When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Chapter 1226 - 1153: The Final Question

Before long, Grellerban, now dressed as a servant, followed the old Acorn out of the Green Day Inn where they were staying.After lunch, the sun outside was blazing.

The water vapor of Nanze Lake dissipated completely under the sunlight, leaving only the sweet fragrance drifting from the taverns and bakeries in the air.

Grellerban shaded his eyes with his hand and looked up at the sun, then instructed Dewangbei behind him, "Leave a message with each of the secret Knights, telling them not to let their guard down. If I don't return tonight, relocate immediately."

The secret Knights that Grellerban referred to were not true Knights but a direct official position within the Lorenzo royal clandestine bureau.

Throughout the Holy Alliance, four secret Knights had already infiltrated, and two more were still within the Holy Alliance.

Each secret Knight commanded a team with various functional groups and a large number of informants.

"Yes."

Deliberately hunching his back, Grellerban clasped his hands over his abdomen, pretending to be a little lackey behind the old Acorn.

It must be said, his disguise skills were exceptional, and dressed as a lackey, he looked just like a real lackey, with behavior, actions, and tone indistinguishable from the real thing.

They boarded a carriage, turned to the riverside, and took a ferry heading to the downstream industrial district.

About half an hour later, they finally reached the first workshop under investigation.

Gazing at the workshop of the Holy Alliance, larger than those in Falan by a fair margin, Grellerban pursed his lips.

In Falan cities, due to the need to pay fortress taxes and with land being privately owned, the prices were exorbitant.

As for the Holy Alliance, the land was considered sacred, and any workshops built autonomously by the Holy Alliance were almost free of charge.

Thus, each one was built large and spacious, unlike those in Falan, which were cramped like toilets and had to house people too.

"Ahead is the first workshop, founded by a former soldier," the old Acorn whispered, pointing to a red brick building ahead.

Among the fence and grass, a building towered up, roughly four to five meters tall, with a wooden sign reading "Convo Metal Products Workshop" hanging at the entrance.

Before they could get closer, a man dressed in a faded black military uniform with a spring gear necklace on his chest hurriedly approached.

"Mr. Odeok, you're finally here!"

This was the Workshop Master Convorstry, a former armory sergeant of the Black Hat Army.

Later, he retired due to a leg injury, but he seemed to have replaced his leg with a spring-loaded prosthetic.

Although he no longer needed a cane, his steps always echoed with a creaking sound.

"Come, come—"

He enthusiastically pulled the old Acorn inside, his peripheral glance caught Grellerban, but he paused, not asking much.

With his head lowered, Grellerban quickly followed inside.

While the old Acorn conversed with Convorstry, Grellerban seized the opportunity to scrutinize the workshop.

In the spacious workshop, sunlight poured through high windows, illuminating the airborne iron filings.

Ten foot-pedaled spring hammer lathes were neatly aligned on either side, each manned by a worker.

They rhythmically pedaled the wooden wheels, making the iron hammer rise continuously to strike tiny bolts and perforated iron sheets.

A few wooden crates were neatly placed against the wall, with water barrels and tool racks at the corner, everything was orderly and tidy.

"Old Acorn, this workshop... did it use the Pilgrimage Management Method?" Grellerban leaned over to the old Acorn, lowering his voice to a whisper.

These workers methodically loaded raw billets and forged bolts, their efficiency outpaced numerous century-old workshops in Falan.

The old Acorn quickly shook his head, whispering in a voice as faint as a mosquito, "No, no, this workshop didn't adopt the Pilgrimage Management Method..."

As they walked, he explained to Grellerban.

Many workshops in the Holy Alliance were funded by former soldiers pooling their pension.

They knew little about management and simply brought military habits into production.

Grellerban breathed a sigh of relief, yet he felt secretly alarmed.

If it weren't for the Saint's Grandson dragging their feet, whether these workshops could produce locomotives was truly uncertain.

"Let's go, next one, see the one using the Pilgrimage Land Method."

Suppressing his thoughts, Grellerban, the old Acorn, and Convorstry exchanged a few words before hurriedly departing.

The second workshop was on the edge of the industrial area, named "Red Iron Workshop."

This one was even larger than Convor's, with several carts parked at the entrance, transporting parts.

