Chapter 448 - 291: The Crushing Blow of Industrialization (Part 2)

Chapter 448: Chapter 291: The Crushing Blow of Industrialization (Part 2)

The technology for refining petroleum was developed alongside the internal combustion engine. However, the abysmal combustion efficiency of early engines meant the technology was largely ignored, and coal remained the market’s primary fuel.

However, thanks to the combined efforts of many inventors, both internal combustion engines and petroleum refining had iterated to a point where they were commercially viable.

"Petroleum?" someone chimed in. "I’ve heard of that stuff. It produces a ton of smoke when you light it, so it’s basically useless. It’s dirt cheap, though."

"That’s right. Unrefined petroleum can’t be used directly as fuel," Benz explained. "But we’ve solved the technical issues. Refined gasoline doesn’t have that problem."

"Does anyone know the price of gasoline?" someone in the audience asked quietly.

Benz answered, "A two-hundred-liter barrel of gasoline like this one costs 15 Silver Coins on the market today. The Victory, on average, consumes 20 liters of fuel per one hundred kilometers."

This fuel consumption of twenty liters per hundred kilometers wasn’t because the Victory was particularly powerful. It was due to the current internal combustion engines having a combustion efficiency of just over twenty percent.

After finishing, Benz couldn’t resist a sarcastic jab at Boss Slade. "Thank you. If you hadn’t brought it up, I would have forgotten to mention it. I seem to recall a Magic-guided Vehicle can travel ten thousand kilometers on a full charge, correct? While gasoline requires frequent refueling, traveling ten thousand kilometers should still be cheaper than using Magic Power."

Boss Slade felt a wave of dizziness and a splitting headache, a sharp ringing in his ears.

Limited by the era’s medical knowledge, he didn’t realize these were symptoms of high blood pressure.

The people in the crowd quickly did the math. For a family car, driving around ten thousand kilometers a year seemed about right.

That meant they would need two thousand liters of gasoline, totaling 150 Silver Coins. That wasn’t even Two Gold Coins a year.

It was an even better deal.

It was even cheaper than keeping a horse.

Horses had always been a luxury. The purchase price was one thing, but the upkeep was also a major expense. This was why cavalry were so valuable—a great deal of that value was tied up in their mounts.

That’s why donkeys, not horses, were typically used for farm work. Compared to horses, donkeys ate less, could subsist on poorer feed, and were less prone to sickness.

So, to describe a miserable laborer as an "ox and horse" was actually something of an insult to horses. An "ox and donkey" would have been more accurate...

Once they understood the fuel costs, people were even more frantic to place their orders. It was a better deal than they had ever imagined.

Boss Slade felt his breathing grow difficult, a sharp pain blooming in his chest.

The bet and all that no longer mattered. What he was facing now was the complete annihilation of his industry.

’No, I can’t just admit defeat. There has to be a problem. There must be something wrong...’

It’s difficult for people to immediately accept something so far beyond their understanding.

Boss Slade was no different.

He seized on the only explanation that made any sense to him. "He’s going to run off with the money!"

Boss Slade grabbed the microphone as if it were a lifeline, his voice a near-hysterical roar. "He must be planning to take the money and run! There’s no way he can produce this many cars! He’s trying to scam you!"

"I’m honored to announce," Benz said, forcibly prying the microphone from Boss Slade’s grasp.

"He’s panicking! He’s going to run for it! He won’t let me tell the truth!" Boss Slade struggled and shouted as he was escorted away, having lost the microphone.

"I’m honored to announce that the very first Zog-Benz dealership—integrating vehicle sales, parts sales, after-sales service, and customer feedback surveys all in one—will be opening in the Factory District of Twin Tower City."

This would be the first Zog Group flagship store not located on Chrysanthemum Street. It was difficult to operate a 4S dealership in the city center—transporting inventory was a hassle, and there was no space for test drives.

"Furthermore, our dealership’s first shipment of vehicles—the very cars you’ve pre-ordered—will arrive tomorrow at the Twin Tower City port. The cargo ship’s arrival and the entire unloading process will be livestreamed on YouTube. You are all welcome to come and watch in person if you’re interested. Between now and then, I invite you all to keep an eye on me. I swear I will not take the money and run..."

