Chapter 81: Change from the Root

Chapter 81: Change from the Root

Yu Sheng'an watched the Cowboy and the Old Mechanic act as if facing a mortal enemy and couldn’t help but feel both amused and exasperated.

He couldn’t be bothered to clarify further and lazily asked, “So, how do you plan to deal with me?”

As his words fell, the Cowboy and the Old Mechanic exchanged glances.

After a long silence, the Old Mechanic wordlessly began setting up the room. He strung up fine wires around Yu Sheng'an, hanging metal balls from them.

“If you don’t want to turn into the sun, behave yourself!” the Old Mechanic threatened in a low voice before turning and walking out the door.

The Cowboy also gave Yu Sheng'an a deep look before following suit.

For a moment, the room fell into silence.

Yu Sheng'an shook his head, glanced at the fine wires around him, and then found his attention completely captured by the bizarre steel contraptions in the room.

In them, he saw the power of technology—and more importantly, the potential for productivity!

Such technological prowess might be unremarkable on the Azarea Continent, but its true strength lay in mass production.

Once deployed on a large scale, it would represent an explosion of productivity!

War was ultimately a contest of productivity!

Just imagine—if he could popularize this world’s steam engines in the Keville Empire, what kind of spectacle would that create?

Mechanized farming!

Mechanized construction!

Mechanized transportation!

Admittedly, mechanized strategic deployment couldn’t hold a candle to magic portals—the difference was like heaven and earth.

But mechanized deployment had its own irreplaceable advantage: it was far cheaper!

Magic power was, after all, a strategic resource.

The more you saved in peacetime, the greater your advantage in war.

Magic shouldn’t be squandered on civilian needs.

But machines could!

This was likely the root reason why civilian life on the Azarea Continent remained so backward—those who held power rarely invested resources in public welfare.

Yu Sheng'an took a quiet breath.

Even if he couldn’t secure this primary domain, just these technological creations made the trip worthwhile!

As this thought crossed his mind, Yu Sheng'an suddenly tilted his head slightly, instinctively appearing to listen intently.

This was a reflexive gesture—in reality, he had activated his Divine Perspective and overheard a rather interesting conversation between the Cowboy and the Old Mechanic.

It turned out that after leaving the room, the two hadn’t gone far.

Perhaps because they believed their surroundings were under control—or perhaps to avoid being blindsided—they had simply stopped to talk at the end of the corridor.

“I knew your visit would bring trouble!” the Old Mechanic grumbled, his face twisted in frustration.

“I’m sorry. His power is too great. If I had shown any suspicion, I feared he might kill me on the spot,” the Cowboy apologized.

“Is he really an Imperial spy?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, yet you just—”

“It was just a bluff. Didn’t you see how he fought? Despite his extremely weak magical fluctuations, he killed a werewolf marquis. Only the Empire could train someone like that!”

“What do you plan to do? Kill him?”

“No. I can’t be a hundred percent sure he’s from the Empire. The great strike is about to begin, and the Empire has likely only caught wind of it. We can’t afford to stir up trouble at such a critical moment.”

“Then what do we do with him?”

"Lock him up for a while. As long as the great strike succeeds, whatever mission he’s carrying will become meaningless."

The old mechanic fell silent for a moment. "Ben Keming, do you know what your biggest flaw is?"

Without waiting for the cowboy Ben Keming to respond, the old man answered his own question: "You’re too kind."

Ben Keming lowered his eyes. "He’s only a suspect. We can’t kill indiscriminately—what difference would that make between us and the Empire?"

The old man sighed and changed the subject, shifting the conversation to the great strike.

The two whispered among themselves for a while before finally returning to the room together.

But when they pushed open the door, the sight inside sent a chill down their spines.

Ben Keming instinctively drew his revolver, pointing it into the room.

There, standing in a corner, was Yu Sheng'an—who should have been caught in the bomb trap—flipping through a stack of documents.

Beside him, the toolbox-disguised safe stood wide open.

"Eighty-seven core members. Your organization has grown quite well!" Yu Sheng'an shook the papers in his hand.

"What are you talking about?" Ben Keming looked utterly confused.

Yu Sheng'an smiled, stuffing the documents back into the safe. "I have to admit, you’re very clever—using such an obscure script. Unfortunately for you, I happen to be a linguist."

Ben Keming and the old mechanic exchanged glances, both seeing terror in each other’s eyes.

"Who are you?" Ben Keming demanded warily.

"Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re actually friends. I’ll admit, your strike is well-organized, but I can guarantee you—it won’t achieve much."

Yu Sheng'an continued:

"Maybe the Industrial Association will cave to your protests and sign an agreement to reduce hours and raise wages. But before long, everything will revert to how it was! Capital chases profit—that’s an unchangeable law."

The cowboy’s expression flickered. "Are you telling me to give up the strike?"

"No! Strikes still have some value—short-term victories can boost morale. What I mean is, you shouldn’t pin your hopes on strikes alone. Without fundamentally changing this country, you’ll be trapped in an endless cycle of strikes."

"Those capitalists have plenty of ways to deal with you. Want me to explain? For example, they could just identify your core members, apply a mix of threats and bribes, and divide you effortlessly."

"Trust me, don’t overestimate human nature. They follow you now because they’re desperate. But if they get the chance to become foremen—or even middle-class—believe me, they’ll sell you out without a shred of guilt."

"And if that fails, they can always play word games. Like changing the work-hour system to payment by labor. Through precise calculations, they can determine the maximum efficiency you can achieve in twelve hours. Then, they’ll give you the 'choice'—work overtime for more pay, or clock out on time and take home the barest wages."

"Oh, and they might not even need these tricks. Ever heard of inflation?"

"As long as they unite and raise prices, your wage increases will become a joke. The black bread that used to cost ten pennies might soon cost fifteen, or even twenty. They can give you raises every year, and you’ll have hope year after year, but poverty and enslavement will never change."

Yu Sheng'an spoke casually, his expression relaxed, as if discussing something trivial.

But the cowboy Ben Keming was thunderstruck, cold sweat soaking his back.

The man who dared to fight werewolf marquises now trembled, his pupils shaking, his eyes flickering with fear.

"Who the hell are you?!" His revolver, aimed at Yu Sheng'an, trembled along with his voice.

"I told you, we’re actually friends. If I’m sharing this with you, how could we be enemies?" Yu Sheng'an spread his hands.

The cowboy’s face turned pale, then flushed. After a long silence, he gritted his teeth and asked, "Then tell me, what should we do?"

Yu Sheng'an smiled. "You need to change the fundamental system!"