"General Octavian, give the order!"
On the outskirts of the hive, a hundred thousand scavengers stood in formation, lasguns in hand, gas masks on their faces.
Caelan was a Mentor, but he was Babel's Mentor, not the Mentor of the outskirt dwellers.
Erwin had seen Planetary Defense Force soldiers call their leader "General," so he naturally addressed Caelan the same way.
Caelan had long grown accustomed to the many titles people gave him. Facing the crowd, his voice boomed like thunder through psychic amplification: "When a true revolution is underway, the collapse of the old world will never be as simple as the death of a mortal!"
"A knife, a bullet, these can easily end a single life."
"But the nobles of the old world, those parasites entrenched in the hive spires, generation after generation sucking the people's blood, they will not surrender!"
"They will thrash like drowning men, using every means to preserve the rotting old order and block any social change!"
"This will be a grueling, drawn-out war of attrition. We will inevitably pay for it in blood and lives!"
"But, my compatriots, you must remember: we have only one way out, and that is victory!"
"If our generation does not step forward, are we to let our children continue to suffer this misery?"
"We are all destined to die anyway, either rotting aimlessly in piles of garbage, or worked to death in factories after having our last drop of blood and sweat squeezed dry, never to rise again for generations."
"But now, we have a chance to change the world!"
"We can drag those high-and-mighty rulers down into hell with us!"
"We now have a new chance: we can drag the nobility down to die alongside us!"
"We are going to drag these bloodsucking parasites off their spires and let them taste what life in the trash heap feels like!"
"Heaven and hell reside within every single one of us."
"We were born in hell, raised in hell, and in hell we learned compromise and endurance; we learned silence and numbness."
"But we cannot allow our children to live in such a hell! Through our sacrifice, we can carve out a way to heaven right here in hell!!"
Caelan understood he could not inspire everyone through a speech alone, could not ignite every heart.
But some indeed had their edges worn smooth by suffering, yet in their dull, lightless eyes, a bright spark now kindled, like dead wood blooming in spring.
The secret to a great speech lies in giving people something to gain.
Either a material promise, spiritual satisfaction, or both.
Very important, but the core of this speech was only one thing: drag the nobles down to hell.
Human nature harbors two great fascinations: making the saintly fall and making the promiscuous faithful.
To drag the lofty, high-and-mighty goddess down into the mortal mud, or making a seductive enchantress fall devotedly for a single person.
It is the same psychological root as being terrified that a friend might starve, yet equally terrified that they might buy a luxury car.
This stems from the Expectancy-Violation Theory of human nature.
When reality deviates from expectations, it triggers a stronger emotional response and deeper cognitive processing.
Simply put: human nature loves contrast.
Clickbait titles often get more clicks precisely because they exploit this exact psychology.
What is revolution?
To the common man, it means raising the lowly and casting down the mighty, that is revolution.
They do not understand lofty ideals, nor do they possess profound beliefs.
But they are easy to satisfy. They only need two things: survival in the immediate present, and a promise for the distant future.
Corpse-starch bars gave them the immediate survival; the promise of pulling the nobles off their pedestals gave them the distant future.
That was enough; enough to make them risk their lives!
But a speech alone was far from sufficient. Caelan needed to shock them with action.
"Bring them up!"
Erwin hauled on a rope, dragging a group of finely dressed men and women onto the platform.
These delicate, pale nobles stood in stark contrast to the rough, cracked-skinned outskirt folk, anyone could tell at a glance they were of noble birth.
But now, these once-haughty nobles were like lambs led to slaughter, their splendid garments stained with filth.
"Kneel! Kneel!"
Erwin kicked the young man hard behind the knee, sending him staggering to his knees before the hundreds of thousands of commoners.
The physical pain finally restored a flicker of clarity to his dulled eyes. But when he realized his situation, his first reaction was not fear, but undisguised disgust and fury.
"Untouchables! Do you have any idea what you're doing?!"
He struggled to stand, noble pride refusing to let him kneel before a mob of commoners, but Erwin pinned him down.
"Do you know who my father is? My father is Count Franklin!"
"You vile, wretched vermin, let go of me at once!"
