"Alright, I will personally lead you to capture Melson. Go and gather the troops."
"Yes, My Lord."
Esperia bowed her head deeply.
As soon as Akhida and Esperia left, Logar spoke unhappily.
"I just don't want them to sacrifice themselves in vain."
"You are too kind."
Worp unceremoniously pointed out his character flaw, "You always think of solving all problems by yourself and then sharing the results with them."
Logar: "I'm not alone, you're here too."
Worp asked, "Then why can't I be the one to share the results? Why should I put in the effort?"
Logar was stunned for a moment. He firmly believed that Worp was not such a person; he believed Worp wanted him to understand some principles.
He was very smart and understood what Worp wanted to teach him, so he kept silent.
"Victory without iron and blood is weak; it is as fragile as a castle in the air."
"Ancient Terra had an educator named Carnegie, who wrote a book called 'The Weaknesses of Human Nature'. The book mentioned a point: no one cherishes things that are easily obtained. Just the right amount of indifference, on the contrary, makes people happy. Things easily obtained are often overlooked by us, or even disdained."
"If they don't experience the cruelty of war, haven't felt the glory of victory, and can't understand why sacrifice is noble, they won't cherish the fruit of victory that falls from the sky!"
"Only what they seize with their own hands will they defend with their lives!"
"If the fruit of victory is watered with the blood of only a few, they will surely question you, asking why you would share the spoils of war with those cowards who have contributed nothing?"
"Only by involving the entire populace, letting miners know why they raise their pickaxes, letting farmwives understand that every thread she spins weaves victory, letting everyone empathize, stand tall because of hard-won victory, and weep in sorrow for noble sacrifices. Only by making everyone realize what they are fighting for will such a victory be cherished like a sweet spring in the desert, and guarded to the death like an oasis in the desert!"
"Thank you."
Worp was parched from speaking, and Erebus immediately handed him a cup of water.
After only one sip, Worp realized something was wrong because Logar hadn't said a word yet.
Worp's heart sank, "Oh no, did it backfire?"
That kind of thing, where a rebellious child yells at his old father, saying "Don't tell me what to do," after the old father's well-intentioned teaching—no, not that!
Although Koz also had a rebellious phase, his behavior during that period was primarily tsundere.
Logar had always been obedient; he wouldn't rebound, would he?
"I'm sorry."
Worp was still thinking about how to comfort Logar when Logar lowered his head in disappointment, "I shouldn't have competed with Koz."
Competing about what?
Worp wanted to ask, but a qualified father shouldn't ask his child for reasons; he should be able to understand.
Worp understood.
How did Koz liberate Nostramo?
From Bottom Nest to Under-Nest, then to Upper Hive and Tip of the Tower, climbing step by step to the very top, a spark turning into a prairie fire.
But this also couldn't have happened without the sacrifice of the Midnight Specter; many children who joined the Midnight Specter died in this process. They fought for the light of Nostramo, but they never saw the dawn of Nostramo until their deaths.
Actually, Logar was doing the same thing now.
Koz had his Midnight Specter, and Logar had his resistance army.
If he took Atlantis as his base, letting the resistance army capture Melson and other plantations, and finally Vahadish, what would be the difference from Koz taking Bottom Nest as his base, letting the Midnight Specter capture Under-Nest, and finally Upper Hive?
Koz succeeded, proving that this path was feasible and easy to follow.
But Primarchs all have their pride. Logar didn't want to replicate his brother's success, especially since Worp often praised Koz in front of him, which further stirred Logar's rebellious spirit; he wanted to forge a different path from Koz.
Many people died in the Midnight Specter to achieve victory, so he wanted his resistance army to suffer no casualties, to overthrow the whole damn world by himself!
"Why are you competing with him?"
Worp was quite helpless.
But Logar had already admitted his mistake to him and wasn't stubbornly arguing, so Worp couldn't possibly scold him again, could he?
No father acts like that.
Worp: "Logar, you need to understand, you are you, Koz is Koz, you are different individuals. Even if your paths are similar, the results might be completely different. There aren't that many paths in this world to begin with; many times, all roads lead to the same destination."
