Swain stopped in his tracks.
What lay before him was a vast construction site that defied everything he thought he knew about large-scale projects. He read the signs aloud.
Each site was surrounded by makeshift fences, with conspicuous signs posted outside that spoke to a level of organization he hadn't expected: [Construction Site. Danger. Keep Away.]
There were even official construction permits posted, clearly stating who the site supervisor was, who had approved it, and who would be held responsible if anything went wrong. The bureaucracy was meticulous, almost Demacian in its attention to detail.
The working hours were clearly marked in bold letters:
[Working Hours: 8 AM to 12 PM, 2 PM to 6 PM.]
And there was even this specific line added that made his eyebrows raise:
[Strictly no unauthorized overtime. Violators will be severely punished!]
Cipher's explanation came with the patience of someone who'd had this conversation before. "Exhausted workers make dangerous mistakes. Dead workers build nothing. Sustainable productivity requires sustainable practices."
Yet it was already past 9 PM, and the powerful chemtech searchlights were fully lit, illuminating every corner of the construction sites like it was daylight. The contrast between posted hours and current activity was big.
Chemtech-powered engineering machines were roaring in operation, their mechanical efficiency putting human labor to shame. Steam hissed and gears turned in perfect synchronization.
Countless construction workers were enthusiastically working, shouting unknown chants as they toiled away. But these weren't the desperate cries of the overworked, they sounded almost like celebration songs.
These workers, who should have been crushed by the exhausting labor, were instead wearing expressions of happiness and satisfaction. Sweat gleamed on their faces, but so did genuine smiles.
Even from a distance, Swain could feel the overwhelming energy radiating from these enthusiastic workers, something he had never witnessed before in any construction project across the known world.
There were at least dozens of construction sites just in this district alone, each occupying a considerable area. The scale was astonishing, suggesting a city-wide transformation project.
By a rough estimate, even at night, there were tens of thousands of people working simultaneously. The logistics alone should have been a nightmare to coordinate.
Yet everything was in perfect order, he didn't even see a single overseer wielding a whip.
Construction work was no easy task, it was exhausting and dangerous. He had seen enough infrastructure projects to know the human cost they typically demanded.
This was the first time he had ever seen construction workers so highly motivated, it was almost frightening. Their enthusiasm bordered on the fanatical, but without the hollow-eyed desperation of forced labor.
Running a massive urban infrastructure project like this was never something a disorganized force could manage. The coordination required was on par with military campaigns.
In his view, Zaun's capacity for organized mobilization was downright terrifying. If they could organize civilian labor like this, what could they do with actual military forces?
The Noxian Empire currently only had one professional construction-oriented organization: the war masons. But calling them "construction workers" was generous at best.
But their main tasks were infiltration and intelligence gathering, essentially a spy agency that happened to know masonry, not a real construction team.
As a result, Noxus still relied on extremely outdated forced labor methods for infrastructure, using captured slaves and conscripted citizens of the Empire. Efficiency was secondary to control.
Motivation was abysmal, efficiency was low, and if the overseers weren't quick enough with their whips, slaves would slack off.
Fear was the only currency that mattered.
The larger the project, the more slaves and forced laborers were drafted, and the more soldiers were required to suppress them with iron-blooded force. Security costs often exceeded construction costs.
They had to guard against the possibility that some clever soul might rise up and spark a rebellion, turning construction sites into battlefields overnight.
In comparison, Zaun's infrastructure capabilities completely outclassed Noxus. The efficiency gap was embarrassing for a military empire.
How is this possible? What drives them to work like this?
Swain was very curious how Zaun managed to pull it off, but instead of asking Cipher, he decided to find a regular Zaunite to ask. Direct observation would be more valuable than political explanations.
He looked around and spotted a small food stall still open, with about a dozen tables set up. A young apprentice was busily helping out by preparing the ingredients.
The cook, a one-eyed owner with blue skin and a strange appearance, seemed to be of a fishman race. His exotic appearance suggested Zaun's diversity extended beyond human populations.
Silco observed the scene. "The one-eyed cook appears to be non-human. Interesting diversity."
"Zaun has always been refuge for those unwelcome elsewhere," Cipher explained. "We judge by contribution, not appearance."
Swain switched back into his acting mode. He dragged his "weakened" body over to the food stall, successfully convincing both the owner and the apprentice of his pitiful state.
