The Factory

"That is the Isdalia Grand Colosseum. Gladiatorial contests are held there regularly." "This is the Redscale Garrison, the headquarters of the Redscale Conquerors." "That unit? They are from the Imperial Guard. Word is demons have been appearing lately, so they've been conducting strict inspections throughout the city." Joseph and his party continued along the main road, listening as Heya pointed out sights along the way. "Mr. Joseph, ahead is the headquarters of the Claubau Military Industry Group. This should be your destination..." "What a tall building." Joseph looked up. Not far off stood a multi-story edifice over a dozen floors high, bearing the grand characters "Claubau Military Industry Group" across its top. The entire building appeared to be constructed from special masonry, devoid of superfluous ornamentation and exuding a distinctive imperial aesthetic. Rumor had it that reinforced steel was used within for structural support. At the entrance, alongside the insignia of the Cinder Empire, was the group's emblem: crossed firearms, cannons, and dragon wings. People came and went in a hurry all around—merchants from diverse lands, tax collectors clutching documents, and numerous soldiers clad in uniform with sidearms holstered at their hips. Joseph stepped into the building with curiosity, while Heya walked up and whispered familiarly with the receptionist. Soon, a man dressed in formal attire approached with steady strides, smiling warmly and extending his right hand. "You must be Mr. Joseph, one of the directors of the Pearson Chamber of Commerce. It's an honor to finally meet you. My name is Luwen Craig, senior salesman for the group, tasked specifically with receiving distinguished guests such as yourself." A silver-tongued merchant through and through, Joseph responded immediately, a polite smile gracing his face as he reached out to shake hands. "You flatter me. I am merely an ordinary member of the Pearson Chamber of Commerce. It is only through the trust of my colleagues that I represent our chamber for the time being." "Not at all, not at all! The Pearson Chamber of Commerce is the most powerful guild in all of Thrace, as well as a valued client of ours." "In that case, I will be in your hands, Mr. Luwen." Luwen led Joseph and his entourage inside for a tour, seizing the opportunity to pitch the group's newest product—the "Wyvern's Flame" series rifles. "...This marks a major milestone. We have further optimized both materials and design, significantly boosting firing accuracy and reliability. While retaining the strengths of the original, the second generation shortens the barrel and reduces overall weight, improving a soldier's mobility and flexibility in combat and enabling rapid adaptation to diverse tactical demands in complex environments..." "Sounds excellent," Joseph nodded slightly. "Yet our Pearson Chamber of Commerce still worries about the quality of these firearms. Money is a trivial matter; the lives of soldiers are what count most." "You make a fine point." Joseph stroked his beard and said evenly, "Therefore... seeing is believing. Hearing is one thing, but some things can only truly be known once seen with one's own eyes." This was his true purpose: to steal the Empire's firearms technology, assess their military capabilities, and make the necessary preparations. From their brief exchange, he was reasonably certain Luwen was a greedy fellow solely driven by profit. As long as enough coin was offered, he might actually pry loose some vital information. As for that fanatic devotee Heya, he had already abandoned any hope of winning her over. "Mr. Joseph, are you hoping to tour the actual manufacturing process of the group's firearms? That's no problem at all. I'll take you there right away." Before Joseph could even reply, Luwen agreed briskly. "W-well, excellent then." Joseph was momentarily taken aback before gathering his wits and nodding gently. He had expected protracted wrangling, intense negotiation, and greasing palms with incentives—par for the course for a "white glove" like him who operated in the shadows of high society. But Joseph had never imagined the man would agree so readily, as if it were a matter of utter triviality. Could this be a trap? Though uneasy, Joseph remained determined to carry out the mission entrusted to him by His Highness the Prince: secure blueprints for the firearms, and if possible, recruit a few skilled imperial craftsmen so the Kingdom of Thrace could manufacture such weapons themselves. Luwen took Joseph and his party aboard an intra-city steam locomotive to the southern part of the city. He explained, "This is Isdalia's Southern Industrial Zone. Today, I'll be taking you through the Eleventh Munitions Factory." Gazing at the massive architectural complex in the distance and the towering smokestacks spewing steady plumes of gray smoke, Joseph couldn't help but marvel, "Truly magnificent. Are the firearms sold to the south produced here?" "Indeed. Please follow me." Luwen led the way, conversed briefly with the security guards at the gate, and escorted them through without a hitch. Entering the interior of the factory, Joseph was once again stunned by the spectacle. *Clang! Clang!