Caelan commanded, "Nagul, go, give him two slaps!"
Smack! Smack!
The three-year-old Primarch marched forward boldly and delivered two resounding slaps across the noble's face, stunning the young man's pride into oblivion.
"You dare strike me!" He flushed crimson, the humiliation of being degraded by commoners sending him into a rage.
Caelan took the longsword Erwin handed him and faced the dark sea of people below. "See this? This is a noble!"
"Count Franklin's eldest son, heir to the most illustrious family in the hive!"
"He is flesh and blood, just like you, just a man! They bleed, they feel pain, they die!"
"By what right were they born to fine clothes and rich food, while you serve for generations upon generations?"
"This is unjust! Today, we reclaim our justice!"
The young man struggled to curse, but could only emit muffled, indistinct sounds, something invisible sealed his mouth shut.
He could only watch in terror as Caelan advanced step by step, sword in hand, the cold blade pressing against his neck.
Before hundreds of thousands of watching eyes, Caelan raised the longsword high and brought it down!
Splurt!
Blood fountained forth. The young man's proud head arced through the air and finally flew into the crowd.
The crowd erupted instantly, scrambling and shoving in chaos to grab the head.
The head was passed around like a rugby ball, its frozen expression still bearing the shock of death, he could not understand how these commoners dared kill him.
Caelan raised the bloodstained sword high above his head. "Today, the noble is dead!"
"Follow me, and I will lead you to take back what was always yours!"
Caelan turned slowly, the bloodied blade pointing straight at the hive's magnificent walls.
Before hundreds of thousands of eyes, the blade suddenly blazed with blinding light. A visible blue "sword beam" shot toward the city wall.
BOOM!
The wall shattered amid a tremendous roar, a massive breach dozens of meters in diameter carved through it.
"Guns in hand, follow me!"
"Kill the nobles, seize the hive!"
Caelan swung another sword strike toward the city gate.
Since the gate had been torn apart three years ago, the nobles had absolutely refused to allocate funds for repairs.
They begrudged the money and lacked the technology.
They also had an excuse: the gate was already broken. Repair it and it breaks again, what was the point?
So, they simply did not repair it. But the nobles did not truly wash their hands of it. They planned to seal the gate with concrete.
The project was outsourced to the Planetary Defense Force.
The Planetary Defense Force outsourced it layer by layer, until it landed in the hands of underhive gang contractors.
The gangs received little money, so they could only plug the breach with a thin layer of inferior ceramite, enough to give an accounting.
Even so, the gangs made no profit, they even lost money.
But the gangs were happy to do it; they wanted the chance to establish connections with the nobles.
Even the city wall could not stop him, the gate was even more fragile.
The gate was shredded like paper by the sword qi, and the enforcers guarding it were obliterated in the aftermath.
Thus, the barrier between the hive and the outskirts was completely gone.
There had originally been Planetary Defense Force troops stationed here, but they had withdrawn to the upper hive two and a half years earlier.
The Planetary Defense Force was the nobles' capital for ruling the world. All officers were nobles, and soldiers were selected from "good families" of the upper hive.
In the nobles' eyes, they were dogs but compared to underhive commoners, they too were pampered elites.
No noble wanted to linger in the underhive, neither did they.
With a single order, they withdrew to the upper hive to continue their decadent lives.
Now only a pitiful few enforcers guarded the gate, along with some press-ganged gang members.
They all died under the rampaging sword beam.
Even if they had lived, they could not have stopped the fanatical rebel army.
Their long-cold blood was thoroughly ignited!
With both the immediate struggle and the distant fields in hand, what was death to fear?
"Guns in hand, follow me!"
"Kill the nobles, seize the hive!"
Caelan always charged at the very front, standing before the people he led.
Wherever he passed, it was as if entering an unpeopled land.
Any enemy who blocked the way, the moment they appeared in Caelan's sight, fell like wheat stalks, necks snapped rightward.
In truth, very few dared to block them.
Commoners avoided them, fearing to be swept into the storm.
The nobles were still immersed in debauchery, not yet aware that change had come.
