High Tower's Reaction

The High Tower, situated at the heart of the mining satellite Lycaeus, is named as such, but in reality, it is a towering structure spanning tens of kilometers and piercing the clouds.

The ruling class of Lycaeus has resided here for generations.

High Tower, Lower Levels

"Lord Agamemnon, a message has come from the supply station below. A mining tunnel in one of the camps has collapsed. A Drill Tractor was in operation at the time of the collapse, and a squad of armed Overseers were patrolling the area. They've lost contact," Budelin reported cautiously to Agamemnon.

Agamemnon, who was responsible for managing all affairs in the lower levels of the High Tower, held immense power. He handled everything from resource exchange rates and ore quota requirements to the allocation of criminals.

"What are you trying to say?" Agamemnon asked, without looking up from the vast landscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling window.

"I suspect those slaves below might be maliciously planning revenge against the High Tower," Budelin said quietly.

"What are your thoughts?" Agamemnon didn't answer, instead inquiring about the other's intentions.

"I plan to send people to investigate. If it is true, all involved slaves will be executed." Budelin's answer followed the standard procedure dictated by the High Tower.

"Inflexible," Agamemnon's cold voice cut through the air.

"Please instruct me, Lord." Budelin flinched, fearfully prostrating himself on the ground and bowing to the man before him, who appeared somewhat short but exuded an imposing aura.

This was the scent of power!

"A mere Drill Tractor. The High Tower can afford the loss. A squad of Overseers? They are but ants."

"Those slaves wouldn't expend the resources to activate a Drill Tractor just to trap and kill a squad of Overseers. The cost is beyond their means," Agamemnon stated.

"Then what is your Lordship's intention?" Budelin sought further guidance.

"It doesn't matter if the Drill Tractor is gone, if the Overseers are dead, or if it's a natural disaster. As long as the ore is delivered, that's all that matters. Double the quota for rare minerals for that camp for the next quarter." Agamemnon issued the command with utter calmness.

It was as serene as eating or drinking.

He hadn't even bothered to ask how many people were in the camp, what their usual quota was, or how long it would take for the delivered rare minerals to offset the loss of the Drill Tractor.

This was the power of the High Tower's de facto rulers!

A single, casual sentence became a mountain weighing down on the Miners of Lycaeus.

"Your command will be obeyed." Budelin rose and began relaying the superiors' intentions to those below.

Throughout the entire exchange, Agamemnon simply continued to gaze at the bustling scenery outside the window.

At the supply point, Sharojin was anxiously awaiting news from the High Tower.

A squad of armed Overseers guarded him, and he was not permitted to leave his post until a decision was made from above.

Unlike the patrolling Overseers who were equipped with only stun batons, these guards were armed with the Astra Militarum's trusty sidearms: Laser Guns.

The Laser Gun was an energy weapon, the most common and widely used type of laser weapon within the Imperium, and the standard armament for Astra Militarum infantry and most junior NCOs.

It fired a focused beam of energy that, upon impact, created a small explosion on the target's surface, vaporizing the hit area. Laser Guns could even penetrate the weak points of Space Marine power armor.

The Overseers here were equipped with the M35 Galaxy Short Barrel Laser Rifle, best suited for Lycaeus's conditions.

Compared to the longer barrels of other models, the M35 Galaxy Short Barrel's design was more effective at suppressing rebels attempting to hide within the mine shafts. Its 150-round high-energy laser beam capacity was more than enough to silence any insurgents.

"How much longer..." Sharojin, covered in dust and with a grimy face, fidgeted impatiently as he waited.

"Slave, relay this message to your camp leader: for the next quarter, all your camp's quotas will be doubled. You may leave now." A cold, greedy voice emanated from the sound array installed at the supply exchange station.

It was clear that the Overseers handling matters at the lower levels of Lycaeus were adept at incrementally increasing demands.

Agamemnon had specified rare minerals, but after several layers of transmission, it had naturally become a doubling of all quotas.

"Ah, doubled? Lord, shouldn't you be sending people to investigate the cause of the collapse?" Sharojin, who had been pacing nervously, was stunned.

This wasn't the procedure he knew...

Unfortunately, the only response Sharojin received was the silence of the sound array system.

"Slave, get lost. Go back and announce the good news of your camp's destruction." The armed Overseer standing guard sneered as he expelled Sharojin.

They relished the prospect of the next quarter, knowing this poor camp would soon be unable to meet its ore quotas, slowly decay, and eventually be consumed by other camps.

This was one of the few sources of amusement they could find during their monotonous guard duty.

As Sharojin walked away with heavy steps, he could even hear the Overseers enthusiastically placing bets on how long the unfortunate camp would last...

Sharojin felt as if the sky had fallen at that moment.

"No, I have to get this message back quickly."

Snapping back to reality, Sharojin immediately sprinted towards the mine at full speed. For the first time, Sharojin felt the whistling wind by his ears was so urgent, as if the wind itself was urging him to go faster.

"Faster, not fast enough, I need to be even faster!" Sharojin's mind relentlessly pushed his body.

All the energy within every cell of his body was being frantically squeezed, and streams of energy converged into a torrent flowing towards Sharojin's legs.

Suddenly, Sharojin, who was already running at full speed, accelerated again. He turned into a black arrow, streaking towards the mine.

The Mine

"What's going on? Why is he so slow this time? According to the High Tower's procedures, Sharojin should have been back by now," Sandman said, waiting for a long time at the mine without anyone arriving, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Uh, Psionic Energy???" Sandman, wondering why no one had arrived yet, said somewhat uncertainly.

He felt a faint, peculiar fluctuation, a wave as fragile as new life.

Confused, he looked up in the direction it came from, only to see Sharojin rushing towards him alone.

A mass of black Psionic Energy beneath his feet swept Sharojin along as he charged straight towards Sandman's position...

"Sharojin, what's going on?" Sandman quickly stepped forward, supporting the somewhat out-of-control Sharojin as he anxiously asked.

"Boss, the High Tower is demanding... that for the next quarter, all... the... ore submission quotas are doubled..." Sharojin finished speaking with difficulty, then his whole body went limp as he fainted