blogombal Chapter 84 The Swamp Old Man
Chapter 84 The Swamp Old Man
Chapter 84 The Swamp Old Man
There were boys and girls among them, all of them so thin they were just skin and bones.
They were wrapped in tattered burlap sacks, which they had picked up from somewhere.
The exposed skin was covered in frostbite and grime.
They were like a group of frightened little mice, cautiously making their way through a gap in the barbed wire.
They were orphans in a refugee camp.
In Fengrao No. 2, these children usually don't survive the winter.
Last night's beast tide was swallowed by the wheat field, but it also left behind a strong smell of blood.
For these children, who were so hungry they were dizzy, they couldn't tell whether it was the smell of poison or the smell of food.
All they saw was green plants growing inside, and they smelled the stench of blood.
Where there are plants, there is food.
A child with an unusually large head, swollen from long-term malnutrition, is reaching out withered hands, trying to reach a "Grey Mule-1" plant growing on the edge.
He didn't know that the blades were sharper than razor blades.
Little did he know that the moment his hand touched the plant, its still-unsatisfied roots would instantly turn him into a hedgehog.
For Luo Wei, the question before him was a very simple choice.
Option A:
Press the red button to release the acid.
Or do nothing and let the wheat fields continue to feed.
These children will become new fertilizer, contributing to this year's tithe.
This fits the logic of the Warhammer universe perfectly.
Option B:
Send in the defense forces and have them shoot. This would also be in line with the regulations for dealing with people who trespass into restricted areas due to hunger.
But for Rowe, there is still option C.
He is an auditor and is used to calculating profits and losses.
These children.
The value of labor power is now almost zero.
However, if they grow up, they can become qualified workers.
The birth rate of the population in Fengrao II is declining year by year.
Every outbreak of plague, every cold snap in winter, reduces the base of the labor force.
Dead people can't push minecarts.
Even a dead person can't crawl into a narrow pipe to clean carbon deposits.
"Damn human resource shortage."
Luo Wei muttered a curse under his breath, seemingly trying to find a reasonable excuse for his subsequent weakness.
Then he grabbed the communicator.
His tone was even colder and harsher than when he gave the order to deal with the beasts last night.
"Buck, take your men and head to the breach in Sector C-9 immediately!"
"Fully armed, surround those brats!"
"Yes, sir!" Buck roared immediately. "Should we shoot?"
Luo Wei roared, "Kill them my ass! Don't you have bullets to spare?! Use stun guns, turn the voltage down to the lowest setting, and knock them all unconscious. Not a single one can die! If anyone dies, I'll throw him into the fermentation tank to pay off the debt!"
Ten minutes later.
Edge of zone C-9.
Before the children could even touch the deadly ears of wheat, they were terrified by the sudden appearance of the defense forces.
Of course, they didn't have the strength to run away.
"Sizzle."
A blue arc of electricity flashed.
Twenty-five thin figures collapsed limply onto the muddy ground.
Loe watched all of this with indifference.
He watched as the defense troops, treating them like trash, dragged the unconscious children away from the dangerous edge of the wheat field.
One of the children was clutching a handful of black mud he had picked up from the ground.
He probably thought it was something edible.
"Supervisor, what should we do?"
Buck walked over, looking somewhat puzzled.
According to custom, petty thieves who dared to steal grain were usually executed by firing squad and their bodies hung on streetlights as a warning to others.
Luo Wei took a handkerchief out of his pocket, coughed lightly, and said, "Send it to the labor camp in the North District."
"Child labor camp?"
Luo Wei nodded and said, "Yes, let them clean the parts and tidy up the ventilation ducts. Give them the thinnest green soup to drink, just enough to keep them from starving. Deduct the cost of today's stun guns from their work points until they're all gone."
"This wheat is for the Oglins, for the servants, for the cannon fodder of the Astronauts—but not for the living."
Then, Lo Wei turned around.
He pulled out a black diary from his pocket, took out a fountain pen, and added another entry below the page he had just written:
[Additional expense: 25 stun grenades.]
[Additional Benefit: Recovery of 25 units of future labor. Expected payback period: 5 years.]
