Compromise

As the overseer tumbling through the air grew more terrified, several dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground echoed from a distance.

"Fire!" At the same time the explosion rang out, miners lying in ambush surged from their hiding spots, bows and crossbows in hand, loosing deadly arrows at the enemy.

Shadow Kill members dropped from the heights, blades—combat knives, daggers, short swords—flashing as they began their slaughter.

The overseers, caught off guard by the sudden assault, fell into chaos. Only a few stragglers at the rear managed to mount any semblance of a counterattack, but by then the two sides were already intermingled, forcing those overseers to hold back for fear of hitting their own.

"Set the Laser Guns to continuous fire—don't hold back!" a squad leader at the rear commanded his men.

At this point, there was no room for hesitation. Any more delay, and the enemy would be upon them. Once the attackers closed to bow range, the gap between the two sides would vanish.

"Fire, fire... ugh..." The squad leader urging the others to shoot let out a wretched cry.

A slender metal arrow punched straight through his skull. The immense force carried by the metal shaft burst his head like a melon hit by live ammunition—red, yellow, and white brain matter splattered everywhere, a chunk of yellowish gunk slapping wetly onto the face of the nearest overseer.

More metal arrows whistled through the air, each carrying death, cutting down the armed overseers whose gear outclassed the miners' cold weapons.

"All done, boss." Korax lowered the massive longbow he had personally forged—a weapon absurdly oversized for any ordinary man.

The bow stretched a terrifying four meters in length, every part selected and crafted by Korax himself. Even the arrows were pure metal. Its range and power far surpassed any normal longbow, and with the monstrous strength of a Primarch behind it, it became a horrifying instrument of slaughter.

The miners hadn't used the captured Laser Guns or Stun Guns because the bodies would eventually be returned to the High Tower. Laser Gun wounds were unmistakable—a line the High Tower would never tolerate. Even the captured weapons would have to be handed back in the end.

Still, the miners didn't find this unacceptable. As their boss put it: no guns, no cannons—the enemy makes them for us. For now, they were just being stored.

"Comrade Train Captain, still holding out hope for your reinforcements?" Sandman asked, watching the battle below enter its cleanup phase.

"Which family from Giava do you belong to? Why target the High Tower like this?" the Train Captain asked, his tone unnervingly certain.

In his view, only the great noble families of Giava—those at the top of the ruling class—could have trained a rabble of miners to this level.

The two men before him, with their strength, bearing, and the authority radiating from them, could never have been produced by these miserable slaves.

"Comrade Train Captain, take your time thinking about it. Maybe you'll get a pleasant surprise. For now, just wait patiently for the High Tower's orders." Sandman paused, then spoke with deliberate mystery.

If the man wanted to fill in the blanks himself, let him. The goal was already achieved.

Half a day had passed since the miners started their strike. Based on the handling procedures Korax had learned during his infiltration of the High Tower, Agamemnon, the one in charge of such matters, must have received the news by now.

The lower ranks wouldn't dare sit on this for so long—this was the kind of thing that got people killed.

Deep in the High Tower's lower levels, Agamemnon sank into his wide leather chair, the pale blue glow of a data slate casting shadows across his stern face.

The usually grim and solemn Agamemnon stared at his bank account balance with a pained expression.

"That old bastard comes down once, and I lose two months' pay. My money, my money—those damned miners must not be working hard enough. Starting tomorrow... no, starting now, double the workload!" Agamemnon leaped up from the plush leather sofa, instantly arriving at the truth that his shrinking wealth was fundamentally due to the bottom-tier cattle not toiling hard enough.

If the underlings didn't work hard, how could the boss get more Waaagh, more powerful!!!

"My Lord, something terrible has happened. The supply depot below reports that the slaves have gone on strike. It's been half a day since the shift change, and not a single person is working the Lycaeus mines. The overseers and the slaves have already broken into violent conflict." Budelin, Agamemnon's assistant, burst into the office without knocking, reporting urgently.

"Strike? Who gave them the nerve!" Agamemnon, who had just sat back down, shot to his feet.

This was unforgivable!

"My Lord, this matter doesn't seem so simple. This is the demand from the largest mining camp in the east." Budelin swiped his pale fingers across the blue-lit data slate, then opened a recording of Sandman's communication and handed it over.

"If the exchange rate isn't changed by sunset, our people will pass the information to the Lord of the High Tower. Ask Agamemnon if we have the ability to do that." Sandman's voice, brimming with confidence, was unmistakable even through the data slate.

"Those damned remnants!!!!" Agamemnon hurled the data slate to the floor.

The force was immense—the slate let out a series of cracking groans before shattering into fragments, electronic components scattering across the plush lamb's wool carpet.

Hearing Sandman's words, Agamemnon immediately thought of the political exiles from Giava's homeworld.

Only they would have the connections to reach the Lord of the High Tower.

"My Lord, should we request the High Tower's military to suppress these ungrateful slaves?" Budelin asked.

"Suppress your mother's head!" Agamemnon grabbed an inkstone from his wide desk and hurled it at him.

If Budelin weren't someone he had trained himself, he'd have drawn his Laser Gun and put two bursts into him right then.

Requesting the military—was he afraid of dying too slowly? Or was this brat trying to seize his chance? Military deployment required the Lord of the High Tower's approval—wasn't that just throwing him into the fire?