Chapter 283: The Kingdom's Development
The technological development path of the Kingdom of Ashen was extraordinary—not the result of slow, trial-and-error progress, but rather like following a blueprint. For instance, they directly constructed piston-driven steam engines, enabling the smooth operation of trains.
The players of Mechanical Divinity left behind vast quantities of schematics and technical documents from another world before departing. In return, they would receive an initial share in the Railway Corporation upon their return to Ailezegai, along with a portion of the profits generated by steam locomotive transport.
The kingdom’s native researchers simply followed these intricate blueprints, fusing them with Ailezegai’s magical reactions. It was a magical version of the Industrial Revolution—bypassing countless detours and dead ends, always making the correct choices.
The successful experiment with steam trains was merely a minor achievement among Northwind Keep’s many breakthroughs. The changes were undeniable: towering chimneys sprouted across the cityscape, blanketing the skies with thick smog.
With sustained industrial expansion, Northwind Keep now housed nearly fifty factories—producing weapons, food, and more—employing close to twenty thousand workers. Under strong government support, a constant stream of bizarre and innovative “new inventions” emerged. Some fortunate individuals even rose to noble status through their inventions.
The streets no longer saw beggars starving to death. Tiefling City Guards would swiftly drag them away and assign them to labor-hungry factories as underpaid sweat laborers—earning barely enough to survive.
Now, most of these factories were officially built and operated by the Kingdom of Ashen. But as the benefits grew, wealthy merchants and Dragon-Blooded nobles began to stir with ambition, eager to siphon off a share of the prosperity. Yet the kingdom had not yet established clear channels for private investment.
Still, as this trend intensified and industrial demand expanded, privatization became inevitable. Some Dragon-Blooded nobles secured so-called “shares” through connections. Others—shrewd, self-assured merchants—started their own private factories. But without the backing of official infrastructure, they quickly collapsed under competition.
Yet these factories produced goods not only to meet internal demand, but also shipped via Hart’s Kingdom Caravan to the Northern Kingdoms. Everyday items branded with the “Flame and Dragon Claw” emblem—scarves, cotton coats—were now widespread across Anzeta. In Scandian life, they had become commonplace, even indispensable.
The Bosk Duchy even launched slogans like “Resist the Dragon’s Temptation” and “Don’t Let Monsters Steal Your Gold,” attempting to contain the kingdom’s goods. But their efforts were futile. The people’s appetite for affordable, high-quality products could not be suppressed. No matter how hard they tried, the Bosk Duchy could not stop the flood of smuggling—because in commerce, nothing beats the power of quality at low cost.
And even with the Bosk Duchy’s immense state power and strict control over its people, they could not withstand the Kingdom of Ashen’s sweet poison. The smaller, scattered duchies and petty realms stood no chance—united, they were still no match for a single blow from the kingdom.
Traditional workshops and home-based craft studios across the cities were forced to shut down. Workers lost their jobs, many becoming homeless beggars. Even Northern nobles found their gold coins vanishing in large quantities from their pockets.
The dukes couldn’t stop the outflow of gold or prevent economic collapse. They didn’t understand the mechanism behind it—so they simply gave in and let things run their course.
In fact, a few noble families even volunteered to become brokers for the kingdom, eager to seize the first taste of the goods’ bounty, wielding the scythe of economic domination right at home.
“George Lord! George Lord!”
A voice called urgently from behind.
George didn’t respond at first, even after being called twice. It wasn’t until the third shout—“George Lord!”—that he finally registered that the title was meant for him.
“Oh… you were calling me?” He turned around, offering a warm, slightly sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head.
From a beast-like peasant laborer to a First-Class Citizen—though the knighthood had been granted months ago, he still felt slightly unaccustomed. Yet the title filled him with quiet pride. The respect he now received was unlike anything he’d ever known—deeply satisfying, something no one else could truly understand.
The man panted heavily, but still managed a respectful bow. After all, this man was second only to Dragon-Blooded nobles—the pinnacle of the social hierarchy. And he? Just an ordinary worker. The gap between them felt like a chasm.
“Huff… huff…”
“Forgive the interruption, Lord George. I’m Jack, a worker from the factory. Lord Daitou has ordered that an urgent batch of production must be completed immediately. Everyone must return to work—including you.”
After speaking, Jack glanced nervously at George’s face. Only when he saw no anger on the man’s features did he finally exhale, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Got it. You can go back.” George waved casually.
Seeing Jack’s cautious demeanor, George couldn’t help but think of his past self.
He hadn’t become the flower shop owner he once dreamed of. He hadn’t married a woman, climbed social ladders, or experienced the world beyond the factory. But he’d come to realize: the factory was the future. And with the kingdom’s official support—as long as you weren’t just a common sweat laborer—there was real potential.
So George used his privileges as a First-Class Citizen to become a proud factory administrator—back at the very same factory where he’d once toiled. Now, he supervised dozens of workers under him.
“Things have been busy lately,” George murmured, returning to his spacious home. He donned the kingdom-issued gray formal attire, tied on a brown scarf from Kenyaza City, gripped his black gentleman’s cane, and adjusted his neat hat.
Only then did he step onto the street, radiant with confidence. He casually signaled for a passing wagon.
The nearby citizens stared with envy. To the common folk, this was the height of dignity.
George stepped inside. “Take me to Factory No. 4 Food Plant.”
“Right away, sir. Hold tight.”
The driver nodded, then guided the wagon swiftly down the wide, well-planned streets of Northwind Keep.
The city had been meticulously designed—wide enough for four wagons to pass side by side. Dedicated tracks for four-wheeled carriages had been laid for the wealthy—rumors said these would one day be converted into public steam locomotive lines, though no one knew for sure.
The rhythmic clatter of wheels against iron tracks echoed through the air as the wagon sped toward its destination—Factory No. 4 Food Plant.
Assisted by the driver, George stepped down with ease. He looked up at the familiar yet strangely alien factory building.
Once, he had been nothing more than a lowly worker, buried in the dust. Now? His status had changed entirely.
He was a proud First-Class Citizen—halfway into the upper echelons of society.
(End of Chapter)
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