Strange Writing

But whenever such thoughts surfaced, he tried to think it through. If the predecessors of those years had thought the same way he did, their nation and people would probably have perished long ago.

Of course, some people gave up on difficult roads, but not everyone would give up.

During the sixteen years he had grown up in this other world, had he come to understand its cruelty? Of course he had. But under the constraints of social order, weak as he was, he could not possibly resist fiercely. He could only try to become part of it, to become one of those at the top.

Anyone who had read Capital should know that "capital is not a thing, but a social relationship."

Compared to capitalist society, this world was clearly far more complicated. Compared to exploitation and oppression, this place was more like naked plunder. In a world where individuals possessed extraordinary power, ordinary people had no human rights.

From the perspective of black magic, humans were treated as expendable materials of equal value.

Mel breathed in the frigid wind and set off once more. He could fly, yet he could still feel knife-like pain cutting across his face, and staying in the cold for too long had left cracks in his skin.

People could strive for all living beings without needing any reason, because the reason was the matter itself. Mel was preparing to become such a person.

Even in his previous life, in a world where the pace kept accelerating and material desires ran rampant, people had gradually forgotten many things they ought to have upheld. Perhaps someone wanted them to forget, but those at the bottom of society absolutely should not.

Marxist philosophy had always been part of education, yet fewer and fewer people read a