Chapter 996

When Batman regained consciousness, he found himself in an unfamiliar mine shaft—a high-level opening within the cavern, with a platform ahead and several natural stone pillars beside it, and Batman was currently bound to one of them.

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Schiller stood at the platform’s edge, looking down; because of the platform’s height, the demons below were completely unaware of anyone on it. Batman shifted his shoulders and found the chains weren’t tightly bound—but considering Schiller was still standing nearby, he made no sudden move.

“Perhaps you’re confused, Batman,” Schiller said, hands tucked into his suit pockets, watching the scene in the mine. “Why have we never discussed communism with you?”

“To most Americans, we’re fanatical believers; your kind interprets loyalty and sacrifice beyond your theories as inhuman brainwashing.”

“I never thought that,” Batman replied calmly. “Even before I knew Alfred was a KGB agent, I understood that the depth of this infiltration couldn’t be achieved by mere brainwashing.”

“Fear of death is innate; to overcome it, one must cling to something higher than death—a belief so powerful it renders death insignificant, making men fearless.” Batman also watched the slave miners laboring below. “Simple indoctrination like obedience to orders is nowhere near enough.”

“Of course, you’re intelligent enough to deduce this through logic alone—but you still harbor doubt, unsure whether the problem lies with you or with us, that even surrounded by communists, you’ve never truly heard our theory explained.”

“So why?” Batman asked. He paused, then added: “Alfred said he didn’t tell me because I trusted him too much—if I took his words as dogma, it might cloud my judgment.”

“But…” Batman turned to Schiller, his meaning clear: theoretically, the teacher-student relationship is the easiest to exploit, as a teacher can subtly influence a student’s mind.

Though Batman had now encountered these ideas, if Schiller had truly intended to actively indoctrinate him, he would have done so long ago—not waited until every external condition had been tested, only for Batman to remain as lost as ever.

Schiller remained silent. Batman didn’t know what he was thinking—but suddenly, chaos erupted from the depths of the mine. Batman turned his attention downward and saw a scar-faced red demon standing before a group, shouting:

“You all heard it—Lord Merkel divided us into work teams. Because I showed great enthusiasm and performed well, I’ve been appointed team leader of Group Three!”

“I’m the smartest and most capable among you all, so I’ll lead you. You all answer to me!”

“Now, I’ll assign tasks—everyone must work hard! Group Three must win the upcoming production competition, to prove I’m the best leader!”

“Come closer, all of you—I’ll explain the division of labor carefully… You! And you! Why aren’t you listening?! Turn your heads, or I’ll whip you like the overseers do!”

Batman, bound to the stone pillar, frowned sharply. He heard the red demon ramble on at length, but in truth, he understood nothing about the “division of labor”—it was still the most primitive mining method: everyone worked alone.

After the meeting, the dark red demon and his smaller companion walked off together, saying: “See? I told you—if we’d shown more initiative earlier, we’d have become new overseers.”

“I’ve had enough of those arrogant overseers. But if I become one myself, I’ll grab a whip and make those fools work for me!”

“These idiots don’t understand anything. Red demons are the smartest race in the mine. Only we, skilled at reading expressions and understanding situations, can survive here—no matter how many masters change, the Red Demons will always be the best advisors!”

His companion spoke up: “Honestly, I’m a little worried. Our new master, Batman, seems different from the other generals. He talks about teamwork and working for yourself—I’ve never heard that before…”

The scar-faced red demon snorted. “Different? What’s different? They’ve just rephrased it—you can’t understand?”

“They say we fight for ourselves, to avoid being bullied—but in Hell, the weak deserve to be bullied. And even if we fight for him, will we really escape being bullied?”

“In every battle, there are cannon fodder charging ahead and commanders safe in the rear. No matter how many ways they rephrase it, cannon fodder always face far greater danger. When they die, the commanders win—so who really wins the war?”

“It’s the same in the mine: there are laborers and overseers. Overseers work less. To be fair, either everyone must labor, or everyone must oversee—but if that happened, the mine couldn’t function. Where would the ore come from? Where the equipment?”

“Those fools don’t grasp this. So they ignore everything Merkel says. But I? I remember every word.”

“He said those who perform well become team leaders. So I performed well—even if I didn’t understand his nonsense, I repeated it, acted eager, and earned my appointment as overseer.”

