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After showing the Andalusian noblen and rchants the steel stockpile, Ragnar quickly walked into the next area of the industrial sector which housed the "Consur Goods Factory"; there were two of such facilities in City Titan.
One was dedicated to heavy tools for the dostic infrastructure projects, and the other was split into production for foreign export.
The export factory was also manned by hundreds of "Interns," who utilized massive steam-driven trip hamrs and other water-powered machinery to pound the glowing ingots into the shapes of plowshares, saw blades, nails, and standardized cooking pots.
Vizier Al-Hakam witnessed the final process of creating a Standardized Saw Blade in the hands of one of the workers.
It was stamped from a sheet of steel, the teeth cut with a precision that would make a hand-filer weep. It was then stacked neatly onto a pallet filled with hundreds of other blades which would later be inspected for quality control.
Only after the shipnt was fully inspected and tested for tensile strength would they be shipped out to their custors.
Ragnar knew the importance of brand reputation, and as such, he did his best to maintain the quality of his exports.
Each piece of equipnt approved for export was given a proof mark shaped like the Iron Gear, symbolizing that it had been manufactured and received approval for shipnt within the factories of Titan.
Ragnar began to introduce the facility to the scholars as if he was a Silicon Valley CEO giving a TED Talk.
"This is the Civilian Hardware Division, used to produce tools from the excess steel manufactured in the city. Each piece of equipnt is stress-tested. If it fails to et our standards, it is recycled into the scrap heap and lted down again.
I have stringent guidelines about quality control to ensure that when a farr in Cordoba buys a Viking plow, it lasts for three generations."
The idea of strict quality control was sothing Ragnar had taken from his previous life as a project manager.
Seeing such a massive stockpile of high-quality tools being loaded onto wagons, the Andalusian rchants and noblen were practically salivating at the sight.
They all wanted to get their hands on the hardware in front of them, where they could be sold in the Caliphate for a large profit or used to modernize their own estates.
Ragnar had yet to show the actual R&D lab which housed his "Special Projects", but he had already captured the interests of the n from the South.
From the looks in their eyes, he could tell they would spread this news across the diterranean, and Ragnar would gain various new markets.
Al-Hakam, in particular, could not wait to return ho and inform the Caliph about such a massive opportunity.
After all, the Caliphate was a highly sophisticated society; they valued science and engineering above all else. A partnership with the "Iron Director" could secure their northern flank against the Christians.
After showing off the tool factory, Ragnar finally dragged the n over to the Textile Mill; after opening the heavy doors and displaying the full might of his chanized looms, the scholars were absolutely shocked.
The mill was a deafening cacophony of flying shuttles and clattering gears.
Thousands of yards of grey wool and linen were being woven per hour. This was the result of the "Spinning Jenny" prototype Ragnar had implented.
Seeing the sight before him, Al-Hakam's eyes nearly fell out of his sockets. He could not fathom so much fabric being produced without a single hand-weaver in sight.
"It is... hypnotic," Al-Hakam whispered, watching the shuttles fly back and forth. "The geotry of the weave is perfect."
After confirming that they were looking at reality, the Andalusian rchants recovered their senses and instantly began thinking about taking advantage of this.
The rchants, in particular, wanted to resell this cloth for an exorbitant price in the bazaars of Seville.
One particularly ambitious rchant, wearing a turban of fine blue silk, approached Ragnar with a smile on his face as if the young Director was his long-lost brother.
"Director Ragnar, what would it take for to acquire exclusive distribution rights for this 'Standardized Wool' in the port of Malaga?"
Seeing the way the man was looking at him made Ragnar grin internally. He knew the value of the cloth and the man's plans. As such, he made a figure he felt was appropriate for a Series A investor.
"I will accept a 15% Tariff on all gross sales, payable in gold dinars. Plus, I want a shipnt of Cotton Seeds and Citrus Trees to be delivered to my greenhouse experint."
The demand for agricultural technology was specific. Ragnar missed oranges. He missed soft towels. He wanted to grow them in his new glass-houses heated by the blast furnace exhaust.
The rchant's smile faltered slightly. "Cotton seeds? But Director, cotton requires sun! You live in a land of eternal fog!"
"I have... thods," Ragnar said vaguely, thinking of his greenhouse blueprints. "Do we have a deal?"
The rchant gritted his teeth and nodded. The profit margin on the wool was too high to pass up, even if the Viking was delusional about growing oranges in Northumbria.
"Deal."
After concluding the initial transaction, Ragnar completed the tour of his industrial district. He had kept them away from the Locomotive Shed and the Chemical Engineering Lab, preserving his military secrets. Still, he had shown them enough to secure a massive influx of capital.
Al-Hakam approached Ragnar as they walked out into the cool evening air.
"Director," the Vizier said quietly. "You have shown us your steel, your tools, and your cloth. But you have not shown us the Weapon."
Ragnar stopped walking. He looked at the Vizier.
"The weapon?"
"The one you plan to use against the Franks," Al-Hakam clarified. "The Naphtha I brought you... it is not for lamps, is it?"
Ragnar smiled. A dangerous, predator's smile.
"Co with , Al-Hakam. But leave your rchants behind. This is classified."
Ragnar led the Vizier to a secluded testing ground near the coast, far from the prying eyes of the trade delegation. There, sitting on a set of rails that ran parallel to the beach, was a strange, armored wagon.
It looked like a boiler on wheels, but instead of a chimney, it had a long, brass nozzle protruding from the front.
"Behold," Ragnar whispered. "The Dragon's Breath."
Ragnar signaled to Leif the Lesser, who was standing inside the armored cab.
"Pressure check?"
"Maximum, Director!"
"Open the valve."
HISSSSSS... FWOOSH!
A jet of liquid fire erupted from the nozzle, arching fifty feet through the air and drenching a cluster of target dummies dressed in old Frankish armor.
The fire clung to the tal, burning with a ferocious, sticky intensity. The heat could be felt from where they stood.
Al-Hakam watched, srized and horrified.
"It is... beautiful," the Vizier admitted. "And terrifying. You have chanized Hell."
"The Franks are bringing faith," Ragnar said, the reflection of the flas dancing in his eyes. "I am bringing thermal dynamics."
Al-Hakam turned to Ragnar.
"You will need more Naphtha. A lot more."
"Can you supply it?"
"If you give the blueprints for the Water Pump," Al-Hakam countered. "The Caliph wants to irrigate the deserts."
Ragnar extended his hand.
"Done. I'll throw in the schematic for the Flush Toilet as a bonus."
Al-Hakam shook the hand. The alliance was sealed.
As the sun set over the testing ground, Ragnar felt a sense of grim satisfaction.
The Franks were sailing into a trap. And Ragnar was going to make sure the reception was warm.
"Now," Ragnar said, dusting soot off his tunic. "Let's go back to the cafeteria. It is Waffle Wednesday, and I believe the kitchen staff has finally perfected the syrup ratio."
Al-Hakam laughed. "You Vikings... you conquer the world with one hand and invent breakfast with the other."
"Multitasking," Ragnar winked. "Efficiency is Victory."
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