39: Chapter 39: Using Technology as Equity, Using a Drunkard to Move a Kingdom

He took a step forward, leaned close to Kane, and whispered softly in a voice only the two of them could hear: “By the way, a reminder: both the City Lord and your wife purchased our highest-level ‘Diamond Heart Cards.’ If they knew that you personally caused their ‘benevolent investment’ to go down the drain… which do you think would be ruined first, your career or your marriage?”

Kane’s body trembled violently, his pupils contracting sharply with fear.

He felt as if he wasn’t facing a weak, useless young master, but a venomous snake from the abyss, flicking its tongue at him.

Levi’s every word struck precisely at his most vulnerable point, cold and deadly.

The seizure order in his hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

This wasn't a seizure order; it was clearly a death warrant!

Seize Blackstone Territory?

No, this was declaring war on all the nobles in the city simultaneously, including his own superior and his wife!

That fat pig Sallon had given him immense benefits, but it still couldn’t fill this hole!

Cold sweat soaked Kane’s undershirt, and the fleshy folds on his face twitched uncontrollably.

He swallowed with difficulty, trying to force out a fawning smile, but it looked worse than crying: “This… this… Lord Levi, you see, this is probably… a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” The smile on Levi’s face grew even gentler. He stepped back, re-establishing distance, and his voice returned to normal volume, loud enough for those around to hear. “I suppose so. After all, President Sallon of the Gold Coin Chamber of Commerce merely raised ‘reasonable doubts’ with the City Hall out of concern for the city’s commercial order. And you, Lord Kane, were simply enforcing the law, coming to verify the situation. Now that the situation has been clarified, our Blackstone Territory is clean and clear, heavily in debt. What assets are there to seize?”

His words not only gave Kane a way out but also publicly put President Sallon on the spot.

Kane looked as if he had received a great pardon, nodding repeatedly like a pecking chicken: “Yes, yes! It’s a misunderstanding, a huge misunderstanding! Since the accounts are clear, then it’s fine. Retreat, let’s retreat!” He almost shouted the order, not wanting to stay there for another second.

A group of menacing city guards, who had come quickly, left even faster, disappearing around the street corner in a blink, leaving behind a bewildered crowd of onlookers.

Levi maintained his polite smile towards Kane’s retreating back until the last glint of armor vanished.

He slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, as if he could directly see the exasperated face of a certain fat man in the luxurious office on the top floor of the Gold Coin Chamber of Commerce.

It was time for this farce to end.

An hour later, the top-floor banquet hall of the Gold Coin Chamber of Commerce.

The air here still seemed to linger with the scent of wine and perfume from last night’s lavish dinner, but the atmosphere now was so oppressive it was suffocating.

President Sallon stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, his corpulent body blocking most of the sunlight, casting a shadow over his face.

He had lost, and lost completely.

Commercially, his reputation was ruined; militarily, the borrowed blade had been scared dull by a few words from the opponent.

He could even imagine how the noble circles of St. Andrew City would mock him starting tomorrow—a fool manipulated by a country bumpkin, a black-hearted merchant who even tried to steal an orphan’s money.

The door was gently pushed open, and Levi entered, accompanied by Evelyn, with another figure following behind: Princess Ella Radiant of the Radiant Empire.

Sallon abruptly turned, staring fixedly at Levi, his eyes, squeezed into slits by folds of flesh, filled with venom, indignation, and a hint of unconcealed fear.

“Please sit, President Sallon.” Levi acted as if he were the host, casually pulling out a chair and sitting down, then motioning for Princess Ella to sit beside him.

Princess Ella’s expression was somewhat complex, a mix of reluctance at being forced to participate in this “spoils distribution meeting” and a touch of curiosity about Levi’s methods.

Today, she had changed into a riding outfit suitable for action, which gave her less imperial majesty and more heroic spirit.

Sallon sat down at the head of the table with a grim face, his voice hoarse as he spoke: “Tell me, what do you want? Five hundred thousand gold coins? Or a thirty percent share of St. Andrew City’s luxury goods market?” In his view, the other party had gone to all this trouble for nothing more than money and profit.

Levi didn’t answer, merely tapped his finger lightly on the smooth mahogany tabletop, making a “thump, thump” sound, as if knocking on Sallon’s heart.

He took a letter from his Huai, the envelope bearing the wax seal of the Imperial Ministry of Finance’s lion emblem, and gently pushed it to the center of the table.

