Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

Hmm, does he even match up?

Pah, how dare he try to match me, that thing’s been dead as a doornail for who knows how many millennia, while I churn out nine hundred thousand rifles and four hundred and twenty cannons a month, and equip a Mage squad with new heavy magical armaments every single day. And what are you, Huang Renxun, etching with your carving knife?

NVIDIA talismans?

Such a pity, to miss seeing Mother Su slice you, the scoundrel, to pieces.

"Jason, I originally wanted to set up a triple-A system and then play 2077 or some other games when I felt like it, but you know everything that happened afterwards." Malin always felt some regrets when mentioning the past, and although he’s managed to make up for some of those regrets, at the end of the day, not all were completed to his satisfaction.

"Let’s not talk about your past, Lord Malin, those two factories had closed down even before the Federation was born. Your love and hate aren’t worth mentioning in the face of history."

Jason’s response elicited a sigh from Malin. But the so-called imperfection is life itself, perhaps that’s what Malin figures these days.

With such a sense of regret, Malin entered the core area of the workshop—surrounded by an Array that reduced noise, cutting down ninety-nine percent of the clamor.

The good thing was Malin could finally take off his noise-canceling headphones, but the downside was as soon as he reached the second floor of the core area, he was greeted by dozens of arguing mouths.

And after noticing Malin, these mouth-owners began appealing to him for a fair judgment.

Malin had no choice but to listen to what these Dwarves and Half-humans were arguing about.