On the day Dragon Kingdom's Orbital Factory began production, a group of visitors arrived at Smith's factory on the East Coast of the Eagle Kingdom.
The state official pushed a personnel transfer order across the table to him.
"These immigrants will be uniformly trained and organized by state-affiliated forces. The factory can continue operating, but the personnel must be handed over."
Morgan, seated nearby, raised his coffee. This consortium figure, who had once discussed warzone investments with Smith, had brought six Second Advancement guards with him today.
"We'll compensate you for the costs of training them," he said with a smile. "Don't be so reluctant. You can't support a private army for the rest of your life with just a few factories."
Smith did not touch the document. Through the glass, he looked at the workers in the factory.
Some stopped their machines, while others untied their aprons. They had already heard the argument in the reception area. The smiles vanished from their faces as they gradually turned to look over.
"Compensation?" Smith turned his head. "Then have them fight for you and drive their families back onto the streets?"
The state official looked displeased.
"They still don't have legal residency status. You should be grateful for our tolerance in letting them stay here."
The workers near the door clenched their fists, but none of them stepped forward without permission.
Morgan noticed and set down his cup.
"I know they play the game too. But look outside. Even dockworkers can lift cars with their bare hands now. Smith, is raising a bunch of Transcendentals really something worth being so proud of?"
"Of course it isn't."
Smith stood and gestured toward the door.
"Have everyone come over."
The workers emerged from the various production lines and stood behind their leaders. Morgan