Even so, he was still stunned by the scale, making his scalp tingle.
Input of devoured raw materials
Hundreds of heavy trucks pulled by twin horses lined up, driving out from the depths of the snow.
The trucks were loaded with: neatly cut logs, shiny black charcoal, coarse iron ore from the mines…
There were even a few trucks with long metal pieces covered by oilcloth.
These things were continuously swallowed by the giant iron gates, as if fed into the belly of a giant beast.
Sorel murmured, "The daily consumption of this workshop is equivalent to a year's usage of the Raymond family blacksmith shop…"
He stared at the advancing convoy, "How many blacksmiths are kept inside? A thousand? Ten thousand?"
The more he thought, the harder it became to breathe.
And on the other side of the door, sporadic trucks were slowly moving out.
The cargo was tightly covered with oiled black canvas, indistinguishable in shape, with no labels.
Though few in number, each was absurdly heavy.
