Returning to the world of the 40th Millennium, Alex felt as if he had been thrown into a relentless political machine.
As the Planetary Governor, the first thing he faced every day upon waking was the endless stream of official duties.
Even though he forced himself to work more than sixteen hours a day, sacrificing even basic sleep, the stacks of documents on his desk seemed to have a life of their own; not only did they not decrease, but they grew at a visible rate.
His desk was gradually submerged by documents, with parchment scrolls and data-slates piled high, the tallest stack already exceeding a meter.
Whenever Alex tiredly raised his head, he invariably saw new documents constantly adding to this suffocating mountain.
"This is even worse than hell…" Alex muttered in the dead of night, his fingers cramping from long hours of reviewing documents.
His temples throbbed, and the data before his eyes began to blur.
However, at this moment, a Rejuvenation Warlock walked over and directly jabbed him with a stimulant, waking him up.
At this moment, Alex, who didn't even have the luxury of falling unconscious, truly felt what it meant to be "drowned in work."
Finally, after working continuously for thirty-six hours, Alex's sanity completely snapped.
He slammed the quill in his hand onto the floor, ink splashing onto the luxurious carpet, forming an ugly stain.
"Rachel!" He almost roared as he called for his Chamberlain: "Immediately assemble a political affairs team for me! Now! Right now!"
This decision was not easy for Alex.
Prior to this, although Rachel would assist in handling political affairs, the final decision-making power had always remained firmly in his hands.
Every night, he would drag his exhausted body to review the documents Rachel had processed, ensuring no oversight.
This mode of operation left him both exhausted and constantly on edge.
But at this moment, Alex completely understood.
He stared at his trembling hands and suddenly let out a bitter laugh: "What exactly am I holding onto?"
In this crazy universe, he was nothing more than an ordinary person toyed with by fate.
He was neither a Tech-Priest who could work for centuries without rest, nor an Imperial bureaucrat who had been converted into a semi-machine.
"To hell with them!" Alex thought viciously.
It was their business if those rulers who liked to monopolize power wanted to work themselves to death, but Alex had no desire to become another corpse in the Imperial meat grinder.
He knew clearly that in this universe, death was not the end—the damned Old Man Huang could very well turn him into a Thrall, forcing him to continue working overtime endlessly.
After realizing this, Alex felt an unprecedented sense of relief.
He decisively ordered Rachel to establish a formal Secretariat, delegating all routine and repetitive administrative tasks.
He only retained the most important decision-making power, ignoring everything else.
The changes came even faster than expected.
Within just a few days, the oppressive mountain of documents that had suffocated him disappeared.
Now, his desk only held a few truly important documents that required the Governor's review.
For the first time, Alex felt that he could finally breathe normally.
Looking at the suddenly spacious office, Alex leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh of relief.
The light of the star outside the window streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows on his tired face.
At this moment, he felt as if he had rediscovered the feeling of being a "person" rather than a "working machine."
Would delegating political affairs cause problems?
This was almost without doubt—once power was dispersed, corruption and ambition would follow like shadows; this was an immutable ironclad rule throughout human history.
But Alex didn't care.
Compared to being worked to death amidst mountains of political affairs, compared to being drowned in documents day after day, with even a moment's respite becoming a luxury, the potential corruption that might breed, the ambitions stirring, were, in his eyes, merely trivial costs.
Would officials enrich themselves? Would they form factions for selfish gain? Would they try to usurp his power?
Of course, they would.
Alex knew human greed better than anyone, but he also knew his own limits better.
He would rather face a group of scheming bureaucrats than return to the despair of being crushed by endless political duties.
What's more, he was not some puppet Governor to be manipulated at will.
He was an Inquisitor.
Even if it was just a nominal title, he was still a member of the most feared Inquisition in the Imperium.
He didn't believe anyone would truly dare to pull any stunts under his nose—at least, not go too far.
If anyone was truly foolish enough to think that delegating power meant letting go, they would soon realize that an Inquisitor's "tolerance" was always very scarce.
Especially since Alex could deploy a small team of pieces specifically responsible for investigating official corruption, or even directly establish a disciplinary oversight department directly under the Governors Office.
As long as the core members of this department were his own pieces, ensuring absolute control, Alex could comfortably act as a hands-off manager, completely free from worrying about them betraying him or feigning compliance.
After all, the pieces had an almost instinctive loyalty to him—this loyalty did not stem from interest, nor from fear, but from the very essence of their existence.
They would not question, would not waver, and certainly would not lose themselves in the face of power and money like mortal bureaucrats.
Alex could trust them unreservedly, as naturally as he trusted his own arms.
Acting on his thoughts, Alex immediately returned to the 3k era and stood before his model cabinet, carefully selecting.
His gaze lingered for a moment on the two newly acquired Inquisitor pieces and a squad of Inquisitor Acolytes, a slight smile playing on his lips—it would be them.
The point value of these pieces was not high, totaling only a little over two hundred points, but they quickly established an Inquisition branch covering the entire Rostov Sub-Sector and began working with extremely high efficiency.
It could almost be said that the operations of the Secretariat and the Inquisition branch visibly increased the overall administrative efficiency of Rostov by at least 20%!
This made Alex want to slap himself twice; what exactly had he been working himself to death for before? For a Tu-160 bomber?
At this moment, he suddenly grasped the true essence of the Warlord mode: instead of exhausting himself like a beast of burden, it was better to let specialized pieces handle their respective duties.
Now, he could finally extricate himself from the tedious daily affairs and dedicate more energy to truly important strategic decisions.
This feeling of relief made him wonder where his previous obsession with doing everything himself had come from.
Could it be the influence of that damned Old Man Huang? But he wasn't an industrious and benevolent emperor, was he? When that dog emperor was in power, he threw political affairs to Ma Xiangye, military affairs to the Primarchs, and spent his days holed up in the palace fiddling with the Webway, planning to visit the Commorragh Eldar brothels, almost going missing from whoring around. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been the Horus Heresy; where did he get his diligence from?
Could it be that this damned psychic old fossil specifically made others work themselves to death while he enjoyed his leisure? Thinking of this, Alex couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine, shivering before daring to think further.
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