Chapter 495: The Factory
"That is the Isthalia Grand Arena, where gladiatorial battles are held regularly."
"This is the Crimson Scaled Garrison, the headquarters of the Crimson Scaled Conqueror Corps."
"That squad? They are the Imperial Guard. It is said that demons have been appearing recently, so they are conducting strict inspections in the city."
Jose and his companions continued walking along the main road while listening to Heria's introduction to the sights along the way.
"Mr. Jose, up ahead is the headquarters building of the Clauberwu Military Industrial Group. This should be your destination, right?"
"Such a tall building."
Jose raised his head and saw a towering building over a dozen stories high, with the large characters "Clauberwu Military Industrial Group" displayed at the top.
The entire building seemed to be constructed from special bricks and stones, with minimal additional decoration, exuding a unique imperial style. It was said that steel reinforcement was used for support.
At the entrance of the building, besides the emblem of the Ember Empire, there was also the group's insignia—a combination of firearms, cannons, and wyvern wings.
People bustled about, moving hurriedly. Merchants from various regions, tax officials carrying documents, and many soldiers in uniform with handguns at their waists filled the area.
Curious, Jose stepped into the building while Heria approached the reception desk and whispered a few words to the staff.
Soon, a man in formal attire with steady steps approached with a smile, extending his right hand warmly.
"You must be Mr. Jose, one of the key figures of the Pearson Merchant Guild. I have long admired your name."
"I am Reuven Craig, a senior sales representative of the group, specifically responsible for receiving distinguished guests like yourself."
A businessman truly skilled in eloquence—Jose quickly realized this, maintaining a polite smile as he extended his hand in return.
"You flatter me. I am merely an ordinary member of the Pearson Merchant Guild. It is only because of the trust of my fellow members that I am temporarily representing the guild."
"Not at all, not at all. The Pearson Merchant Guild is the most powerful guild within the Thrace region and one of our major clients."
"Since that is the case, I shall trouble you, Mr. Reuven."
Reuven led Jose and his party inside the building for a tour, seizing the opportunity to promote the group's latest product—the 'Wyvern's Flame' series rifles.
"This is an important milestone. The materials and structure have been further optimized, significantly improving shooting accuracy and reliability."
"The second generation retains the original advantages while incorporating a shortened barrel and reduced weight, enhancing soldiers' mobility and flexibility in battle. This allows them to quickly adapt to various tactical demands in complex environments."
"Sounds impressive."
Jose nodded slightly.
"Our Pearson Merchant Guild is still concerned about the quality of these firearms. Money is a trivial matter; the lives of soldiers are what truly matter."
"You make a valid point."
Jose stroked his beard and said indifferently, "That is why seeing is believing. Hearing alone is not enough."
"Some things can only be understood by witnessing them firsthand."
That was his true objective.
To steal the empire's firearm technology, assess their military capabilities, and make necessary preparations.
Through their conversation, he had already concluded that Reuven was a money-driven, greedy man.
If he paid enough, he might actually uncover something useful. As for the fanatic believer Heria, he had given up on persuading her.
"Mr. Jose, do you wish to see the specific production process of our firearms?"
"No problem. I will take you there right away."
Before Jose could respond, Reuven answered briskly.
"Then... very well."
Jose was momentarily taken aback before nodding lightly.
He had expected a round of bargaining, negotiations, and leveraging of interests to sway his host. That was simply routine for a "white glove" maneuvering among the elite.
But to his surprise, Reuven agreed immediately, as if it were a trivial matter.
Could this be a trap?
Despite his unease, Jose was determined to complete the mission entrusted to him by the prince.
Securing the blueprints for the firearms and recruiting a few skilled imperial craftsmen would allow Thrace Kingdom to manufacture such weapons as well.
Reuven led Jose and his party onto a small steam-powered train within the city, heading south.
"This is Isthalia's southern industrial zone. Today, I will take you to visit the Eleventh Military Factory."
Looking at the vast industrial complex ahead, with towering smokestacks billowing gray smoke, Jose couldn't help but sigh, "This is truly magnificent."
"Are the firearms being sold to the south produced here?"
"Of course. Please follow me."
Reuven spoke with the security guards at the entrance before smoothly leading them inside.
As Jose stepped into the factory, he was once again stunned by the sight within.
"Clang! Clang!"
The spacious workshop roared with machines, voices clamored, and dust filled the air. Towering machines stood in neat rows.
Workers moved along the assembly lines, their expressions numb, their hands performing mechanical motions as if by reflex. Each was responsible for a specific task—checking barrels, assembling parts, or installing components.
"Listen up! If you meet today's quota, you'll receive a bonus!"
"If I catch anyone slacking off—"
The figure of a goblin overseer weaved between the workshops, occasionally stopping before a worker to shout angrily.
Jose's eyes widened, his mouth agape, as a thought formed in his mind:
A machine.
A colossal machine.
Not just the equipment within the factory, but even the living workers themselves were mere cogs in its grand mechanism.
It was only at this moment that he finally understood why Reuven had agreed so readily—there were no skilled craftsmen at all. The firearm producers were not individuals, but the entire factory.
Reuven spoke casually, "Our firearms undergo multiple inspection processes, guaranteeing quality. You need not worry."
Jose couldn't help but ask, "Could a skilled blacksmith craft these firearms alone?"
Reuven replied, "Perhaps, but manual labor inevitably introduces errors. It would require an exceptionally skilled craftsman."
"Besides, no matter how skilled you are, you can only produce a few per day. Our imperial factories manufacture tens of thousands daily."
He spoke with unmistakable pride.
The Ember Empire had rightfully earned the title of "the world's military factory," exporting rifles overseas and altering the course of warfare itself.
Jose, on the other hand, felt a sense of despair. If Thrace Kingdom wanted to independently produce firearms, they would need to relocate an entire factory to the south.
According to Reuven, they would also require an industrial system to supply materials—meaning they would have to move the entire empire's industrial zone.
Jose thought to himself, "I have traveled across Feanso Continent, but I have never seen a nation like this."
"This is like—"
After a moment of contemplation, he found the most fitting analogy.
"A massive machine built for war and wealth, where the Emperor has turned living people into tools."
Jose's emotions were in turmoil.
After visiting the military factory, he told Reuven that he needed more time to consider before deciding on the arms purchase.
Thus, Jose and his party were accommodated at a VIP inn in the imperial capital, while Heria took her leave.
Before departing, she said meaningfully, "Do not hold any illusions. His Majesty Cassius sees everything within the empire."
Jose dismissed her words, viewing her as nothing more than a brainwashed pawn of the dragon emperor.
At midnight, the sky was shrouded in darkness.
A barely perceptible noise emerged within the VIP inn's room.
"Crack."
"What was that?"
Jose abruptly woke from his sleep, sensing an ominous presence. His heart pounded wildly as if a shadow had just flitted past the window.
The guards at the door remained oblivious to any abnormalities.
"How is that possible?"
He looked down, and his expression instantly twisted in horror—his recording stone, disguised as a medal, had been pierced and shattered by a fine silver needle.
Beside him, a crumpled bloodstained note had appeared. The words inscribed upon it were the very ones he had heard earlier that day:
"His Majesty Cassius' eyes see all within the empire."
Jose's face turned pale, and cold sweat seeped from his forehead. "H-how did they know?"