Chapter 503 The short-sighted citizens of Thunder City were ultimately bought off by the devil's trickery.

The first fire service company on the continent of Os was established in the most feudal place on the continent, and this time the Kingdom of Ryan was completely ahead of the Duchy of Campbell.

In comparison, the fire department in Thunder City, which is under the jurisdiction of the city hall, is not so efficient. After all, the city hall of Thunder City itself originated from a guild, and the once advanced guild has long been unable to keep up with the ever-changing times.

Until the spring of 1054 AD, the fire in Thunder City still required the help of civilians.

A small fire pump can be worth as much as three years of a stonemason's blood and sweat or a knight's carriage, while a "large fire pump" can even be comparable to a year's rent income for a fallen nobleman.

Many remote parishes often borrow money to raise funds for purchasing fire-fighting equipment, and the royal family also assumes some of the responsibility, though not much.

If a businessman can provide a fire pump and place it in his backyard or next to his factory, he will not only be regarded as generous, but also called a "guardian of the citizens", even if his original intention is not to protect the citizens, but only to protect his own property.

However, His Majesty Theodore's generosity exceeded Newcastle's expectations. This benevolent feudal monarch had morally surpassed Archduke Edward, who had "profited immensely" during the Civil War!

After the Royal Guard cleared all obstacles for his Roland City Fire Service, the Royal Family immediately ordered 800 medium-sized fire pumps and 100 large fire pumps!

And this is only the first batch of procurement plans.

If it works well, they will buy another batch until Roland City is free from fire!

In Thunder City, a medium-sized fire pump costs 2,100 silver pounds, equivalent to nearly eight years' salary for an average worker.

A large fire pump, the kind that needs to be pulled by a horse-drawn carriage, costs as much as 4,500 silver pounds!

Newcastle simply moved the devices from his left pocket to his right pocket, and they turned into 40 gold coins and 200 gold coins respectively!

This is not just doubling...

It's increased several times over!

Newcastle was completely amazed; he had never imagined that getting rich could be so easy. Amidst the clinking of glasses and the exchange of toasts, he had already recouped half of his initial investment of ten thousand gold coins.

If it weren't for Sir Skadkin's need for profit sharing and bribes, his initial investment would probably have been fully recouped by now.

There was just one thing he never understood until the very end.

Where does the money in my pocket actually come from?

In the spring of 1054 AD, even though the sudden fire cleared away some useless paupers for Theodore, the per capita income of the citizens of Roland did not increase much as a result.

The same flowing river, the same cargo boxes resting on the shoulders of people with the same skin color, yet the blood and sweat flowing into their wallets is less than half that of the porters downstream.

They were also puzzled as to where their money had gone.

...

"By Saint Sith, these Ryanians are absolutely amazing!"

Downstream of the Benliu River, in the new industrial zone of Leiming City, the Horace Textile Factory was as busy as ever, with the roar of textile machines echoing throughout the workshop.

Listening to the beautiful melody, Horace felt that the smell of cotton yarn and engine oil in the air was so refreshing.

He only left the workshop in a disheveled state after coughing violently from inhaling too hard, fanning the dust in front of his nose.

However, he didn't go too far and soon went up to the second-floor staircase, which led to his new office.

If the entire factory is likened to a castle, then that is his audience hall, and he is the king who rules this castle!

At this moment, Horace, an ambitious lord, was admiring the territory he had just conquered.

As advised by his accountant who held multiple positions, he acquired the warehouse next to the factory and converted it into the second workshop of the Horace Textile Mill.

With the newly purchased equipment in place, the factory quickly began production, helping him win orders from the continent of Gana.

In order to meet the manpower needs of the new factory, he also "generously" adopted Elsie's suggestion and recruited a new batch of employees.

And not just fifty, but a full one hundred!

Half of them were Campbellians, and the other half were Laneians from beyond the Turbulent Pass.

These Ryan people came from Roland City, the Twilight Province, or other earls who were or were about to act recklessly.

To be honest, the lords there are really bad at managing their territories.

Horace thought that if they could transfer half of their passion for horses to their own territory, they wouldn't need His Majesty the Grand Duke to clean up their messes.

At least in Horace's eyes, these Lane people, abandoned by the king, were not worthless at all; they were gifts bestowed upon him by Saint Sith!

They were hardworking and incredibly nimble, as if they were pouring all their energy into the machines.

