While the situation at the front continually deteriorated, the LMC constantly got better.

Sales of the Desolate Soldier and Holy Soldier were as high as ever. Under Raymond Billingsley-Larkinson's lead, the Prideful Soldier caught on very quickly and started selling like hot cakes.

The three predominant gangs of Bentheim bought them by the thousands while the lesser gangs tried their best to keep up!

If a gang did not possess a Prideful Soldier, then they weren't keeping up with the current trend!

With the Soldier product line receiving so much acclaim, it had become a must-have for every possible outfit!

Gangs and underground organizations from other regions were just starting to learn about the Prideful Soldier as well. Since the Prideful Soldier hadn't spread out as much, these customers only ordered a couple of copies at first to test the water.

Once they tested out the mechs themselves, Raymond believed that sales would soon explode.

"With the addition of your upcoming two variants, we have four different versions of the Soldier line in our current mech catalog." Raymond reported to Ves in the office. "Sales of our earlier models hasn't abated yet. As more and more mech buyers become aware of the importance of having their glows on the battlefield, demand has continued to rise beyond our means."

Ves looked up sharply at those words. "What do you mean by that, Raymond?"

"We don't have enough production capacity. Let alone our inhouse manufacturing, we haven't been able to contract enough third-party manufacturers to scale up our production capacity. It's becoming an increasingly more severe problem. I'm very concerned what will happen once you release your latest two models."

"I don't think you have to be concerned about choosing whether to sacrifice the production of one model over another." Ves reassured the elder. "The Mech Corps will produce their own Militant Soldiers while the Planetary Guard doubtlessly have their own solutions. The Ministry of Defense only requested me to design some mechs. They didn't say anything about producing them ourselves."

"Ah. If that is true, then many of my concerns are gone. It's just that the production of the Desolate Soldiers and the Prideful Soldiers has already reached a limit. Demand is rising, particularly in distressed states such as the Reinald Republic, but production capacity has become incredibly scarce. Everyone is in a rush to produce more mechs, starfighters, turrets, defensive platforms, ship components and anything else that can help resist the sandmen."

Ves furrowed his brows. This problem had been nagging at him for a while now.

"Will it help if we increase the remuneration in the contracts?"

Raymond shook his head. "It's not purely about the money anymore, young Ves. The government has suborned many mech companies through various means. Whether directly or indirectly, the state decides what to produce. For now, many officials are satisfied with the current production levels of the Soldier mechs in their states. It only takes a dozen or so Desolate Soldiers to cover hundreds of mechs with their encouraging glows."

"In other words, the prevailing doctrine is to use my Soldier mechs in a supporting capacity. Their combat power is not as important as their glows."

The higher ups weren't fools. They wanted to keep the Desolate Soldiers alive as long as possible to make maximum use of their glows as force multipliers!

In such a scenario, the Mech Corps and many outfits were inclined to treat the Desolate Soldiers in the opposite fashion of starfighters.

While starfighters expressly existed to attract sandman attacks, the Desolate Soldiers had to be preserved as much as possible!

In cases where the Desolate Soldiers were only available in small numbers, the mechs were prized to a ridiculous degree.

The increased demand and limited production weren't helping much either. While every customer managed to get at least one or two copies, it was far more difficult to fill out an entire mech company with the same mech model.

All in all, Ves became increasingly more disappointed that his mechs weren't being utilized in unison. He always believed that his products worked best when they combined their auras together.

Aside from sporadic cases in the Bright Republic, the only state which followed his intentions was the Ylvaine Protectorate.

Despite the many deficiencies of the Kronon Dynasty, they had done an admirable job in holding the line by putting their unflinching faith in the Holy Soldiers.

Of course, it also helped a lot that the Ylvaine Protectorate just happened to have a much narrower front to worry about.

Just like the Vesia Kingdom, the Ylvaine Protectorate was shaped like an oval. The main difference was that it was oriented 'upright' in the direction of the sandman invasion, so the Ylvainans dealt with fewer sandman invaders than the other states!

A lot of people cursed the Ylvainans for their luck. Who knew that the orientation of their territories mattered so much? The Vesians cursed the loudest of them all, regretting so much that their predecessors expanded the state in the wrong direction!

While Ves and Raymond discussed the problem for over half an hour, neither of them came up with a good solution to this problem.

"Some problems can't be solved no matter how much effort we put into addressing them." Raymond said in a resigned tone.

Ves shrugged and relaxed. "I'm not feeling too sorry about missing any further opportunities. The LMC is already doing extremely well for a mech company led by a Journeyman. It would be too disruptive if our company captures any more market share. As long as we don't step too much on the toes of others, they will be less inclined to oppose our business interests."

While Raymond had proven to be a competent executive in the LMC, he still carried some of the faults of the Larkinsons.

