The dragon lurks in the abyss, silent until it cries out, and then it astonishes the world.
Babel's military organizational structure was entirely built around the Principles of Strategy. Over ten thousand warriors were organized into squads of ten, companies of a hundred, battalions of five hundred, and regiments of a thousand, forming a Babel Legion of ten thousand strong.
Though these children, the eldest only fifteen or sixteen, were far below the combat proficiency of regular mortal Auxilia, let alone Space Marine Legions, and could not even match the local Planetary Defense Force,
Against the underground gangs, their offensive swept through like autumn winds scattering fallen leaves, unstoppable.
"Who goes there?" Winston shouted sharply into the cavern, his underslung flashlight cutting through the surrounding darkness.
"Don't shoot! We're not gangsters, we're just scavengers!"
From the shadows, several ragged figures stumbled out, arms raised high.
"We've come to join Babel! We can guide you!"
But Winston raised his hand without hesitation and pulled the trigger.
The beam struck the leading man. His body jerked violently; he looked down in disbelief at his own chest, only to see a bowl-sized charred cavity, the edges of tissue carbonized by the heat.
The other warriors opened fire simultaneously, cutting down the rest. No survivors.
"Wh-why…" His lips moved faintly as his body crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.
"Do I look like an idiot?" Winston's brow furrowed tightly.
Underground gang wars never cared about innocents, anyone caught in the crossfire was an enemy.
Real scavengers would do everything to avoid battlefields. Even the greediest gamblers would only risk looting corpses after the gunfire faded.
As for this group before him, though their clothes were tattered, everyone in the underworld dressed that way.
But they were too muscular, completely unlike the malnourished, skeletal scavengers.
How stupid would one have to be to believe they were scavengers? And even if they really were scavengers, Winston would still have opened fire.
Anyone who dared appear here, whoever they were, was an enemy of Babel.
Scavengers were merely the bottom of the underworld, but they were not good people. They scavenged only because they could not beat the gangs.
Given the chance, they would kill just the same.
They should never have blocked the road. Winston would treat them all as enemies.
This was war, not charity.
Winston ordered, "Move out! We're behind schedule, we must clear the Jatalin tribe before tomorrow!"
"For Babel!"
"Strength and Honor!"
"Victory or Death!"
The warriors echoed in low voices and quickly melted into the darkness.
…...
"Put your backs into it, brothers and sisters! The warriors are counting on us!"
"The front lines are bleeding, every minute we delay puts them in greater danger!"
Inside Babel, Sonya stood atop a truck, shouting to the children hauling supplies.
Boys and girls worked like diligent ants, transferring goods from the warehouses to the main hall, then loading the mountainous piles onto vehicles.
In Babel, everyone had their own task.
The warriors risked their lives at the front, they too had to do their part, securing the front's logistics.
Though logistics was safer than the front, their burden was no less heavy.
As Erwin's daughter, Sonya had perfectly inherited her father's driving talent.
At only ten, she could diagnose vehicle faults by engine sound alone in complete darkness. She had an extraordinary affinity for machinery, sometimes she could even hear the trucks speaking to her.
With her outstanding talent, she had risen above hundreds of others to become Babel's convoy captain.
"This is the last crate, Sonya."
The boy managing the warehouse handed her a clay tablet. "Here's the manifest."
Sonya carefully verified every item. Though they all trusted one another, this was a necessary procedure.
Babel was currently small, its management relatively simple.
But as the organization grew, without proper rules and regulations, it would descend into chaos.
Only strict procedures could guarantee order.
"Eighteen trucks accounted for. Departing in five minutes!"
Sonya looked at her deputy, a usually silent gang boy. "Vidal, you take Group A on the northern route. I'll take Group B on the southern. Remember, no matter what happens, do not stop the vehicles!"
"Good luck, Sister Sonya!"
"Come back safe!"
Nila stumbled after the convoy, tears already streaming down the face of the little girl Sonya cared for most.
Sonya gripped the steering wheel and led the convoy out of Babel, advancing through the pitch-black underground.
Though Sonya herself was barely past ten, and the trucks had to be specially modified just so she could reach the pedals and brakes, she believed she was already a qualified warrior!
These vehicles had been transported down to Babel by the Teacher using psychic power, through vertical elevator shafts.
Though the underworld was a labyrinth, only a handful of main arteries could accommodate vehicles.
The territories of the underground tribes along these arteries had already been captured in advance by vanguard forces. The most critical territories would be converted into logistics hubs.
The Deep Rat Tribe's territory was one of the few strategic hubs connecting multiple transport routes.
All frontline supplies would first concentrate at these hubs, then be dispatched to the front along the branching narrow routes.
Every hub was defended by a Babel company, a hundred lasguns and heavy stubbers were enough to hold every entrance. No matter how many attackers came, they could hold until ammunition ran out.
And since these hubs were logistics transfer points, ammunition was the one thing they never lacked.
But these main arteries were also riddled with thousands of narrow branch tunnels. Babel could not deploy defenses on every branch, that would only scatter their forces and give the enemy openings.
Only regular patrols dispatched from each hub could secure the main routes.
Thus, en route to the hubs, convoys might be ambushed.
Though the underground gangs were a disorganized rabble, Babel's continuous purges of surrounding gangs had left the others like startled birds.
They dared not challenge Babel's regular forces head-on, but they had the nerve, plenty of nerve, to attack logistics convoys.
After all, logistics convoys were far less terrifying than the regular army, and a successful raid would yield massive supplies.
Not just corpse-starch bars, but hive-made weapons!
With those weapons, they could even stand against Babel directly!
Though attacking convoys carried risk, the tremendous temptation was enough to make any gang gamble.
