The nobles stared Yarrick down like vicious jackals guarding their food. "What could you possibly understand? Do you know how much property we'll lose if the war reaches the hive city? Enough to scare you to death! Even if you signed a slave contract and worked without rest for ten thousand years, you still couldn't repay those losses!"
As though they had found a common topic, the nobles began flaunting their precious assets to Yarrick and describing the losses they would suffer in battle. Compensation for a single nail, renovation costs for a single floor tile—prices poured endlessly from their mouths, calculated with astonishing precision. Listening to their ceaseless babbling, Yarrick felt deeply exhausted and turned his gaze toward the two entrepreneurs in black formalwear.
"While fighting within the hive city, we must also maintain wartime production. Everything from the production lines must be centrally allocated, and the manufacturing equipment must begin relocating immediately."
The military-industrial entrepreneurs sucked in a breath at Yarrick's plan and turned to look at Von Ozke. Yet their true master was still trapped in shock, staring blankly at the terrifying Machine God priest draped in red robes.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, one entrepreneur forced a smile as he complained, "Commissar, you may not know this, but our factories are already running at full capacity. We haven't even raised prices on increasingly scarce supplies—we've bought them all at their original prices. Compared to before, we've already lost five percent of our profits."
"Yes, yes, Commissar. We've already done everything we can to cooperate with the Imperium in this war. The military factories are operating at a loss, and we've even reduced how often we attend banquets to support the Imperium's war effort."
"Yes, yes." The two entrepreneurs took turns telling Yarrick how difficult things