[Note: The outer barbed wire fence needs to be repaired. Also, have Old John check on the refugee camp's rations to see if they've been cut again. If the workforce starves to death before they're fully grown, it's a serious waste of imperial assets.]
Closing his diary, Luo Wei waved and said, "Let's call it a day."
He strode toward the chimera transport truck that was waiting nearby.
The hidden "Gluttony Wall" compound eyes on the front of the car turned slightly, as if trying to please its owner.
A week later.
Fengrao No. 2, Seventh Agricultural Theater, Eastern Granary.
A conference is underway.
The holographic projection floated in the middle of the long table.
It was a countdown clock that had been dyed a dark red.
-
[25 days remaining until Level 1 combat readiness harvest]
Every jump in the numbers made everyone's hearts tighten.
This is more than just a time scale.
This indicates that there are less than four weeks left until the harvest of the mutated wheat known as "Grey Mule-1".
Lo Wei sat at the head of the table at the far end.
He was wearing a black raincoat, the front of which was open, revealing his meticulously tailored dark gray supervisor's uniform underneath.
He stroked the black ring on his fingertip, a symbol of the governor's privileges, his expression hidden in the shadows.
This was the first expanded core meeting he convened after being officially appointed.
The attendees were a diverse mix, much like a bottomless garbage dump.
On his left is his core team:
One-eyed Buck, with his feet clad in military boots, brazenly propped them up on the crossbar, using a dagger to remove dirt from under his fingernails.
Behind Father Alpha, several mechanical tentacles were busily adjusting the bird-shaped array, while red electronic eyes scanned the vital signs of each person.
Old John looked worried, flipping through the thick parchment ledgers and muttering to himself.
Susan, expressionless, was wiping an oil-stained adjustable wrench she had just brought from the repair shop.
To the right are the middle-level managers who were originally part of Case's old team:
Warehouse supervisor, irrigation team leader, energy distributor.
These people sat upright, their eyes darting around, fearing Luo Wei's ruthless methods.
In the darkest corner of the conference room sat two bald men with high-explosive electronic shackles around their necks.
They are death row inmates representing the "Special Waste Recycling Team".
They shouldn't have a place at a meeting of this level.
But in Loewy's view, people are only distinguished by "useful assets" and "useless assets," not by social status.
"Gentlemen."
Luo Wei spoke slowly.
The noisy conference room immediately quieted down.
"I don't like listening to nonsense, and I don't need your praise."
"Over the past seven days, we have dumped thousands of tons of industrial waste liquid, hundreds of tons of fermented corpses, and countless bone meal onto the ground."
"Now, I need to know the profit and loss statement for this investment."
""
As he spoke, his gaze swept over everyone, finally settling on old John.
"Tell me about our assets," he said, "what trouble have those damned gray mules—Number 1—caused you?"
Old Yue stood up and nervously reported to his supervisor, "Sir, this is a huge problem. Everyone's in a state of panic these past few days."
Old John swallowed hard and began to organize his thoughts.
"The laborers below are spreading rumors that what we are growing is not the food bestowed by the God-King, but the devil crawling out of hell."
"devil?"
Luo Wei raised an eyebrow, picked up the coffee in front of him, and took a sip.
"Yes, sir."
Old John, his face contorted in distress, pointed out the window and said, "Listen to this noise. In broad daylight, the fields are filled with a 'crackling' sound, like thousands of dead people breaking their own bones."
"It's even scarier at night. The whole field is steaming, and the soil is so hot that you can get blisters on the soles of your feet."
"Several timid serfs were terrified last night and tried to escape, but were caught by the patrol."
"9
A restless commotion arose in the conference room.
The middle-level managers exchanged glances; they had clearly heard similar rumors as well.
In the Warhammer universe, any unexplained anomaly is usually linked to evil, dark forces.
Once this panic spreads, production order will collapse instantly.
"madness."
A cold, synthesized electronic voice interrupted the discussion.
Father Alpha slowly turned his mechanical head.
The red light in Yi's eyes focused on old John, and he said with the arrogance and contempt typical of a technician, "The limitations of mortal cognition."
The priest waved his mechanical tentacles, bringing up a set of complex data charts.
"This is called the rapid growth effect." Due to the excessive intake of protein and high-energy waste liquid, the cell division rate of Gray Snail-1 is forty times that of standard crops.
