When the Saint comes, she does not collect food

The final question in Chapter 1153
Before long, Grellerban, dressed in servant's attire, followed Old Acorn out of the Green Day Inn where they were staying.

After lunch, the sun was blazing outside.

The moisture from Nanze Lake dissipated completely under the sunlight, leaving only the sweet aroma wafting from the beer hall and bakery in the air.

Shaking his eyes with his hand, Grellerban looked up at the sun and instructed Dewanbe behind him, "Go and leave a message for the secret knights, telling them not to let their guard down. If I don't return tonight, move out immediately."

The Secret Knight that Grellerban mentioned was not actually a knight, but rather the title of an official directly under the Lorenzo Royal Confidential Bureau.

Four secret knights have already infiltrated the Holy Alliance, and two more have remained within the alliance.

Each Secret Knight has a squad consisting of various functional groups and a large number of informants.

"Yes."

With his back deliberately hunched, Grellerban clasped his hands to his lower abdomen, pretending to be Old Acorn's lackey.

It must be said that his disguise skills were quite superb. Dressed as a follower, he looked exactly like a real follower, and there was no difference in his expression, actions, or tone of voice.

We boarded a horse-drawn carriage, turned onto the riverbank, and took a ferry to the downstream industrial area.

It took them about half an hour to successfully reach the first workshop they were investigating.

Looking at the Saint Union workshop, which was more than a size larger than Fran, Grellerban pursed his lips.

In the cities of Franco, land prices are extremely high due to the requirement to pay fortified land taxes and the fact that land is privately owned.

As for the Holy Alliance, the land is owned by the Holy Alliance, and for any workshops built independently by the Holy Alliance, the land is practically free.

So each one was built big and spacious, unlike the narrow place in the flan that was like a toilet, where people still had to live.

"The first workshop is just ahead, founded by a veteran," Old Acorn said in a low voice, pointing to a red brick building in front of him.

Amidst the fence and green grass, a building rises from the ground, about four or five meters high, with a wooden sign hanging at the entrance that reads "Kangwo Metal Products Workshop".

Before they could get close, a man wearing a faded black military uniform and a clockwork gear necklace quickly approached them.

"Mr. Odeok, you've finally arrived!"

This is Cornwestri, the workshop owner, a former Black Hat Army armorer.

He later retired due to a leg disability, but it seems he has given himself a spring-loaded leg.

Although he no longer needs a cane, his walking still makes a creaking sound.

"Come on, come on -"

He enthusiastically pulled Old Acorn inside, glancing at Grellerban out of the corner of his eye, pausing for a moment, but not asking any further questions.

Lowering his head, Grellerban followed closely behind.

While the old acorn was talking to Cornwallistri, he took the opportunity to look around the workshop.

In the spacious workshop, sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the iron filings floating in the air.

Ten foot-operated spring hammer lathes were neatly arranged on both sides, with a worker standing next to each lathe.

Their feet pedaled rhythmically, moving the wooden wheels, while the hammers rose and struck the small bolts and perforated iron plates.

Several wooden baskets were neatly arranged against the wall on the ground, and there was a water tank and a toolbar in the corner. Everything was in perfect order.

"Old Acorn, this workshop... uses the pilgrimage management method?" Grellerban leaned close to the old acorn, his voice extremely low.

These workers methodically load and unload blanks and forge bolts, achieving a level of efficiency that surpasses that of many century-old flange workshops.

Old Acorn quickly shook his head and said in a voice barely audible, "No, no, this workshop doesn't use the pilgrimage management method..."

He explained to Grellerban as they walked.

Many of the workshops in the Holy Alliance were opened by veterans who pooled their retirement funds.

They don't understand management; they're just bringing their military habits into production.

Grellerban breathed a sigh of relief, but was secretly alarmed.

If it weren't for the grandson of the saint dragging his feet, it's hard to say whether these workshops could have even built the locomotives.

"Let's go, next one, let's check out the land-use pilgrimage method."

Grellerban suppressed his thoughts, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with Cornwallis, Old Acorn hurriedly left.

The second workshop, located on the edge of the industrial zone, was called "Red Iron Workshop".

This place was even larger than Cornwall Workshop, with several horse-drawn carriages for transporting parts parked at the entrance.