* Inside the cavernous workshop, machinery roared, voices clamored, and dust swirled in the air. Machines several meters high stood in orderly rows. Workers were toiling away on assembly lines, their expressions numb, their hands moving with reflexive precision. Each worker was responsible for a single task—inspecting barrels, fitting accessories, installing components... "Listen up, all of you! Meet today's quota, and you'll get your bonus! But if I catch anyone slacking off..." A hobgoblin overseer prowled between the workshops, occasionally stopping before a worker to bark furious reprimands. Joseph's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. In his mind, one thought echoed: *A machine.* *One colossal machine.* *Not just the equipment inside the factory—even these living, breathing workers are nothing more than components keeping this gargantuan machine running.* Only now did he finally understand why Luwen had agreed so readily—there were no skilled master craftsmen at all. The producer of these firearms was not an individual, but the entire factory. Luwen said in a relaxed tone, "The group's firearms undergo multiple stages of inspection. Quality is absolutely guaranteed, so you need not worry in the least." Joseph couldn't help asking, "If a skilled blacksmith tried, could he forge these firearms on his own?" Luwen replied, "Perhaps. But pure manual labor inevitably introduces errors, so it would probably take an artisan of consummate skill. Besides, no matter how skilled a smith might be, he could produce only a handful a day at best. The Empire's factories turn out tens of thousands every single day." As he spoke, pride seeped into his tone. To call the Cinder Empire of today the "arsenal of the world" was by no means an exaggeration. The rifles they produced were exported across the seas, altering the course of warfare to a notable extent. Joseph, however, felt a creeping sense of despair. If the Kingdom of Thrace wanted to manufacture firearms independently, they would likely have to relocate an entire factory to the south. And according to Luwen, a complete supporting industrial base was required to supply the materials—which meant transplanting the Empire's entire industrial sector. Joseph thought to himself, *I have traveled across the Feanso Continent, but never have I seen a nation like this...* *It's almost like...* He pondered for a moment before arriving at the most fitting analogy. *A colossal machine built for war and plunder. That Emperor has turned living human beings into tools.* Joseph's thoughts were a tangled mess of conflicting emotions. After touring the munitions factory, he told Luwen that he needed to consider things further before deciding whether to place an order for the weaponry. Thus, Joseph and his entourage were arranged to lodge at a VIP guesthouse in the imperial capital's central district, and Heya bade them farewell as their guide. Yet before departing, she had looked meaningfully at Joseph and said, "Harbor no wishful illusions. His Majesty Cassius's eyes see all within the Empire." Yet Joseph had paid her words no mind; after all, in his eyes, this guide was merely a pitiable soul brainwashed by that vile dragon emperor. Midnight. The sky was pitch-black. An almost imperceptible sound broke the silence in the guest suite. *Crack.* "What was that?" Instantly, Joseph jolted awake. He scented danger; his heart pounded furiously as a dark silhouette seemed to flit past outside the window. The guards stationed at the door hadn't noticed a thing amiss. "How is that possible?" He looked down, and sheer terror gripped his face—the recording stone disguised as a medal had been shattered to pieces by a slender silver needle. Beside him lay a crumpled slip of bloody paper, bearing the exact words he had heard that day: "His Majesty Cassius's eyes see all within the Empire." Joseph's face turned pale as cold sweat seeped from his temples. "H-how did they know?"