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SCL Chapter 66: Two Sons, Two Worlds
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 23:16:06 +0000 UTC“Do you really think I’ll succeed?” Arcturus asked with a laugh. “Aside from those few old subordinates who’ve followed me since I was just a sergeant, no one really understands me. So I told them I’ve grown tired of war—and no longer believe in what we once fought for.”
“I could invest in your team,” Augustus said. “And in the future, if you ever discover a vein of Ardeon crystals so massive you couldn’t spend it all in a lifetime… just spare me a little piece of it.”
“Haha! As much as I trust my surveying skills and intuition, deposits like that are pure luck. And mine’s not nearly that good,” Arcturus laughed even louder. “I know you’re just trying to take some pressure off my shoulders—but I watched you grow up. You think I don’t know you’ve never had the habit of saving money?”
“Every time you bought one of those ceramic piggy banks for a dozen credits, you’d swear to fill it up over the course of a year. But the day after dropping a few coins in, you’d smash it open again. I still don’t get what you were thinking.”
“I’ve got about twenty million credits now,” Augustus said. “I know your account number, so don’t bother refusing—because I won’t listen.”
“What did you do? Where’d you get that kind of money?” Arcturus suddenly grabbed the front of Augustus’s uniform and shook him. “You didn’t break the law, did you? Don’t hide it from me. If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up.”
“Wait—is it from Mom? That’s possible, but she stopped giving me money after I came of age.”
“Excluding anything from Mom, I still have that much,” Augustus replied, looking resigned as his brother kept shaking him. “You know, the Heaven’s Devils are practically a standalone unit now. Compared to other formal military forces, we’re much more flexible and independent. We’ve taken over quite a few Kel-Morian bases—and picked up a fair bit of loot.”
“Not bad,” Arcturus said. “If I weren’t already a brigadier, I’d want to bring my frontline troops out to collect spoils too. A lot of people are getting filthy rich. Take what you can—no point leaving it to those parasites in the military bureaucracy.”
“But it’s risky. You need to be cautious. If something goes wrong, you’ve got Warfield and the others backing you. Over half the officers in the 33rd Ground Assault Division are looking out for you.”
“During wartime, there are quite a few loopholes in military regulations,” Augustus said. “I’ve studied them carefully. One of them is that only spoils recorded item by item into the database are considered untouchable military assets. So if we just underreport some of it… But they’ll catch on eventually.”
“Still, I won’t be in the military much longer. Once I’m gone, let those misers throw a fit all they want.”
“Is Angus forcing you to go home?” Arcturus’s thick brows furrowed. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just a selfish bastard.”
“Sounds like you don’t even know what’s about to happen on Korhal IV,” Augustus said seriously. “Angus announced there will be an independence referendum next April—declaring the entire planet’s secession from the Terran Federation.”
“Do you know what that means?”
Arcturus practically spat the word through gritted teeth.
“War.”
“When that time comes, I will return to Korhal—because Mom and Dorothy need me. And you—” Augustus trailed off.
“No,” Arcturus said. “I swore I would break free from Angus’s control. I reject this pointless, doomed revolution. Tens of thousands will die because of it. And that autocratic patriarch will call it a necessary sacrifice.”
“No. I won’t go back.”
“Never.”
“But if one day… I truly need your help,” Augustus said softly, lowering his gaze.
“My brother… will you come back to me?”
...
Meinhoff was a mining planet of the Kel-Morian Combine.
Whether seen from synchronous orbit or from the worn-down, oil-stained observation platform of the Swann family in the New Apollon community, this dark blue planet appeared utterly unremarkable. Its canyons and ravines were etched into the soil like scars, its terrain barren—like a naked pebble adrift in the vast universe.
It orbited a similarly unremarkable main-sequence star. This young sun always rose slowly, and on this desolate land, its rays weren’t even enough to nourish the Kel-Morian crops—only in cultivation chambers could rare plants grow.