"The Emperor started the Great Crusade from Terra, sweeping through Mars, the Moon, and finally the entire galaxy. What he did is the same as what you are doing now, just on a larger scale. Throughout history, every revolution and coup has essentially been like this."
"There's no need to deliberately avoid the successful experiences of predecessors just to prove yourself, and no need to compare yourself to anyone. In my heart, you will always be the unique Logar!"
Logar slowly raised his face, his violet eyes shimmering with a moist mist, reflecting fragmented light like crystals in the morning dew. His Adam's apple subtly bobbed, as if swallowing some inexpressible emotion, finally only calling out with a slight tremor in his voice:
"Father…"
Worp 'fiercely' warned, "Don't you dare cry, I can't stand that!"
"I'm not crying!"
Logar retorted loudly, wiping his eyes with obvious traces. Not crying out loud didn't count as crying.
Logar lowered his head again: "I was wrong."
"You were very wrong."
Worp nodded, criticizing.
"I will no longer compare myself to him! He is the sharp blade that tears through Nostramo's night, and I am the spark that ignites Colchis's dawn."
His voice was soft yet firm, but in his heart, he said something else to himself.
"Because I am Logar, the unique Logar!"
Chapter 63: A Bloody Case Caused by a Cow.
"I must be insane."
Kurta muttered quietly, sitting in a truck.
Days ago, Logar liberated Atlantis. He abolished slavery, granted freedom to every slave, and reduced their working hours.
This made the thirty thousand slaves of Atlantis grateful to Logar, but Kurta was a believer; he gained no benefit from the liberation of slaves, so he harbored resentment towards Logar internally.
Logar liberated the slaves and even let them live in the believers' houses, allowing slaves and believers to eat and live together. Three slaves also moved into Kurta's single dormitory.
Their skin was brown, their half-naked bodies covered in dust, their broken nails filled with filth, and their hair full of sweat and sand, emitting an unpleasant sour smell. They had never bathed in their lives because their only water was for drinking.
Kurta harbored resentment, but he dared not speak ill of Logar behind his back, nor did he dare to pray to the gods anymore, because those slaves would surely expose him!
Logar did not allow them to worship the Great Ones, nor did he allow any prayers.
The slaves were happy to obey Logar because Logar had given them freedom.
The believers also did not wail and cry, because the devout believers had already perished in the flames, and those who survived had impure faiths.
They feared Logar's authority and were also afraid of the gods' wrath, living in constant apprehension.
In the past, Kurta's task was to suppress slaves with a gun, but now he was sitting with a group of slaves in a truck attacking Melson.
Kurta wanted to beg the gods for forgiveness, but he dared not pray in front of a group of slaves, and was even too guilty to pray silently in his heart.
"Beep beep!"
The Crawler's horn was the signal to attack, and Kurta involuntarily clutched his flintlock.
He heard shells tearing through the air, followed by deafening explosions. The resistance army's Crawlers were engaging the Holy Covenant Army.
Melson was a plantation, and its defenses were not as sturdy as Atlantis's, because Atlantis could source materials directly from its mines, but Melson could not.
The booming cannon fire of the Crawler made Kurta's ears ache. The commander yelled into the ears of their group in the truck, but Kurta couldn't hear clearly; he was dragged out of the vehicle by other slaves.
Kurta dazedly followed the resistance army's charge against Melson's defenses, his ears filled with the roar of steam engines and the grating sound of metal clashing.
The Holy Covenant Army was clearly unprepared for this surprise attack. The Crawler's main cannon easily tore through Melson's crumbling gate; rusted hinges groaned a dying sound in the explosion.
Kurta looked at his companions beside him, slaves who had only recently put down their pickaxes, now aiming and firing with clumsy movements. Their attack was disorganized, and their shooting accuracy was pitifully poor.
On the other side, the Holy Covenant Army's counterattack was equally chaotic. The hastily assembled Holy Covenant defenders were fumbling to set up barricades.
These warriors, who usually lived in luxury and only used whips to oppress slaves picking cotton, now appeared so clumsy; their trembling fingers could barely hold their rifles steady.
Bullets flew wildly through the air, more often hitting walls than enemies.
