Chapter 138: Cry Poverty to Them!
Lines upon lines of dense data streams flashed rapidly across the screen as Hades stared at them, unblinking.
The report regarding Graia's mineral deposits had already been submitted, and the response from the Tech-Priests was: wait a moment.
Hades wasn't in a rush. With the star ring's construction alone, he was already drowning in work. Instead, he watched with amusement as the Tech-Priests hurriedly packed up their various experimental equipment, looking as if they were about to flee.
It was obvious that these Magos were on the verge of a breakdown from dealing with Barbarus's bizarre experimental conditions.
The data continued streaming. Hades blinked, refocusing on the screen.
The star ring, covered in white noise interference, flickered on display.
Based on his preliminary discussions with the Tech-Priests, the Barbarus Star Ring would end up housing 95% of the planet's population.
Manufacturing industries on the ring would continue to expand and diversify, no longer limited to their previous restricted production lines.
Hades had decided to allocate some of the Legion's living resource production to the Barbarus Star Ring. For a fully operational industrial planet, this wasn't much. But for a thinly populated orbital habitat like the star ring, it was more than enough.
Compared to Mortarion's ideal of resilient peasant warriors, Hades wanted to see if Barbarusians could receive some form of education.
In most Imperial planetary governance models, only a small noble elite received education.
However, Barbarus had no established social classes—there was no ruling elite hoarding knowledge.
Instead, there was simply no education at all.
Traditionally, books and learning were exclusive to the xenos overlords. The only knowledge humans could acquire was passed down informally between craftsmen—teaching only the bare minimum technical skills needed for survival.
Ironically, Mortarion was one of the most educated members of the original Barbarus rebellion. Raised by a xenos foster father, he had access to books—and he actually read them.
But what kind of books?
—Well, about 80% of them were numerology and mysticism.
The Death Guard Legion faced a massive deficit of educated personnel.
First, regarding the Legion's recruitment worlds—the XIV Legion wouldn't always rely solely on Barbarus and Galaspar. As more Recruiting Worlds were added, the need for administrative personnel would skyrocket.
In fact, right now, managing Barbarus and Galaspar was already stretching the Death Guard's administrative capabilities to the limit. Every capable bureaucrat in the Legion had been pulled into planetary governance, and they still couldn't cover all the positions.
Galaspar, in particular, had suffered a severe administrative collapse—thanks to Mortarion personally hanging every single bureaucrat on the planet. The resulting gap was massive.
Barbarus was initially easier to handle. It had been a collection of small villages, with only two major settlements—both already managed by the Death Guard.
But as the star ring's cities began to rise, a functioning bureaucracy was becoming absolutely necessary.
They couldn't allow the Barbarus Star Ring to devolve into a hive-world slum.
Beyond just administrators, military recruits also needed higher levels of training.
On Macragge, the homeworld of Roboute Guilliman, the Ultramarines had established military academies.
The Ultramarines' recruitment process didn't rely solely on physical prowess—they directly selected candidates from these academies.
Perhaps… the Death Guard could do something similar.
Hades felt that establishing military academies was absolutely necessary—it would at least ensure a stable source of trained reserves.
But education wasn't something that could be implemented overnight.
First, Hades needed to find educated personnel from elsewhere. Then, he had to secure learning materials.
Looking at the completely uneducated populations of Barbarus and Galaspar, he fell into deep existential doubt.
After much deliberation, Hades decisively went to Mortarion.
"We need to request a batch of educated officials from the Imperium to support the Death Guard's logistics."
Mortarion stared at Hades like he had just seen a ghost.
"..."
"Why would we let the Imperium interfere?"
Hades was momentarily speechless.
Because there was literally no one suitable on Barbarus or Galaspar.
Hiring from neighboring star systems would probably cost them a fortune.
Any educated nobles or elites already had comfortable lives—why would they willingly come to a hellhole like Barbarus?
So...
Hades looked seriously at Mortarion, who had clearly been reviewing Galaspar's administrative paperwork just moments ago.
"Because we should be fighting wars on the frontlines, not drowning in bureaucratic paperwork."
"…Fine."
Mortarion immediately set his documents aside, grabbed a sheet of paper, and began drafting a letter to the Emperor.
He had long grown sick of this nonsense.
Mortarion didn't fully understand why Hades was so obsessed with recruitment and education recently, but if Hades was suggesting they request resources from the Imperium, it probably wasn't a bad deal.
Besides, ever since his first meeting with his Primarch brothers, Mortarion had been in a bad mood.
The Emperor had promised him that he would meet brothers—kindred spirits who would understand him.
Mortarion had believed that he would finally meet humans like himself.
All talented. All ambitious. All like-minded.
Or perhaps, deep down, he had held onto a foolish hope that there were other brothers like him—isolated, out of place among mortals, misunderstood.
Just like when he had first joined the Imperium.
But in reality?
Aside from being physically larger than mortals, Mortarion saw nothing in common between himself and his so-called "brothers".
And he especially couldn't understand how his "newborn brother," a giant far larger than himself, dripping with excessive compassion, was supposed to have anything in common with him.
The Emperor had lied to him again.
Mortarion silently cursed his father.
Meanwhile, Hades grinned with satisfaction as he reviewed his own letter to Malcador.
Encrypted script densely covered the parchment.
Hades had no clue what the Imperium's official letter-writing standards were—if such a thing even existed—but he was certain that his letter was damn well written.
The opening lines were polite—a brief inquiry into Malcador's well-being—before launching into an extensive session of pleasantries…
Hades really wanted to ask Malcador face-to-face—how could he have promised a batch of Untouchables and then delivered nothing but rejects?
But since he had no way to confront Malcador directly, he instead put his years of internet trolling skills to use.
Using a carefully worded letter, he subtly expressed his dissatisfaction with the quality of the "Untouchables" they had received.
Malcador would definitely see right through it—but Hades didn't care.
His only goal was to annoy Malcador, nothing more.
Then came paragraphs upon paragraphs of completely unnecessary nonsense, painting a tragic picture of the Death Guard's struggles—how Barbarus was on the verge of collapse at any second and how Mortarion was so dedicated to purging psykers that it had become his life's purpose.
At the very end, Hades politely mentioned that the Legion was in dire straits—they needed resources, they needed manpower, but most of all, they needed educated officials capable of teaching others.
Just to be safe, he clearly defined the absolute minimum qualifications for these "educated personnel".
As a side note, he also pushed for the Black Ships to hurry up—if the Sisters of Silence didn't arrive soon, Hades swore he would just shove little Herila into the Death Guard's ranks.
But he wasn't completely heartless—at the very top of the letter, he helpfully included a note:
"If you're short on time, just read the last paragraph."
Then, he carefully sealed the letter and handed it to the courier.
Hades hoped that when Malcador read the letter, and when he saw the rejects he had sent to the Death Guard, his nonexistent conscience would at least sting a little.
Days later, Hades stared blankly at the batch of rejects labeled as "educated personnel", once again questioning his life choices.
As a final insult, Malcador had even included a personalized cipher—a glowing sigil—just for Hades.
No matter how Hades looked at it, it reeked of mockery.
On the other hand, Mortarion had taken a completely different approach—his letter to the Emperor was so blunt that he had almost outright insulted him.
Yet, somehow, this had worked wonders.
Not only did the Death Guard receive a fresh wave of supply ships from Mars, but every ship lost during the Galaspar campaign was fully replaced, along with a massive resupply of additional resources.
The world truly works in mysterious way.
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