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SCL Chapter 130: Chains, Swords, and Full Bellies
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 23:28:42 +0000 UTCThe Korhal Revolutionary Army Recruitment Center at Deadman’s Port stood firm atop a patch of open ground paved with reinforced concrete. Soldiers of the Revolutionary Army, clad in dark gray uniforms adorned with red armbands, held back a surge of workers with iron barriers. Among them were mostly laborers from steel plate foundries operating exoskeleton loaders, longshoremen unloading cargo at the docks, and assembly-line workers from the suspended manufacturing bays.
Everyone who had come here possessed a sturdy physique. Whether male or female, their muscles were thick and knotted like tree roots. Mira Han had no doubt that their fervor for revolution burned as fiercely as their hunger for bread.
In the crowd, Mira shoved and leapt to try and catch a glimpse of the towering sergeants of the Revolutionary Army. The pungent stench of sweat and foul breath from the masses left her dizzy. As the crowd gradually pushed her forward, a ridiculous thought began to take root in her mind.
No one had ever stirred such a commotion in Deadman’s Port. What was it about Augustus that had won these people’s unwavering admiration? Was it simply because he had brought something different?
In Mira Han’s eyes, Augustus Mengsk—the man hailed in rumor as a great leader—now ascended the highest step before the recruitment center. Behind him fluttered a flag atop a tall pole, while before him stood a wall of Revolutionary Army soldiers in powered armor, barring the path of those eager to enlist.
Within the heaving crowd, some began to notice the golden wolf’s head, the coiled whip-arm, and the five-pointed star emblazoned on the red flag. No one associated those symbols with anything noble. Yet the soldiers beneath the banner knew precisely what they stood for: Mengsk, the Revolutionary Army, and the Republic.
After tens of millions of Korhalians fled their homeland, the Korhal Dominion had become a relic of the past. The vision of a Terran Republic, once proposed by Angus Mengsk, had gradually become the spiritual pillar not just for the displaced people of Korhal, but also for Terrans who resonated with their ideals.
The people of Korhal no longer sought independence—because they no longer had a homeland to reclaim. Now, the Terran Federation would face the wrath of 40 million dispossessed souls.
Today, Augustus Mengsk looked nearly identical to what the people of Deadman’s Port imagined a leader of the Revolutionary Army should be. He was handsome—his sharply defined features resembling those of a Greek marble sculpture. His cold gray eyes held an unshakable gaze that pierced everyone who dared meet them. The half-inch of meticulously groomed stubble on his chin and upper lip only added to his mature masculine charm.
When Augustus wasn’t commanding his loyal troops on the battlefield, he often wore nothing more than a dark gray military coat and matching trousers over a silk shirt—without a single medal or sash. The leader of the Revolutionary Army wore deerskin boots, and strapped to his waist was an electromagnetic pistol.
“As a man, he’s not bad-looking,” Mira murmured. “But definitely not my type.”
“Look! That’s Augustus! He talked to me at the glass factory!” shouted a man in a blue suit.
“We spent a long time discussing how to boost production, you know? He agreed with my ideas!” he said, staring at Mira Han, his eager expression practically begging for her affirmation.
For several days, Augustus had visited the steel-cutting workshops wearing a Federation captain’s hat he’d gotten from Warfield. He was always flanked by his two loyal companions—Raynor and Tychus—dust-covered and travel-worn as they made their rounds. He chatted warmly with the workers, even those laboring by the furnaces.
Because of that, Augustus’s long military coat was perpetually stained with oil that wouldn’t wash out, dust clinging to every seam. It made him look less like a warlord clinging to power through armies and battleships, and more like a remarkable leader who had emerged from the common people.
When he walked among the factories and the people, Augustus radiated authority and quiet intensity. But when he spoke, he was approachable and kind. Every person who talked with him could feel that he truly listened—considering each word carefully. Whether he was speaking with workers, community leaders, or middle managers from the corporations that had migrated to Deadman’s Port, he treated them all the same.