What's even more commendable is that each of them was as polite as a gentleman, remembering the foreman's reprimands and keeping their heads down without uttering a single complaint.

For example, right now.

Horace smiled and looked toward the corner of the workshop, where a foreman was standing, holding an employment contract and explaining something to a new Ryan employee.

The man looked to be in his thirties, with wrinkles on his face resembling the abandoned farmland of the Twilight Province, but he was quite robust, which is why he was able to enter this place.

Because he was illiterate, he couldn't understand what was written on the contract at all, so he had to have the foreman read it to him.

"...Did you understand?"

The foreman roared at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the roar of the steam engine so that the newcomer to the factory could hear him.

"The first month is a trial period, and you will only have fifteen silver pounds! If you learn quickly enough, you will receive your full salary in the second month, a total of thirty silver pounds! We provide accommodation, but don't expect too much from the lodging. Breakfast and lunch will be provided, but you'll have to figure out how to eat dinner yourself or go hungry."

The Ryan man nodded vigorously, but when he heard about the wages, he was stunned and couldn't believe his ears.

Thirty... silver pounds?

"What, you think it's not enough?"

No sooner had the foreman finished speaking than a thud was heard, and the Ryan man knelt down in front of him, grabbed his arm, and spoke incoherently with excitement.

"No, quite a lot! By Saint Sith above! You are truly saints! May the Holy Light forever protect you, and also the generous Mr. Horace!"

In Roland, the copper coins he earned in a month of hard work were barely enough to feed his family. His wife also had to work part-time as a laundry worker to support their three children.

Here, even if the first month's salary is only half, it's enough for him and his family to live a decent life!

The sight of him crying and sniffling caught the foreman off guard. Their factory did pay a little more than other factories, but surely it wasn't something to get this worked up about?

You have to work twelve-hour shifts here, just like moving boxes at the dock. Basically, you're trading your health for wages.

"...Okay, okay, stop crying! Get back to work! Don't smear your snot on me."

Yes! Yes!

Hearing the foreman's disdainful voice, the man scrambled to his feet, hastily wiped away his tears with his sleeve, and rushed energetically to his assigned workstation.

According to the production regulations of the Horace Textile Factory, during his probationary period, he could not operate the machines independently. He had to follow behind a skilled worker to familiarize himself with the operating procedures and do odd jobs.

After all, this precious machine was more valuable than his life. Even if he didn't care about his arm, Mr. Horace, who had suffered a great loss before, dared not let him take the risk.

Horace, standing on the stairs, took in this harmonious scene and a very comfortable smile appeared on his lips.

Thanks to these Ryan people, his factory is thriving, just like the thriving Thunder City and the Duchy of Campbell.

It was worth it; he poured all his earnings into it and even borrowed a large sum of money from the bank in the industrial zone.

Considering how capable these young men are, this investment shouldn't be a complete waste.

He turned around, patted the accountant next to him heavily on the shoulder, and smiled with undisguised approval.

"Elsie, it's amazing that you could pick out these good people from the crowd, you're truly my lucky star!"

Upon receiving the award, Elsie's face immediately lit up with a fawning smile, and she humbly bowed in greeting.

"This is all thanks to your wisdom and trust; I was merely doing my duty!"

"Haha, you're too modest!" Horace laughed and patted his shoulder hard, liking the clever young man more and more.

"Hehe, it's my honor to share your burdens."

Seeing that her boss was in a great mood, Elsie took out a roster from her pocket and the conversation naturally turned to the real business at hand.

"Furthermore, boss... the parliamentary elections have officially begun. As you can see, our factory already has over three hundred workers, all of whom are your staunch supporters... we have quite a few 'bargains' in our hands."

He paused for a moment, winked at the boss, handed over the roster, and said in a cheerful tone.

"We humbly request your guidance on the future of Thunder City!"

"Then let the future Sir Horace see for himself, let me see on behalf of His Majesty the Grand Duke what we are still lacking."

Horace nodded in satisfaction and took the list of candidates.

However, the smile on his face vanished the moment he saw the name on the roster.

"What kind of nonsense is this?"

Before Elsie could explain, he frowned, pointed at a name, and began to curse.

"Picosi who runs a biscuit factory? Does he think managing a city is like adding flour when there's too much water, and adding water when there's too much flour? What else can his flour-covered brain hold besides sugar and butter? Does he even deserve to talk about the future of Thunder City?"

