In Wischeim's largest iron mine owner's private reception room, a portly man named Jules had gathered nearly all the capitalists and factory owners in the city.
"An eight-hour workday? Double pay for overtime? And we have to provide some damn safety guarantees? Who does he think he is? An Elector?"
Jules brutally stubbed his cigar out in the ashtray, his fleshy face contorted with rage.
"This is outright robbery! Why should some country bumpkin leader get to dictate how we run the businesses we've worked so hard to build?"
"Mr. Jules is right!" a textile factory owner chimed in.
"If we actually do as he says, our profits will drop by at least thirty percent! Those workers are worthless. Give them an inch, and they'll be taking a dump on our heads!"
"But… but the newly succeeded countess seems to be on his side," a slightly more timid voice piped up.
Jules sneered. "Gertrude? She's just a little girl who's barely weaned!"
"She needs that Lacey to help her clean up the Witch King's remnants and solidify her position right now, so of course she'll bend to his every whim."
"Once she's secure, do you really think she'll tolerate a bumpkin giving orders in her territory? Don't be naive!"
"So what do we do now? We can't actually listen to him, can we?"
"Of course not!" A vicious glint flashed in Jules's eyes.
"The law is rigid, but people are flexible. We'll unite and feign compliance!"
"He wants eight hours? Fine. We'll have the foremen find ways to use all sorts of assessments and fines to drag their clock-out time to ten hours! Twelve hours!"
"He wants overtime pay? Fine. We'll deduct it from their base wages!"
"He wants safety equipment? Does giving them a few broken straw hats count?"
"I'd like to see how he, one man, can manage so many of our factories and mines!!"
The group of pot-bellied capitalists exchanged smiles, all thinking it was a brilliant idea.
They formed a pact of mutual defense, deciding to use subtle obstruction to run Lacey and his new policies into the ground.
...
However, they had severely underestimated Lacey's determination, and the executive power of the nascent Workers' Party.
On the very first day the new act was implemented, a situation arose at Jules's iron mine.
Using the excuse of tool inventory and a safety briefing, the foreman delayed the workers' clock-out time by over an hour.
Furthermore, he announced that due to the poor quality of the ore this month, everyone's salary would be docked by ten percent.
The workers grumbled, but they dared not voice their anger.
Just then, the young miner who had roared with excitement in the square stepped forward.
He was now the Workers' Party liaison for the mining district.
"According to the new Labor Act, any unwarranted delay of work hours or docking of wages is illegal!" he shouted.
"Brothers, we can't endure this any longer! Mr. Lacey said we have to fight for our own rights!"
The foreman's face changed, and he brandished his whip, cursing, "Who the hell do you think you are? If you dare stir up trouble again, I'll whip you to death!"
Before the words had left his mouth, a small squad of twenty Workers' Party Picket Team members, led by Taylor, appeared at the mine entrance.
Taylor's tower-like frame stood there. He didn't even have to make a move; he just stared at the foreman with his large, bronze-bell eyes, and the whip in the foreman's hand fell to the ground with a clatter.
"From this day forward, our Workers' Party will station supervisors in every factory and mine in Wischeim to oversee the implementation of the new act," Taylor announced, his voice booming like a great bell.
"Anyone who dares to disobey is making an enemy of all the workers of Wischeim!"
...
The next day, Jules's iron mine saw the first organized and disciplined strike in Wischeim's history.
The workers didn't cause trouble or vandalize property. They simply sat quietly at the mine entrance, refusing to work and refusing to back down.
Jules was furious. He spent a large sum to hire a group of thugs from the city who, armed with knives and clubs, charged menacingly toward the mine in an attempt to violently disperse the workers.
A conflict was about to erupt.
However, before the thugs could even get close, Taylor and his Picket Team moved to intercept them.
These hooligans, who typically only preyed on the weak, felt their knees go soft when they saw Taylor's muscles, harder than rock, and the determined gazes of the workers behind him.
The gang leader put on a brave front and yelled, "What do you think you're doing? Rebelling?"
Taylor grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth. He reached out with a hand as large as a cattail fan, grabbed the wooden club the thug was swinging, and with a slight twist, snapped the bowl-thick club like a pretzel.
"Rebelling?" Taylor tossed the broken pieces to the ground. "We're just reasoning with you."
The thugs, scared out of their wits, dropped their weapons and scattered like rats.
Jules's last hope was the City Guard.
He sent a man to request their aid, claiming that rioters were storming the mine.
But when the City Guard arrived, they merely observed from a distance. The leading captain even gave Taylor a friendly nod before withdrawing his troops, stating it was a "labor dispute, inconvenient to intervene."
Jules was utterly dumbfounded.
Only then did he understand that the little girl Gertrude wasn't just putting on a show with Lacey. She had genuinely handed over half of Wischeim to that country bumpkin.
The alliance of resistance crumbled in an instant.
The other factory owners, seeing Jules's miserable state, were scared witless.
They scrambled to send representatives to the Workers' Party headquarters, expressing their willingness to comply with the new act unconditionally. They even proactively offered to improve the workers' meals and build new dormitories.
Three days later, Jules, too, lowered his proud head.
He personally came to the warehouse serving as the Workers' Party headquarters and stood before Lacey like a defeated rooster.
Lacey didn't humiliate him. He even poured him a glass of water.
"Mr. Jules, I'm not here to smash your rice bowl," Lacey said calmly.
"A healthy city needs capitalists, and it needs workers."
"I just want to establish a fairer set of rules, so that the workers can have less blood and tears, and more hope."
"From now on, play by the rules, and we'll have no problems with each other."
"You earn the money you're supposed to earn, and the workers get the blood money they're supposed to get. Everyone's happy. Can we agree on that?"
What could Jules say? He could only nod his head repeatedly like a chick pecking at grain.
The storm ended in a complete victory for the Workers' Party.
...
At dusk, the old miner Hans sat at his doorway, watching his seven-year-old grandson skip home from the commoners' school.
Though the little one's face was still smudged with ink, his eyes shone with a light that had never been there before.
"Grandpa, Grandpa, listen to me sing! This is a new ballad the teacher taught us today!"
The child sang in his innocent voice: "Little, little gears, turn the factory grand, with our own two hands, we build a new homeland…"
Listening, Hans's cloudy eyes gradually grew moist.
In the end, he never did get to write his name backward.
________________________________________
Get rewarded for helping with our community goals!
🎯 Reward for all: +1 bonus chapter at 50 Powerstones.
🚀 Tier Reward: Help us reach 10 members for +5 chapters on all stories!
👻 Join the crew by searching Ms. Medusa on (P). You know the spot! 😉