like this? If I had known, I should have finished everything sooner so I wouldn't have to run like this," he grumbled to himself, trying to maintain some composure as a normal woman, but at this moment, fear had completely overshadowed him.
Cityers who were gradually returning to their accommodations saw the slender figure running past them quickly. Eric ran, panting heavily, praying that he wouldn't encounter anything that would force him to stop or delay him too long. He finally arrived in front of his apartment building at the last minute, just before the announcement sounded and the streets instantly deserted.
When the third-floor lock clicked and the peaceful silence of his room enveloped him, Eric let out a long sigh and tried to breathe slowly, catching his breath.
To be honest, Eric really liked the time he spent in his room because he didn't have to pretend to be a woman in front of others, or worry about what others thought of him or any inappropriate thoughts… now he could be himself.
He took a shower to wash away the sweat and fatigue from running. Once his body was clean and refreshed by the water… He grabbed a tank top made of fabric so soft it was practically stretched out and some shorts, throwing his bra aside carelessly in the laundry basket. For him right now, comfort was far more important than appearance.
Eric stretched a little in the middle of the room, twisting left and right until his bones cracked softly, before slumping into the armchair beside the bed, completely exhausted.
"Ah... so good," he whispered, lifting his legs onto the bed and beginning to massage his shins and thighs, which were tense from his recent frantic run. His fingers kneaded the muscles that had become firmer from work and travel.
Although the silence made him feel safe, he couldn't help but grumble about work in his head.
"Damn it, there's so much paperwork... Don't people these days know how to use computers to manage information?... And that person checking the machinery count is still writing reports by hand." He muttered to himself, massaging his calves. Despite his complaints, he didn't want to quit; the salary was quite good. But he was afraid of being fired for those small mistakes that still gnawed at his mind.
Wait... he almost forgot, he just bought this.
Eric walked to his bag and pulled out the canned fruit he'd just bought from the store. It was quite expensive compared to bread or canned meat, but he wanted to try it. He hadn't eaten fruit since waking up in this future world, and he really wanted to.
He walked to the storage cabinet, picked up a spoon, and used the handle to pry open the can, revealing the white fruit soaked in syrup. A faint aroma of fruit and syrup wafted to his nose.
A faint smile appeared on his face. As he walked back to his usual chair, seated with a spoon in hand, he didn't hesitate to scoop up a piece of the syrupy, juicy fruit, bringing it to his lips before slowly taking a sip.
He chewed slowly, savoring the semi-crisp, semi-soft texture that burst in his mouth. The intense sweetness of the syrup spread across his tongue, mixed with its unique aroma. While it wasn't as refreshing as the fruits he knew from his old world, compared to most of the foods eaten in Hive City, like corpe starch, this canned fruit was considered quite luxurious.
"It tastes... like a peach mixed with something with a slightly metallic smell..." he murmured to himself, analyzing the texture.
"But it's alright..." He took a sip of the intensely sweet syrup. The sweetness was very soothing to the fatigue from his paperwork. Eric relaxed in his thin tank top and shorts. He didn't have to worry about anyone staring at his face or body, which he wasn't very confident about, like when he went out of the room.
His gaze fell on the closed window, reminiscing about his past life as an ordinary office worker. His job was simply to work, not to struggle for survival day by day like when he lived in the Under Hive, Lower Hive, and during his military service. He chuckled to himself, a dark sense of irony at how far fate had brought him.
"Heh heh..."
From someone who woke up in the Under Hive, gradually survived and overcame obstacles to finally sit on a chair and live a happier life in the Upper Hive, he felt incredibly lucky. Lucky to have gotten through everything.
He took the last piece of fruit, closed his eyes, and savored the taste and texture calmly. Right now, tasting this sweet treat made him feel wonderful. But he also felt he needed to stop eating this canned fruit...
...No... he wouldn't stop eating this canned fruit, just occasionally, otherwise his wallet would be empty.
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Day 348, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Somewhere in the Lower Hive
Amidst the dim light and the heavy, musty air filled with the stench of waste and sweat at the lowest level of the Lower Hive, the rhythmic clanging of metal from the tireless machinery gradually faded. Now, the poor workers finally had their meager rest.
