When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

Chapter 1129 Jeanne d'Or Industrial Park
On July 5th, warm smoke rose from the sky, and the sky was cloudless.

Since departing from Flowerhill City in June, Kuvask and Moloka's group had crossed numerous checkpoints and changed vehicles countless times before finally arriving at the border checkpoint in Kasha County.

Clearly, this group of hundreds of immigrants was subjected to a rigorous inspection by border control officers.

Many of today's border inspectors are former mountain knights who were once considered conservative.

If they were put in economic positions, they would definitely make the Holy Alliance lifeless.

But if you put them in border checks or conduct disciplinary cases, they are absolutely impartial.

Fortunately, these men who don't wear pants are already used to walking around without them and don't find it strange.

It took a week for the men from Fran to finally get rid of the censorship and set foot on the land of the Holy Alliance.

Without stopping, they headed straight for Jeanne d'Arc without even pausing in the bustling city of Kampong Cham.

On the shimmering canal of J.J.B. and the Rapids, pelicans and waterbirds swoop low, snatching silverfish from beneath the water.

Nestled between the water, the sky, and the flock of birds are fishermen piloting small fishing boats.

Wearing simple linen vests, they cast fishing nets made of flax and bark into the water, singing fishing songs.

"The fishing nets still want to be used for fishing nets, but the seals have disappeared..."

The song carried across the river, making it clearly audible to all passing boats.

Kuvask stepped out of the cabin onto the deck and saw Moloka staring blankly at the riverbank.

"Boss Morocco..."

Moloka didn't turn around to acknowledge him, but simply nodded slightly with her back to him, still staring intently at the riverbank.

Bees and butterflies fluttered among the bushes, and flowers bloomed between the fences and the trees.

On both sides of the river, in areas with undulating terrain or excessively low elevations, dams as high as two people were built.

On the dam, donkey carts and horse-drawn carriages travel in opposite directions on both sides of the road.

They transported flour and biscuits from the countryside to the city, and tools and handicrafts from the city to the countryside.

Taking a deep breath, Moloka sighed with the weariness of someone who had successfully completed a task, "The wind of the Holy Alliance is so sweet."

Kuvask was momentarily stunned. How could Moloka love his hometown even more than he did?

Seeing Kuvask's blank expression, the long-bearded man beside him, Bondo, said with a hint of envy, "You're lucky, kid, you even have an uncle who's a councilor."

Back when the Holy Alliance was first established, Moloca had already sent people to explore the area in advance.

Kuvask is one of them.

However, unlike the other trouserless men who were also refugees in the Thousand Rivers Valley, Kuvask was very lucky.

His grandfather's brother's son, his cousin Palak, is now not only a wealthy businessman but also a government advisor.

When Kuvask was sent to the Thousand Rivers Valley, he quickly made contact with his cousin.

This uncle was quite enthusiastic and willing to provide Moloka and his group with the convenience of entering the Holy Alliance, but on the condition that they help Palak smuggle clothes to Flower Hill City.

Note that Palak's smuggling wasn't about bypassing the Holy Alliance's customs; that would be suicidal.

His smuggling involved bypassing the guilds of Fran and selling cheap clothing to the poor in Flowerhill.

Through this trade route, Palak became one of the distributors of the First Textile Workshop of the Holy See.

However, as time went on, with the help of the Larkin family, Palack successfully connected with many of the newly rich in France.

After that, the Moloca storyline wasn't as important as it used to be.

Palak is a man of his word; since Moloka helped him get things started, he naturally kept his promise.

However, in his attempt to evade customs and due to a traitor's report, Moloca lost most of his property. He still had an oil press and a small shop, but those could only accommodate twenty or thirty companions at most.

There are now over a hundred of them here, many of whom have their families with them.

Moloka brought them out, so naturally he wouldn't just leave them to their own devices, but the pressure couldn't be eliminated in a short time.

Considering that the Holy Alliance is a legendary land of opportunity, maybe finding a job will be easy for them?

Just as Moloka was lost in thought, he suddenly felt the green in front of him change in an instant, turning into gray and red.

Thinking he had arrived at J.A. Castle, he quickly looked up and around.

But as soon as he looked up, he couldn't help but blink several times.

"Where did I come from? Is this still Joan of Arc?"

Moloka had visited the Holy Alliance once before during his inspection, but that was six or seven years ago.

What was once a barren swamp covering 360 hectares is now perfectly flat.

The shrubs and sparse groves had been completely cut down, and the area was divided into rectangles by gray roads made of gravel and ditches.

The stinking ditches and ponds were mortared and transformed into water storage tanks and open drainage pipes, interspersed with each other.

Within these reservoirs, open drainage pipes, and the grid-like road markings are houses built by Shenglian Construction or its workshops.

There is a clear difference: the Shenglian Apartments are often six or seven-story mortar brick buildings, while the workshops that are built by themselves are mostly small, rough courtyards.

On the former wasteland, these former farmers put their diligence to good use, creating small vegetable gardens and chicken farms.

Surrounded by these courtyards and apartments is the workshop area of ​​this industrial park.

Workshops with red brick paving, narrow windows, and towering chimneys stand along the riverbank.

Thick white smoke billowed out, and the deafening roar of machinery could be heard from a great distance.

At first glance, Morocco felt that it looked more like a castle or even a fortress than a workshop.

The huge printing workshops, papermaking workshops, and sugar-making workshops were connected in layers.

From roughing out, processing, and quality inspection, you can always see workers pushing carts back and forth between the workshops.

On one side of the sugar-making workshop, you can also see a construction site that is half-built, which is the newly built Sweet Branch Winery.

As for the ingredients, they are sweet twig residue, or more precisely, the impurities in white sugar—molasses fermented into wine.

Man-made canal tributaries flow through this industrial area, and steps lead through workshops, driving waterwheels and clockwork machines.

At the same time, fertilizers and wastewater from papermaking and sugar production were discharged into the clear Ibe River.

Kuvas frowned; the water was noticeably more murky than the rural areas they had just passed.

Moloka stared blankly at the area, especially the construction site that was only half-built.

This is the foundation of the Holy Alliance's strength and the cornerstone of its economy.

It is also the culmination of countless efforts and investments by the people of France.

Although it is currently just a centralized handicraft workshop, it is already able to support many small flange workshops.

Otherwise, how could the Holy Alliance, a mere region, possibly meet the entire empire's demand for sugar, and even drive down the price of sugar at one point?

There was a construction site over there just now; there must be so many jobs there, but that was beyond his comprehension.

Such a large project must be undertaken by Shenglian's own engineering team. How could it be the turn of an outsider like him?
The ship only glanced at the industrial park from afar before slowly sailing into J.J. D'Arcy.

(End of this chapter)