As an Imperial frontier world that was only opened up in the Rostov Sub-Sector after Alex arrived in the 40k era, Kherson, this young colony planet, could hardly be called prosperous.
It was like a speck of dust on the Imperium's map, quietly settling in a corner of Imperial territory, unremarkable.
The planet's population composition was simple to the point of monotony: apart from the new waves of immigrants cast by the Ecclesiarchy, composed of fanatical Pilgrims, the rest were uniformed soldiers.
Troops from the Rostov main planet continuously passed through Kherson like a steel torrent, heading for the front lines, gradually transforming this colonial planet, which should have been developing its civilian sector, into a massive military fortress.
The orbital station always harbored transport fleets ready for departure, the surface was densely covered with makeshift military camps and supply warehouses, and the air was filled with the smell of oil and metal.
In fact, as early as when Ventanus was stationed here, this internal affairs superman from the Ultramarines Chapter had already designated Kherson as a military logistics hub.
Under his planning, the planet's population were either reserve soldiers ready to be conscripted at any time, construction workers toiling day and night to build military facilities, or service personnel bustling through countless logistics warehouses.
The entire planet was like a precise war machine, every gear frantically turning for the needs of the front line.
Factory furnaces burned day and night, forging weapons and armor; transport convoys flowed ceaselessly on reinforced roads, delivering supplies to the orbital spaceport; the loudspeakers of recruitment stations never stopped broadcasting, urging eligible men and women to sign service contracts.
In the current tight war situation, this deformed social structure had instead become an advantage.
When Alex took over this planet, he hardly needed any transition, or even any explanation to the populace, to directly declare martial law and place the entire planet under an iron-fisted military rule.
After all, there were no true "civilians" on Kherson—every single person here, from birth to death, had already been incorporated into the war machine's operational system.
Children learned loyalty and sacrifice in Ecclesiarchy schools, the only path for youths was to join the army or enter military factories, and the elderly were responsible for maintaining the logistics system's operation.
There was no dissent, no protest, and even no superfluous thought—only obedience, production, and combat.
Alex knew very well that he was not an internal affairs genius like Ventanus.
The Ultramarines inherited the excellent governance abilities of the Gene-Seed Primarch Roboute Guilliman, capable of perfectly ensuring front-line supplies while maintaining civilian life, and even allowing colonies to maintain a certain degree of prosperity.
But Alex knew he couldn't achieve such a balance—he didn't have the patience of Guilliman's sons, nor their administrative talent.
So he chose the most direct, most violent method, using the blunt instrument of military control to suppress all potential problems in their nascent state.
Any idlers would be whipped, any questioners would be imprisoned in disciplinary camps, and anyone attempting to evade military service would be sent to a military court.
But in this era where war takes precedence, simple brutality is often more effective than subtle balance.
Kherson's operational efficiency was even higher than in Ventanus's time, though the cost was the complete deprivation of the populace's freedom.
However, for the Imperium's subjects, this was actually nothing.
After all, the Rostov Sub-Sector was a newly opened frontier, resources were still abundant, and Alex's rule could not be called exhaustive.
At least the populace could still eat their fill, still live, and even have some leisure time, living with human rights; this was already far better than most Imperial Worlds in the The Galaxy / Milky Way.
If it were other Imperial Worlds?
Military rule? Ha, the methods of those Planetary Governors were far more cruel and harsh than military rule.
Some worlds, to conscript soldiers, would directly draw lots to execute the entire family of those who refused service; some worlds, to meet Terra's high tithe, would drain every drop of resource, leaving the populace to struggle in famine; and still other worlds, merely for a decline in production efficiency, would be ordered exterminated by the Inquisition as a warning.
In comparison, the residents of Kherson could even be said to… be doing quite well.
"Uh… you call this 'doing quite well'?" Sea Hare, in a crisp Astra Militarum standard uniform, followed Alex on an inspection of the military camp, his face filled with disbelief.
He looked at the lines of laborers moving supplies under the scorching sun in the distance, their hunched figures making him involuntarily clench his fists.
Alex stopped, turning to look at his new companion in surprise: "Brother, how could you ask such a question? What is the Imperium like? You can't really think it can compare to the 3k era, can you?"
His tone carried a hint of helplessness, as if speaking to an ignorant child.
Sea Hare frowned in thought for a moment, then tentatively asked: "At least… an eight-hour workday can be guaranteed, right?"
There was still a hint of expectation in his voice when he said this, as if it were the most basic human right.
However, Alex only shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh: "How naive are you to think of achieving an eight-hour workday in a Warhammer World?
Even in the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, personally forged by Guilliman, workers have to work sixteen hours a day, and that is already considered a heavenly treatment in the Imperium!"
"In Rostov," Alex's tone suddenly became proud: "I implement a three-shift work system, where each person only needs to work eighteen hours a day; this is already an age-old benevolent policy!"
He spoke with a serious expression, completely without any hint of joking.
Indeed, in the Imperium's ten-thousand-year history of dark rule, Alex's way of treating his subjects could already be called benevolent.
At least here, workers could still get enough food, and even have leisure time after work; this was indeed a treatment other Imperial Worlds couldn't even dream of.
At this point, Alex suddenly looked at Sea Hare meaningfully: "And, hoping for a ruler's benevolence to obtain better working hours and treatment, rather than relying on one's own struggle… do you really think such 'preferential treatment' can be sustained long-term?"
Sea Hare was stunned by the words, then gave a bitter smile and shook his head: "My apologies, I hadn't fully grasped it."
Only then did he fully realize that this was not the Eastern Great Power of the 3k era, but the brutal Imperium of Man of the 40k era.
The rights and guarantees he had once taken for granted were simply pipe dreams in this dark age.
"It's fine," Alex patted Sea Hare's shoulder, his tone softening: "It's okay to say this among ourselves. But remember, never say these things to other people in the Imperium; the Inquisition really will come and arrest you."
He made a throat-slitting gesture, half-jokingly warning him.
In fact, not just Sea Hare, but Alex himself and others like Gutierrez, all experienced such a cognitive shock when they first arrived in this era.
Everyone adapted to this cruel universe step by step, so Alex completely understood Sea Hare's reaction at this moment.
It's just that such words are indeed taboo in the Imperium; although people joke that as long as taxes are paid, the Imperium won't care what a Planetary Governor does on his planet, this statement refers to the lower limit of what a Planetary Governor can do, not the upper limit.
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