A group of workers, dressed in tattered, dirty clothes, sat in a circle in a secluded corner of the slum area of the armor factory. Their faces were smeared with soot, exhaustion, and the accumulated anger of the past week.
"20 hours... They've only given us four hours of rest a day for three weeks now!" a thin man whispered, his voice trembling with weariness.
"Valen Korvax isn't human. He's a demon in nobleman's attire." "They see us as nothing more than coal to throw into the smelter!" shouted one man who knew a little about their rulers, before grabbing a bar of corp starch, the only food they had left.
"At my old Hive, at least they let us rest and pray," another added, clenching his fist.
"But here... here in Kathion, it's all exploitation. We're being moved around like cattle to replace those who died in the War of Xenos. I didn't come here to die under a machine!"
"We have to do something..." the ringleader said, his eyes fixed on the sewer map spread on the floor.
"I don't think we should do anything like this. There's very little chance these plans will work," a woman tried to object, but her opinion was quickly dismissed.
"Maybe we should just endure it," another man suggested.
"Cowardly," a voice retorted from one of the men.
"We need to prepare ourselves and find the right moment, when the patrol changes shifts." "We'll storm the Sector 7 arsenal and liberate ourselves from this tyrant! If we don't fight, we'll die anyway!" The curses and rebellion plans, spewed out in pent-up frustration, echoed through the cramped room. They were unaware that death was imminent.
Outside the thin iron door, an unusual silence enveloped the hallway. Normally filled with the sounds of its inhabitants, now only the faint murmurs of shotgun reloading and the checking of weapons and listening devices by the Korvax family's private purging unit remained. Their copper-colored armor blended into the darkness, helmets concealing their faces, green lenses reflecting a faint light.
These soldiers carried not only riot control batons, but also assault shotguns and fully loaded flamethrowers. The unit leader signaled calmly, every movement silent and precise, like professionals who had eliminated countless enemies and resistance fighters.
For Lord Valen Korvax, having learned from the devastating losses caused by the Geenstealer Cult and Chaos Rebellion, his master knew that past strictness and decisiveness were far too little. Normally, they were only tasked with suppressing workers who were demonstrating or rioting, which wasn't very frequent—only about once or twice a month.
But this time, their superior didn't want the damage to escalate and ordered them to constantly eliminate any resistance to prevent it from becoming a significant threat to the stability of the Lower Hive's production.
One soldier stood at the door and yanked it open with all his might. The door instantly came undone from its hinges before he entered first, followed by the others.
Bang!!!
The first shotgun blast rang out, and the headless body of a man fell to the ground. The workers turned to look at the source of the sound in panic and fear, but they didn't have time to scream or do anything more as two more soldiers entered the room.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Several shotgun shots rang out before everything fell silent. The people in the area tried to keep quiet and hoped that these cruel and cold-hearted soldiers wouldn't notice them.
Now, the dilapidated room was filled with the lifeless bodies of workers lying in pools of blood. The unit leader ordered his men to dispose of the bodies immediately. Subordinate soldiers dragged the bodies out of the room one by one before piling them up in the hallway outside and using flamethrowers to incinerate them.
Whoosh!!!
The sound of flames from the flamethrowers illuminated the dimly lit hallway of the Lower Hive, filling the air with a pungent, musty smell from the surrounding environment.
The first soldier to enter the room was Staff Sergeant Kazian, leader of the Korvax's 65th Cleanup Unit, a veteran of the Genestealer forces. He stood silently, watching the orange flames engulf the bodies of those plotting the rebellion. He slowly lowered his assault shotgun, making the eagle salute on his chest with his free hand, mourning the unfortunate workers—just a few of the many groups they had cleared out over the past ten years.
In his ten years of maintaining peace in the Korvax territory, he had never worked this hard. Normally, riots or protests occurred only once or twice a year, but now their masters did not want it to escalate into a full-blown rebellion—a risk they could not accept now.