"Growing 30 centimeters taller overnight, the plant fibers break and recombine during high-speed stretching, naturally producing a popping sound similar to a bone fracture."
Before anyone could understand, the priest continued, "The white smoke and high temperature are biological thermal evaporation. The photosynthesis and root metabolism in this wheat field are operating at high speed, generating biological heat that evaporates moisture and acid in the soil."
"From a thermodynamic point of view, this is a perfectly reasonable release of energy."
Old John was dumbfounded; clearly, "thermodynamics" and "cell division" were beyond his comprehension.
He stammered, "But—Father, the laborers don't understand these things. They only know that the sounds from the fields sound like vengeful spirits demanding their lives."
Lo Wei put down his coffee cup.
The crisp sound of the porcelain cup hitting the table interrupted the priest's long speech.
Alpha's explanation is correct.
However, in management, a correct explanation is not necessarily an effective explanation.
Explaining biology to a group of illiterate and superstitious people is not only like casting pearls before swine, but also like managing a disaster.
In this world filled with ignorance and fear, science is often regarded as witchcraft, while mythology is the universal currency.
Luo Wei stood up, his black raincoat swaying slightly with his movement.
He walked to the French windows, gazing down at the eerie fields shrouded in rising white mist in the distance, and said solemnly, "Old John, tell them not to panic. Didn't you all hear a story your grandmother told you when you were children?"
Everyone perked up their ears.
"Regarding the Old Man of the Swamp's Gift".
"6
Luo Wei slowly uttered the phrase.
His voice was low and possessed a compelling sense of fatalism.
He once again invoked this ancient myth, which is widely circulated among the Aboriginal people of Plenty II and contains a distorted worship of Nurgle.
For him, this is not just a story, but a "cognitive intervention module" that has been proven in practice.
When Lowe was questioned by Lilith, the Grand Chamberlain of the Governor's Guard, about how he, as a lowly fourth-level clerk, knew such taboo knowledge about decay and rebirth, he brought up this myth as his theoretical basis.
Although in hindsight, Lilith, the head of the guards, saw through the clumsy disguise to some extent, she tacitly chose not to investigate further due to the governor's orders and the entanglement of interests.
But since this excuse could barely get past a psychic, then it would be equally effective in appeasing this group of illiterate people.
For low-level laborers whose minds are full of superstitious ideas, this is not only enough, it's practically a game-changer.
"Legend has it that in ancient times, this land was a highly poisonous swamp."
"Deep in the swamp lies millennia-old silt, a breeding ground for death."
"If left unattended, man-eating poisonous mushrooms will grow in the mud, luring and trapping passing travelers."
He paused for a moment, observing the reactions of the crowd.
From the increasingly focused gazes of the foremen, he knew he had found the right approach.
Luo Wei then changed the subject, saying, "However, if a brave farmer dares to summon heavenly fire and use the high temperature to boil this pot of mud, the man-eating toxins will be boiled and decomposed."
"The mud will become the most fertile fertilizer, growing food that can sustain people's lives."
At this point, Luo Wei pointed to the steaming wheat field outside the window.
"What we're doing is cooking this pot of soup for that 'Old Man of the Swamp' in this cold world."
"The steam rising from the fields is the smoke from a bountiful harvest, cooking away the toxins"; the crackling sound isn't a ghostly wail, but the wheat thanking us for our hospitality after it has eaten its fill.
"This is a gift, a blessing that only the most diligent and courageous can enjoy."
After Luo Wei finished speaking, the conference room fell silent.
After a few seconds, an older warehouse manager nodded first, seemingly lost in thought, and said, "So that's how it is—boiling mud, yes, the Swamp Old Man does have that saying."
Fear has been replaced by a more ancient and familiar logic.
People are always willing to believe what they can understand, even if it's fabricated.
Lowe sat back down in his chair, resuming his cold, auditory demeanor.
"Pass this story on. Tell everyone that this was a sacred cooking performed to save their lives."
""
"Anyone who dares to spread rumors that this is the devil will be thrown into the fermentation tank and made to ask the old man of the swamp who the real devil is."
"Yes, supervisor!"
Old John straightened his back, as if he had received a divine revelation.
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