"Big brother." The orange-haired girl hesitantly called out to Lancelot.
Her call brought Lancelot back to his senses.
"What is it?"
"…Is the work hard?"
"Very little, extremely little." Lancelot answered honestly. "It's easy—much easier than before."
Guinevere blinked, as if she couldn't quite believe it.
Yet… "That's just the way he talks." The corner of Lancelot's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Hey! Everyone who worked with me today, come get your first month's advance wages! One by one! After you get your money, press your thumbprint on the side!" Caelus shouted. "Listen up—this is an advance!"
"This… this much?"
"Much? Nonsense! You're trading a month of future pain for this! Savor the despair of being enslaved by money!"
When it was Lancelot's turn, Caelus counted out credits from the box and handed them over. "Yours, plus subsidies for the little ones on your ship—total…"
The amount he named was even higher than Lancelot had expected.
Guinevere looked at the stack of credits in her big brother's hand, then at Caelus who was still roaring while handing out pay. She couldn't help whispering, "Big brother… he seems like a good person."
Lancelot gave a soft grunt of agreement and carefully tucked the credits away.
Caelus used Loud Roar.
The employees' morale soared.
A few thousand credits is only pocket change on a high-cost planet, but here on a remote world in the Talia Star System it could keep a family going.
"Everyone got theirs? Then get back to your ships! Tomorrow morning at eight, same place! One minute late and I dock half a day's pay!"
Lancelot didn't leave at once. He looked at Caelus as if he wanted to say something.
"Something else?" Caelus raised an eyebrow.
"Boss," Lancelot paused, choosing his words. "Do we… really not need to do anything to repay you?"
"First keep your own crew in line. If anyone tries to outsource their work for even cheaper credits…"
"I understand."
Lancelot, Guinevere, and the rest of the crew returned to their ship—recently "refurbished" by Caelus. The hold was brightly lit, utterly unlike its former broken-down gloom, and the air even carried the scent of… food?
"The boss said… this is the 'standard work meal.'" The logistics employee's voice trembled. "That girl from scrap iron—March 7th—brought it over in a small shuttle. She said the boss ordered three meals a day delivered from there from now on, to… to make sure we have the strength for 'hellish work intensity.'"
Even the work meals are this high-class?!
This is the treatment you get from "scrap collecting"?
To people like them, with nowhere else to turn… Lancelot fell into thought, then understood.
He needed absolute loyalty—so that one day in the future they would do for him things ordinary people wouldn't dare.
Lancelot confirmed his deduction.
It perfectly explained Caelus's contradictory behavior: the exaggerated "exploitation" talk was a smokescreen, while the real generosity quietly bought their future "right of use."
Could he be planning to rule this star system?
Clearing "trash" was merely paving the way for better governance, and they were the ones who'd open up the planet and clear obstacles. The idea made sense to Lancelot.
"Big brother."
Kay stood behind Lancelot.
"Kay."
"So, what do you think of our new boss now?"
"He 'rescued' a bunch of pirates with nowhere left to run… and he's raising us as Death Soldiers."
Lancelot said in a low voice.
Pay far above normal, living conditions so good they're eerie… "Maybe he values that we have no ties, maybe he needs people who'll do his dirty work when the time comes. The 'rules' and 'loyalty' he keeps stressing are exactly how you control Death Soldiers. Those seemingly harsh clauses are just tests of obedience."
"Remember, Kay, we accept all this—not to survive, but to gather strength. Camelot's vengeance is still unpaid, and our younger siblings need to grow up safe. If one day he truly needs us to take up arms against someone… as long as that target doesn't clash with our revenge—and might even help—then what's wrong with being his blade?"
Kay fell silent; he understood. This wasn't naïve faith in charity, but a clear-eyed bargain: trading possible future risk for real survival and growth now.
"I understand, big brother." Kay nodded firmly. "We'll keep his 'rules'… and we'll be ready."
————
Meanwhile, aboard scrap iron.
"Achoo—!"
Caelus sneezed hugely and rubbed his nose. "Someone's talking about me—must be those new employees cursing me for a Black-hearted boss!"
He cocked one leg triumphantly, flip-flops flapping. "Exactly the effect I want! Let them toil in resentment and thank me through gritted teeth—top-tier self-cultivation!"
I'm so wicked.
"Hah, no matter how hard the Interstellar Peace Corporation squeezes, can they beat my eight-hour workday?"
Behind him, Dan Heng's expression had gone from blank half a month ago to barely holding back laughter.
Hold it.
Honestly, Dan Heng was practicing the art of stifling laughter.
Stifling laughter is an art.
Dan Heng quietly turned his face away; the man could make anything absurd.
"Oh, Dan Heng," Caelus suddenly remembered something and turned. "Should I design a year-end talent show for them, make them perform?"
Dan Heng: "…"
He felt his facial muscles slipping again.
"There has to be a prize—twenty thousand credits as the pot. Use the stink of money to boost morale, then force them—force them to perform! Everyone who joins gets five hundred credits!"
"…Whatever makes you happy." Dan Heng squeezed the words through his teeth; one more syllable and he'd crack.
He didn't want to laugh that wildly, that absurdly, in front of Caelus.
No, Dan Heng would not let himself become as absurd as Caelus.
"Absolutely not."
Dan Heng thought to himself.
I refuse to become a person like Caelus!
