Imperial Units Strictly Prohibited
The very next day after the cold war and neutrality policy was set, Miller Pharmaceuticals came looking for them, just as Kashi had predicted. Their subsequent actions unfolded exactly as she foresaw. They revealed that the raid from the previous night was Neville Pharmaceuticals' doing and requested Amon and Sonia's cooperation. The two accepted the offer without hesitation. Once the Miller rep had left, they sprang into action immediately.
Koenu Rich Forge
The pair headed to the forge that the doctor had recommended. It was located in Marseille, far from Paris, making it impossible to drive there—they had to take the train. For security reasons, they rented out an entire car to themselves.
"I looked it up online, and no matter how I slice it, this isn't some personal workshop," Amon explained on the way. Despite the name, its structure was more like a corporation. There were multiple workshops, but they all fell under the Koenu Rich Forge umbrella. The forge divided up a massive plot of land into sections, assigning master blacksmiths—each like a department head—to each one. These heads were direct disciples of Representative Koenu Rich, each specializing in their own field, crafting commissioned items to play to their strengths. Thanks to this, Koenu Rich Forge didn't just make guns and blades; they produced cars, bikes, and even airplanes. Anything that could be forged from metal, they could make. It was fair to say they handled it all.
The secret behind this absurd versatility lay in their irreplaceable handcraft skills, magic, and the existence of divine power. Sure, technology had advanced and industry had replaced most blacksmiths—but only for machine-made parts. Infusing mana or divine power, or processing byproducts from entities like monsters? Mass production hit a wall there. And in a world full of variables and magic, every client's demands were unique. Mass production couldn't fully meet that demand, so the prestige of forges like this remained unbroken.
[Sounds like the perfect optimized talent pool, huh?]
Kashi marveled as she listened to Amon's explanation. The service center she planned to establish in Paris would need to repair anything infused with essence. When you didn't even know what needed fixing, these blacksmiths were far better suited than your average factory techs. But Amon looked puzzled at her admiration.
"You seriously didn't think of this? You're not just buttering me up, right?"
[Of course I thought of it! Even before I saw the future! But I figured the feasibility was low.]
According to her, connections were the issue.
[The Koenu Rich Forge rep is infamous for being impossible to deal with. So until I saw your future... Ah, got it up to there.]
Amon pretended not to hear and moved on. Playing innocent, she asked him in turn.
[How'd you connect with this guy? For real, I have no idea.]
"Secret."
He figured the doctor was involved somehow, which was why she couldn't see it. Kashi bought that and let it drop. Sonia seemed oddly miffed, mumbling to herself before giving up.
Before long, the pair arrived in the city housing the forge: Marseille, France's massive port hub, second only to Paris in size and buzzing with people.
"No raids after all. Kinda surprising."
"Amon. Don't say it like you're disappointed."
"Did it sound that way?"
"Yeah. You're addicted to the thrill."
Amon started to argue but stopped. Strictly speaking, he hadn't expected an attack. He'd just recalled one of isekai world's ironclad laws: "Trains are the most dangerous mode of transport." It went hand-in-hand with "Helicopters always crash"—a classic. He'd been on edge the whole ride, only to relax when nothing happened, leaving him deflated. But explaining that aloud sounded no different from thrill-seeking, so he dropped it.
With their peaceful train journey over, they headed to the forge, located on Marseille's outskirts. In the car en route, Amon at the wheel turned to Sonia.
"Isn't there a Neville Pharmaceuticals branch around here?"
"More like a subsidiary, technically?"
"..."
No sooner had he spoken than something burst from the tires.
"Sh— ...Mother of God."
Amon caught himself mid-curse. Sonia sighed.
"Happy now?"
"No, that was a total accident!"
He felt wronged, but having planted the flag, he had nothing to say even with ten mouths.
*
A few more ambushes followed, but they finally reached the forge. The attacks stopped five minutes out.
"Guess they don't want unnecessary beef with the forge," Sonia speculated. Amon nodded a hundred times in agreement. Scale-wise, the forge wasn't even a megacorp, let alone a major conglomerate. The factory was big, but it was just one, and they didn't rake in absolute cash like megacorps. Handmade goods couldn't compete with mass production on volume or profit anyway. By rank, they were mid-tier at best.
But their influence was anything but mid-tier. The gear and vehicles they sold went to megacorp execs, top-tier mercs, or governments. Only they could repair or upgrade them. They were like a missile launch button: easy to press, but good luck with the fallout. Their neutrality ironically granted them absolute power.
(For the record, Representative Koenu Rich's stubborn personality stemmed from that very position.)
Sonia summed up the situation.
"And we have to shatter that neutrality?"
Amon shook his head.
"No need to break it outright."
"You're making it a subsidiary of Kashi's company, right?"
"Yep."
"How's that not breaking neutrality?"
"Can't tell you that either."
"You and your future-sight too... Oh right, you have precog."
As always, Amon brushed it off with "precognition." Though this time, it had nothing to do with game knowledge.
