Blackstone Code-Chapter 503: Cement Plant

“Thank you for your help, Governor Drag.”
After a brief but thorough questioning, the two Federation officials stood to leave. Drag watched them go impatiently, then instructed his butler to lock the door.
He hadn’t locked it earlier because he felt there was no danger here, and even if there was, the Federation would deal with it first. It turned out, if trouble arises, the Federation is the trouble.
Once the door was locked, he exhaled, feeling oddly relieved. Sometimes people do things they know won’t change the outcome just to feel safe—an ironic contradiction.
Back in his bedroom, he decided to call Lynch.
“The meeting is over, and I’ve done everything you asked…” Drag suddenly thought of the old king’s performance at the meeting. Honestly, he was a bit envious and shaken.
At his level, he was rarely moved by anything. He expected the old king to be selfish but found him more patriotic than anyone else.
It sounded unbelievable since the concept of a
nation
barely existed here; each province was practically its own country. Yet the old king embodied a true sense of nationhood, which unsettled Drag and made him feel ugly and insignificant.
While they resisted the Federation, he chose to surrender.
Lynch’s voice shattered his thoughts. “Did you talk about the banking issue?”
Drag blinked, clearing his mind. “No, I was focused on convincing the old king and overlooked that. Besides, I think everyone…”
He hesitated, then asked with a mix of consultation and doubt, “…doesn’t seem opposed to directly absorbing Federation Sol.”
“Of course not!” Lynch’s voice was firm, as if he already knew. “Compared to setting up a bank, they’d rather keep the money in their own pockets than someone else’s.”
“It’s okay you didn’t bring it up. That stuff is handled by the bankers anyway. Overall, Drag, you’ve proven your value. You’re the friend we need. When you get back, we’ll have a sit-down and talk about investments.”
“Well, I won’t keep you…” Lynch ended the call, then frowned slightly as he looked out at the busy street. Progress was surprisingly fast.
Building infrastructure in Nagaryll was easier than in developed countries, like in the Federation, because there was no need to negotiate with the people.
In the Federation, if the power company wanted to erect a utility pole, any residents or property owners within a certain radius could object, fearing damage or accidents. They could even protest the power lines between poles. Such disputes delayed projects by days or weeks.
In Nagaryll, none of that mattered.
Before building roads, they just leveled the ground—no objections. If houses stood in the way, owners took a small payout and even helped tear them down.
No endless bickering, no extortionists, no paranoid neurotics expecting sudden death in the streets. This made construction much faster than expected, even surprising the Federation officials themselves.
After watching the work outside for a while, Lynch remembered what he intended to focus on: the big ambitions of the six major banks. Their executives and Federation leaders seemed to have some secret agreement, but it didn’t concern Lynch much.
As long as his interests weren’t threatened, he didn’t care who got a piece of the pie.
After a quick tidying up, he asked a sergeant to drive him to the cement plant.
The plant had begun full operations. Cement production wasn’t technically complicated—the main process was crushing.
Lynch had ordered two standard production lines from the Federation, but it would take time for them to arrive due to a lack of heavy transport vehicles and poor roads.
Heavy machinery already sat at the port waiting for transport, but they’d have to wait until the roads were repaired.
Also, the lines would need slight modifications to fit local production needs.
For now, Lynch used several old, cheap machines that were easy to transport but picky about raw materials.
That wasn’t a concern for Lynch—he came to Nagaryll to solve these problems.
Before reaching the plant, he saw thick clouds of dust covering the road, tree leaves coated in a heavy layer, and the air filled with choking particles. He put on a respirator to avoid inhaling the dust.
Near the workshop, the sound of hammering stones rang out. As the car moved forward, dozens of workers wielding at least twenty-pound sledgehammers crushed raw materials by hand.
The old Federation machines were too outdated to handle the materials properly, and the large crushers wouldn’t arrive for a long time, so manual labor was the fallback.
Workers earned 105 Valier daily plus a lunch and were highly motivated.
People often say manual labor can’t match machines, but those who say that have never been to Nagaryll.
As Lynch stepped out of the car, Nail and the deputy manager greeted him, both wearing goggles and respirators. The place looked less like a cement plant and more like a biochemical lab.
“You should have called earlier. I could have had them pause for a bit…” Nail hugged Lynch and complained, “The dust here is terrible, and it’s noisy.”
“What?” Lynch shouted over the clamor, barely hearing Nail’s muffled reply.
Nail paused. “Try? Try what?”
Lynch shook his head and pointed to the office. The group headed inside.
In the office, Lynch frowned at the thick layer of dust on the desk. Nail removed his respirator and goggles, shaking his head as he had the deputy manager clean the place.
“Even with the door closed, dust settles here quickly. The dust here is overwhelming. Didn’t you say last time there was dust reduction equipment?”
Lynch removed his gear and glanced out through the now hazy glass.People only wore a handkerchief or something similar over their nose and mouth for protection, nothing more.
Lynch glanced briefly, then looked away. “Has anyone complained?”
“Complained?” Nail shifted slightly, signaling the deputy manager to continue cleaning. He shook his head and said, “No, of course not. No one has complained, but I’m struggling a bit—I’ve been coughing a lot lately. I suspect it’s because of the dust.”
Lynch nodded without comment. “The equipment will arrive soon, but without proper roads, we can’t transport it here. You understand what I mean?”
Many industrial machines weigh far more than people realize; it’s not something you can just lift with a few extra hands. Sometimes a single motor weighs several or even more than ten tons.
Special heavy-duty transport vehicles are needed to carry this equipment, and they aren’t light either. Given Nagaryll’s current roads, these vehicles might have to stop as soon as they leave the port.
The oily, muddy ground can support everyday traffic but won’t hold up under the weight of transport trucks weighing over ten tons. The trucks would sink. Roads must be repaired first to bring in the equipment.
Nail sighed. “Looks like I’ll have to endure this a while longer.”
Lynch didn’t answer but asked another question, “Are the workers still well-behaved? Any troublemakers?”
This seemed to strike a nerve with Nail, who suddenly opened up.
“I thought the people here wouldn’t be too…”—he gestured quickly—“…difficult, but on the first day of full operations, we lost nearly fifty twenty-pound (circa 18 kgs) sledgehammers!”
“You can’t imagine how I felt hearing that. I might accept losing one or two, but so many?”
He laughed at himself. “Alright, poverty is the root cause, but aside from that, there were some troublemakers. We kicked them out, and the rest have become much more obedient. Besides slacking off when you’re not watching, they cause no other problems.”
“But you only have two eyes. You can’t watch everyone at once. Where you don’t pay attention, some will surely slack off.”