dmims Chapter 20 Mining World Iron 7
Chapter 20 Mining World Iron 7
I can't remember anymore...
When was the last time I looked at the sky?
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The Storm Starfield and the Hazy Starfield meet at the administrative office number M-2535-B.
Here lies a nameless, tiny mining world. The empire has not given it a name, but the nobles call it Hakart, which is revered in the local language as a gift from the gods, while the miners call it Iron Seven.
Because besides this place, there are six other planets that have been overexploited and abandoned, and most of the miners here are immigrants from those long-abandoned mining planets.
The dome lights in the No. 88 underground mine suddenly exploded, and endless darkness instantly swallowed everything.
The miners fled in panic, screaming desperately as they ran. When they passed other people who had fallen, the miners would not hesitate to lend a helping hand, not out of kindness, but out of the instinct to survive.
They saved people not because the other person was their blood relative or their friend, but simply to save themselves.
In Iron Seven, mortals are worthless; they are even less valuable when they are alive than when they are dead.
The high-ranking planetary governors and nobles never cared about which place collapsed or how many people died; they only cared about how much ore they harvested and how much flesh and blood they squeezed out that day.
If too many people die or are injured in a mining accident, the miners here will definitely not be able to pay the required amount of ore. Without paying the required amount of ore, they will not be able to exchange it for enough food and supplies to sustain their physical strength during the next day's mining.
The ear-piercing scream of the twisting and cracking of the metal framework was heard as the over-exploited rock strata suddenly collapsed.
In the blink of an eye, the deep mine became the earthen and stone tombs of hundreds of ordinary people.
And this, in Iron Seven, is as ordinary as Iron Seven himself, so insignificant as to be not worth mentioning.
This place does not produce strategic rare metals such as refined gold, has no precious resources, is irrelevant to the safety of the war situation, and has never suffered from alien invasion or the ravages of war.
When the Empire conquered this star system, the planetary governors here offered their loyalty to the Empire's vast fleet, just like a piece of dry twig casually plucked along the way.
It was taken for granted.
The Empire's army never set foot here; they left behind only broadcasts of the recapture, imposed harsh taxes, and left a signed document before turning back to the Star Sea.
The human empire never cared about the mortal suffering of Iron Seven.
The empire didn't care about the miners' endless labor day and night, or how many broken fissures and dark tunnels they had to traverse to gather enough ore.
They disregarded the fact that the astute planetary governor Thor Rex had increased mining quotas year after year to pay the eleventh tax, forcing mortals to work eighteen or even twenty-two hours a day.
They were even less concerned about the daily mine collapses that buried countless silent lives.
The Great Expedition is a noble cause, aiming to redeem humanity from its scattered despair and to use the Empire to uphold humanity's only hope for survival.
The emperor, burdened with the weight of his entire race, was in a hurry and had no time to pause. He couldn't even spare a glance for such a remote asteroid.
When the Empire finally took notice of the planet again, noticing it as a tiny speck of dust in the endless sea of stars, what arrived was neither an administrative patrol fleet nor the rescue fleet that the miners had imagined, which simply did not exist.
It was a fleet, an incredibly massive Primarch fleet.
Hector stood on the command deck of the Queen Dawn-class battleship, looking out through the heavy, blast-proof portholes.
The sky was filled with pitch-black mineral dust, which blocked out the light and stars. The entire planet was shrouded in darkness and deathly silence.
In this dim light, the only thing Hector could see was a towering, luxurious governor's mansion.
"I can't see the sky in this world."
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"What are you looking at, Menelaus?"
"Sado," Menelaus replied to his fellow worker, his expression sorrowful. "I'm looking at the sky above Iron Seven."
The atmosphere between the two became quiet, with only other miners crawling in the tunnel and coughing incessantly as they banged on their tools.
Sado looked at Menelaus, opened his mouth, and finally looked up at the narrow, dark green miner's tunnel entrance, less than two meters wide, above him.
His words were cold: "Don't be silly, Menelaus, you can't see the sky of the Seventh Iron Army from here."
"Alright, we should get to work now. Everyone's waiting for us."
The conversation between the two came to an abrupt end. Menelaus's eyes seemed to speak volumes, revealing his sorrow, his resentment, and his confusion.
All eyes turned to Sado, who refused to look him in the eye, turning his head away to pick up his tools.
"If we had gone a little faster today, we might have had an extra twenty minutes of sleep, and you could have seen more in your dreams."
"But not now, Menelaus, not now."
Menelaus followed behind Sado, his five fingers outstretched, his palms calloused from holding the hammer for so long.
With the help of the dim, dark green light, Menelaus could barely make out his hand, which was corroded, scratched, and stained black by minerals.
Memories stirred within Menelaus's heart.
They kept their bodies low to the ground, making the narrow passageway allow as many people and things as possible to pass together.
During their journey, many workers cast grateful and respectful glances at Menelaus and Sado.
"Hmph." Sado snorted in dissatisfaction, then mocked Menelaus, who was suddenly in a good mood, "This is all because of you, kind man."
"But I don't think it's bad, Sados," Menelaus said with a smile.
They are the undisputed leaders here, not through force or rhetoric, but because they always do more and are willing to do more than others.
There was a limit to the amount that had to be handed over. Whenever the mine could no longer sustain its daily needs, Menelaus would always take out the extra portion he had made and kept hidden to help the other miners.
This often resulted in opposition and even insults from Sado. Sado would also frequently use his fists to retrieve the ore for the well-meaning Menelaus, and punch those false, pretentious, and despicable people in the face.
"You might have actually gone to see the sky of Iron Seven again," Sado said, growing increasingly dissatisfied.
The ore they've accumulated over time might actually be enough for at least twenty-five days of delivery to and from the surface.
Those clumsy machines would only collect the required amount of ore, while the nobles who claimed to be under divine protection and their loyal hounds would only come down once a month on the first to assign new tasks and new mining sites.
If Menelaus did not share his own ore.
"If I don't do this, they will die." Menelaus said nonchalantly, "It's alright, Sado. Just as you said, I can see the sky of the Seventh Iron in my dreams."
"I am satisfied."
After listening to his friend's words, Sado remained silent, vigorously chiseling at the ore.