Walking down the wide central avenue of Rostov II, Alex's boot heels clicked crisply on the clean pavement.
He slightly raised his head, letting the sunlight fall on his face, his gaze sweeping over the orderly buildings lining both sides of the street.
As the Planetary Governor, he felt more clearly than anyone else the fundamental difference between this planet, which he had personally transformed, and other worlds of the Imperium of Man.
Although Alex's interstellar travel experience was not extensive—besides Rostov II, he had only visited a few fringe planets within his jurisdiction and the Star Sector Capital world—this limited exposure was enough to form a stark contrast.
In those worlds, whether Forge World or Hive World, an aura of despair perpetually permeated the air.
Workers toiled mechanically on assembly lines with hunched backs, everyone numb and hopeless, even the Upperhive's elites wore sickly pale faces.
But at this moment, the scene before Alex was completely different: pedestrians on the street walked with light steps, vendors in the market enthusiastically hawked their wares, and he could even see children playing by the plaza fountain.
What moved him most was that when his eyes met those of passersby, he saw not the standardized numbness and timidity of the Imperium of Man, but genuine smiles and eyes full of vitality.
This hope for life, in the dark 40k era, was nothing short of a miracle.
Even in the supposedly prosperous Star Sector Capital, Alex had never felt such a vibrant atmosphere.
Even the nobles of the Upperhive, their faces displayed more of a cold majesty, a pale and sickly numbness, and even more, a weariness deeply hidden beneath their respectable facade.
In the Imperium of Man, even nobles could not live with hope; rules and responsibilities always weighed on them, making them breathless.
This was the Imperium of Man in the 40k era; whether the highest ruling class or the lowest ruled class, everyone was living with all their might, unable to get a moment's respite.
But here, on every street and in every community of Rostov II, vitality and hope were real and pervasive.
Workers would discuss the upcoming holographic drama after work, housewives would choose fresh synthetic protein foods for their families, and even the lowest-ranking cleaners would share a bottle of cheap but legal fermented drink during their breaks.
This difference was so evident that Alex would often suddenly stop during his inspections.
He habitually clasped his hands behind his back, his sharp gaze sweeping over every corner of the street, even though he had deliberately controlled his habits, even trying to emulate his 3k era habits more.
But as a Planetary Governor and Inquisitor whose words could decide the lives and deaths of billions, authority still permeated Alex's every word and action.
Today, he had specifically changed out of his ornate Governor's uniform, which signified his status, and instead wore a slightly worn work jacket.
This was an ordinary technician's uniform he had dug out of the logistics department's warehouse; it looked no different from the average worker passing by on the street, but a closer look would reveal a significant difference in both their walking posture and their demeanor.
However, after noticing this, Alex's memories of how Inquisitors stealthily operated allowed him to correct his behavior, making him less conspicuous.
"To see the truth, one must first remove the crown," Alex murmured to himself, quoting an ancient Terra proverb.
As both a Planetary Governor and an Inquisitor, he knew all too well how the Imperial bureaucracy operated.
Those carefully prepared inspection routes, those temporarily repainted walls, those pre-"trained" citizens—this trick had existed since humanity still used gunpowder weapons, and it remained unchanged after forty thousand years.
Just like the enticingly colored military ration cans in Department of Military Affairs propaganda films, which often contained only moldy corpse starch when opened; just like the golden wheat fields in agricultural world picture books, with "for reference only" printed in barely legible small print in the corner…
He deliberately chose the most ordinary public bus, squeezing in among workers smelling of sweat and machine oil.
As the bus rattled through the industrial district, he noticed a young female worker next to him constantly caressing an apple in her arms, an unimaginable luxury in other worlds.
Yes, Rostov II's markets sold fruit.
Although buying it was quite a luxury for a young female worker, she could, by gritting her teeth, afford to buy an apple.
Furthermore, this was happening while the Sub-Sector was at war, with most of the planet's resources being used to supply the front lines, leaving little production and resources to meet the living needs of the planetary population.
After all, with the output from orbital hydroponic farms and the Department of Internal Affairs footing the bill for the planet's food supply, it was tight but still manageable to meet the food demands of the planetary population after supplying the Expeditionary Force.
And in the food court of the slum market on the outskirts of the city, he saw workers buying hot synthetic protein cakes with currency issued by the Governors Office, instead of exchanging ration coupons for cold nutrient paste like in some Hive Cities.
The protein factory that the previous Planetary Governor had hoped to build now finally benefited the people of this planet, which could be considered a solace to his spirit in the afterlife.
However, the protein factory, which was originally intended to meet the food needs of the planetary population, had become an optional side dish.
"Sir… no, I mean, mister, would you like to try a freshly baked protein cake?" a wrinkled vendor called out to him, offering a baked cake wrapped in recycled paper.
As Alex took it, he noticed that the vendor's fingers, though rough, were clean, with none of the black grime commonly seen in industrial worlds under the fingernails.
He gladly pulled a few coins from his pocket; this was the common currency on Rostov, not throne gelts.
In fact, if Alex had pulled out throne gelts in Rostov, he wouldn't have been able to buy anything, just as in the 3k era, you couldn't buy anything in a store with a silver ingot or a gold bar.
Rostov's Governors Office issued common currency, and overall, its purchasing power was quite good; at least a worker's daily wages were enough to support a family of five.
There wouldn't be a hellish joke where a loaf of bread cost five hundred thousand marks, and the money to buy it had to be carried in a wheelbarrow.
The protein cake was cheaper than Alex expected; he pulled out a handful of coins, but only had to pay two of the smallest denominations to get a protein cake that looked quite decent even by 3k era standards.
Of course, it only looked decent.
It was clean, hygienic, and smelled of baked protein, but other than that, it was a ghastly white synthetic protein.
It was even just baked, with no trace of oil on its surface.
Taking a bite… the texture was indescribable, like chewing a piece of rubber, or tasteless chewing gum; it was somewhat tough on the teeth and completely flavorless.
If it were the 3k era, he would have spit it out immediately; this thing could only be described as unpalatable.
But this was the 40k era, and Alex did not waste food; instead, he forced himself to chew the protein cake and swallowed it all.
Because not far from him, a person also dressed as a worker was handing a protein cake to his child, and the father and son were sharing this protein cake with beaming, happy smiles.
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