After buying the antivirus software from Caelus, Lygus had been trying to modify it.
Yet instead of fixing the flaws in god 365 antivirus software, Lygus ended up with the SmallBird wallpaper installed on himself.
It made Lygus question the meaning of machine life.
Yes, it works very well—if you're a rookie using antivirus for the first time.
Even a fool could handle the program; the only annoyance is the pop-ups from a few junk apps.
But Lygus is clearly no beginner.
'Detected illegal background process; auto-repair and optimization completed.'
You… failed again.
'Repair finished. To improve experience, startup items have been optimized.'
Touching those junk apps is like attacking its most sensitive spot.
The junk—including the antivirus—can be uninstalled; he tried deleting the bundles and they vanished, yet after every reboot they reappear, sometimes even updated.
Lygus scoured his own code and still couldn't find where the thing hides its files.
This was his seventeenth attempt to analyze and alter the core code of 'god 365'. Each time he believed he'd found a logical loophole to bypass its defenses; each time, just as he reached the core, the software snapped like a creature with its Tail stepped on, triggering a 'repair' routine unlike any programming logic he'd ever seen.
Then his temporary OS gained something new.
Such as this flying-bird wallpaper, the forced pop-up '0721 Browser', or the shout of'Super-Fun Chengdu Legend: Red Moon—Bro, come stab me!'.
'Brother, we're just one member short!'
The bewitching voice echoed through the space.
He'd abandoned the idea of 'modifying' or 'controlling' the software; his sole goal now was to understand it—to grasp this unheard-of programming paradigm.
If he could parse this logic… it would be… 'Too interesting.'
'Once I figure out how you do it, I'll give Nous a set as well.'
'This time… a different approach.'
He began intentionally 'contaminating' his temporary system, writing several aggressive, infectious logic traps for god 365 to trigger.
[Malware detected! Eliminating forcefully!]
[Elimination failed! System integrity compromised! Emergency cloud repair in progress…]
[Repair complete! For your safety, 'Galaxy Surf Browser', 'Lucky Spin Game', and 'Weather Forecast Plugin' have been installed…]
Watching the gaudy icons pop onto the screen, Lygus wore the satisfied smile of a plan fulfilled.
All according to plan.
[High-intensity work detected. For your health, 365 Assistant is playing relaxing music~]
[Click here to claim your free cloud-storage membership!]
'Bro, level up once more and receive the Dragon-Slayer Blade!'
'Local weather: sunny. Horoscope: good day to slack off, bad day for overtime.'
'Lucky Wheel! Click now for 888 credits!'
Pop-ups sprang up like carnival barkers, complete with tinny sound effects and flashing animations.
Lygus: '…'
Expressionless, he tried to close them; the ads obediently vanished—leaving a blinking cloud-drive icon in the lower-right corner.
Tch.
Considerate? Where?
Utterly exasperating.
Cosmic Junk Company seemed to have appeared from thin air—no registry entry, no code signature, no fixed address. Only scattered, almost unverifiable rumors drifted through the outermost network nodes of the Talia Star System.
As for the name 'Caelus', even less information could be found—like the man had never existed in the universe.
That was abnormal.
In this age of hyper-developed data, even the most mysterious Emanators of the Aeons leave faint profiles or observation logs; being this spotless reeked of deliberate erasure.
And there was one person even cleaner than Caelus whom Lygus knew all too well.
That person was currently hunting him across the cosmos…
Guinevere sat in the now warm, bright crew mess, nibbling a steaming synthetic steak. The texture was odd but seasoned perfectly, the vegetables crisp and glistening—the best meal she could recall since the banquets of Camelot.
She looked around. Once gaunt companions now showed color in their cheeks; some even chatted softly—an atmosphere of peace unseen since exile began.
Since leaving home, Guinevere had never felt so at ease.
A true sense of relief.
Watching her brothers turn pirate, her heart had stayed heavy; though they were finally fed, she'd felt as if standing on air.
But now… everyone's expression had never been so… gentle.
She quietly lifted her gaze to the viewport.
'Big brother,' she murmured, interrupting Lancelot's reverie, 'I think… the boss is a good person.'
Lancelot was silent a moment, then rested a large hand on her head and ruffled her hair.
'Eat first.' He didn't answer directly, but the tight line of his mouth softened. 'Tomorrow we "suffer" again.'
Guinevere nodded hard, bit off a big chunk of steak, cheeks bulging like a hamster storing food.
For Guinevere and her family, it was the first night in ages without standing guard, without fear of pursuers—an evening where they could sleep in peace.
Six a.m. the next day, everyone was up.
'Boss, time for work.'
'Work? What work? Look at the time! If I didn't call overtime, I won't pay for it.' Caelus, sleeping cap on, planted hands on hips. 'I said eight o'clock; you can get up at seven. What's with this early start?'
What is wrong with these people—so motivated.
When he shuffled out at eight sharp, he found Lancelot and crew already standing in neat rows before the garbage mountain, tools ready, eyes sparkling with… anticipation?
Caelus: '…'
'All here? Good! Today's task—' He pointed at a hill of discarded electronics. 'Empty that "gold-mountain"! Sorting rules were sent yesterday. I want efficiency! Sweat! Spines crushed under heavy labor!'
He roared himself hoarse trying to conjure a sweatshop vibe.
Yet the employees simply nodded calmly and… briskly set to work.