As he continued reading, his expression grew even more unpleasant.

"And this one... that bastard from the Yokavin Textile Mill! I recognize that face, my rival! Damn it, how dare these bugs attend the Grand Duke's meeting?"

Advocating for a tax increase on towels?

This was a precise sniper attack on his Workshop Two, preventing the merciful Mr. Sack Gale from letting the lizardmen of the Southwest Swamp clean their faces!

To put it nicely, this is preventing the lizardmen from moving towards civilization; to put it bluntly, it is hindering the relationship between the Principality of Campbell and the United Kingdom of Gutaf!

It's obvious he's a traitor!

He should be arrested immediately!

Looking at his indignant boss, Elsie shrugged helplessly.

“Boss, this is a new industrial zone, so most of the candidates are factory managers. We can’t let those poor guys who have just learned to write their own names become councilors, can we? Not to mention what proposals they can come up with, they still have to work... Of course, there’s someone in the next block who’s just here for the fun, but he’s not your colleague.”

"who?"

"A country bumpkin who runs a tavern. I heard his idea is to tax all beer, and a lot of alcoholics support him."

Horace burst into laughter upon hearing this, as if he had heard the funniest joke of the era.

"This is utterly absurd! He might as well have the Grand Duke subsidize his wine barrels! If this proposal passes, won't my textile workers be drunk in broad daylight? Who will do my work then?"

Elsie chuckled twice.

"Haha... I think so too. No devout believer would vote for him."

In principle, the church discourages drinking alcohol, at least not alcohol other than wine.

Although the Principality of Campbell no longer has priests who can strictly enforce the oldest religious laws, no devout believer would support such a blasphemous proposal.

This has nothing to do with politics; it's about faith.

Even Mr. Horace was a factory manager with faith, or at least he thought so.

"Vote for him? If I were sitting across from him, I'd throw my shoe at his stupid face!"

He threw the roster back into Elsie's arms, making no attempt to hide the contempt on his face.

The more he looked at the list of candidates, the more annoyed he became; the more he looked at it, the angrier he felt.

"...The cookie bakers, the tavern owners, and my competitors! How can these insects represent the interests of Horace Textile Mill? How can my hundreds of workers possibly vote for them?"

We can't just sit here and wait to die any longer.

Horace paced back and forth in front of his office, then suddenly stopped, gritted his teeth, and looked at his accountant.

"Elsie".

"Yes, boss." Elsie immediately stood at attention, gripping the booklet in her hand tightly.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave my factory in your care.” Horace’s voice carried a hint of reluctance, but he finally made up his mind. “For the sake of our duchy, I have more important things to do next, and I may not be able to attend to this matter for the time being.”

He needs to find a way to persuade His Majesty the Grand Duke to raise the bar for Parliament.

Taxes of 1 silver pound...

It's far too little.

Elsie stared in disbelief, and the pen in her hand fell to the ground with a "thud".

Coming to his senses, he hurriedly picked up his pen and spoke rapidly.

"Boss? You've decided where to start your new business?"

Elsie's heart skipped a beat; he sincerely hoped his boss was just joking.

Where on the entire northeastern coast of the Whirlpool Sea could there be a better investment opportunity than Thunder City?

Throwing money into the Kingdom of Ryan is like throwing sausages at a dog. Throwing it into the Empire of Os is even less likely to result in a ripple!

Only here, their revered Archduke Edward, though also greedy, was at least not so obviously so.

He was even willing to have these factory owners sit at the same table with him to discuss the future of the duchy.

certainly--

Despite all those high-sounding words, what he was most worried about deep down was his future.

Horace's career was just beginning, as was his own, and it was already tied to this man's.

He had just acquired two followers and an office of his own, and full of confidence, he promised his girlfriend that within three years at the latest, they would be able to move into a rent-free house with a front yard.

If he were to switch factories, he would have to start from a small role and climb up step by step.

After all, Mr. Horace had his own men, and Mr. Yocavin also had his own "staff," including the cookie baker and the beer seller, who were sloppy in the past but are no longer so.

A group of people will surround them and give them bad advice.

"What nonsense are you spouting!"

Horace interrupted Elsie's speculation with righteous indignation, his serious expression seemingly forgetting who had been clamoring to close the factory and relocate it elsewhere.

"This is my hometown! I've grown up here! Here you can find my favorite pumpkin soup, and grilled... beef intestines!"

