When Astaroth went bankrupt and Neo-Babylon fell from the sky, the area was quickly abandoned. The only reason these buildings survived, remaining in the city's lower levels, was probably because demolition would have been too costly.
However, it is precisely because of this that poor laborers can still spontaneously gather and band together in these vast ruins.
Led by the self-proclaimed head of the Lutz union, Hayden and his companions walked through several messy and dirty streets before the view suddenly opened up before them.
This is a ring of egg-shaped buildings situated beneath a steel dome. The circular "open-air" plaza is artificially lit, and surrounding it are numerous rooms resembling apartments. Impoverished residents are visible everywhere. Hayden also saw some residents in tattered clothes gathered around several large iron barrels, seemingly cooking something.
But the strangest thing was the circular plaza. Standing at the edge, Hayden could see hundreds of people, all young men and women, standing in rows, just like a school doing morning exercises. Several muscular men were demonstrating the movements in front of them.
There, hundreds of young men and women were practicing martial arts in a disciplined manner, each following the instructor's movements precisely: left leg in a lunge stance, right palm striking with a chopping fist. It was clearly a group of people practicing boxing and martial arts in a martial arts arena.
The scene was so classical, it was not something a modern person could easily see. Hayden couldn't help but rub his eyes, completely stunned for a moment.
"As you can see, we are actually just a small, self-governing self-defense group."
Lutz crossed his arms, watched the young people practicing martial arts, and then smiled at Hayden.
"Letting the gods see such a rural spectacle is quite an embarrassing display."
Hayden scratched his head, somewhat bewildered: What the hell? Where did this local militia come from?
The ancients said, "The poor study literature, the rich study martial arts." This saying is actually relative and needs to be viewed dialectically, especially since it can change completely depending on different circumstances. Everyone knows that actual military production is extremely expensive—no ordinary expense. Even the most powerful capitalists would struggle to keep up with such costs.
However, throughout history, in feudal areas where the government could not fully protect them, the able-bodied young men of the villages would often gather together after the busy farming season to practice martial arts, including boxing and spear fighting, to defend against bandits. If robbers came, or sometimes when the rulers were too oppressive, these local self-governing groups would unite to resist, help each other, and jointly protect their villages.
In modern times, the same principle applies. Military production is very expensive, and so is the mechanical and biochemical modification of the body. Not only are they expensive to buy, but the maintenance costs are also shockingly high.
On the contrary, the cost of training living people in martial arts is much cheaper than current military technology... although the efficiency and output are also much lower.
Moreover, even if the cost of martial arts training is relatively low, it still requires young adults to have enough meat. If one wants to train to the point where they can fight on par with light weapons, eating ordinary meat is not enough; at the very least, one needs some expensive medicinal herbs to temper the body, strengthen muscles and bones, and nourish the flesh and blood.
Where would the self-governing mutual aid society in this slum get such expensive medicinal herbs? Unless…
Just then, the young men finished their punches and stood back in their places. The old men who had been standing around the large iron tubs cooking things were now loading the tubs onto their carts and pushing them over. The young men, having just finished their punches, took out stainless steel cups, each scooping two cups from the tubs. They drank one cup themselves and used the other to soak a towel and wash themselves.
There were also some people who had suffered sprains and bruises while practicing martial arts. The master would come over and apply ointment to their injuries. It's unbelievable. After applying the ointment, these people would immediately act as if nothing had happened, just like the ointment vendors in the martial arts world, jumping up and moving around freely.
When Hayden and Professor Albion saw this, they looked at each other in surprise and raised their eyebrows.
Can these young people really master martial arts by just jumping around in the training ground for an hour every day like doing calisthenics? Obviously not. If it were that easy for ordinary people to learn martial arts, modern times wouldn't have developed into an arcane industrial civilization. Martial arts training requires innate talent and physical attributes; it takes years of dedicated practice and practice to achieve any real success.
If these people were truly a workers' organization, their able-bodied young men wouldn't have had ample time to practice martial arts outside of work; at most, they would gather together after work to practice. Looking at these young men now, Hayden didn't think they were particularly strong; their rudimentary skills were only slightly better than those of street thugs.
Hayden found their drinking water and body lotion more intriguing. This was definitely not the kind of healing magic one could afford in the slums. And what were those big iron barrels boiling in?
