Chapter 101: Savages, Greenskins, and a Slapping Contest
Omega's kind heart had gotten him into a lot of trouble, namely with the natives of this planet—the Korsa. In their tribal civilization, on the very first day they were brought back, they had shown Omega what a "clash of clans" was.
No one knew the exact reason. Perhaps people from two hostile tribes had recognized each other's tribal tattoos, and a fight had broken out. Then, more and more people had been drawn in, and more and more tribes had been drawn in. "Send out all the Electro-Priests! Tell the blue men I just want results!" Omega, whose train of thought had been interrupted by this nonsense, roared in a fit of rage. "What is this? And I was being so nice, trying to keep them from being worked to death!"
Looking at the grumbling Omega, the others could only smile wryly. They felt the same as him, but a few million savages were a problem they now had to solve.
"How does the Imperium usually manage feral worlds?" Omega asked.
"Usually as recruitment worlds," Fenni answered. "Feral world warriors are very famous in the Astra Militarum. The constant warfare of the primitive inhabitants and the deadly flora and fauna are excellent materials for cultivating soldiers."
After getting his answer, Omega asked another question. "Do these Korsa people know about the Tyranids?"
"They should. But with their understanding, they probably think the Tyranids are monsters from their myths that devour worlds, and that we are spirits of heroes sent down by the gods."
"Their imagination is quite accurate. So their willingness to fight is very high?"
"They believe that to die in battle is to ascend to the heavens. The attrition rate for recruitment on the Astartes' home worlds is astonishing, yet countless people still line up to join."
After a moment's thought, Omega clapped his hands. "Hmm, I have an idea. We need to screen out the warmongers. The remaining Korsa people will be much easier to manage. Louis, didn't you say it was difficult to find the Orks in the forest? Since it's hard to find them, let these natives find them for us. Tell those savage warriors that as long as they can bring me the bodies of the Greenskins, I will give them the weapons of heroes, heal their diseases, repair their disabilities, and fulfill their not-too-outrageous wishes! This way, we also don't have to worry about the Greenskins' development getting out of control due to stimulation."
With the combined effect of the Electro-Priests and the material rewards, these savage Korsa people were quickly divided. The warmongers all entered the Greenskin forest. These were mostly adult men, with a few women. They longed for the weapons of heroes or a glorious death.
The remaining honest people, as Omega had thought, did not have another "clash of clans." Under the command of the apprentices, they continued to serve as Omega's indentured laborers. But this slave master was much more merciful. He would let them rest, treat their illnesses, guarantee their three meals a day, and provide them with safe housing that would not be attacked by wild beasts.
Before long, Omega had gained the title of "the merciful god, Maiga." The little cog-head had no reaction to this. He had expected it. He just complained, "Where did the 'O' go?"
These people, after the facilities Omega needed were built, would still end up taking up a gun and fighting the Tyranids to the death. This was something Omega could not change. He couldn't take so many people with him. He couldn't even take the Korsa children. What he was doing now was just "self-deception." But even though he knew he was doing something laborious and useless, he still had to do it. If he didn't, his heart would not be at ease. If he didn't, he was afraid he would be slowly changed.
Compared to these frustrating things, there were also many good things happening. For example, Omega discovered that he had a wealth of talent under him. Half of the new crew were former hive nobles, with a high level of education. With a little systematic training, they were qualified technical apprentices. Not to mention that there were many other types of talents among them.
After discovering this, Omega simply gathered these talented individuals and categorized them. He gave the docile Korsa people to those who were good at management, and the warlike Korsa people to those with military talent and high combat power. Those who were good at business were appointed as the commercial representatives of the Cogboy fleet. They were responsible for helping Omega sell his goods. The smart ones were given to the Tech-Priests for special training.
With this arrangement, everyone was very satisfied. The Tech-Priests and apprentices were freed from miscellaneous tasks. The former nobles knew they had a better future. They knew they had met a good captain who knew how to use people and was also merciful. Even the former slaves, who had been tormented into submission, began to live more actively in the thriving atmosphere of the fleet. The barriers between the slaves and the nobles, the nobles and the priests, were broken down. Like a well-oiled gear, the feeling of not meshing was slowly disappearing. The operation was becoming smoother and smoother, and they were becoming closer and closer.
Omega saw these changes and was happy in his heart. It reminded him of his time in the settlement. It let him know that some things were changing because of him, even if these things still couldn't change the cruel truth of this world.
Time passed day by day. With the great power of machinery, Omega's colosseum was soon ready for use. The Tech-Priests had not yet figured out how the Greenskins on Korsa had appeared, but from the current situation in the Greenskin forest, the most likely possibility was that a meteorite fragment carrying Greenskin spores had been drifting in space for who knows how many years, and had, by chance, landed on Korsa, taken root, and sprouted mushrooms.