He thought for a while before remembering what he had eaten yesterday. He couldn't help but bite his lip, shivering as he gasped for breath and continued speaking.

“Listen, Elsie, only losers leave their homes. Are we losers? We are Campbellians, and we have just ended the ambitions of traitors! Horace is here, he stands with His Majesty the Grand Duke, and he is not going anywhere!”

Elsie's pen, which he had just picked up, froze in mid-air. He stared blankly at his boss's impassioned ramblings, wondering what had gotten into him.

A few seconds later, his mind finally caught on—

His boss isn't leaving.

Is this... him running for office in person?!

Upon realizing this, Elsie's eyes lit up like magic lamps.

He hurriedly flipped to the last page of the booklet and began to scribble furiously in the blank space, copying down the inspiring campaign speech.

However, this alone is not enough.

They need to come up with something more tangible to convince the citizens of Thunder City that they are people who get things done, not just people waiting to get a piece of the pie.

Elsie, who had been taking notes for a while, suddenly raised her head and excitedly continued to ask.

"Boss, what you said is absolutely brilliant! I'll definitely vote for you! So, what are your campaign promises?"

Campaign platform?

What the heck?

Horace was completely baffled by Elsie's question; what did he need that thing for?

Since the parliament doesn't pay him a salary, he's too lazy to offer advice to the parliament, as long as it doesn't interfere with his money-making.

However, just as he was about to say that, he suddenly understood what Elsie meant from that hopeful look in her eyes.

Wait a minute, is this clever little devil trying to persuade me to become a senator?!

That sounds so damn... right!

Horace's eyes suddenly lit up, and his thoughts began to flow.

Instead of letting those idiots go up and give orders blindly, why not let the future Sir Horace personally lead those idiots?

He had managed hundreds of people before, but did that biscuit factory owner have more than half his number of employees?

And that beer vendor, what does he know about urban development?

That old man Yokavin may have managed as many people as he does, but he's a traitor who tried to tax towels!

The future of Thunder City must not be entrusted to these insects!

"My campaign platform... let me think about it."

Horace walked to the stair railing, touched his greasy nose, and looked down at the Lane refugees working hard in the workshop below... those gifts that Saint Sith had given him.

In that instant, his greedy little eyes lit up again, and he blurted out.

"...Got it! We need more Ryans, we need to find a way to import more."

Upon hearing this, Elsie nearly choked on her own saliva, and almost dropped her pen.

"Well, boss, I must say your idea is very constructive, but it sounds jarring!"

This sounds like it's about goods.

They can certainly use them as tools, but they can't shout that during an election campaign.

Otherwise, whether his boss would have the chance to throw his shoes in someone's face is hard to say; they might have been drowned in beer bottles first.

Horace realized that he hadn't performed well on the spot, and coughed lightly.

"Nonsense! How could I not know? I'm asking you to help me improve it, aren't I? What am I hiring you for?"

I'm an accountant.

Who would have thought that besides accounting and recruiting, you'd have to do this kind of work after entering the factory?

Elsie was clearly taken aback, but he was a quick-witted young man who had experienced many difficulties, and he wouldn't be defeated by a single sentence.

He first bowed his head to admit his mistake, then a brilliant idea flashed in his mind, and he excitedly raised his head and said.

“Sir Horace, in the future, could say this! Your proposal is… to expand the area of ​​the refugee camp using municipal funds!”

"Refugee camps? Why should I care about that?"

Seeing Horace raise his eyebrows, Elsie quickly added the most crucial second half of the sentence.

"Wait, I haven't finished yet... This is to 'continue Princess Eileen's benevolent will, to accommodate and save more poor Ryan refugees'!"

Elsie's thinking was crystal clear.

Princess Eileen enjoys such high prestige among the lower-class residents of Thunder City, especially among the workers in the new industrial zone, that even His Majesty cannot help but take notice.

Nowadays, many lawmakers display the renegotiation of Bill 6 in their campaigns as a cherry on top of the cake.

Now, by linking the boss's ideas with Princess Eileen's "benevolence," it's like giving wings to the boss's dreams.

What are the benefits of expanding refugee camps?

Isn't this just a more euphemistic way of saying "import more Ryans"?

Moreover, this approach is more likely to resonate with the underprivileged, since they might actually be moving into slums.

Even today, serfs who have lost their lords continue to move into the refugee camps outside Thunder City, but in recent months the influx of people has been mainly Ryanians.