This was not the epic confrontation of two armies, but two groups of terrified novices clumsily pecking at each other in blood and fire.
When the wave of the resistance army surged forward, some Holy Covenant Army members even threw down their weapons and surrendered; that hastily assembled defense line collapsed instantly like a sandcastle.
Kurta's boot soles were sticky with someone's blood, each step making a sickening, squelching sound.
Kurta felt nauseous from the pervasive smell of blood in the air, his head dizzy. Unconsciously, he blended in with this group of slaves, following their chaotic charge and firing wildly.
They advanced with difficulty for a kilometer. The Holy Covenant Army's defense line crumbled in chaos; those disorganized defenders were even more vulnerable than the resistance army.
Kurta even saw several Holy Covenant warriors trip over each other while fleeing, tumbling in the dust like startled gerbils.
Just as victory was within reach, the gilded gates of the Melson Temple suddenly swung open, and Kurta's charging footsteps abruptly froze.
He saw a silver giant, over two meters tall, standing before the gilded gates. The giant's right arm was entirely modified into a weapon platform; dark, gaping gun barrels snaked out from the arm armor like venomous snakes, the distinctive honeycomb multi-barreled muzzle of a logging gun gleaming with cold metallic luster in the sunlight.
That was the Holy Covenant's most lethal secret weapon, a Holy War Warrior unearthed from ancient ruins. Legend had it that he had slaughtered an entire city in a single night!
The slaves were still charging fanatically, their calloused feet treading the scorching ground, their tattered clothes flapping in the hot wind. These newly liberated miners had no idea what a Holy War Warrior meant!
"Run."
Kurta wanted to shout, but his dry throat could only squeeze out hoarse gasps.
The honeycomb muzzle of the logging gun suddenly flared with blinding fire. Sixteen barrels began to spin with a mechanical hum; a metal storm of two thousand rounds per minute was enough to tear apart any enemy in its path!
Kurta waited for death in despair, but his slave companion suddenly turned and threw himself at him.
Kurta's eyes widened. Time seemed to stretch infinitely at this moment. Spinning bullets tore through the air, but suddenly froze a meter in front of him. Like ancient insects trapped in amber, they solidified into eternal specimens in pale blue psionic ripples.
In his daze, Kurta saw that tall figure charge like a phantom towards the Holy War Warrior.
The steam-engine-driven exoskeleton armor let out a piercing shriek. The Holy War Warrior's left iron fist, imbued with immense power, slammed towards the giant, but missed at the last second.
The giant's movements were faster than human reaction limits; he elegantly dodged the attack, his white robe tracing a perfect arc in the dust.
In an instant, he had circled behind the Holy War Warrior, his slender fingers gripping the connection point of the armor's neck like iron tongs. With a crisp "click," the ancient steel-forged armor joint snapped like a fragile branch.
The Holy War Warrior's helmet drooped limply, and the roar of the steam engine abruptly ceased.
The tall body fell from the platform like a broken puppet, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Bang!"
"For Truth! For Logar!"
Hundreds of bullets fell from the sky. The slaves erupted in thunderous cheers, their brown faces flushed with excitement, their cracked lips trembling as they let out hoarse shouts.
They surged towards the Temple, following the giant, as if nothing could stop them as long as the giant led the way!
Kurta did not follow the charge. He turned and stared fixedly at his companion, a boy who, like him, was only two and a half years old.
"Why did you save me?"
Although his rescue was meaningless, they would both be riddled with holes by the logging gun.
But if it were Kurta, he wouldn't have the courage to save anyone; he didn't even have the strength to dodge.
"I don't know why either,"
The boy scratched his head honestly, "Maybe it's because we're companions. Lord Logar said we should protect our companions."
"Kurta Said."
"Huh?"
The slave was stunned for a moment. Kurta said, "My name."
"I know that."
The slave was confused. He had known Kurta's name since the first day he moved into Kurta's dormitory. Why was he telling him now?
Kurta was silent. He walked towards the Temple; the war wasn't over yet.
The ragged boy belatedly realized, stumbling to catch up, his chapped lips trembling as he offered a delayed self-introduction: "Jarulek, my name. No surname, because I am a slave."