Free Web NovelChapter 1201: Chapter 1129: Joan of Arc Castle Industrial Park
July 5th, the light smoke began rising, and the sky was cloudless.
Following the departure from Huaqiu City in June, Kuvasz, Moroka, and their group crossed numerous checkpoints and made many transfers before reaching the border checkpoint of Kasha County.
Evidently, their group of over a hundred immigrants faced stringent inspections by the border officials.
Many of today’s border officials were once rigid Mountain Knights.
If they were placed in economic positions, they would undoubtedly stifle the lifeblood of the Holy Alliance.
But placed in border inspections or discipline proceedings, they are absolutely impartial and unsparing.
Luckily, these Pantsless Men are long used to walking around without pants, and do not find it strange.
It took a week, but the Pantsless Men from Falan finally passed the inspections and set foot on the Holy Alliance’s soil.
Without stopping, they didn’t linger even in the bustling Rapids City and headed straight for Joan of Arc Castle.
On the sparkling Joan of Arc Castle-Rapids City canal, pelicans and water birds swoop low, snatching silver fish from beneath the water’s surface.
Between the water, sky, and flocks of birds were the fishermen steering their small fishing boats.
Wearing simple linen vests, they cast fishing nets made from flax and bark into the water, singing jaunty fishing songs.
"The net yearns to remain a net, while the seal has vanished without a trace..."
The songs drifted over the river, clearly heard by passing boats.
Kuvasz stepped out of the cabin and onto the deck, seeing Moroka staring off transfixed at the riverbank.
"Boss Moroka..."
Moroka didn’t turn, just nodded lightly while still gazing intently at the banks.
Bees and butterflies flitted among the shrubs, with flowers blooming between hedges and woods.
On both sides of the river, levees two people high had been built in the low-lying areas.
On these levees, donkey carts and horse-drawn carriages moved along the road opposite each other.
They transported rural flour and biscuits to the city, and brought city tools and crafts back to the countryside.
Taking a deep breath, Moroka remarked with the weariness of a successful threader, "The wind of the Holy Alliance is truly sweet."
Kuvasz was initially dazed, wondering why Moroka expressed more love for this homeland than himself.
Seeing Kuvasz’s perplexed expression, the bearded man Bondo spoke enviously, "You’re lucky to have an uncle who’s a council representative."
Back when the Holy Alliance was newly formed, Moroka sent people over early to scout the way.
Kuvasz was among them.
But unlike other Pantsless Men who were refugees from Thousand River Valley, Kuvasz had luck on his side.
His grandfather’s brother’s son, his cousin Palak, was now a prosperous believer, an entrepreneur and also a council representative.
When Kuvasz was sent to Thousand River Valley, he quickly connected with this cousin.
This cousin was hospitable, willing to provide Moroka and his group with the convenience of entry into the Holy Alliance, but the condition was that they assist Palak in smuggling garments into Huaqiu City.
Note, Palak’s smuggling wasn’t about bypassing the Holy Alliance’s customs duties, as that would be suicidal.
His smuggling skirted past Falan’s guilds to sell cheap clothing to the poor in Huaqiu City.
Through this trade route, Palak became one of the distributors for the first textile workshop of ry Court Barracks.
But as time passed, with the assistance of the Lakin Clan, Palak managed to connect with numerous new elites of Falan.
After that, Moroka’s line was not as crucial as before.
Palak was a believer, and when Moroka helped him establish a foothold, he naturally fulfilled his promise.
But Moroka lost most of his assets due to customs bypassing, along with betrayals and informants.
He still had some oil mills and a small shop, but that was only enough for maybe twenty to thirty companions.
Now they had more than a hundred people, many with families in tow.
Moroka would not just abandon them, but the pressure was not something he could relieve in a short period.
Considering that the Holy Alliance was, after all, the fabled land of opportunity, maybe finding a job wouldn’t be that difficult?
While Moroka was lost in thought, he suddenly felt the green before him transform into gray and red.
Thinking he had arrived at Joan of Arc Castle, he quickly looked up to survey his surroundings.
But upon looking up, he couldn’t help blinking several times.
"Where have we landed? Is this still Joan of Arc Castle?"
Moroka had visited the Holy Alliance once before during investigations, but that was six or seven years ago.
The vast three hundred and sixty hectares of wasteland marsh had now become remarkably flat.
The bushes and sparse foliage were chopped down, divided into rectangles by gray roads made of gravel and ditches.
The stagnant ditches and ponds had been cemented, transformed into reservoirs and open-air drainage channels, intertwined with one another.
Within these reservoirs, open-air drainage channels, and road-divided squares stood houses built by either the Holy Alliance or respective workshops.
The difference was obvious: the Holy Alliance apartments were usually six or seven-story cemented-brick buildings, while the workshops’ constructions were mostly basic small courtyards.
In the former wasteland, previous farmers demonstrated their diligence, creating vegetable gardens and chicken farms.
Surrounded by these small courtyards and apartments was the industrial zone of this industrial park.
Red-bricked workshops, with narrow and high-suspended windows and towering chimneys, stood by the riverbank.
Billowing smoke spiraled out, with the sound of noisy machines heard from afar.
Moroka, at first glance, felt it seemed more like a castle or even a fortress rather than workshops.
Vast printing, papermaking, and sugar workshops connected in layers.
Crude processing, manufacturing, quality inspection... Between workshops, laborers with carts could always be seen coming and going.
Beside the sugar workshop, an under-construction site marked a new wine factory for sweet branch liquor.
As for materials, they were sweet branch residues, more accurately described as molasses-fermented wine—a byproduct of sugar production.
The artificial canal tributary weaved through this industrial area, passing all workshops, driving water wheels and spring machines.
Simultaneously, it discharged fertilizers and wastewater from papermaking and sugar production into the clear Ibe River.
Kuvasz frowned; this body of water was noticeably murkier than the previous rural areas.
Moroka, however, stared blankly at this region, especially the half-finished construction site.
This was truly the powerful foundation and economic cornerstone of the Holy Alliance.
It embodied the industrial culmination of countless Falan people’s devotion and investment.
Although currently just centralized handicraft workshops, they were enough to put many small Falan workshops out of business.
Otherwise, how could a mere region of the Holy Alliance satisfy the entire empire’s sugar needs, even forcing a lowering of sugar prices?
The construction site over there—how many job opportunities must it offer? But that wasn’t something he could ponder.
Such a large project had to be contracted to the Holy Alliance’s engineering teams, with no room for an outsider like him.
The boat only took a distant glance at the industrial park and then slowly sailed into Joan of Arc Castle.