Especially in the last month, due to the fire in Roland City in the winter, the camp has become increasingly dirty and crowded.

Expanding the size of the refugee camps won't immediately cause the Ryan people to multiply, but the goodwill they show will always travel along the trade routes to the upper reaches of the River Run, bringing a continuous supply of labor to the factories in Thunder City.

Horace was clearly a sensible man, and after a little thought, he understood the deeper meaning behind those words.

"That makes sense!"

His eyes gleamed, and he clenched his fist excitedly. "Elsie, make a note of this! We'll say that later!"

"Don't worry, boss, I've already noted it down." Elsie breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that her boss was someone who listened to advice, and that she wouldn't be stuck in the office this time.

Having resolved his political future, Horace felt refreshed and in high spirits.

Just then, he suddenly remembered something that hadn't been resolved yet.

Now that I've decided to start a second career, I'll take this opportunity to finalize things.

“Elsie, I’ve told you before that we need to expand the factory’s management team. Now that Plant 2 is in operation, it’s time to put this on the agenda… Our factory is no longer a small workshop; it needs to be managed by a more professional management team.”

Horace cleared his throat, making his voice sound more solemn, and announced his appointment to Elsie's unexpected yet expectant gaze.

"I have decided to recruit a real accountant and a human resources manager for the Horace Textile Mill."

"As for you, I think the position of factory manager is more suitable for you... It's a real waste of your talents to make you an accountant."

Elsie held her breath, momentarily speechless, almost stunned by the sudden good news.

Factory manager...

Saint Sis, he's only in his early twenties, yet he's already risen to the position of factory manager!

Coming to his senses, he burst into tears of joy, his voice choked with emotion, "Boss! I will definitely live up to your expectations!"

The mushy voice made Horace very uncomfortable. He raised his hand to scratch the back of his head and then casually swayed his hand.

"Do a good job, I have high hopes for you... just like you have high hopes for me to become a future knight. Of course, if I'm not selected, you can be the manager... I'll still have to manage the factory myself."

"Boss! Don't worry!" Elsie's eyes shone brightly, his fists clenched, and he exuded unprecedented enthusiasm. "Even if it costs me my life, I will definitely help you get into the councilor's position!"

“Ahem… that’s not necessary. Sir Horace, in the future, would prefer you to spend your life in more meaningful ways, such as his factory.”

Horace chuckled, finding himself surprisingly enjoying the feeling of being flattered, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously turned up.

Perhaps this was Saint Sis’s fourth revelation to himself, praising the omnipresent holy light. Perhaps the position of councilor was more suitable for him to display his shamelessness than that of a textile factory manager.

At the same time, looking at the grateful young man in front of him, a different kind of feeling arose in his heart.

He always felt that the people of Campbell were ungrateful wretches who would slack off if he withheld their wages for two days.

But now he suddenly realized that there were good lads like Elsie among them.

Or to be more precise, they are all really great guys.

If you respond positively to their enthusiasm, they will respond positively with their intelligence, instead of venting their resentment on you...

...

In early February of 1054 AD, Councilor Luo Yan was utterly speechless at how long the winter vacation in hell was.

Meanwhile, Horace, the factory manager of Thunder City, and Yokavin, the factory manager, were scrambling for a minor city councilor position.

That's not a real head injury.

Instead, Yokavin's manager had a sudden inspiration and brought up the old story of how Horace's textile factory had broken a young man's arm, making a big deal out of it to expose Horace's hypocritical "benevolence."

The crowd erupted in uproar.

They remembered that there had indeed been such a thing before, before Princess Eileen went on her campaign.

Unfortunately, Elsie was one step ahead, having already anticipated that the cunning and treacherous factory manager, Yokavin, would bring up the old grievances and make a fuss about the arm that got caught in the textile machine, causing it to get caught again.

He'd been waiting for him to bring this up for ages!

Just as public opinion was raging, he brought the young man out again, made him stand in front of everyone, showed him his newly grown arm, and had him tell the story of what happened after that day.

“My name is Blaken. I’ve heard that you’ve started talking about me again, making fun of me, and feeling sorry for my arm… I feel that as the person involved, I should say something.”

At the corner of Factory Street No. 4 in the new industrial zone, a slightly uneasy young man stood in front of the crowd.

Encouraged by Elsie's gaze, he thought of the money in his pocket and finally mustered up the courage.