So Hayden turned to look at President Lutz beside him: "You're quite generous, letting us see these things so directly?"
"Since you've come here specifically for the salt, we can't possibly hide it from you."
President Lutz smiled.
“Occasionally, gods from the upper levels will come down to the lower levels to have some fun. Even with a hundred or so people practicing martial arts, it’s impossible to really defeat the gods. But before learning to fight, they learn to take a beating. And if these young people can exchange a few blows with the gods, they are more likely to survive.”
Hayden paused for a second before realizing what he meant by "having fun," and a chill ran through him.
It's not illegal for the gods to hunt mortals in the streets of Fallen City. Astaroth even turns this into a tourist attraction.
So, if a Protoss came down to the lower classes to hunt and play, among the common people, who would be more likely to survive?
As the saying goes, when a tiger chases a group of people, you don't need to run faster than the tiger, just faster than the others.
On the other hand, the Protoss aren't tigers. They're just here to have fun, not to actually devour people. Sometimes they're happy enough without actually killing anyone. If they find an interesting "sparring partner" to exchange a few blows with, then sparing their life means they can play more often.
However, what terrified Hayden even more was the smile on President Lutz's face.
How could he say those things with a smile?
198: This is a great sacrifice.
This place was once a large shopping mall in the residential area of New Babylon. With the fall of the colony satellite, the lower levels were abandoned and turned into slums, and this place has long since become ruins.
At this very moment, however, two gods were loitering in this dark place. One carried a hunting rifle, while the other held a military knife. The runes carved on the walls and pillars, and the nearly 90% broken and fallen fluorescent lights, could only emit a pale and dim light here. However, gods could see normally in the dark, so the two of them could search for prey here without any difficulty.
[That's about it. Let's start baking over there.]
The Protoss player with the shotgun suddenly stopped.
Okay, I'll grill it.
The other god also stopped and began taking things out of his treasure bag.
They are all Protoss members of the Mitra Information Group, and are senior employees of the group. Even without making a sound or typing on a keyboard, they can still communicate with each other through the local area network.
The god holding a hunting rifle pulled out large chunks of mutton, coated with cumin, from his treasure bag. Then, with a thought, he unleashed his supernatural power and lit a fire on the road.
The two gods were laughing and joking as they roasted mutton over the fire, adding sweet potatoes, potatoes, and other things to it.
...Of course, they weren't planning to have a picnic here.
The delicious aroma of barbecue wafted out, lingering throughout the quiet, empty abandoned building.
[Bakes perfectly, smells amazing!]
Yes, the starving poor will definitely be attracted here (laughs).
Not only that, these gods also took out several rolls of banknotes bundled together, totaling about fifty or sixty thousand yuan, and threw them nearby as well—although most people are used to using online payments these days, physical currency still exists.
The two gods then suppressed their laughter and hid in the distance, using [Advanced Invisibility] to conceal themselves.
Soon after, footsteps echoed through the abandoned shopping mall, followed by rapid breathing. In the dim, pale light, one could sense someone rapidly approaching.
Soon, seven or eight poorly dressed residents of the slum emerged from the darkness. Some were just teenagers, while others looked to be at least in their thirties or forties. Regardless of their age, they had all lived in the slums for years, never seeing the light of day, and their skin was as white as a corpse.
Even knowing that the roasted mutton on the aisle and the rolls of banknotes scattered around were traps, these hungry residents of the lower class could not resist the aroma and the lure of money. Two or three people rushed to cut the mutton and hurriedly put it in their mouths to chew, while four or five others quickly bent down to pick up the rolls of banknotes scattered on the ground.
To the two gods hiding in the distance, this was a ridiculous scene that made them unable to help but laugh.
"boom!"
Finally, Protoss A, armed with a shotgun, couldn't resist jumping out and aiming at a poor man eating meat before pulling the trigger. The shotgun shells mercilessly struck the poor man's face. Countless black pellets pierced his flesh, causing the impoverished man to scream in agony, blood splattering everywhere.
Protoss A laughed heartily, cocked his shotgun, and continued firing. The poor man, struck a second time in the head, let out a final scream and fell dead. The other poor people hurriedly picked up the roasted mutton and rolled-up banknotes and fled in panic. But Protoss A raised his shotgun and fired again, this time hitting a poor child squarely in the shin, causing the child to fall to the ground crying.