The workshop owner was a middle-aged man with round-framed glasses named Pavel, who was a technical priest.

As soon as he saw Old Acorn, he greeted him warmly: "Mr. Odeoke, you've come at the right time. Do you have a new order?" "Oh, of course, of course. I'm just here to do some research," Old Acorn replied skillfully in response to the greeting.

Following Pavel into the workshop, we found it to be the same spacious workshop, with the same lathes, and even the same warm welcome and tall windows.

But as he looked around, Grellerban sensed something was wrong and even stopped in his tracks.

There's practically no difference, but the workers here are just faster.

They moved like flowing water, with almost no unnecessary movements, and hammered out a bolt in just a few seconds.

Almost without a pause, it was immediately pushed to the next workbench.

They appeared to be identical, but within the same timeframe, several baskets of parts were transported.

"What, what's going on?" Grellerban did a rough calculation.

A worker here can process nearly a third more parts in five minutes than in the Dietrich workshop!

Seeing this scene, the old acorn panicked.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and he quickly pulled Pavel over: "Mr. Pavel, how come your workshop... is so much faster than I heard before?"

Pavel wore a proud expression and pushed up his glasses: "It's all thanks to Saint Sun's 'Pilgrimage Management Law'."

Initially, the shareholders were against it, saying it was too much trouble.

With workers undergoing training and wage system changes, the workshop's output in the first month was less than half of what it had been before, almost driving it to the brink of collapse.

But I believe in Saint Sun, so I insisted on having trainers teach and correct the workers' grinding postures, and I also implemented differential piece-rate wages.

"Look now, not only is the efficiency 40-50% higher than before, but the scrap rate has also decreased by 5%!"

As he spoke, he pulled a report from his pocket, which was filled with daily production figures, and excitedly explained it to Old Acorn and his group.

In his view, he was demonstrating his strength to investors, but for some reason, the more the two listened, the more cold sweat appeared on their foreheads.

Grellerban stood there, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“Mr. Odeok, I suddenly have something I need to discuss with you,” Grellerban said humbly, bowing his head and speaking softly to the old acorn.

Although it wasn't explicitly stated, the old acorn already understood.

His face was pale, and he laughed it off with Pavel: "Well, I do have something to think about."

Pavel assumed the two wanted to discuss the order, so he naturally led them to a secluded corner.

Following Grellerban, they quickly left the workshop and went around to a side alley.

"Didn't you say the pilgrimage law was slow? This is slow?!" Gritting his teeth, Grellerban lowered his voice, "What intelligence did you gather?"

"I...I don't know either!" Old Acorn hurriedly backed away. "The craftsmen I asked all said it was slow, and the engineers all said it was just formalism by the Holy Alliance. I thought...I thought..."

Do you think what you think is the truth?

"But, Your Excellency..."

"Shh!"

Just as Grellerban was about to lash out, he suddenly heard footsteps behind him, and the two immediately reverted to their master-servant relationship.

Old Acorn immediately reached for his lower back, where he had concealed a short knife in his belt for emergencies.

Greller quickly grabbed him, signaling him not to move.

"Fellow believer, do you have a fire?" A porter with a pipe in his mouth walked over. "I've lost my flint, could you lend me a light?"

Grellerban didn't say anything, but looked him up and down before smiling.

He took out a flint from his pocket and struck it with a click.

The porter came over, lit his pipe, took a deep drag, and exhaled a smoke ring: "Thanks, fellow believers. What are you doing here?"

“We were just joking,” Grellerban said with a smile.

"Okay, sure." The mover didn't ask any more questions, waved his hand, and said, "I'll be going now, thanks!"

Watching the man's figure disappear into the alley, Grellerban finally breathed a sigh of relief, glaring fiercely at Old Acorn: "Are you crazy? He was just someone asking for a light. Do you want to expose us?"

Old Acorn wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice still trembling: "I...I thought it was a Cheka..."

“I wouldn’t recognize a Cheka. His steps are unsteady, his wrists are weak, and his reactions are slow. He doesn’t resemble a Cheka at all!” Greleban cursed, then looked around warily. “We have to get going. We need to go back and revise our plans. We must find a way to disrupt their production.”

"The Holy Alliance is too efficient! If we wait any longer, they'll actually build a clockwork machine!"

(End of this chapter)