"People ahead!"
The boy in the passenger seat cried out, clutching his lasgun tightly.
In the dim glow of the truck's headlights, figures shifted on the road ahead.
Several thugs were frantically hauling iron frames and debris into the center of the road, trying to set up a barricade.
"Don't shoot, leave it to me!" Sonya's brows knitted as she floored the accelerator.
CRASH!
The truck slammed into the barricade with a tremendous noise, the chassis lurching violently. The barricade was crushed to scrap metal under the truck's impact, and the thugs who failed to dodge were struck head-on, tumbling through the air like rag dolls, only to be run over by the following trucks the moment they landed.
Crimson blood splattered across the windshield, but Sonya did not even blink, the speed never dropping.
The thugs' idea of setting up a speed bump was not wrong, but they had underestimated the terror of a hundred-ton overloaded king. Their attempt was a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Tell it to another world!
…..
"Revolution? Isn't this too soon?" Facing Caelan's sudden visit, Erwin lowered his voice.
Caelan replied, "The time is now. The revolution in the underworld has already begun."
"The nobles have noticed us. They are massing forces to encircle and suppress Babel."
"Our overall strength is still far below the nobles'. The longer we delay, the worse it gets. We must strike first and open up the situation!"
Erwin was uneasy. "The underworld has already gone to war? Then why did you come here in person? Those children need you more!"
Caelan's answer was decisive: "They don't need me. Three years of military training, and equipment that crushes the underground gangs, they will not fail my expectations."
"But they're only children!"
"They are children, but they are also revolutionary warriors."
Caelan understood Erwin's worry, his daughter Sonya was in Babel too.
They were indeed just a group of half-grown children, some still in swaddling clothes but the nobles would not show mercy because of their youth, and danger would not vanish through avoidance. Problems had to be solved with iron and blood!
Babel was the ivory tower that sheltered them, but they could not stay in the ivory tower forever.
They had to leave the greenhouse, endure hardship, and grow into qualified revolutionary warriors.
Theory remained theory; only practice brought true knowledge.
Erwin was silent for a long time. "When do we begin?"
Caelan's gaze was blazing like a torch, "Here and now!"
"Leave the liberation of the underworld to those children, their courage and resolve will not lose to anyone!"
"Your mission is to raise revolution in the underhive, keep the nobles' armies running ragged, and pin their forces within the hive!"
The weighty mission straightened Erwin's back. His voice was steady: "Then give the order."
Caelan asked, "How much force can you mobilize now?"
Erwin answered, "A hundred thousand warriors, mainly scavengers from the outskirts, plus some underhive workers who joined us."
"Per your instructions, we've cultivated many informants among the underhive workers."
"They brought back detailed hive maps and rough gang distribution charts."
"But we lack real combat experience. With only these blueprints, it will be hard to fully control the underhive."
Caelan raised his hand gently. "No matter. I will clear the obstacles for you."
Relying on resources supplied by Caelan, Erwin had already unified nearly all the outskirt folk.
Though they did not understand what revolution meant, they were willing to risk their lives for a meal.
Their lives had always been a struggle in suffering, fighting other scavengers for a bite to eat.
Now they had food, but they still had to fight.
It was no different from before, except the ones they fought had changed from scavengers to nobles.
Wasn't that even more exciting?
A hundred thousand warriors sounded like a mighty host, but they had almost no formal military training.
Erwin had only taught them by the book from Caelan's manuals; their combat power was even lower than Babel's children.
But the underhive gangs were also a rabble, even more fragile than these outskirt scavengers.
That was their advantage!
"Cthonia's hive is only a small hive, a few hundred million people."
"Ninety percent of the population is concentrated in the underhive. The gangsters ruling it are a tiny fraction, and they fight among themselves constantly."
"We have a hundred thousand. If we uproot the gangs' core strongholds according to plan, we can indirectly control large swaths of districts."
"If we can also seize the elevators, we can cut the link between the upper and underhives and seize strategic initiative."
Caelan pointed to areas marked in blue on the crude map. "Most importantly, seize the hive's large fusion plasma reactors. Once we control the energy core, we have the means to take the nobles down with us."
"The nobles will hesitate, pouring troops endlessly into attempts to retake the reactors."
Erwin frowned. "But we only have a hundred thousand. To fully control the underhive, we'd need millions at least. Your plan is too idealistic."
"You're wrong. We don't have a hundred thousand, we have hundreds of millions."
"You mean the underhive workers? But why would they help us? They don't understand your revolution."
Caelan said, "Make them recognize their interests. Buy them with corpse-starch bars."
The lower classes were the easiest to win over, because their expectations in life were pitifully low.
In ancient Terra, a bowl of thin porridge could make refugees join a peasant uprising.
A single promise, "The rebelion comes, no grain taxes", could make commoners loyal unto death.
For outskirt scavengers, one corpse-starch bar a day was enough to make them willingly sell their lives.
Underhive commoners had slightly higher expectations than outskirt folk, but as fellow bottom-dwellers, how much higher could they be?
As long as they were fed, their daily 20-hour work shift cut to 16, and all the nobles' and gangs' exorbitant taxes abolished, they would genuinely support the uprising.
Even if only 1% truly had the courage to join, 1% of hundreds of millions was still millions.
Those millions could control the hive.
Even commoners who did not join would not take the opportunity to cause chaos.
Most people in the world were just trying to get by. As long as life was tolerable, they would remain content. They did not care who ruled.
Rulers did not need to worry about such people either, as long as they had a meal, they would work diligently their whole lives.
Though there would inevitably be scabs and traitors, as long as they were kept out of high positions, they could do little harm.