"Please, come right in! Welcome, welcome!"
At a signal from the owner, one of the apprentices put down his work and enthusiastically came to greet them. The warmth in his voice seemed genuine, not the practiced courtesy of someone working for tips.
He skillfully helped the "weakened" Swain to a seat, his movements gentle and considerate.
"What would you like? Not to brag, but our chef's cooking is famous across the entire undercity. Plenty of Zaunites are obsessed with his signature dishes."
The apprentice was very talkative and wore a constant smile that reached his eyes. His pride in the establishment was visible in every word.
"Well…" Swain had initially wanted to ask directly about the construction sites, but a new idea struck him. He put on a suitably embarrassed expression and turned to glance at the others, who looked just as destitute as their cover required.
With some difficulty, he pulled a few copper krins from his pocket and sighed, "This is all the money we have."
"That's more than enough."
The apprentice's enthusiasm didn't waver one bit at the sight of their meager funds. If anything, his smile grew warmer.
"If you're not sure what to order, I highly recommend our specialty, Chilled Swamp Frog."
He pointed excitedly at the large swamp frog on the one-eyed chef's chopping board, as if presenting a prized delicacy.
"This is a Zaun delicacy! You've heard of The Last Drop, right? That place is run by the Zaun City Council. The people living around there are all big shots in Zaun, and they love our version of this dish. Vander, Cipher, even Vi and Jinx are regulars at our stall."
As he said this, his face lit up with pride, name-dropping with the casual confidence of someone who truly served the city's elite.
Swain didn't quite know what to say. He knew about Zaun's swamp frogs, they lived in foul industrial waste sewers, feeding on whatever chemicals and refuse flowed through the pipes. Who knew what bizarre substances they'd been exposed to, mutating into such grotesque creatures? Their skin even secreted toxins that could paralyze a grown man.
And people eat these things? Willingly? As a delicacy?
Swain hadn't expected Cipher to have such a strong stomach, he could actually eat this?
He glanced at Cipher, only to find him sitting upright in perfect composure, eyes fixed straight ahead, showing no intention of speaking.
Interesting.
Swain narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he became curious to try this local Zaun specialty. If Cipher could stomach it, how bad could it really be?
"In that case, we'll all have a serving."
Good food, after all, was best shared. And if it turned out to be terrible, at least the suffering would be communal.
"Just a moment, please."
The apprentice responded cheerfully. The one-eyed chef immediately grabbed a cleaver and, with a few swift strokes, processed one of the swamp frogs with the skill of a master chef.
He portioned out the meat and poured a special sauce over it, the yellow liquid glistening under the stall's lights. In just a few minutes, the dish was ready and served at the table.
The portion was generous, but the green frog meat, paired with the yellowish sauce, and served cold…
This looks like something that should be crawling away, not sitting on my plate.
Still, he picked up his chopsticks and forced himself to try a small piece.
"Hmm?"
To his surprise, despite its unappetizing appearance, the chilled frog meat looked clean and hygienic, and it actually tasted good.
It was tender and springy, with a faintly sweet and fresh flavor that somehow worked despite all logic. The sauce added complexity without overwhelming the meat's natural taste.
Without realizing it, he picked up another piece, then another.
Since Swain had started eating with obvious enjoyment, the rest couldn't just sit and watch, they all joined in.
Aside from the frog meat, the apprentice continued bringing out other staple foods, vegetables and bread, enough to fill them all up completely.
"We only had a few copper krins. All of this...?" Swain spoke.
"No worries," the apprentice replied with a smile that seemed to come from the heart. "What you paid covers the frog meat and even some bread."
"The rest, on the house. The chef is just happy you liked his signature dish."
At that, the one-eyed chef flashed a bright white smile and gave them a thumbs-up. Despite his scary appearance, he seemed to be a really friendly guy with a generous spirit.
"It even covered bread?"
Swain picked up a piece of the bread and tasted it. It was similar to what enforcers usually had, bread with actual grain, not sawdust filler.
"Is food in Zaun really this cheap?"
He knew the food prices in Noxus intimately, logistics were crucial to military campaigns. A piece of bread like this would cost at least five copper krins in any Noxian city.
And if the grain merchants decided to hike prices during shortages, that number could easily double or triple overnight.
Supply and demand ruled with iron fists.