The sparse enforcers, paid a pittance, were unwilling to die for this. Many even quietly shed their uniforms and blended into the crowds.
Bullying commoners was fine, they could skim profits on the side.
But risking their lives was too much. Otherwise, even in death they'd be mocked: "A few hundred a month, what are you risking your life for?"
Every lift to the upper hive was crammed with people. The unlucky ones who could not get a spot clung desperately to lift edges, to shuttles, anything to escape the underhive. Many fell to their deaths.
It was far more absurd and laughable than the rebels had imagined.
They had once held deep fear of the hive, its towering steel walls, its stern defense systems, its fully armed Planetary Defense Force, all proclaiming the nobles' iron grip.
Yet when they stormed the hive, they understood: this seemingly impregnable fortress was rotten within.
Facing the rebel assault, the ones still putting up desperate resistance were the underhive gangs.
They were rooted in the underhive; all their interests lay there. They could not bear to abandon them, and clung to the hope of negotiating with the rebels.
In their eyes, whoever ruled the hive would need them to manage the underhive.
Surely the noble lords would not personally manage filthy workers?
But the rebels had come for them.
Before Caelan's psychic power, gang defenses were meaningless. Gates twisted into spirals in an instant.
Gangs stripped of their walls were forced to face the rebel blade directly, but many were already shattered by the miracles Caelan displayed, morale gone. They either fled in panic or threw down their weapons.
Nothing could stop the rebels.
Had the underhive gangs set aside their grudges and united, they might have caused trouble.
But the rebels gave them no chance.
Though the rebels were unfamiliar with the underhive, guided by some underhive commoners, they found the gangs' strongholds and swept through with thunderous force, annihilating all who resisted.
From then on, the rebels truly had a foothold in the hive.
"Elders, brothers, do not be afraid!"
"We are the Rebel Army, not bandits."
"We are not the nobles' running dogs, we are the army of the laborers."
"If you have difficulties, seek the Rebel Army. We are the guardians of the working people."
"Workers, continue your work as usual, but from today, daily hours are reduced to 16, and food rations are doubled."
"I advise those gang members to turn yourselves in as soon as possible! Remember, the net of justice has large meshes, but lets nothing through! Leniency for confession, severity for resistance!"
In the streets and alleys, former scavengers drove modified junk trucks with loudspeakers, looping these simple proclamations.
These were the simplest voices of the people. Caelan had added nothing.
He had set only three rules for the rebel army: No indiscriminate killing of the innocent, no oppressing the common people, and no acting arbitrarily.
Outskirt scavengers had no high moral standards, nor any real awakening.
But if merely told not to oppress commoners, they could obey.
They were commoners themselves, so they understood how bitter commoners' lives were, there was nothing to squeeze.
What was the point of oppressing commoners?
If you must oppress, oppress the nobles and gangs!
There were no nobles in the underhive, but the gangs' wealth far surpassed commoners'.
They were lucky to be alive, how could they ask for more?
"We actually won."
Erwin murmured, still scarcely able to believe it.
Caelan replied, "This is only the beginning. The nobles' counterattack is coming, half a year at most, half a month at the fastest."
Nagul asked curiously, "Why half a month at the fastest?"
They had already stormed the underhive, shouldn't the nobles be furious?
Though he hoped the nobles would not come, if they took half a month to dawdle, weren't they taking them too seriously?
"The nobles indeed do not take the rebels seriously. What happens in the underhive may not even reach their ears."
Nagul asked, "Why?"
Caelan explained, "Because the upper hive will cover it up. If unrest in the underhive reaches the nobles, they will be held responsible."
"Can they avoid blame just by covering it up?"
"As long as they can suppress the revolution before the true nobles learn of it, they can atone for their crimes and make big problems small."
"And if they fail to suppress it?"
Caelan said, "Then at worst they are stripped of rank, no different from before."
"Do not imagine the nobles as a monolithic bloc. They scheme and fight among themselves too."
Nagul said, "Father, why do you know all this so clearly?"
Caelan replied. "Because I've lived through it, on Nostramo."
The situation there was very similar to Cthonia. The rebels had emerged from underground.
Nagul frowned. He did not like Nostramo.