In the end, right there at the racetrack, over three thousand Victory models were sold—more than the total number of Magic-guided Vehicles sold at that venue over the past twenty years combined.

One merchant caravan alone ordered several dozen units.

Benz didn’t have the heart to tell him that Zog would be opening up distribution channels soon, and that a bulk order would be even cheaper than 50 Gold Coins per car.

But seeing how enthusiastic the customer was, he figured he might as well take the profit.

Benz had finally held his head high in front of his family. His only regret was not inviting more people to his cheering section.

He wanted to show all those relatives who had spent years ridiculing him for "not having a proper job" and "making useless junk" just how useful his "junk" really was.

But that regret quickly vanished. On the very night the race ended, at least eight distant relatives he could barely remember showed up to ask for loans or for him to arrange jobs for their children.

It was so annoying that Benz had to turn off his phone.

He began to regret inviting his family and friends at all. He should have just brought his wife and children, or better yet, worn a mask to the event himself.

But where some people found joy, others found only misery.

The dozen or so workshops in the Magic-guided Vehicle industry hadn’t been this united in a century.

They all gathered in a tavern, a screen inside playing the livestream of the unloading at the port. They were still clinging to the faint hope that Benz had been bluffing.

But Benz himself was there on-site, so it was almost certainly real—unless he didn’t plan on leaving the port alive and was pulling the most elaborate, life-risking prank in history.

Soon, one shipping container after another was opened. Countless brand-new Victorys were pulled out and arranged in neat rows, looking like a pile of identical copies.

There were more cars than these industry veterans in the tavern had seen in their entire lives.

Every newspaper printed extra editions to report on this wondrous new mode of transportation.

Only now, their tune had completely changed, a total reversal from their descriptions of the Victory just one day prior.

"A magnificent vehicle! Its greatest feature is that it uses no Magic. The destined-for-the-history-books Engineer, Mr. Benz, has, through his sheer persistence, made the automobile a reality. Its speed, handling, and comfort are all unimaginably excellent for its limited cost..."

"Perhaps it’s not as bad as we think," the owner of Baldwin Workshop said quietly, seeing the horribly oppressive atmosphere in the tavern. "The Victory isn’t in direct competition with us. They’re targeting the commoner market. The nobility will certainly still choose our Magic-guided Vehicles."

"You think a company that can make a car like this can’t make a high-end version?" Boss Slade retorted. "Don’t forget Zog is backing Benz. Combining machinery and Magic is what they do best."

The livestream soon proved him right.

From the last few shipping containers, the vehicles being unloaded were clearly not the Victory model.

They were draped in car covers, obscuring the details, but their sleek, beautiful curves were still visible.

During the livestream, Benz was answering questions from the real-time comment section.

Someone quickly asked what the covered cars were.

"Oh, those? They’re sports cars. Gasoline and Magic hybrids, fully handmade to order by top-tier Dwarf Artisans. The decorative patterns on the chassis were done by exceptional Elf painters."

"What’s a sports car? It’s a vehicle with sleek lines and superior handling, built to pursue the limits of speed. However, they are quite expensive and will be sold in limited quantities. If you’d like to learn more, you can visit the dealership after it opens. We’ll have one on display in the main hall. But to place a custom order, you will first need to provide proof of assets."

To cater to the nobles’ desire for exclusivity, there would also be owners’ clubs with membership systems and various entry requirements. Some limited-edition models would only be shown to club members, and so on.

Zog was already a master of this playbook.

The tavern once again fell silent.

Anyone could see that this was a death blow aimed squarely at the Magic-guided Vehicle industry.

"Let’s buy a Victory," Boss Slade said suddenly, after a long silence.

"What? You want us to give him our money?"

"We have to learn how these cars are made. If they won’t teach us, we’ll take one apart and figure it out ourselves."

Boss Slade downed his drink.

"Slade Workshop was founded by my great-grandfather, and I refuse to let it die with my generation. I have to keep up with the times. So, is anyone interested in cooperating? We can study this new car, then build our own Factory. The alternative is to switch professions and go to your graves knowing you let your family’s legacy die in your hands.

"Of course, this path won’t be easy. If you’re unwilling to work with me, I’ll walk it alone."

He finished speaking and looked at the faces of his peers, men he had schemed and plotted against for years.

After a brief wait, hands began to rise one by one around the tavern.

"I’m in..."