Chapter 495: Factory
“That’s the Isdalia Grand Arena—gladiator matches are held there regularly.”
“This is the Red Scales Garrison, the headquarters of the Crimson-Scaled Conquerors Unit.”
“You mean those people? They’re Imperial Guards. Rumor has it demons have been sighted recently, so they’re patrolling the city extra tight.”
Joseph and his companions continued walking down Main Road, listening attentively as Hya Gati pointed out landmarks along the way.
“Mr. Joseph,” she said, “ahead lies the headquarters of the Claudew Military Industry Group. That’s your destination, isn’t it?”
“Goodness, what a towering structure,” Joseph murmured, craning his neck upward. Not far ahead rose a towering skyscraper of nearly a dozen stories, its peak adorned with massive letters: Claudew Military Industry Group.
The entire building appeared to be constructed from a special kind of stone, devoid of ornamental flourishes, exuding a uniquely imperial aesthetic. It was said to be reinforced with internal steel rods, enhancing its durability. At the main entrance, besides the imperial emblem of the Ashen Empire, a corporate insignia stood proudly—interwoven symbols of a rifle, a cannon, and a dragon’s wing.
People bustled back and forth—merchants from distant lands, tax collectors clutching bundles of paperwork, and numerous soldiers in military uniforms, each with a pistol at their hip.
Curious, Joseph stepped inside. Hya Gati, meanwhile, approached the front desk with practiced ease, whispering something to the receptionist.
Within moments, a man in a perfectly tailored suit emerged, walking with calm, confident strides. He smiled warmly and extended his right hand.
“You must be Mr. Joseph—co-head of Pelson Guild. We’ve heard much about you. I’m Ruben Craig, senior sales representative of the Regiment. I’m personally here to greet VIPs like yourself.”
A skilled salesman, clearly. Joseph instantly caught the tone and returned a polite smile, shaking the offered hand.
“You flatter me. I’m merely an ordinary member of Pelson Guild—honor only granted to me through the trust of my fellow members. I’m merely acting as their emissary.”
“Nonsense! Pelson Guild is the most powerful trading house in Thrace, and one of our most important clients.”
“Then I’m grateful for your assistance, Mr. Ruben.”
Ruben led Joseph and his group through the building, offering a guided tour while subtly promoting the Regiment’s latest product line—the “Flying Dragon’s Flame” series of rifles.
“This is a milestone in firearm development. We’ve optimized both materials and structural design, significantly improving accuracy and reliability. The second-generation model, meanwhile, maintains all the strengths of its predecessor while reducing barrel length and overall weight, greatly enhancing soldiers’ mobility and battlefield agility. It enables rapid adaptation to even the most complex tactical situations.”
“Sounds impressive,” Joseph nodded slightly.
“Still, our guild remains cautious about the quality of these firearms. Money is secondary—soldiers’ lives are paramount.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Joseph replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “So, as they say—seeing is believing, hearing is deceiving. Some things can only be known through firsthand experience.”
That was precisely his goal. To steal the Empire’s firearm technology, assess their military strength, and prepare accordingly.
After this exchange, Joseph had already concluded that Ruben was a man driven solely by profit—greedy, self-serving, and easy to manipulate. If offered enough coin, there might just be a way to pry open some secrets. As for Hya Gati, the fervent follower of Frenzy, he had already given up on her.
“Mr. Joseph, would you like to tour the actual production process of the Regiment’s rifles?” Ruben asked without hesitation.
Before Joseph could respond, the man had already confirmed.
“Well… yes, that would be fine,” Joseph stammered, surprised. Then, realizing, he nodded slowly.
He had expected a long negotiation—back-and-forth bargaining, incentives, concessions. That was standard procedure for a man like him, a neutral “white glove” operating outside the noble courts.
But he hadn’t expected such immediate agreement—so casually given, as if it were nothing.
Was this a trap?
Despite the unease stirring in his chest, Joseph steeled himself. He had a mission from the prince to complete. He must obtain the rifle schematics—ideally, bring back a few skilled artisans from the Empire’s ranks, so that Thrace Kingdom could one day manufacture such weapons on its own.
Ruben led them onto a small steam locomotive that ran through the city, heading south.
“This is Isdalia’s Southern Industrial District,” he announced. “Today, I’ll take you to the Eleventh Military Factory.”
Joseph gazed toward the distant skyline—vast, sprawling industrial complexes, towering chimneys belching thick gray smoke into the air. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “It’s magnificent.”
“Are the rifles sold in the South all crafted here?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Ruben walked ahead, exchanged a few words with the guards at the gate, and led them through without delay.
Inside the factory, Joseph was struck speechless.
Clang! Clang!
The vast workshop roared with machinery, filled with the clamor of voices, swirling dust, and rows of towering machines, each standing several meters high. Workers moved along the assembly line with mechanical precision—faces blank, movements automatic, each performing a single, repetitive task: inspecting barrels, assembling components, fitting parts into place.
“Listen up! Finish your daily quota, and you get a bonus! If I catch anyone slacking—”
A giant ogre overseer stalked through the workstations, pausing at each worker’s station, bellowing in rage at the slightest perceived lapse.
Joseph stared, mouth agape, his mind racing:
This machine. This monstrous, soulless machine. It’s not just the equipment—it’s the workers themselves. They’re not people. They’re just cogs in a system. Components in a greater engine.
At last, it dawned on him why Ruben had agreed so readily.
There were no skilled artisans. No individual craftsmen. The entire factory was the artisan.
Ruben spoke casually. “Our rifles undergo multi-stage quality inspections. The output is flawless. You needn’t worry at all.”
Joseph hesitated, then asked, “Could a master blacksmith, with skill and experience, craft these rifles by hand?”
“Perhaps,” Ruben replied, “but human hands are prone to error. Only a master with extraordinary skill could manage it. And even then—how many could one man produce in a single day? The Empire’s factories turn out tens of thousands every day.”
His tone carried unmistakable pride.
At this moment, the Ashen Empire truly deserved its title: the world’s military machine. Their rifles were exported across continents, reshaping wars, altering histories.
But Joseph felt a wave of despair.
If Thrace Kingdom wanted to produce such weapons independently… they’d have to move the entire factory. Not just the machines—but the entire industrial ecosystem, the supply chain, the raw materials.
He thought to himself: I’ve traveled across the Feanso Continent, but I’ve never seen anything like this.
It was like…
He paused, searching for the right metaphor.
An immense machine built for war and plunder—its heart a living emperor who turned human beings into tools.
Joseph’s emotions were a storm.
After the tour, he told Ruben he needed time to consider before placing an order.
That evening, Joseph and his party were escorted to an elite guest inn in the heart of the Imperial Capital. Hya Gati, their guide, bid them farewell.
But as she left, she turned back, her voice low and ominous:
“Don’t harbor any illusions. King Kai Xiusu sees everything within the Empire.”
Joseph dismissed it. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a brainwashed fool—enslaved by the dragon emperor’s madness.
Midnight. The sky was pitch black.
In the quiet room of the guest inn, a faint, almost imperceptible sound broke the silence.
Click.
“What was that?”
Joseph jolted awake, heart pounding. A cold chill ran through him—danger was in the air. He felt a shadow dart across the window from outside.
The guard at the door remained oblivious.
How could this be?
He looked down. His breath caught.
The image stone disguised as a medal—once a perfect disc—now lay shattered, pierced through by a thin silver needle.
Beside him, a crumpled, blood-stained note had appeared.
In bold, familiar letters, the same words he’d heard earlier that day:
“King Kai Xiusu’s eyes see all within the Empire.”
Joseph’s face turned pale. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead.
How… how did they know?
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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