Chapter 283: Kingdom Developnt??
The technological developnt of the Ember Kingdom was extraordinary. It wasn’t gradual exploration but more like “following a blueprint.” For example, they directly created piston steam engines for the operation of trains.
Before leaving, the Machine God Cult players left behind a wealth of blueprints and information from another world.
In return, they would receive initial shares in the railway company upon their return to Erezaghe, as well as a portion of the profits from steam locomotive transportation.
The kingdom’s local researchers only needed to follow these designs, integrating these ingenious blueprints with Erezaghe’s magical reactions. It was essentially a magical version of the “Industrial Revolution,” only without many of its twists and turns. Every step led to the correct choice.
The successful experint of the steam train was but a minor achievent among Northwind Fortress’s many advancents over the years. The changes in the city were striking.
Smokestacks rose one after another, filling the sky with heavy smog.
With continued industrial developnt, Northwind Fortress now housed nearly fifty factories, producing military goods, food, and more, employing close to twenty thousand workers. Supported by governnt policies, all sorts of peculiar “new inventions” kept erging. So lucky individuals even beca nobles through their inventions.
The streets no longer saw beggars starving to death. Tiefling city guards would unhesitatingly take them to understaffed factories, where they beca the lowest-tier sweatshop laborers, earning just enough to barely survive.
Most of these factories were state-owned by the Ember Kingdom. However, as profits expanded, more wealthy rchants and Dragonblood nobles beca eager to join, looking to dip their toes into this flourishing industry. For now, the kingdom hadn’t provided clear channels for private participation.
Yet, with this trend intensifying and the need for industrial expansion, privatization seed inevitable. So Dragonblood nobles had already secured “shares” through connections, while a few ambitious rchants had established private factories.
But these private ventures could not compete with the state’s factories and often went bankrupt.
The products of these factories not only t local demand but also, through Hart’s royal trade caravans, reached northern kingdoms. Everyday goods like scarves and cotton clothes, bearing the “Fla and Dragon Claw” emblem, were now commonplace in Anzeta. They were becoming indispensable in Skanya’s daily life.
The Bosk Duchy even launched propaganda campaigns with slogans like “Resist the Temptation of Evil Dragons” and “Don’t Let Monsters Steal Your Gold” to limit the sale of kingdom goods.
However, they couldn’t suppress the public’s enthusiasm for these goods or the Ember Kingdom’s dumping frenzy. Despite all efforts, Bosque could not stop the endless flow of smugglers. In comrcial competition, affordability and quality were the ultimate weapons.
Even the strong, authoritarian Bosk Duchy, known for its rigorous governance, couldn’t resist the Ember Kingdom’s sweet-coated assault. The fragnted northern duchies stood no chance. Combined, they weren’t even a match for the kingdom.
Traditional, long-established workshops and family-operated small factories in these cities were forced to close down. Many urban residents beca unemployed, so ending up as street beggars. Even the nobles of the north found their gold flowing steadily into the kingdom’s coffers.
Dukes couldn’t stop the outflow of wealth or the collapse of their economies. Not understanding the underlying dynamics, they simply let things run their course.
So families even volunteered to act as agents for the kingdom, reaping benefits from the influx of goods while exploiting their own people.
“Master George... Master George?”
An urgent voice called from behind.
George didn’t respond until the third call of “Master George,” realizing the title was directed at him.
“Oh, you’re talking to ?”
“What’s the matter?”
He turned, offering a sheepish smile and scratching his head.
Once a farmhand treated like an animal, now a first-class citizen, George still wasn’t entirely used to his new status, even months after his ennoblent. Yet, being addressed this way filled him with secret pride—a respect he’d never known before, a satisfaction beyond words.
The man before him was panting heavily but didn’t forget to bow. After all, George was a “first-class citizen,” second only to Dragonblood nobles, while he was an ordinary worker—a chasm of status.
“Huff... huff...”
“Pardon , sir. I’m Jack, a worker at the factory.”
“The Viscount ordered an urgent batch of orders to be completed. Everyone needs to return to work—including you.”
After delivering the ssage, Jack nervously glanced at George’s face. Seeing no anger, he exhaled in relief, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Understood. You may go now.”
George waved him off casually.
Seeing Jack’s cautious deanor reminded George of his forr self.
George hadn’t pursued his dream of owning a flower shop or finding a wife. After mingling with the upper echelons and seeing more of the world, he realized factories had imnse potential—provided you weren’t just a common laborer.
Using his first-class citizen privileges, George beca an esteed factory administrator at his old workplace, overseeing dozens of workers.
“There’s been so much going on lately.”
George returned to his spacious ho, donning a gray suit issued by the kingdom, a brown scarf from Kenyaza City, a black gentleman’s cane, and a neat hat.
Fully composed, he stepped onto the street and hailed a passing carriage.
Nearby citizens cast envious glances; to them, this was the height of respectability.
George entered the carriage, instructing casually:
“Take
to Food Processing Factory No. 4.”
“Yes, sir. Hold tight,” the coachman replied with a nod, guiding the carriage through the streets.
The well-planned streets of Northwind Fortress were wide enough for four carriages abreast and even featured dedicated four-wheeled carriage tracks for the wealthy—rumored to one day beco public steam train tracks, though no one knew for sure.
With the sound of wheels against steel, the carriage soon arrived at its destination—Food Processing Factory No. 4.
Assisted by the driver, George stepped gracefully from the carriage, once again facing the familiar yet transford factory.
Once a humble worker, George’s status and identity had drastically changed. Now a proud “first-class citizen,” he was halfway into the upper-class circle.
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