The Workshop Master was a middle-aged man with round-frame glasses, named Pavel, who had the background of a technical Priest.

As soon as he saw Old Acorn, he warmly greeted him: "Mr. Odeok, you're here just in time, is there a new order?"

"Oh, well, well, isn't this a visit for inspection?" Old Acorn skillfully handled the pleasantries.

Following Pavel into the workshop, it was the same spacious workshop, the same lathes, even the same enthusiastic welcome and high windows.

But after watching for a while, Glelebhan felt something was off, even stopping in his tracks.

Clearly, there weren't many differences, but the workers here were faster.

They moved like a flowing river, almost no extra movements, producing bolts in mere seconds.

Almost no pauses, immediately someone pushed them to the next workbench.

Seemingly no difference, yet several bins of parts were transported in the same time.

"What - what's going on here?" Glelebhan roughly calculated.

The parts processed by a worker here in five minutes were nearly a third more than Dieterbert's workshop!

Seeing this scene, Old Acorn started to panic.

Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, he urgently pulled over Pavel: "Mr. Pavel, why is your workshop so much faster than I've heard before?"

Pavel's face showed a proud expression, pushed his glasses: "It's all thanks to Saint's Grandson's 'Pilgrimage Management Method'.

At first, shareholders were against it, saying it's too troublesome.

Training workers' movements, changing wage systems, in the first month, output was less than half of previous production, almost pushing the workshop to the brink.

But I believed in Saint's Grandson, insisted on bringing trainers to teach, correcting workers' polishing postures, even implemented differential piece-rate wages.

Just look now, not only is efficiency up by four to five percent, scrap rate compared to before has dropped by five percent!"

As he spoke, he pulled out a report from his pocket, with daily production numbers densely recorded, eagerly explaining to Old Acorn and his team.

In his view, he was showcasing strength to the investors, but for some reason, the more they listened, the more their foreheads sweat.

Glelebhan stood still, just feeling a chill down his spine.

"Mr. Odeok, I suddenly have a matter to discuss with you." Glelebhan humbly bowed his head, whispering to Old Acorn.

Though not directly expressed, Old Acorn already understood.

His face turned pale, chuckling at Pavel: "Oh, I really have a matter, need to think it over."

Pavel thought the two were discussing an order, naturally leading them to a quiet corner.

Following Glelebhan, they quickly stepped out of the workshop, heading to a nearby alley.

"Didn't you say the Pilgrimage Method is slow? This is slow?!" Glelebhan gritting his teeth, lowered his voice, "What kind of intel did you gather?"

"I... I also don't know!" Old Acorn retreated in panic, "The artisans I asked all said it's slow, those engineers said it's Holy Alliance formalism, I thought... I thought..."

"You think what you think is what you think?"

"But, sir..."

"Shh!"

Glelebhan was just about to lose his temper when suddenly he heard footsteps behind them; the two immediately resumed their master-servant stance.

Old Acorn even reached for his back at once, hiding a dagger in his belt prepared for emergencies.

Glelebhan had quick eyes and hands, pressing him down, signaling him not to move.

"Friend, got a light?" A porter with a pipe in his mouth walked over, "I lost my flint, can I borrow a light."

Glelebhan said nothing, just looked him up and down, then smiled.

He pulled out a flint from his pocket, struck it with a click.

The porter came over to light the pipe, inhaling deeply, exhaled a smoke ring: "Thanks, buddy, what are you doing here?"

"We're just fooling around." Glelebhan smiled.

"Oh, alright." The porter didn't ask much, waved his hand, "Then I'll be off, thanks!"

Watching the man's figure disappear at the alley entrance, Glelebhan finally breathed a sigh of relief, gave Old Acorn a fierce glare: "Are you crazy? That was just someone borrowing a light, you want to expose us?"

Old Acorn wiped the sweat off his forehead, his voice still trembling: "I... I thought he was one of the Cheka..."

"I'd recognize if he's Cheka, his footsteps are loose, wrists weak, slow reflexes, not at all like the Cheka!" Glelebhan cursed, then cautiously looked around, "We need to leave quickly, plan anew when we get back, we must disrupt their production somehow.

The Holy Alliance's efficiency is too fast, if we wait any longer, the Spring Machines will truly be made!"