The development of the Greenskins here was at the stage where they could just barely defeat the flora and fauna of the Greenskin forest, allowing them to walk out of the great Greenskin forest to find an opponent worthy of a WAAAGH! Unfortunately, they had run into the humans and the T'au, who were preparing for a final battle with the Tyranids. The next day, ten thousand cog-heads, who had come specifically to "serve" them, had arrived. And the leader of these cog-heads was a little shrimp full of wicked ideas.
With the completion of the basic infrastructure, the captured Greenskins could finally be put to use. To ensure that the Greenskins would not cause any trouble, Omega had arranged for three full Battle Automata Cohorts in and around the colosseum. Over a thousand Automata were specifically assigned to "serve" these few dozen living Greenskins.
"Hurry up and WAAAGH! for me!" Omega said, waving the whip in his hand.
The Greenskins on the scene looked at each other, but no one moved. How could a Greenskin listen to a shrimp? And a little shrimp who only dared to stand behind armored glass at that? If Gorkamorka found out, what if he didn't take them on a WAAAGH! anymore?
"Little shrimp, we're not gonna listen to you. Rotten-teef, you gonna listen to a shrimp?"
"I ain't listenin' to no little shrimp. You?"
"I ain't listenin' to no little shrimp either."
"Dat's right. A Greenskin who listens to a shrimp."
"Ptooey! How low!"
Seeing the Greenskins not obeying, and even daring to perform a comedy routine to mock him, Omega, instead of getting angry, smiled. He pointed the whip in his hand at the Greenskins and said, "Heh heh heh, in that case, I'll just have to let you see my methods."
The moment the little cog-head finished speaking, the gate next to them was opened, and a squad of Battle Automata marched out, looking imposing. Each Automata held a crackling electric baton in each of its two hands. Two Automata served one Ork. Four electric batons made the Greenskins scream.
Faced with two five-meter-tall metal behemoths, the Greenskins' counter-attack was as laughable as their unarmed fists. Besides giving Omega a good show, it had no effect at all. When the Greenskins were all lying on the ground, electrocuted, Omega slowly asked, "Are my electric batons WAAAGH! enough for you?"
Ignoring the Greenskins' mouths, which they couldn't open because they were twitching and convulsing, Omega waved his whip again. "Heh heh, still not obeying? Continue!"
After another good beating that made the Greenskins cry, Omega asked again. The Greenskins got another beating. And so on, until one Greenskin, through a desperate effort of "thinking," broke through the limits of his physiology and created the miracle of an organism resisting electric shock. The moment the little cog-head asked the question, he immediately convulsed and answered, "Wait, wait, little-little shrimp! What-what do you want?"
Omega said slowly, "I don't think you're WAAAGH! enough. So I'm going to teach you what WAAAGH! is."
"Y-y-you're full of scrap! We're much more WAAAGH! than you shrimps!"
"Oh, a tough one. I, your Magos, like tough ones. Someone, continue!"
This time, it was four Automata, eight batons, serving this tough one. The other Greenskins, seeing the treatment the tough one was getting, all admitted that they were soft.
"You all remember, from now on, you do what I say, and you answer what I ask! Do you understand?!"
"Understood!" x N
"Hmm, very good. Now, stand face to face and slap each other!"
"Little shrimp, you—"
"Hmm? Someone, electric—"
"You got it!"
The slapping game successfully evolved into a brawl, as Omega had intended. The Greenskins showed all the onlooking shrimps what "fist to flesh" meant. For the Greenskins who had decided a winner but had gotten a taste for blood and were about to go for the kill, the Automata who had been standing by would use their electric batons to teach them the meaning of "stopping at the right moment." After all the Greenskins had finished their brawl, the winners would continue to slap each other, and so on, until the champion of the "Slapping Contest" was decided.
After the Automata had herded all the Greenskins back to their pens, the cleaning system would collect all the Greenskin remains in the fully enclosed area. A special person would then take these Greenskin scraps and the Greenskin bodies handed over by the savage warriors and sow them in Omega's carefully selected "mushroom field." The "mushroom field" was also under strict guard and surveillance. When a Greenskin crawled out of the ground, a Battle Automata would escort him to the colosseum to participate in the "Slapping Contest."
In the future, the Slapping Contest might even be divided into levels, such as Grot-level, Boy-level, and Nob-level. Snotlings were not worth it; they had no aggression and would even take care of the mushroom field themselves. This process was Omega's "Greenskin Breeding Program." As for how to manage the Greenskins, he hadn't thought of that yet. It was a galactic problem. The methods he had thought of so far were not very reliable. He could only think as he went.