"Who knows."
He kept it vague. Sonia accepted it and moved on. By then, their car had pulled up to the forge. Calling it a "forge" felt inadequate—it was more like an entire industrial zone, a whole village under one roof. Amon and Sonia couldn't help but gawk at the sheer scale.
"All kinds of stuff gets made in there, huh?"
"You bet."
From outside, though, you couldn't see what. Wire fences and barriers blocked the view completely.
"Let's go check it out."
Amon shook his head indulgently at Sonia's urging, steering toward the entrance—though he was just as excited himself.
As they approached, people emerged from the guard post.
"What brings you here?"
Their gear and arms were more soldier than security. If anything, private infantry. Polite words, but with an edge—straddling rude and neutral. With all the traffic in this forge village, it was the impartial stance you'd expect.
Amon matched their courtesy without taking offense.
"We have business with the representative."
"No prior contact on our end."
"We tried reaching out several times, but no answer. He said showing this would do the trick."
Amon handed over the card from the doctor. Cold steel to the touch, yet it fluttered like paper—a bizarre thing. The guards scanned it on some reader device. Green light.
Their attitude flipped instantly.
"Welcome, sir! What can we do for you?"
From neutral-rude limbo to full deference. He could've just asked to pass, but curiosity got the better of Amon.
"You sure it's fine to let us through like this? Should we contact someone separately?"
"No need. The rep never picks up calls or texts anyway."
Probably too busy hammering away to care. Another guard chimed in, painting a clear picture of the rep's personality.
"That's why he hands out those cards. Since you didn't know, must be a referral from an acquaintance?"
"Yes, exactly."
"You're welcome here, sir. Oh, and our rep can be a bit gruff at first meetings—please forgive him."
The guard's smooth social skills drew a wry smile from Amon. He thanked them and headed into the forge's heart, following nav as advised to avoid getting lost. Gazing at the workshops along the way was a bonus.
"Whoa, dozens of guys hammering an airplane. What're they building?"
"Dunno. Maybe the chairman's private jet."
Unlike the sealed exterior, inside it opened up—most workshop processes on full display. Probably to stoke clients' spending lust on the way to their own commissions, Amon guessed. Sure enough, heading deeper, things grew enclosed again. The truly vital work happened there.
Eventually, they reached the village center: a massive workshop.
Representative - Yotron
Dedicated solely to Yotron. They parked and knocked. No answer.
"Huh?"
Amon blurted dumbly at the unexpected silence.
"Maybe we need to scan the card on that reader by the door?"
They tried Sonia's idea. The intercom crackled to life.
"How much does he hate interruptions?"
Ignoring her dismay, Amon shouted into it.
"Anyone there?"
A voice replied from the other end.
"Who is it?"
"Doctor Dant sent us."
"Dant? You mean Doctor Dant?"
"Yes."
The intercom cut off. The door swung open, revealing a soot-covered human.
"Come on in."
Amon eyed him with subtle disappointment.
"Are you Mr. Yotron?"
"Of course not. I'm his direct disciple."
Only then did Amon brighten. The disciple tilted his head at the mood shift, then led them to Yotron. En route, he explained as they toured the workshop. Clang! Clang! Hammers pounded hot metal—a familiar sight. But other processes were alien: compressing iron dust mixed with mana stone powder and freezing it, or 3D-printing molten metal into structures. Some rubbed what looked like entity hide—who knew what for.
Amid the whirlwind tour, they reached the representative: a dwarf. Amon lit up. The disciple eyed his vibe change curiously. Luckily, Yotron wasn't working—just on a call.
"You damned fool! Don't ever expect to hear from me again!"
He slammed the phone down in a fury. As Amon and Sonia formed their first impression, the disciple asked.
"Master, was it those guys again?"
"Yeah. Fucking Yankees and their units."
"Um, Master?"
"Bondor, no more jobs from those Yankee bastards."
Still oblivious to the guests, Yotron barked casually. Bondor broke a sweat calming him.
"Master, we have clients..."
"Oh, sorry. Just noticed."
His demeanor barely shifted—peak cranky artisan. He eyed them.
"You get the vibe from earlier, right? Where you from?"
"America."
"No dice. Scram."
Bondor sweated bullets intervening.
"Doctor Dant sent them!"
"Don't care. Sorry to Dant, but I don't deal with inch-pound users."
Amon grinned and cut in.
"I shop in meters and kilos, though."
"...My apologies."
"No worries. Me and my girl aren't pure Americans anyway."
"Immigrants? Half-breeds?"
"Something like that."
"Then welcome aboard."
Yotron flipped again. Bondor gawked, glaring at his master. Ignoring him, Yotron asked Amon.
"So, what's the business?"
"Something about a partnership..."
"Pass."
"Hear me out."
"I don't do that."
Amon pressed on regardless.
"What if you had unlimited essence as material? Even the legendary stuff."
"...Care to elaborate?"
Amon smiled.
"That's why we're here."