The Protoss B then walked over to the dead pauper, skillfully wielding his saber to cut off the poor man's ear, and then soaked it in a container filled with bio-preservation fluid. He did it for no other reason than, like cutting off the tusks of an elephant after hunting it in Africa and taking them home as decorations.
Both of them were members of the Mithra Group's divine race, high-ranking employees. The Mithra Group places great importance on its reputation and public image, therefore it consistently requires its divine race to treat mortals "fairly." This is part of the company culture, the political correctness within the group. Let alone murder, if a Mithra Group's divine race treats mortals too roughly and cruelly in public, their superiors might retaliate. Colleagues might also secretly report them.
Office politics, you know.
However, some people may wonder: why would the Mitra Group, these capitalist gods, go to such great lengths to achieve this kind of political correctness?
Actually, doing this doesn't do much harm to the company. Instead, by being politically correct, the company is shifting some of the public relations and publicity costs that it should be bearing onto its Protoss employees. The Protoss must adhere to political correctness, so Protoss employees have to be more tolerant when dealing with mortals—not that there's anything wrong with that, but it does transfer the pressure that should be borne by society as a whole onto individuals.
Therefore, this is ultimately a form of exploitation. It is the exploitation of both God and man by capitalist society.
The distortions created by exploitation will eventually be distorted back elsewhere—for example, in this fallen city.
For these Protoss employees who were getting restless and gradually accumulating pressure due to political correctness, Astaroth actually came up with the groundbreaking idea of turning half of Fallen City into a playground for wealthy Protoss to enjoy hunting and entertainment—hey, that's really very much in the spirit of classical aristocratic sports.
This is the eighth one today. You haven't killed a single one, you've only been cutting off ears, aren't you bored?
As Protoss A approached the fallen child with a shotgun, he asked curiously over the local network.
Protoss B simply smiled and shook his head: "None of these are fun."
However, the situation soon changed.
Just as Protoss A aimed his shotgun at the poor child and was about to pull the trigger, another poor man who had already run a few steps hesitated for a moment, then suddenly turned around and leaped between the gun and the child!
Protoss A laughed loudly and fired a shot. A deafening boom followed, smoke billowed, and the shotgun shell struck the man—yet he was completely unharmed! The lead bullet left only a few white marks where it hit!
"oops?"
Now the two hunting gods were truly intrigued. They finally took a good look at the poor man blocking their way and saw his appearance clearly.
The man was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, his face covered in dust, his hair a tangled mess, stained gray by dirt, and beneath his thick eyebrows were a pair of cold, narrow eyes. Although he looked poor, he was quite strong, and his movements showed that he possessed some martial arts skills.
So before Protoss A could do anything else, Protoss B stepped forward and said, "This is fun, let me have it."
Seeing their seemingly invulnerable prey, they were not afraid, but rather amused: this classic hunting rifle, without even rifling, was merely a toy for hunting, not a real human hunting. Even non-combat-oriented gods could freely unleash level nine arcane attacks, use their supernatural powers to destroy armored vehicles, and light weapons couldn't even penetrate their eyelids.
The upper class is invincible in these slums. The mere sight of mortal prey baring their fangs in resistance is far more entertaining! Unlike Protoss A, Protoss B isn't hunting deer and sheep that only run away; they're hunting tigers and wolves that will fight back!
The young man understood this principle as well. He assumed a fighting stance, took a few steps, and began chanting an incantation: "One finger moves the heavenly gate, two fingers open the earthly gate. The earth mystifies me, my head is of bronze and my bones of iron; the bright moon shines upon me, my strength is unparalleled!"
After reciting the incantation, he closed his eyes, his whole body trembled violently, and it was as if divine power entered his body, and spiritual light surged from his body.
This... this is actually classical witchcraft!
Protoss B patiently waited for him to finish reading the message before raising his saber. The saber was inlaid with jewels and gold, a very luxurious ornament. In reality, like Protoss A's hunting rifle, it was more like a beautiful toy.
In contrast, the two small knives that the young man pulled from his boots were clearly homemade in the slums, prioritizing practicality. Just by looking at them, they exuded a fierce aura and were filled with the bloody smell of having been used many times.
The battle began. Protoss B leisurely launched the first attack, his saber aimed straight for the young man's chest. But the young man was agile; with a swift somersault, he dodged the blow. Immediately afterward, his left-hand short sword fell, blade facing outward, slashing at Protoss B's sword-wielding arm!