“Princess Ella, if you would, please read the main contents of this letter to President Sallon.”

Princess Ella frowned but picked up the letter as instructed.

This was a secret family letter she had received yesterday, but Levi had intercepted and “borrowed” it in a way she couldn’t understand.

This raised her vigilance towards this man to the highest level.

She cleared her throat and read in an emotionless tone: “…The Ministry of Finance expresses high concern regarding the ‘Prepayment’ business model that has recently emerged in St. Andrew City… It is preliminarily believed that this model holds epoch-making significance in rapidly recovering funds, stimulating consumption, and binding high-net-worth clients… A special task force is proposed to be established, with Blackstone Territory as a pilot, to explore the feasibility of its promotion throughout the Empire and to begin formulating relevant financial regulatory acts…”

Every word was like a heavy hammer, striking fiercely at Sallon’s chest.

The color drained from his face instantly, turning a deathly pale.

His previous anger was based on viewing Levi as a commercial rival with whom he could contend equally, or even crush.

But now, this letter told him he was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Levi wasn’t playing a local business game; he was playing with the Empire’s future financial policy!

When a business model can pique the interest of the Imperial Ministry of Finance and even potentially become an imperial law, its value can no longer be measured by a mere Gold Coin Chamber of Commerce.

Discussing profit sharing with Levi?

Was he worthy?

His meager assets were not even a speck of dust in front of the Empire’s war machine!

Sallon felt his back instantly drenched in cold sweat.

The look in his eyes towards Levi was no longer resentful, only pure awe and fear.

“So, President Sallon,” Levi finally spoke, his voice calm but imbued with undeniable authority, “do you think I still need your gold coins or your market share?”

Sallon opened his mouth, unable to utter a single word.

Levi leaned slightly forward, hands clasped on the table, his gaze sharp as a knife: “I retract all previous compensation proposals. Money holds no meaning for me. What I want now is something else.”

“You… please tell me,” Sallon’s voice was already laced with a fawning tremor.

“I want a list,” Levi said, enunciating each word. “I want all the technical talents in the entire Southwest Province who, due to eccentric behavior, advanced ideas, or disregard for rules, have been expelled, driven out, or ostracized by your mainstream Craftsmen’s Guilds and Forging Guilds. Especially… dwarves.”

That evening, the Rusty Anchor Tavern.

This was the dirtiest, most chaotic corner of St. Andrew City.

The air was a mix of sour, stale ale, body odor, and the stench of vomit.

Drunken mercenaries, sailors, and ruffians crowded together, their clamor, curses, and clinking of cups and plates almost threatening to lift the roof.

Evelyn wore a coarse hooded cloak, completely concealing her alluring figure and exquisite beauty, revealing only a pair of eyes that were still bright in the dim light.

She was like a drop of clear water in a pan of oil, inconspicuous yet utterly out of place with her surroundings.

Pinching her nose, she navigated around the sticky, unknown liquids on the floor, and according to the list urgently sent by President Sallon that evening, she found her target in the darkest corner of the tavern.

Bronzebeard Balin.

A dwarf.

A dwarf who should have been proud of his exquisite craftsmanship and mountain-like will, but was now dead drunk, with a scraggly beard, reeking of an even stronger alcoholic stench than the tavern itself.

His head was slumped on the greasy table, an empty wine bottle still clutched in his hand, with seven or eight similar bottles scattered beside him.

Evelyn didn’t wake him, nor did she use any money to demonstrate sincerity.

For a genius abandoned by the world like him, money would only be an insult.

She took out two small brass gears from her Huai and gently placed them on the table in front of Balin.

These two gears were cast by Blackstone Territory’s most skilled craftsmen using newly manufactured primary molds, according to Levi’s designs.

They were identical in appearance, with the same spacing and thickness of each tooth, and the same diameter of the central hole.

Having done all this, she turned and left this nauseating place without a second glance.

About half an hour later, a violent pounding on the door echoed outside the temporary outpost rented by Blackstone Territory, an ordinary two-story building.

A half-orc guard opened the door to find a dwarf reeking of alcohol, but with bloodshot, frighteningly bright eyes.

“I’m looking for your manager! Who! Who dared to desecrate the great God of Forging with such a devil’s work!” Bronzebeard Balin’s voice was hoarse, yet filled with a fervent accusation.

