Weapons

After meticulously arranging the plans for the coming days, a satisfied hum resonating within him, Dutch finally led Hosea and Arthur downstairs, their footsteps echoing softly on the old wooden steps of Shady Belle.

"Mr. Van der Linde, Mr. Matthews, Mr. Morgan!"

The two cleaning ladies on the first floor, their faces etched with a profound blend of respect and boundless gratitude, greeted the three men coming down the stairs, their voices a reverent chorus. The gratitude and reverence on their faces almost solidified into a tangible presence, a fervent, almost fanatical devotion that radiated from them.

Had they jumped and extended their arms, Dutch, with his slicked-back hair and confident stride, would have looked like nothing less than a messianic figure.

"Hello, ladies. Have the children gone to school?"

Dutch asked, his voice gentle, his smile radiating genuine concern as he looked at the two women. He was always so effortlessly charming, always so disarmingly friendly, a trait that made his subordinate workers not only admire him but truly, genuinely, love him.

And Dutch's carefully cultivated attitude permeated the very fabric of the Van der Linde Gang's interactions. So whether it was Hosea, Davey, or even rough-hewn Bill and cynical Mac, they were much friendlier when interacting with the workers, often joking, even drinking together, fostering an astonishing sense of camaraderie. True strong individuals, Dutch always preached, were always humble. This was a core tenet he demanded of himself, a calculated means of winning hearts, one loyal soul at a time.

As for whether there were any ungrateful workers, any treacherous souls who dared to defy his benevolent vision? Heh heh, Dutch mused to himself, a cold, humorless flicker in his eyes. The consequences, for such ungrateful wretches, would have to be experienced by themselves. At the very least, he thought with a dark chuckle, death under a Maxim gun would not be too painful, a swift, merciful end.

Listening to Dutch's concerned, almost paternal greeting, the two ladies replied excitedly, their eyes glistening with tears.

"They've gone to school, Mr. Van der Linde, oh, dear sir, thank you for the opportunity you've given us! Our families couldn't even afford food before, and we never, never imagined that one day our children would be able to attend school in Saint Denis! Oh my, this is simply unimaginable! Oh, sir, we will always, always be grateful to you!"

"Hahaha, no need to thank me, ladies." Dutch laughed heartily, waving a dismissive hand, a grand, benevolent gesture. "This is what you deserve, what you've earned through your honest labor! So, enjoy your happy lives!" He strode outside, leaving behind two utterly devoted souls.

Hosea, who was just behind him, also stopped, his kind eyes twinkling.

"Ladies, the dairy cows we purchased will be back in the next two days. Don't forget to feed these cows then. The children will need to drink a cup of fresh milk every day from now on, which will help them grow up healthy and strong!"

No doubt, this was another one of Dutch's ingenious ideas, a low-cost, high-impact detail designed to melt hearts and secure unwavering loyalty. He loved to sprinkle these small acts of calculated kindness, watching the devotion bloom.

"Oh, \dear sir, we are truly grateful beyond words!" The two cleaning ladies were moved to fresh tears, their faces streaked with emotion. Mr. Van der Linde had truly, utterly moved them recently. First, he built a second factory right here in Shady Belle so their children could have a place, a future. Then, he meticulously arranged for their children to attend actual schools in Saint Denis through the kind Miss Alice.

After that, he had the fathers of these very children take two shifts daily, acting as armed escorts, ensuring their precious little ones went to and from school safely. And now, he even bought two dairy cows for Shady Belle, purely for the children's health, ensuring they had nutritious milk every day... Damn it, now the workers at Shady Belle were unbelievably happy, filled with a fervent, almost religious zeal. Whether male or female, every single person was ready to sacrifice their very lives for Mr. Van der Linde at any given moment!

This method of winning hearts was outrageous, almost unfair in its effectiveness. Dutch completely treated them as his own family, caring for and loving them with an almost terrifying intensity. The emotions cultivated by this method were unbelievably steadfast; if it were in ancient times, these loyal souls would be his devoted, unwavering family retainers, willing to die for him!

"Haha, this is just what we can do, ladies, don't feel any burden," Hosea chuckled, his voice warm, following behind Dutch. "Just live happily, that's all we ask."

Arthur, however, simply waved a dismissive hand, a faint, almost embarrassed smile on his face. "If you have any difficulties in your daily life, you can tell me, ladies. As our Van der Linde workers, it is our solemn responsibility to ensure your living!"

Damn, Arthur had also learned to spout some nice, decent words from Dutch now, a surprisingly eloquent turn of phrase from the usually gruff cowboy. And especially after Arthur witnessed firsthand that these words had an immediate, profound effect, an almost magical power, he felt even more intensely the undeniable force of Dutch's rhetoric.

"Oh, Mr. Morgan!" The ladies looked at the retreating backs of the three men, their eyes filled with fresh tears, their hands clasped in fervent prayer, offering gestures of supplication to God Himself.

"Oh, God, please bless the safety of Mr. Van der Linde and his friends, this is our only wish!" The two cleaning ladies in the room were choked with emotion; only those who had truly experienced the brutal hardships of the world would cherish this hard-won, fragile life more intensely.

As Dutch pushed the door open, workers bustling in the yard eagerly greeted him, their eyes alight with warmth and sincere respect. "Oh, good day, Mr. Van der Linde!" "Hello, gentlemen, ladies." Dutch smiled and waved a hand, acknowledging their greetings, and walked towards the only large tree in the Shady Belle yard.

The bullet press they had seized from the Lemoyne Raiders, a silent testament to their recent victory, was located there. At this moment, Mr. Randy, his face etched with intense concentration, stood in front of the bullet press, operating it with meticulous, almost reverent care.

"How is it, Mr. Randy? Is this the type of bullet press used in your factory?"

Dutch asked from behind him, his voice filled with a curious blend of hope and a touch of regret. He now somewhat regretted not choosing an electrical engineering major in college; otherwise, he wouldn't be completely clueless now, and might even have been able to modify new products, pushing the boundaries of invention. But alas, for now, he could only rely on these dedicated professionals.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Van der Linde," Randy replied, looking up, a faint smudge of grease on his cheek. "But it looks a bit old, and the wear and tear are a bit severe. It should be a scrapped machine dug up from the black market, sir."

"Very good, as long as it's this size, Mr. Randy." Dutch nodded with satisfaction, then his eyes sharpened. "Have you heard from your cousin?" He asked, his voice edged with anticipation. It wasn't impossible to buy brand new ones on the black market, but the price would likely be astronomical, so it was still best to rely on Mr. Randy's cousin for reliable machine procurement.

"I haven't received a reply yet, Mr. Van der Linde," Randy shook his head, a flicker of apology in his eyes. "Perhaps we'll have to wait, sir."

Dutch smiled and waved a dismissive hand. "It's alright, Mr. Randy, waiting is fine, we're not planning to start construction yet anyway." This was unexpected. It had been a week since the letter was sent, and Mr. Randy's cousin's factory was also in the Saint Denis area, so it was impossible not to receive a reply for such a long time.

But it didn't matter, the black market was Dutch's first choice right now. Too few machines could be purchased through this paltry scrap quota. Or, perhaps, he mused, he could also approach people from some specialized processing plants to custom-make them? Dutch's mind, ever restless, was already spinning new possibilities.