The Rise of the Wolf Clan (2)

The so-called Imperial Tithe, as the name suggests, means that taxes are levied on one-tenth of the GDP.

Sounds great, right? But the reality is quite different.

For example, in a world where the total GDP is a fixed figure, if the tax revenue is based on minerals, then you would have to mine those minerals to pay taxes.

Paying taxes the first time might not be a big deal, after all, productivity is what it is, and a tenth of the tax is just a drop in the bucket. But what if the planet's minerals are exhausted, and who knows how many years later you have to pay such a large amount of ore again?

If you're lucky, you can manage to pay your taxes if you work hard. If you're unlucky, you'll have to spend a lot of money to buy things elsewhere to make up for the tax shortfall.

Mordred and Russ were clearly not much luckier. According to the terminal, the tax in this world wasn't on the ores, but on the blaster pistols they had been given earlier, and it wasn't Imperial Tithe, but all of them.

Mordred had a strange sense of déjà vu before, and now that the truth is out, isn't this just the Empire's old tricks?

No, this is even worse than the Empire!

It was at this moment that the two finally met the so-called wolf clan.

Watching the diminutive werewolf frantically tightening screws on the assembly line, occasionally suffering electric shocks, the two brothers exchanged a glance and instantly understood why the official had looked so gloating earlier.

This is no good place at all; it's a shady factory just like the Adeptus Mechanicus, and those two are the Black-hearted Foreman.

Moreover, the collars they wore around their necks were exactly the same as those worn by the werewolf below who was screwing in screws.

Even more shockingly, Mordred saw a werewolf on the assembly line collapse from Collapsed on the Ground, and the collar of the werewolf began to light up red the moment it stopped.

Everyone frantically tried to get away, and seconds later, the collar suddenly emitted a huge electric current, instantly burning the unfortunate man to a crisp.

Upon witnessing this scene, the two men said nothing and could only grit their teeth and walk over to hand over the duties to the officials who had been waiting for a long time.

As expected, although the officials didn't say it outright, they all looked gloating. After the handover was completed, they turned around and left without even glancing back. Only the tall guards remained expressionless as they performed their duties.

With things having come to this point, the two had no choice but to get to work. After all, they were Primarch, and even if they had been turned into dogs, their intelligence would not have diminished.

In just two hours, the two learned the most basic data processing and sorted out the general information.

The good news is that, at the current production rate, the tax revenue needs can be met. The bad news is that, due to mismanagement, the workforce is severely depleted, and large-scale deaths have begun.

As the saying goes, where you sit determines where you look. Anyway, the two of them are just passing through. Even if they become dogs, they're not real dogs. Let them be exploited; it has nothing to do with them.

As for the collar around his neck, Russ said that he couldn't use Psychic Power ever since he put it on, but Mordred, who uses Fel Energy, was completely unaffected.

Not to mention that although they were collared, the two were different from the laborers below. They didn't have to work and could be said to enjoy privileges. Even the guards treated them with utmost respect after seeing the identification codes on their bodies.

But for some reason, Mordred felt uneasy, like a wildfire was burning inside him, and he didn't like this feeling of being forced.

Russ, standing nearby, was also trying to remove the collar, but the result was not pleasant; a series of electric shocks left him Collapsed on the Ground.

"Twenty, you son of a bitch, I don't believe it."

No sooner had he finished speaking than another electric shock struck, instantly turning Russ, who was trying to break free of his restraints, into a cloud of black smoke.

Russ became obedient, but Mordred knew that they were no longer compatible with this so-called Sheep Empire.

Without further probing, the two obediently began their work, like the numb slaves in the factory.

But every night, the two would huddle together and begin plotting their rebellion in Gothic.

"Second Brother, how much longer until we leave?"

"It's unclear. The ritual has completely broken down. It could happen in the next second, or it could happen in 100 years. But leaving is easy. After all, this body of ours is just a projection, so it doesn't matter if we die."

"Then I don't want to leave. I want to kill those goat-headed monsters. What do you think?"

In the dimly lit room, Mordred grinned, its Emerald Lightning flashing and spreading to the collar around its neck, meticulously analyzing its internal structure.

"What ideas do I have? I have plenty of ideas. I may not have much Second Brother, but I have a lot of ideas."

I was being lenient with them before, but since they're shameless, they can't blame me. I'll show them what a true biological Big Mek of the empire is all about.

I've already scouted the area; there's no shortage of resources here. But the two of us alone can't escape this trap. So, we need to leverage external forces!

"Those slaves?"

"Yes! It's that pack of wolves."

With a crisp snap, the electric shock collar popped open automatically, only to be instantly locked back on by Mordred.

The Emerald Lightning flashed again, followed by another crisp cracking sound.

In the days that followed, the two behaved quite well, although materials often went missing from the factory. Mordred recorded these incidents as usual, but they went unnoticed by anyone.

Behind the scenes, taking advantage of their positions, the two began to gradually make contact with the wolf clan. However, after making contact, a new problem arose for them.

Looking at the werewolves huddled in their shacks, peering eagerly at the food trough, only becoming alert and frantically scrambling for food when it appeared, Mordred thought that these lowly and weak creatures were probably not even as good as a rat, at least the rats in Terra would eat people.

They were not intelligent beings at all, but a flock of lambs to the slaughter, without even the desire to resist.

Mordred grabbed the smallest werewolf at random and offered it his food rations: a piece of bread mixed with minced meat.

Upon seeing the food, even though the werewolf was starving, it dared not reach for it. Instead, it lay trembling on the ground, too afraid to even open its eyes. "My lord, spare my life! I don't want to die!"

Mordred forcefully pried open the little creature's mouth, while Russ grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it inside.

Even at this point, the werewolf still dared not eat it and eventually vomited it up.

The sight of such a weak creature sent chills down the spines of the two men; clearly, they had been completely broken by their servility.

"Little one, we're not one of those adults you're talking about. Look at us. What's your name?"

"Name? My name is Goda."