He spread his rough palm, where the two identical brass gears lay.

For any craftsman in this world, especially dwarf craftsmen, “uniqueness” was their lifelong pursuit.

Every piece of work should be imbued with the craftsman’s soul, and each should be a singular masterpiece.

Yet these two complex mechanical parts before him were like twins carved from the same mold, with almost no difference in size, weight, or performance.

In Balin’s understanding, this was even more incredible than forging a legendary holy sword capable of slaying dragons.

This was a blasphemy against the God of Forging, yet it also… contained a terrifying magic he had never imagined.

In a secret room, Levi met this legendary dwarf genius.

Balin eyed the refined human youth with ill intent, then slammed the two gears onto the table: “Speak! How did you do this? What dark magic did you use?”

Levi didn’t answer, nor did he, like other lords, show off his wealth with rare ores or powerful weapons.

He simply walked to the wall and pulled off a piece of black cloth.

Beneath the black cloth was a blueprint drawn with charcoal on a huge piece of parchment.

There were no complex weapon designs or exquisite enchantment arrays, only boxes, arrows, and some symbols Balin couldn’t understand.

At the top of the blueprint, written in common language, were a few large characters: “Standardized Parts and Assembly Line Production Flowchart.”

“Master Balin,” Levi’s voice was calm and powerful, “to forge a sword that can cut through iron like mud requires a genius like you, taking a month. Is that right?”

Balin grunted, implicitly agreeing. This was his pride.

“But my territory needs to arm a thousand soldiers in one day. I don’t need every sword to be a work of art; I just need them to be sharp enough, sturdy enough, and… exactly the same. That way, if any part of any sword breaks, it can be instantly replaced by another identical part.”

Levi walked to the blueprint, pointing at the process with a wooden stick: “We break down a sword into ten standard components. Hilt, guard, blade, fuller… Each component has a strict set of size and material standards. Then, I arrange a hundred apprentices into ten teams, and each team is only responsible for repeatedly producing the same component in the simplest way. Finally, another team assembles these standardized components.”

He turned his head, looking at Balin’s gradually changing face, and delivered his final conclusion: “In this way, we can use a hundred ordinary craftsmen to assemble a hundred, or even more, identical standardized longswords in one day.”

The secret room fell silent.

Bronzebeard Balin’s breathing grew heavier and heavier.

He stared fixedly at the flowchart, his gaze rapidly shifting from initial anger and disdain to shock, finally transforming into a near-fanatical fervor.

His alcohol-dulled brain now seemed to be struck by lightning, operating frantically.

He thought of more, much deeper things.

If gears could be standardized, what about crossbow mechanisms?

Armor plates?

Even the core of an alchemist’s golem?

This wasn't blasphemy!

This was divine revelation!

A door to a whole new world!

He had been branded a heretic by master craftsmen and exiled by the Dwarf Kingdom for his concept of “interchangeable parts,” yet here, with this young human lord, it was hailed as a guiding principle!

“I… I’m in!” Balin’s voice trembled with excitement. He suddenly looked up, his bloodshot eyes burning with fierce flames. “I want to be your chief craftsman!”

“No,” Levi smiled and shook his head. “You are not a craftsman. I appoint you as ‘Blackstone Industrial Chief Technology Officer.’ I give you five percent ‘Technology Shares.’ In the future, every weapon we produce, every bit of profit we sell, will have a share for you.”

“Technology Shares?” Balin chewed on this unfamiliar term. Although he didn’t fully understand it, he understood the words “profit sharing.”

This ignited a creator’s passion more than any fixed salary could.

He unhesitatingly pressed his handprint onto the employment contract that Evelyn offered.

However, after signing the agreement and with his fervent emotions slightly cooled, Balin immediately poured cold water on Levi’s plans.

He pointed to a section on “weapon enchantment” in the flowchart and said sternly: “Lord, your concept is groundbreaking. However, a standardized shell alone is not enough. A weapon without rune blessings is a pile of scrap metal when facing true Battle Qi warriors and mages. To give these standardized weapons practical combat value, dwarf runes must be inscribed on them.”

He paused, his expression becoming incredibly solemn: “The problem is, the Dwarf Kingdom’s rune technology is top secret and strictly forbidden from being leaked. Any dwarf who dares to reveal rune technology to outsiders will face the endless pursuit of the Kingdom’s most terrifying enforcer—Brunhilde, the Iron Lady.”