level_main_11-03_end

Several days later...

Well?

Inventory check. This lot of factories has handed in its designated amount of material.

Excellent.

Ms. Catherine, as you know, taking on Londinium's hundreds of factories and ensuring their smooth operation is by no means a simple feat.

Thus, my only option is to personally see every handover completed.

Some unpleasantness always comes part and parcel, but this handover, out of this final set of factories, has been the smoothest.

I must thank you for your willing cooperation, and for sparing me so much time.

I just don't want to do anything that'd be of no avail.

I admire your attitude, Ms. Catherine.

But I'm afraid your heart of hearts doesn't agree with you.

You mean...?

I hear a few days ago, some workers fled your factory. Being the case, I'd like to take stock of personnel while I'm here, and have a look at your factory's names.

...It was my grandson who ran.

Catherine...

Oh?

Young 'uns tend to do without thinking.

Very plain-dealing of you, Ms. Catherine, but frankness alone will not quell this matter.

Sir, I can't guarantee you everyone under me is of one mind. I don't have that capacity.

I can only guarantee this factory hands in its designated material quota.

Could I ascertain—are you asking me to let him go?

He's a single tyke, every hair on his head out of place. He's hardly going to affect this factory's operation.

But you could.

I've heard about your past deeds, Ms. Catherine.

No wonder you were chosen as a workers' representative. A woman of honor. I esteem you for it.

But we always must nip these things at the bud. Or are you able to guarantee me that your grandson won't become a traitor to us, such as... if he joined that Self-Salvation Corps that's all the vogue.

I've no need to guarantee it, Sir.

Young 'uns always think they can do something.

But it always turns out they don't know what it is they're facing.

They'll... nip themselves.

...I understand your sentiment.

Indeed. Pursuing a single escaped worker pales in comparison to the gravity of ensuring a dozen factories continue to stably operate.

I can overlook this affair, Ms. Catherine.

But I do hope you're able to keep your promise.

As long as I'm in charge of this factory, there'll never be a problem.

Excellent. In that case, it's time we get on with the handover ceremony.

*sigh* Just our goddamned luck. I wanted to go to the factory too and watch the flag raising.

Quit griping. You can see it from here anyway. Just tough it out.

There's none of the gravitas here that you get watching on-site.

Man, who the hell knew we'd actually take Victoria's capital? Dream of that in the past and you'd kick yourself.

True enough.

Still, next comes the hardest period. The dukes are all eyes on us.

Hmph. If they were good for anything, we wouldn't have seized Londinium so handily.

That was close...

Phew. Lucky these mercs have no idea the plate has a gap you can get into here.

Feist makes his way to a pipeline entrance.

He's done his survey. Somewhere along this passage is a connection to Sudean.

But now on the verge of setting foot inside it, he has doubts after all.

He wasn't kidding Patto. He's thought over every difficulty he might potentially face.

Critically, though, and what he never said, was that he didn't have a plan for every problem.

Granny wasn't wrong, after all. He's just a smith. He has a head that passes for smart, and relatively hardworking.

These two things ensured he could muddle through life fine in Londinium's peaceful years, but there's no telling if they'll save his life right under the Sarkaz's noses.

Tommy was right. If only those massive, hulking metal lads were still around.

He's all grown up, and still he's never seen a Steam Knight before.

Bang. Clang. Bang.

With the factory ceiling so high, and the hatches so small, the view of the sky can't help being miniscule from within.

Its ever-changing shades cast a like projection down into the factory. Never-changing is the sound of the assembly line, one hunk of metal striking another—

As well as the sight of old Granny, standing at its side.

Think it's dull, don't you?

Hold onto your hammer and spanner tight.

If you really want to do something, you've got to persevere.

You strike once, and you get nothing more than a hunk of beaten metal.

You strike again and again, and you can make steam armor.

You strike again and again, and then your child, and your children's children carry on striking—

And we've got Londinium.

Should he head back?

Should he go in?

He has no idea.

From far away comes the sound of a Sarkaz bugle, and Feist follows that sound.

Atop every factory in Londinium stands a flag.

That flag stands for Victoria.

Not once since this factory's founding has that ever changed.

But that, as of today, <i>has</i> changed.

Sign here, Ms. Catherine.

Without hesitation, Catherine, upon the document that embodies transferal of factory authority, signs a practiced signature.

And now, the final changing of the flag.

Go.

Yes, sir.

Stay, Ms. Catherine.

Be what it may, you are currently witnessing history.

Sir, can I light a smoke?

By all means.

Sir, just as you've heard of me, I've heard about you too.

Oh?

Gaul.

Yes... My father was a Gaulish loyalist, that's no secret.

If you're querying me how I feel at this moment, Ms. Catherine...

An instant of joy that there was no blood shed throughout this procedure, but outside of that, my heart is filled with nothing but sorrow.

Not far away, Sarkaz soldiers ferry over the flag that stands for them.

Meanwhile, an additional two Sarkaz prepare to lower the current one.

Catherine can see the happiness on their faces.

And beyond them, a resplendent sunset glow.

Catherine knows. It all signifies the dark isn't long away.

Feist turns his head, and from this position, he just so happens to be able to see the factory's flagpole towering high.

He stands there, and watches as Victoria's flag descends, foot by foot.

A moment later, foot by foot, the flag of the Sarkaz rises.

As if nothing's changed at all.

He takes a deep breath, and sets foot into the pipeline.

It's pitch dark within. Apprehensively, he sets off, for the direction of Sudean he recalls.

All of Londinium's munitions factories have now completed the handover, and on this day, they have exchanged Victorian flags for those of the Sarkaz.

They flutter in the breeze.