Chapter 997: The Battle for Gao Ta (32)

The disturbance in the mine shaft was quickly quelled when Merkel arrived with his men and found miners sprawled on the ground, Jiaojiao trembling inside the shadow ore, and the two Red Demons just climbing up from the dirt—Merkel was confused about the situation.

But at that moment, Mo Lun immediately ran over, bowing and scraping to Merkel: “Lord Merkel, I’m truly sorry! Did I frighten you?!”

“I’ve told you countless times—don’t call me ‘Lord.’” Merkel sighed, looking at Mo Lun. “What exactly happened? Why did the Shadow Vines suddenly erupt?”

Mo Lun rolled his eyes, then wore an angry expression: “One of the Shadow Beasts refused orders and tried to sabotage production. When I caught him, he kept making excuses. I tried to take him back to prevent him from disrupting other teams, but he turned and ran…”

“I chased him near the Shadow Ore—he dove straight in and deliberately provoked the Shadow Vines, trying to kill us all! Lord Merkel, you must stand up for us!”

Mo Lun put on a sorrowful face: “You just finished assigning tasks today, and I was about to organize production according to your instructions—then he caused this chaos. Maybe he’s dissatisfied with your team assignments and wants to drag us all down!”

“I know you’re busy with many tasks waiting for you. We’ll get it out and take it away right now. The Third Squad always understands the importance of unity—we’ll take him back and give him proper education…”

Mo Lun deliberately used many terms Merkel had once used—terms rare in Hell, like “production,” “unity,” and “work assignments.” In his view, this would make Merkel trust him more, proving he had paid close attention to Merkel’s lectures.

But even as an operative, Merkel had undergone formal ideological education—he could instantly see Mo Lun’s thoughts had not changed, so he knew Mo Lun’s words couldn’t be fully trusted.

“I understand. Go back for now. I’ll take this Shadow Beast to the Command Center. If he’s dissatisfied with his assignment, I’ll transfer him to another squad. If he wants to sabotage production, I’ll educate him.”

As Merkel finished speaking and moved toward the Shadow Ore, Mo Lun grew anxious—he knew the Shadow Beast had overheard his plan, and in his view, this plan had to remain absolutely secret, for surprise was the only chance of success.

“Wait, Lord Merkel! The Shadow Vines are unstable now—if you get closer, you might be in danger. Let us handle it!” Mo Lun thought quickly, stepping forward to block Merkel’s path, then turned and approached the Shadow Ore with his dagger.

Batman, watching from above, frowned deeper—he knew the Shadow Beast’s true form was fragile, and it had one fatal flaw: the eye at the center of its tentacles, its core organ. One stab, and the poor creature would die.

Merkel stared at the still-twitching Shadow Vines. He too felt rushing forward wasn’t wise. He didn’t know what the Red Demons were planning, but letting them retrieve the frightened Shadow Beast first seemed better—after all, if the Shadow Vines erupted again, the miner slaves here could all be in danger.

Batman, bound to the stone pillar, struggled frantically. When he realized it was useless, he turned to Xieler: “Let me down.”

“You want to save him?” Xieler asked without looking up. “You want to save your poor friend?”

“But Batman,” Xieler turned to him, “have you ever considered that these two Demons might be the ones on the side of justice?”

“Yes, their motives aren’t pure—they want to kill you so they can become the boss. But in some sense, their plan is exactly what we truly want to see. Do you know why?”

Xieler lifted his head, scanning the mine’s interior. His gaze seemed to pierce through the rock, toward the fog above Hell’s sky. He spoke: “What weighs on these slaves isn’t just the mine—it’s you.”

“You, Batman—the new mine owner, the new General, the hero who saves them from fire and water. But you are also the enemy of all the proletariat, the exploiter, the mountain crushing down upon the people.”

Xieler looked into Batman’s eyes: “The evil, cunning, foolish Red Demons are the heroes. And you—you are the dragon.”

“Any resistance by the proletariat against their exploiters and oppressors is just and necessary—regardless of their motives, regardless of what they plan to do to you.”

Xieler spoke slowly, word by word: “Any capitalist who monopolizes surplus means of production, any vampire draining the labor value of workers, any devil squeezing the labor power of the proletariat—will be Qingsuan .”

“So you should understand why we never mention these topics to you. The proletariat and the bourgeoisie have no room for negotiation.”

“If we truly wished to negotiate, if we were as weak as others and wanted to play your card-table games, then that October, we wouldn’t have raised the flag. But since we raised it, it’s either you die or we die.”

Batman had never heard Xieler speak with such sharp, extreme tone. He didn’t know whether this was Xieler expressing his political stance—or emphasizing the gulf between them.