“Mr. Horace took me to the church and instructed the priest to make sure my injuries were healed. He told me not to worry about the money, that he would pay for it, even if it meant mortgaging his factory… I can testify that he is a truly good man, although he can be a bit harsh at times.”

It's true that he was taken to the church, and it's also true that his arm was healed, since Horace didn't dare disobey Princess Irene.

In the continent of Os, apart from congenital disabilities, perhaps only poverty can cause disability.

The arm that grew from the holy light, though not as good as the one born from one's parents, still didn't affect daily life.

He doesn't go on adventures in the maze.

As for the rest... I believe Saint Sis won't blame him, since he didn't say which priest heard those words.

Looking at the young man who was blatantly lying, Yokavin was so angry he felt like he was going to vomit blood.

He wasn't involved, but he knew Horace all too well. That stingy guy who wouldn't even change his clothes when they were torn would say something like that.

If that greedy undead dares to say it, he'll devour the entire church of Thunder City!

Eat as much as you can!

Seeing the people beginning to waver, Yokavin finally couldn't hold back any longer. This respectable gentleman pushed his way through the crowd, came to the front, and glared at the young man, asking...

"By Saint Seis, how much money did he spend to buy your soul?! Have you considered the disaster your lies might bring upon us? You have sent a true demon into our council!"

"2000 silver pounds, sir."

The young man didn't hide anything and told the respectable gentleman the truth, leaving the wide-eyed Yokavin speechless.

“To be honest, this is compensation from Mr. Horace because… he feels that I have ultimately lost something. Money cannot replace the flesh and blood my parents gave me, but it is the only price he can pay. He begged me to accept this money, as it will make him feel better.”

Yokavin had never heard such a shameless statement. He could almost feel the miser grinning triumphantly at him while clutching his bleeding chest.

"Didn't expect that, did you? I knew it all along! You treacherous little devil, you'd pull this trick!"

The crowd erupted in excitement.

Especially those workers who had joined in the commotion and besieged the textile factory with Horace's workers.

That simple and pure resonance is more effective than any number of newspapers, because the person involved is right here!

"By Saint Sith..."

“We…we have wronged Mr. Horace once again.”

"I knew he was a generous man! Don't forget, he was the first to build us a large dormitory and the first to pay our wages in silver pounds!"

Looking at that group of fools, Yokavin let out a desperate shout.

"Wake up! Where did these silver pounds come from a year ago?!"

"Didn't you guys notice? This guy's compensation was just given out!!"

However, that righteous cry was ultimately too insignificant.

Just like Horace who shouted in the square that day to shut down the factory, his voice was also drowned out by the heartfelt sighs of the crowd.

It's no wonder that Yokavin's voice was too soft.

After all, delaying compensation is no big deal. Which of the workers here hasn't been owed wages?

At least he gave it.

And that was indeed a very large sum!

Thus, thanks to Elsie's "ingenious plan," Horace easily defeated his most formidable rival.

As for the owner of the biscuit factory, he's not even in the ring.

Just as he mocked, that little sparrow was far too insignificant, unable to even manage a business properly, how could it be worthy of being his opponent?

Amidst Yokavin's curses, the stingy demon finally got his wish and sat in the Thunder City Council Hall.

Dressed in a suit and tie, drinking free black tea, he participated in the deliberation and voting on Bill Six, deciding the fate of the cattle and sheep.

Horace pondered for a long time, but ultimately did not blindly vote against it, after all, it was a recorded vote.

Considering that this reputation was bought with 2,000 silver pounds, he still had to cherish that expensive feather.

At least don't let it get dirty too soon.

Furthermore, ignoring people's voices will come at a price; the taut string will eventually snap.

Still harboring a sliver of piety, he always believed that Saint Sith must have given him some kind of revelation.

Otherwise, why would it have been the chosen ones who came to save him in the first place?

As Elsie pointed out, the bill will have little impact on established Horace textile mills. Those who will truly feel the pinch are likely the "old hands" who exploit their apprentices in the name of tradition.

These guys are masters at putting on a sanctimonious act, as if they wouldn't even hurt a fly, when in fact they've swallowed even the fly whole.

After careful consideration, Horace, as an industry insider, participated in revising the specific content of the proposal.

After extensive consultations and adjustments, the three laws were finalized into a version that aligns with the interests of the majority and passed the final vote by a narrow margin.