The Genestealer rebellion and attacks proved they needed to be even more ruthless to eliminate the threat that could destabilize their masters' power and threaten the Hive City. And that threat lay among these seemingly harmless workers and citizens.
"May the Emperor, seated on the golden throne, please receive these pitiful souls into his light..." Kazian murmured through his air-filtering mask. His voice was hoarse, filled with weariness and pity.
His soldiers began dragging the remaining bodies into a pile to destroy the evidence and prevent the spread of disease. Kazian looked at his hands, stained with black soot. He wasn't cold-blooded by nature, but he was a product of the cruelty that Hive City had molded and created.
He knew what he was doing was inhumane and unspeakably cruel. But as a well-fed soldier under the Korvax family, his children ate well and went to school, his wife lived in a clean and safe area. He had to become "blood on his hands" so that his wife and children could live comfortably and safely.
He knew that his lord, Lord Valen Korvax, wasn't someone who wanted to overwork people for 20 hours a day without reason. But with the central government's equipment quotas pressuring them, if armored vehicle production failed, it wouldn't just be these workers who would suffer, but the entire Hive City would be affected.
"If only they would have worked a little longer... they would have seen their families again, and perhaps lived on. But impatience always leads to death," Kazian sighed, adjusting the assault shotgun in his hand.
He ordered his men to quickly clear the area so they wouldn't waste time patrolling other areas. Kazian tried to shake the image of the terrified face of the foreman from his mind, and he easily did, returning to his duty as a faithful "cog" in Lord Valen Korvax's killing machine.
But as they trudged through the deafening silence of the underground corridors, broken only by the dripping water, Sergeant Kazian led his team through narrow alleys filled with rubbish and soot. The flashlight beam from his rifle darted cautiously around the dark corners.
"Damn it, Sergeant... the smell of burning is still lingering," one of the newly recruited soldiers grumbled over the radio. He was a flamethrower tasked with burning corpses.
"Normally we only do raids on the resistance once or twice a month, but lately, for some reason, we have to do it far too often," another soldier complained.
"Shut up and keep going," Kazian replied calmly. In his heart, he agreed with his subordinates. Such violent raids reflected the workers' extreme limitations; their patience was rapidly wearing thin, leading them to plot resistance, and they were tired of it.
The group stopped at the boundary between the two powers. Kazian gazed towards the Korvax family's side, where a faint light still lingered. And the sound of machinery rumbled rhythmically, like a pulse, signaling the revival of life in the heavy industrial plant, which was now half-recovered. Though brutal, it still seemed alive.
But as he peered over the steel barricades to the Thalric family's side, a sense of despair gnawed at him. That side was pitch black, devoid of any light. Even the sound of gears that should have been turning was silent, like a graveyard.
The air on that side seemed stagnant and more foul-smelling than before, likely because the ventilation system had been damaged during the war and remained unrepaired.
"Look at the Thalric side... it's like a ghost town. I heard the workers there are starting to starve because the family leader is busy building statues for saints to pray for blessings, instead of repairing the power plant. I heard it's just a rumor, but I don't know if it's true," another team member whispered, narrowing his eyes. Even with his helmet and mask covering his face, he could tell immediately that his subordinate must be feeling this way.
Kazian observed the contrast with a complex expression. He felt an inexplicable unease. One side was a dictatorship that overworked its workers to the point of near madness. But on the other side is another dictatorship, but one with inefficient governance that lets people die silently in the darkness.
_Either way, it's bad._
"At least our master knows the machines can't function without someone controlling them. Let's continue patrolling. Don't cross over to that side. Our duty is only to maintain order in our territory... As long as nothing goes wrong, everything will continue as normal," Kazian said softly, comforting himself and his team. They didn't want to get involved beyond their orders and duties. They had a job to do and people waiting behind them.
It would be incredibly foolish to overstep their assigned boundaries.
The cleanup unit turned their backs, walking away from the dark rift, heading back towards the harsh but orderly light of Korvax, unaware that the shadow of failure from the Thalric side was slowly creeping closer to their territory, in a form they might not expect.
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