“But I never intended to exploit workers,” Batman said to Xieler. “I pay them on time, never delay wages. Even worldwide, Wayne Enterprises offers the best employee benefits.”

“But the existence of the bourgeoisie is evil,” Xieler didn’t yield. “Haven’t you realized it yet?”

Xieler took a deep breath, raised his head, then lowered it again. “Let’s set aside reality for now. Just use the mine as an example.”

“You heard what that Red Demon just said. Do you think he was right? Groveling, pretending, seizing power, oppressing others—is that what you want?”

Before Batman could answer, Xieler answered for him: “Of course not. Neither you nor we want such people in our ranks. So why do they appear?”

Xieler looked at Batman, waiting for his reply. Batman paused, then said: “Because of power. Where power exists, someone will seek it. Some among them, morally weak and ruthless, will gain power through improper means and oppress others.”

Xieler nodded. “Then where does power come from?”

Batman frowned. His sharp mind instantly grasped the key—but he didn’t know the right word to express what he meant, so he spoke vaguely: “Because of ‘difference.’ I don’t mean differences in strength or size—I mean differences in status.”

“We have a clearer word for this difference you describe—it’s called ‘class.’” Xieler looked at Batman seriously. “Narrowly speaking, power comes from class disparity. So where does class come from?”

Batman’s brow never relaxed. He fell silent for a long while, then said: “Because people possess different things.”

“The things you call ‘possessions,’ we have a word for too—it’s called ‘capital.’ Differences in capital ownership create different classes in society. Power is one manifestation of class.”

“Power is not balanced by responsibility—it’s balanced by class. The idea that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ is a capitalist invention, a deliberate conceptual trick to avoid discussing class.”

“Power never answers to responsibility. It comes from class, and it answers only to class. Power is, and only is, a tool to maintain class.”

Xieler laid out the logic clearly. Batman now understood what he meant. Xieler looked at Batman: “The existence of class is the root of all injustice. Therefore, our ultimate goal is to eliminate class.”

“But class is defined by how much capital one owns. Which tier do you think you belong to?”

Batman didn’t answer. But he knew Xieler didn’t need one. The question was too simple. Whether in Hell or in reality, Bruce Wayne—Batman—was a capitalist who owned immense capital.

“You mean, because of me, people like Mo Lun appear? But even without power, he can’t use power to oppress others—his evil would still drive him to harm others in other ways.” Batman pointed out a flaw.

“The problem you mention is called law—or the ultimate form of human society. We’ve discussed it before, but never deeply. Let’s not talk about it today—it’s irrelevant to the answer you’re seeking.”

“You say the Red Demons are heroes, brave proletarians resisting oppression—but you don’t deny they’re evil beings using power and class for personal gain. Isn’t that contradictory?”

“That’s a contradiction between action and intention. In behavior, they’ve done exactly what you and Merkel need: independent thought, the ability to act on ideas, ambition, desire, willingness to strive for themselves and their own gains.”

“Don’t you think this is the exact opposite of the numbness you despise? Only, by human moral standards, they lack conscience, violate social norms—and yet, they haven’t fully broken them.”

Xieler turned to look at the scene. The two Red Demons were now chiseling at the Shadow Ore—but due to its special nature, they couldn’t yet harm the hidden Jiaojiao.

“Have you sent this Shadow Beast to the battlefield?” Xieler asked.

“Shadow Beasts aren’t suited for battle,” Batman replied, tense—he knew Xieler was digging up old grievances, but didn’t know which one. “This race isn’t fit for combat. Besides, Jiaojiao’s foot injury hasn’t healed.”

To his surprise, Xieler nodded, said nothing, then added: “Have you assigned him to a labor squad?”

“His foot injury hasn’t healed—he’s not fit for labor,” Batman answered again.

“Did he tell you that?” Xieler looked at Batman. “He said he can’t fight or work, so you gave him special treatment?”

Batman shook his head. Xieler turned back, looked down, and said: “Have you really not exploited workers?”

“You used the power granted by your class superiority to exempt your friend—the Shadow Beast—from battlefield duty and labor. But the responsibility he avoided is now distributed onto others.”

“Why do you force them to fight?” Xieler asked another question, then answered himself: “For victory? But what is victory for?”

Batman didn’t imagine himself in Hell—he imagined Gotham. He answered: “I want them to have happy lives.”

“But if victory belongs only to you, they will never have happy lives,” Xieler seemed to lose patience with slow explanations. He spoke bluntly:

“You win—but nothing changes. The people won’t have happy lives, because victory doesn’t truly belong to them.”

“The greatest obstacle between the people and victory—and between the people and the happy life you want…” Xieler looked into Batman’s eyes. “Is you yourself.”

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