“Now that I’m an overseer, I have power—I’m no longer like those stinking slaves. I tell who works, who works. I tell who does the hard labor, who does it. If they don’t want hard labor, they must flatter me. Wasn’t that exactly how the old overseers operated?”

The red demon swayed his head proudly. His companion immediately praised: “Moron, you’re the smartest among us. If you become overseer, we’ll have less work!”

The red demon named Moron snorted. “I’m only a team leader now, so you still have to work. But when I become head team leader, I’ll make every Red Demon a team leader—then none of you will have to work.”

But at that moment, his companion scratched his head. “Say, what does ‘democracy’ mean? Lord Merkel keeps stressing democratic spirit. You kept repeating it in class—what does it mean?”

Moron waved his hand impatiently. “They’re just rephrasing things to motivate slaves to work harder. ‘Democracy’? They say demons should rule themselves—but how can these slave miners rule anything? The mine belongs to its master. What’s it to them?”

“The ore these slaves dig belongs to the mine’s master. What work they do, what ore they mine—all decided by the master.”

“They say this the same way the old Corrupt Heart General told his demon soldiers: ‘Fight well, and you’ll be richly rewarded.’ You don’t understand just because they changed the words?”

His companion nodded. “True. The mine isn’t ours. At best, if the slave miners work well, they get some reward.”

“Rewards go to us,” Moron said, rolling his eyes. “The bosses won’t hand out rewards directly to the slave miners—they’ll give them to us to distribute. If we lead well, we deserve the rewards. Those stinking slaves? Let them stay out of the way!”

Moron’s face turned cold. He sneered: “Besides, the mine’s master is just a weak human. Even though he’s now a general with soldiers, he can’t change the fact that he’s weak.”

“Honestly, I’m tired of sitting still in class, staring at Merkel’s face, shouting along with him…” Moron scoffed.

“But for the sake of becoming an overseer, I can endure it. Once I’m head team leader, I’ll place you all in proper positions. When Red Demons fill every corner of the mine, we’ll learn every human habit—then…” Moron smiled wickedly.

His companion narrowed his eyes, looking at him. “You’re thinking… But yes—these humans leading us now have extremely weak soul power. If we seize the chance…”

His voice grew excited, his expression alight—as if he already saw the day Red Demons seized the entire mine. “When that day comes, you’ll be a true demon lord. Your ancestral clan will gain infinite glory…”

The two red demons chuckled together—but then Moron paused, frowned, and turned toward the empty air. “Who’s there?! Who’s hiding?! Come out!”

Both demons instantly assumed defensive stances. The companion raised a spear; Moron drew a dagger from his waist. In the shadowed corner of a nearby earth mound, a tendril flashed past—Moron caught the detail and lunged forward.

As if realizing he’d been spotted, a dark shadow behind the mound panicked and bolted toward another mound for cover. As it moved, Batman, bound to the stone pillar, recognized it: Sixhorn.

“Damn shadow beast! Come out!” Moron shouted as he chased, turning to his companion. “He heard our plan! Kill him!”

The two red demons gave chase—but Sixhorn sprinted toward the mine’s center, where not only Red Demons were present, but also many slave miners dumping slag.

Moron’s eyes darted, then he pointed at Sixhorn and shouted: “I’m the leader of Group Three! That shadow beast is sabotaging production! Chase it! Catch it!”

The slave miners froze—then, hearing Moron was the new team leader, they instinctively turned toward where he pointed. Sixhorn, focused on fleeing, failed to conceal his form, and was quickly spotted.

Moron kept shouting, “Catch that shadow beast!” and the slaves instinctively gave chase.

Shadow beasts are extremely fragile—weak physically, slow-moving, even slower than Red Demons, let alone the swift Spear-Snake Demons. Soon, two nearby Spear-Snake Demons closed in, nearly grabbing his tendril.

Batman, bound to the stone pillar, frowned, watching the scene, his heart clenched for Sixhorn—when suddenly, the desperate shadow beast instinctively bolted toward the edge of the mine, toward the Shadow Ore.

As a member of the Shadow Vines, if he could return to the Shadow Ore, no one could harm him. But just before he reached it, Moron’s companion hurled his spear—straight through one of Sixhorn’s tendrils.

Sixhorn screamed in pain. The shriek’s vibration triggered the Shadow Vines around the ore—suddenly, the vines surged outward, flinging every nearby slave miner into the air.