His horizons used to be a lot more narrow than before. The Larkinson Trust Fund he managed for so many years mainly amounted to babysitting a bunch of businesses and real estate on Rittersberg.

Such meager business activities did not expose Raymond to the higher levels of power. Ves still needed to remind Raymond to consider the political context of the LMC.

"I don't see why we need to pay too much attention to our position in the mech market." Raymond frowned in disagreement. "It's clear to everyone that our products are the most needed mechs in the Sand War. No matter how many we produce, we can always find a willing buyer. Think of the profits we can make!"

"What use is earning more bright credits when it's dropping in value by at least twenty percent a month? We're already spending money like drinking water. Also, just because the Tovar Family is sheltering us doesn't mean that we can act with impunity. There are four more founding families in the Bright Republic that will do everything they can to hinder us as long as we cross a certain line. Our Soldier mechs may be indispensable, but the LMC is not that important."

Routine talks with people like Leland and other voices slowly increased his awareness of the tenuous balance of power within the Bright Republic.

While the founding families didn't rule the Republic with iron fists, they still wielded a considerable amount of influence.

After he reminded Raymond to consider the reactions of other influences, Ves dismissed the Larkinson elder.

Another old Larkinson soon entered the office to talk about another initiative.

Clinton Larkinson strode forward in a slow, controlled gait. Though he looked like any other old Larkinson, Clinton was a veteran of two arduous wars.

All of those experiences left a lot of scars. At the end of the war that took place just before Ves was born, Clinton had become a crippled and disabled mech pilot.

Even with the generous medical treatment provided by the Mech Corps, Clinton still suffered from various issues.

It was because of Clinton's many experiences that Ves found it suitable to appoint him as the director of the Ves Larkinson Foundation of Wounded Veterans.

After all, how could he not put a wounded veteran in charge of a charity meant to heal wounded veterans?

So far, Ves had given Clinton a couple of weeks to assume his position and turn the foundation from an excuse to kidnap an expert pilot into an authentic non-profit organization.

"I have a problem, kid." Clinton began.

"I'm not a kid."

"Fine! I'll call you Ves, then. You're still a kid in my eyes."

Ves sighed and motioned his hand to the old veteran. "Get to the point. What problem do you want to address today?"

"Scope."

"Scope?"

"You heard what I said. Ever since I began to run this foundation of yours, I'm beginning to doubt your purpose for this organization."

"How so?"

"Because its scope is far too modest!" Clinton roared. "So far, we're only treating or funding the treatment of ten injured veterans while our budget easily allows us to treat hundreds of not thousands of distressed refugees!"

Though Ves did not like being roared at by his subordinate, it would be excessive to assert his authority to an honored war veteran.

He was used to the old dogs of the Larkinson Family acting however they liked. That was just who they are. Once they retired from the military, it was as if all of their respect for authority and decorum had melted away.

Besides, Clinton brought up a legitimate complaint.

"I don't want my foundation to bite more than it can chew. It has only existed for less than a month. While I'm sure that it can comfortably handle the treatment of ten or so beneficiaries, it will be very hard to manage the treatment of a hundred people. Do you even have enough staff on hand to keep track of their treatments?"

"I'm still in the process of beefing up our staff. At this point, I'm confident the foundation is capable of handling at least fifty beneficiaries. Give me half a year, and it's not impossible to assist a thousand beneficiaries at a time!"

Ves almost had a heart attack when he heard this huge figure!

"The foundation is not a hospital!"

"We can take over the burden from the state!"

"It's reckless if we expand too fast! People will inevitably die in our care!"

"People are already dying in droves due to lack of care! Have you seen how long the waiting lists are?! Too many bodies are being carted out from the farming settlements on this planet!"

Ves let out a deep breath. "I understand your desire to remedy this injustice, but we aren't the only saviors here. I'm more than willing to do my part, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. The foundation must grow and expand along the pace that I have set. Is that clear?"

Clinton looked a bit unwilling. He cared too much about the wounded veterans and refugees that were holed up in the farming settlement without access to the help they needed.

Yet what did their suffering matter to Ves? He only wanted the foundation to appear legitimate because he wanted to keep Davia Stark and any other possible treasures in his possession.

Beyond this goal, Ves didn't expect anything else from the foundation.

With all of the reputation, honor and prestige he accumulated so far, he did not value the reputation he could earn from becoming known as a generous philanthropist.

In fact, he considered the foundation to be a potential risk factor to his reputation. As long as people began to die under the auspices of his charity, a scandal could break out at any time!

The only way to minimize this risk was to treat as few beneficiaries as possible. If Ves could get away with treating just ten wounded veterans at a time, then he would gladly continue with this farce.

Unfortunately, the director that he selected to lead the foundation turned out to be a lot more sincere in his duties than anticipated.

Ves looked at Clinton's stubborn face with a glum expression. It appeared that he wouldn't be able to get away with shortchanging the foundation.