Yet the young Rory Swann always held a vague hope for that blazing orb hanging above the heads of the people of Meinhoff, imagining it could bring something beautiful—mountains, rivers, forests, and grassy plains that didn’t exist here.
But just like an old Kel-Morian proverb said: “The uglier the surface, the richer the substance.”
Meinhoff was actually a good place. Between its mountains and plains were scattered gas refineries, mines, processing plants, oil refineries—and nestled among them were communities bearing shared family names.
Swann rarely ever saw the sun that New Apollon’s residents called 'the fire serpent'. Like most men in these communities, he had started working in the mines at sixteen. Now, he was a skilled and experienced miner.
On Meinhoff, all work was tied to mining. Food, daily necessities, even water, had to be heavily imported. Especially now, as the war drained the lifeblood of every Kel-Morian, Swann, along with his father, uncles, and cousins, had to work twice as hard just to earn enough to feed their families.
Before the sun even rose, Swann would don his work uniform, pull on his boots, and take an elevator down into the seemingly bottomless shaft. There, in the dust-choked tunnels filled with low-quality crystal, he operated a Kel-Morian excavation mech, using a powered drill to extract crystals and load them onto railcars in the tunnel.
Each worker had to labor for twelve continuous hours, until the next shift came to relieve them—by then, the sun had already long since set. Swann descended into the dark in the early morning and didn’t return home until deep into the night. For months, he hadn’t seen sunlight. His scar-covered skin had turned pale from the lack of exposure.
Rory Swann wiped the dust off the old machine with a rag barely cleaner than the family’s only observation platform. He then placed his insulated lunchbox on the flat control panel, already imagining how his uncle Edward would scold him.
But that didn’t matter. Let the old man yank out his own beard if he wanted—Swann would apologize after he was full.
He opened the lunchbox and let out a groan at the sight of his meal—two fried slices of bread, a small spoonful of butter, and a palm-sized piece of Moria avocado. It was midday, and he had to survive until evening on just this.
Despite the harshness of life and the near-total lack of leisure, Swann didn’t wallow in self-pity. Quite the opposite—he found joy in it. Not because he had grown used to hardship, but because he truly enjoyed living with his family and the other members of the clan.
The Swann family was a tight-knit clan. Like other Kel-Morian families, mutual support and cooperation were a deep-rooted tradition. A few slices of bread didn’t mean much. When Swann got up again, his growling stomach and cramping legs certainly voiced their protests—but he had to get back to work.
In just a few seconds, he packed everything up and headed toward his excavation mech parked nearby. The Kel-Morian mechs were tracked vehicles, about 3.7 metres tall, with two robotic arms controlled by joysticks. The arms could be outfitted with powered drills, laser drills, engineering clamps, or plasma welders, and were fueled by high-energy gas.
Swann’s excavation mech looked bulkier than most, with numerous conspicuous but functionally ambiguous components. Mounted on its back was an additional mechanical arm, two thrusters, and a matching engine unit.
Thanks to this mech, Swann could complete his work faster and more efficiently. The fuel costs were, of course, higher—but the gains in productivity made it all worthwhile.
When necessary, this mech could even be fitted with a powered hammer and machine guns. Swann had never handled anything beyond an automatic rifle or a gauss gun, but he figured those wouldn’t be hard to manage either.
Although Rory Swann never thought of himself as different from anyone else, he was, without doubt, the most gifted mechanical engineer and inventor in the entire Swann family—and perhaps all of New Apollon.
Swann wasn’t particularly fond of socializing. He preferred keeping his head down and working on his own projects, engrossed in tools that others would find utterly uninteresting.
He liked having his hands covered in grease. To him, nothing was more beautiful than the sound of gears turning and machines running. Swann loved disassembling, repairing, and reassembling devices. The harshness of life had driven him to innovate constantly, using invention after invention to make things better for himself and his family.