And without a hint of exaggeration, everyone walked away feeling that, in the eyes of the great leader of the Revolutionary Army, they mattered—that every suggestion would be met with thoughtful, almost philosophical reflection.
It was as if this was exactly what a man destined to lead the Terrans against the tyranny of the Federation should be. He was, without question, a great man—one who stood alongside the people he meant to save. And so, the people followed him, chasing that proud silhouette.
“Augustus needs me at his side!” the man in the blue suit said passionately to Mira. “Don’t you feel the same way?”
“Uh—maybe. Possibly. I guess?” A typical person might have brushed him off or nodded half-heartedly, but Mira simply touched her chin, a playful smile curling at her lips.
“Oh, if you insist…”
“Then yes. I’d say I do.”
“You seem to really like him,” Mira asked. “Why?”
“Why?” The man’s chest swelled with pride. “Because when Augustus calls, we’ll follow him to the ends of the Earth. That’s how it’s supposed to be. Whether it’s the Federation, the Kel-Morians, or the Umojans, none of them can stand against the Revolutionary Army. We are invincible!”
During the four days he stayed in Deadman’s Port, Augustus gained a multitude of admirers. The ideals he and his party represented began to spread across the city, taking root in the streets and neighborhoods. People spoke fervently about the events unfolding on Korhal IV, expressing admiration for Augustus and the ideology he brought with him.
In this isolated, spirit-starved place, where minds were as barren as a desert, the people hungered for something progressive—not because they truly grasped lofty concepts like emancipation or national identity, but because revolution simply sounded fashionable and exciting.
How many had joined the Revolutionary Army out of genuine understanding of Augustus’s calls to 'break the shackles and chains that bind you', or to 'raise your sword for justice and fairness', or because 'the Revolutionary Army is the army of the people', was still uncertain. What they did understand, however, was something far simpler: “I can give you full bellies. I can give your children a chance to escape this wasteland.”
“Hold on to that belief,” Mira said, sounding nothing like a girl of fourteen or fifteen. Whenever she turned serious, her words carried weight. “Even if you fight until death, don’t regret it.”
When the first person began chanting Augustus’s name, the crowd quickly followed. The atmosphere turned electric—the people of Deadman’s Port roared with revolutionary fervor like a tidal wave crashing through the city.
Yet just as everyone expected Augustus to deliver a rousing speech or call the workers to enlist en masse, he raised a single hand to silence them.
Anyone paying close attention would have noticed: Augustus was imitating his father. Or perhaps it was simply the politician in his blood taking over. He had learned to craft a goal that could stir emotion and unify the masses—without ever making a promise.
“We are recruiting 2,000 marines and 1,500 sailors,” Augustus announced. “I need reliable fighters in my ranks. Whether you choose to join the Revolutionary Army or remain here, the choice is yours—entirely of your own free will.”
He may not have enjoyed being the center of attention, but Augustus handled it with practiced ease.
As the Revolutionary Army soldiers at the perimeter stepped aside to clear a path, the long line of eager recruits surged toward the registration point. After signing up, each would step into the adjacent tent for a medical examination. Thanks to equipment salvaged from the Federation’s Zerg Research Base located on Victor V, the Revolutionary Army could deliver results—including tests for latent conditions and genetic disorders—in under a minute.
A number of applicants were quickly eliminated for reasons like 'abuse of neurostimulants', 'psychological instability', 'drug addiction', or even excessive alcoholism. Others were turned away due to illnesses or conditions that would prevent them from surviving a full term of service.
Mira Han only had to walk a single round inside the medical tent before the doctor handed her a slip and directed her to the next station. Of course she passed—she wasn’t some pampered lady from the Core Worlds. At just fifteen, she had already worked over four years in a factory in Deadman’s Port.
In the neighborhood where Mira lived, she’d always been the toughest and sharpest of the kids. The others called her the boss.