The first rule is that the minimum wage in Thunder City will be adjusted from 2,000 copper coins per month to 12 silver pounds per month, and must be paid in silver pounds.

It's a real shame that the factories in Thunder City can no longer use increasingly worthless copper coins to exploit the hard-earned money of the Campbellians.

However, compared to the average wage of 20 silver pounds, the minimum standard of 12 silver pounds doesn't seem so unacceptable, especially since many people are already paying higher wages...

Apart from the guild artisans who never pay their apprentices wages.

To my shame, even in Thunder City, which has begun to industrialize, there are still quite a few employers who remain in the feudal era, and it may take some time to completely eliminate them.

If serfs were the slaves of lords, serving the castle system, then apprentices were the slaves of craftsmen, serving the vast guild system, deeply rooted in the bloodline of every city in the Old World.

The second article concerns compensation for dismissed employees, and specific compensation standards have been established.

If an employer dismisses an employee without cause, the employer must pay three months' salary as compensation to employees who have worked for more than three months, and an additional month's salary as compensation to employees who have worked for less than three months.

As for the third point, it is the "guarantee fund" that Eileen mentioned, which is the "additional tax" that everyone is concerned about.

Eileen hopes that employers in the new industrial zone will set aside 10% of their revenue as a guarantee for their workers, providing them with compensation if they are injured.

However, in reality, not all industries have such high profit margins, nor do all industries bear such high risks.

For example, the risks faced by steelworkers and pastry chefs are obviously different, and the value they generate is also different.

Employers will eventually pass on some of the costs to employees, and whether it is fair or not is debatable, even if the pastry chef only shares half of the risk costs of the steelworkers.

The city hall's solution was to establish a separate "Work Injury Insurance Law".

The law stipulates that manual laborers in high-risk industries such as factories, mines, railways, and shipyards are subject to this law, and clearly defines the basic principle of "no fault on the part of the worker".

Simply put, a hundred years ago, Campbell workers had to provide evidence to prove "the employer's fault" and defeat the employer in court, who was virtually unbeatable.

Now, they no longer need to prove anything or go to court, because employers are required to purchase insurance for their employees, and ensuring that employees receive insurance compensation is the responsibility of the regulatory body under the city hall.

The bill remains unpopular.

But it's still better than everyone paying a 10% "special tax" to establish a fund that even Eileen herself probably hasn't figured out how to implement.

Thus, the hastily drafted Bill No. 6 was revised and became thicker and thicker, eventually becoming two bills: the Factory Act and the Workers' Compensation Act.

The former clearly defines the working hours of child laborers and female laborers, and makes clear provisions for supervisors of production safety and the installation of protective facilities in production workshops.

As for the latter, it is actually the prototype of the "national social security system," but the people present have not yet realized it.

After all, in their minds, the "nation" was still just a vague prototype, born from the weavers' curses against the king and the heated arguments of the councilors.

Summarizing the past is the work of historians; everyone at the conference table is just a passenger on that ship, and no one knows where they will eventually go.

Horace was one of them.

As a slightly larger cog in the machine of the Principality of Campbell, all he could do was keep the balls moving.

In order to get ahead of himself, or rather, to become "the esteemed Sir Horace" sooner, he finally put forward his long-brewing proposal before the meeting ended—

Thunder City needs to expand its refugee camp, and the city hall should establish a "technical school" for the expanded camp to ensure that they can learn a skill more quickly, enter factories as soon as possible, and support themselves.

"...This city does not only belong to the respectable people, but also to those who are not respectable enough."

“They are our past, our future, and our very future. Besides letting them wait for aid, we should teach them something, like literacy, so they can find work on their own. Or, for example, how to use a loom…”

This guy, who's always spouting off, occasionally manages to come up with a brilliant quote or two.

If Eileen were here, she would definitely be amazed by this miser's transformation.

At least the tavern owner sitting next to him stared in surprise and reluctantly gave him a round of applause.

This proposal set the stage for new legislation.

Although whether it will pass is still unknown, its appearance certainly earned Horace a lot of applause.

In February of 1054 AD, a notorious miser sat in the enlarged meeting hall and made a surprisingly generous statement about expanding the "well-being of the poor".

However, Mr. Horace ultimately failed to make the front page of the Thunder City Daily.

After all, compared to the two bills passed on the same day, and another major event concerning the fate of the principality that occurred at the same time, this little matter really seemed insignificant...

(End of this chapter)