Unfortunately, the god's movements seemed completely unaffected by inertia. Without even a pause, he instantly retracted his right arm holding the knife, avoiding the short sword. Instead, he circled around, letting the military knife slash towards the young man's throat again. Even though the young man had grown up in the slums and was used to fighting and killing, he was still startled by this ghostly movement and broke out in a cold sweat.
This god-race individual doesn't actually know martial arts; at most, he's just dabbled in a few moves out of interest. But he's a god, a Coordinator, surpassing mortals. Even if he's not a combat-oriented type, he's still much faster than ordinary people! And whether he draws or sheathes his sword, it's all at his command, leaving no trace!
Because he's a god!
The young man knew that even if he fought this Protoss B here, and even if he won by sheer luck, he would only be blasted to death by Protoss A with arcane magic—but he still wanted to win! He desperately wanted to avenge himself against these absurd Protoss who came to the slums to hunt down the poor for their amusement!
Even if death is unavoidable, this is the only battle we must not lose!
The thought flashed through his mind. The young man dodged sharply to the side, simultaneously thrusting both swords at the pressure points on the god's right wrist!
In an instant, the outcome was decided.
The sound of flesh being slicing echoed in the air.
Protoss B swung his saber, shaking off the blood from the blade, then looked down at the headless corpse of the man.
The decorative saber had shattered the two practical short knives. The blades traveled upwards along the body, severing the young man's head and sending it flying into the air.
The god, on the other hand, had no wounds whatsoever, since even if a mortal's dagger were to pierce him, it wouldn't be able to penetrate at all.
This young man from the slums, determined to avenge the arrow wound inflicted upon him by the gods, diligently practiced martial arts and even studied magic, all in an effort to bridge the overwhelming gap in power between them. Yet, despite all his efforts, he was mercilessly crushed.
This is precisely the unbridgeable class gap between the modern new gods and the poor in the slums. Even if a young person in the slums trains martial arts diligently for another sixty years, the outcome will not be much different.
All the other prey have run away!
Protoss A politely watched his teammate finish the fight before complaining in the communications.
Sorry, sorry, but that's about it for today anyway. Shouldn't we head back now?
Protoss B chuckled; he seemed to have had a very enjoyable time, and so he smiled ingratiatingly at his companions.
[After all, I have to go to work tomorrow.]
Yes, they have to go back to work tomorrow!
So the two Protoss senior employees left the slums happily, praising each other's hunting achievements for the day.
---------------------------
"Thus, Comrade Queson sacrificed his life."
Inside the old building of the Adabit Workers' Union, there was a large hall where everyone discussed important matters. In the center of the hall, Union Chief Lutz, dressed in a black long gown, was attentively listening to the people below recount the tragic events that had just occurred in the ruins of the shopping mall.
After hearing how the young man bravely fought against the gods who came to hunt in order to protect the child who had been shot in the calf, and ultimately died heroically, President Lutz showed a sorrowful expression.
"...Let the wounded children go to the union's pharmacy to get their medicine."
As he spoke, he took out a small bottle of medicinal wine and handed it to the visitor: "This is medicinal wine with salt added. Go back and apply it to the child's wound."
"Comrade Quezon sacrificed his life. But his sacrifice was not in vain."
Then, Chairman Lutz raised his head, looked at the other workers in the hall, and slowly said...
“We will take on the responsibility of caring for his elderly mother. We will collect his remains. Most importantly, we will never forget that he sacrificed himself for our community, that he fought for the survival of all of us. We will all remember his contributions—his name will live on forever in our hearts!”
Many workers' eyes were moist with tears.
Some people were trembling with fear.
But many more will be united by this one person's sacrifice. The fallen will be honored, the fallen will be compensated. The union will take care of the fallen's family. If necessary, others will follow in the fallen's footsteps.
Hayden and his companions, as guests of President Lutz, witnessed this scene. Out of politeness, they said nothing.
...However, looking at all this, Hayden felt that something was a little strange.
In principle, such a sacrifice is praiseworthy, that's certainly true. If those who sacrifice receive honor and compensation, it will undoubtedly bring cohesion to the group. However, something about this format seems a bit off…
On another note, why did Guild Master Lutz let Hayden and the others see this? That's strange.