Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 978 (08.977): 'The Art of Balancing Accounts'

As the empire's storage world, Minerva's interior has been almost entirely hollowed out by massive engineering machinery, transforming the entire planet into a hollow, spherical "storage room." Due to this extensive transformation, the planet has long since lost its vitality.

Its surface and groundwater have been completely depleted, and what were once oases and oceans have now become boundless deserts.

From then on, sandstorms raged endlessly.

"This damn sandstorm is getting worse. We should be comfortably waiting for supplies in the starport, but those pampered soldiers are enjoying themselves in orbit while sending us down here to do this dirty work?"

A sentry of the Sintira flintlock regiment, who had been conscripted as a propertied commoner, complained loudly from his fully enclosed watchtower.

He held a steaming cup of beverage, watching the sand and gravel whipped up by the gale screeching against the watchtower's plexiglass like sandpaper, making a piercing "whoosh" sound.

"Isn't that how all nobles are? They want to take the benefits, enjoy their leisure, and leave the dirty work to others."

But at least we don't have to live in the refugee camps below with those third-class citizens.

A senior sergeant pointed to the crowd wrestling over food inside the barbed wire fence, munching on his sandwich, and said contemptuously, "Look, those lowly people are fighting over a piece of bread again. How ridiculous. I'm not going to eat that kind of filthy bread that's as dry as cow dung."

"By the Divine Emperor, I have never seen anyone in Sintila who can survive on such a small amount of food every day."

The amount of resettlement supplies distributed seems to not match the actual amount delivered.

The third soldier, who looked younger and had only recently enlisted, looked at the supplies manual on the data board and asked in confusion, "Did we count them wrong?"

"No, we didn't miscount. That's all that was sent. So you've seen too little, kid."

The more senior flintlock sergeant laughed mockingly, a laugh full of worldliness and sarcasm.

"These supplies are just thrown down to balance the books. No matter how much you actually gave, or whether you gave anything at all, as long as the books show that that much was given, they can make up for all that debt."

What is...balancing the books?

“Since we’re both citizens of the third class, I’ll only tell you this once. Listen carefully,” the veteran leaned closer and lowered his voice, “If you want to do better in Sintila, you have to learn to ‘balance the books.’”

Sintira is very wealthy. We have the greatest merchant ronin group and banking conglomerate in the entire galaxy. A constant stream of Eagle Union and Throne Union flows into here, where they are minted into glittering Ecu and value points.

But such wealth always attracts many people who want a piece of the pie.

For various well-known reasons, money in public accounts is always paid out under various pretexts.

Those small holes that are easy to fill can be covered by simply adding a little something to each account when submitting the expense report.

But what about those accounts that were misappropriated through various means, amounting to enormous sums that couldn't be covered up with legitimate reasons, or were even entirely fabricated? Hmm?

"Uh... destroy it?"

“Yes, that’s spot on! ‘Destroy’. But not by doing it themselves. Any large unexpected expenditure is the perfect opportunity to ‘destroy’ the ledgers. A warehouse fire damage assessment, economic losses from war, a pirate raid, or… a humanitarian aid operation.”

"As long as there is a huge unexpected expense, when assessing the loss, those bad debts that can never be filled can be reported in the estimated loss.

"Like right now, can you accurately estimate how much supplies this camp will consume each day?"

The recruit shook his head.

"But even so, we still know how much of the supplies actually arrived and how much was actually distributed, right?" the new recruit continued to ask. "Even if they give a lot of numbers on paper, we still count the actual quantities when they come in and out of the warehouse."

"Hmph, that's why we were sent here."

The veteran civilian put his arm around the new recruit's shoulder and said earnestly, "If something 'unexpected' happens here, such as a riot, war, or an alien invasion, once this camp is destroyed, everything will be impossible to verify. In that case, the actual amount of supplies delivered will be whatever those nobles and officials say."

The new recruits felt a chill run down their spines: "This is... the real reason why, in name, a battalion of soldiers was sent, but in reality, only our company is here to guard the area?"

"Very good, you have understood the part that you are allowed to understand."

The veteran patted the new recruit on the shoulder. "What war or riot doesn't result in death? And the dead can't speak."

The noble lords allow us commoners to join the army so that we can do the dirty work for them, or even die.

That's why here, surrounded by us propertied civilians who enlisted, we can't see a single real veteran.

"Then...then what should we do to..."

"What to do? Be clever, and then leave it to fate."

The veteran shrugged. "If it's not something you should worry about, then don't worry about it."

If you encounter something you can't handle, just run. Unless, of course, you want your family to have a useless medal of honor engraved on your tombstone.

“Hey guys,” the third sentry carrying a hot drink interrupted their conversation, “look at that.”

He pointed to the distant sand dunes and called out into the warm watchtower of the outpost, "Is that a mobile force?"

Upon hearing this, the veteran sergeant walked to the binoculars. When he saw the paint scheme of that unit, his brows immediately furrowed into a deep frown.

"See, whatever I say comes true," he complained irritably.

Those were eight-wheeled armored vehicles lined up in a diagonal line, charging towards them at high speed.

The yellow sand tumbled beneath their heavy run-flat tires, whipping up a cloud of dust that obscured visibility.

Under such circumstances, it was extremely dangerous to advance in such a tight combat formation—visibility was so poor that if the convoy in front braked suddenly, the vehicles behind, caught in the billowing dust, might not have time to react and could rear-end each other, causing a horrific accident.

If the soldiers in the lead vehicle need to disembark urgently to join the battle, a self-inflicted tragedy will be inevitable.

However, the snow-white paint job makes the vehicle's outline easily recognizable even in environments with extremely poor visibility, allowing drivers of following vehicles to clearly identify the location of friendly vehicles even from the worst possible field of vision.

The convoy maintained its speed without slowing down, proceeding in an orderly fashion, and sped over the sand dunes at a speed of 80 kilometers per hour, like a white torrent rushing toward the refugee camp.

“I’ve seen these vehicles in Starport before; they’re our ‘Arion’ eight-wheeled chariots. Strange, why are they painted blue and white?” the sentry who first spotted the convoy said in bewilderment.

“No, no, no, that’s not our convoy.” The veteran shook his head. “I heard from an officer that a high-ranking official in the Imperial Navy bought a whole five thousand tanks. These vehicles won’t be issued to us for the time being. So these aren’t ‘our vehicles’.”

"Navy people? What do they want?" The recruit looked nervous.

"Don't panic. Just like I told you, if it's not something you should worry about, don't worry about it."

If you encounter something you can't handle, just run. Unless you want a medal of honor etched on your tombstone.

"it is good……"

"And the most important point," the veteran civilian emphasized, "if you don't have the life of a noble, don't have the habits of one. That will only get you to the guillotine, and you won't even get a medal of honor."

Now, put on your gear and go down to the entrance to set up a checkpoint and assess the situation.

(End of this chapter)