Chapter 287. Change and Conspiracy
In the bustling factory, Howard wore an air of secretive excitement as he leaned over to whisper to his fellow worker at the adjacent station.
“You hear about it? They’re sending a new administrator from above.”
“Lord Daitou stepping down?”
“Not at all. After the last expansion, Now Factory Four now has hundreds of workers. One Ogre like Lord Daitou simply can’t manage them all. So he petitioned the higher-ups for a few assistant administrators to help oversee us.”
“Hmph, I’d kill for a chance like that. Just sitting in an office, eating and drinking all day, earning more than all of us combined.”
Chris, the worker beside him, sighed wistfully.
“Can’t be helped. They’re Dragon-Blooded Nobles—born to privilege. Us? We’re lucky just to have food on the table. If we were back in the Duchy of Lakanman, winter would’ve claimed us all.”
“Still… wonder what kind of man this new administrator is. Will he be lenient?”
Howard swiftly sealed the tin’s lid, then smoothly placed it onto the moving conveyor belt. He spoke casually, barely pausing in his rhythm.
But just as he was lost in the flow of work, a familiar voice echoed behind him—followed by a gentle tap on his shoulder.
“Howard… long time no see.”
“George—”
Howard instantly recognized the voice, his face lighting up in surprise. The name burst from his lips before he even fully turned.
Yet his expression froze.
His old friend—once quiet, unassuming, and utterly ordinary—was now unrecognizable.
The man before him wore an elegant gray formal suit, draped in a wool scarf reserved only for the wealthy, and held a finely crafted gentleman’s cane. It was a stark contrast to the humble, taciturn George Howard had known—once a quiet, plain-speaking laborer like himself.
Howard had dreamed of this moment a hundred times. He’d even joked with friends about “that lucky George,” using him as a boastful fantasy. But reality was cold and unyielding.
They were no longer the same world.
Howard’s expression faltered. His lips trembled. His head drooped, uncontrolled.
Then, after a beat, he added two words—soft, respectful, heavy with meaning.
“Your Excellency.”
“Lord George… it’s been far too long.”
The other workers, drawn by the spectacle of a man returned in glory, turned to stare—some envious, others awed.
George shivered slightly. He felt the shift in status, the invisible wall now separating him from the past. But he straightened his coat, and continued, his voice clear and loud—not just for Howard, but for all thirty-odd workers in the factory.
“I didn’t come here just to visit an old friend.”
“The Kingdom is recruiting factory administrators. Having worked here myself, I applied and was accepted.”
“I know the routines. I understand your struggles. I hope, in the future, we can grow together—work harder, faster, more efficiently. Together, let’s build a brighter future for the Kingdom.”
He’d rehearsed these lines countless times. Now, despite a slight stumble, it didn’t matter. Everyone was listening.
He paused, deliberately cleared his throat.
“After all, I was once one of you. So I won’t forget my roots. The performance bonuses outlined in the regulations? I’ll ensure they’re paid without fail.”
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A scattered round of applause broke out.
George turned—and saw Howard clapping with all his might.
Then, one by one, the workers joined in. The foreman, watching from the corner, nodded approvingly. A new boss, a familiar face—this man could decide their paychecks. They liked him already.
Howard quickly recovered from the shock. He adjusted to the shift in status, even allowed himself a quiet thrill—he’d just hooked up with someone powerful.
As he watched George smile at the crowd, his own face twisted with a mix of pride, nostalgia, and sorrow. He couldn’t speak. So he just clapped—harder than anyone else.
“THUD!”
Duke Leo slammed his massive hand onto the table, cracking the sturdy birchwood surface.
On the table lay a white sheet, filled with meticulous records of recent trade data from the Bosk Duchy—gold pouring out in staggering, almost unmeasurable amounts.
“Those greedy merchants deserve to hang from the gallows!”
“And the fools—those civilians! Do they have any idea they’re aiding the enemy? Every copper coin they spend ends up in the belly of that Red Dragon, funding his Monster Army, fueling the destruction of their own homes!”
Count Trelsh let out a bitter chuckle.
“My Lord Duke… I must speak plainly.”
“The local cotton coats are poor in quality, yet priced over seven times higher than those from the Kingdom of Ashen. With such massive profits at stake, even the risk of execution won’t stop the traders from smuggling. And we’re bound by treaty—we can’t attack the Ashen caravans directly.”
“I must remind you: the Kingdom of Ashen is no longer a mere Monster Nest. That colossal entity’s influence has spread across Anzeta. Their goods, tools, even their culture—now form the very backbone of life in the Northern Regions.”
He pointed at the white sheet.
“Look. Even these papers are made by them. And yet, you’ve failed to notice.”
“That is the true terror of the Kingdom of Ashen. In silence, they’ve invaded our lives, reshaping Anzeta—without a single sword drawn.”
Duke Leo’s face darkened. He stroked his thick white beard, lost in thought.
Trelshka pulled out a fresh report and spread it open.
“In April alone, we seized 1,245 smuggled goods from the Kingdom of Ashen. The smugglers tore off or covered the Ashen emblems, replacing them with our own family sigil. They called them ‘centuries-old heirlooms’—domestic products—priced absurdly low. And still, the Nobles rushed to buy them.”
Duke Leo narrowed his eyes.
“How did you catch them?”
Trelshka sighed.
“Because the quality was too high. No workshop in our lands could produce anything like it. So detection was nearly automatic.”
“And this isn’t isolated. There are countless such cases. We can’t keep up.”
“Damn it,” Duke Leo growled, his face twisted in fury.
For over thirty years—since the collapse of the Lionheart Alliance—this sense of crisis had been absent. But Kai Xiusu had changed everything. He’d never faced an enemy like this.
And now, no war had even begun.
Just trade—simple, quiet trade—was already crippling his duchy, dragging his homeland into despair.
The shadow of the Red Dragon stretched across Anzeta.
The tentacles of Ashen’s influence had already spread through the North.
And Duke Leo could not even imagine what it would be like when that colossal entity truly awakened—when it poured all its might into war.
(End of Chapter)
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