"Your Excellency, are your workers really going to be okay?" the Healer looked towards Malin, asking with some concern.
Malin nodded in response, "Trust me, sir, humanity that has embarked on the industrial path fears nothing."
Recently living in the Science Academy, the elven ambassador gazed thoughtfully at the mechanical body before him—when exactly had humans progressed to such a terrifying extent?
The Firearm that could shoot without the need to pull back a bolt had a range far surpassing that of the elven longbows.
The cannon, capable of destroying all unprotected targets within an area of 100 square meters, had a rate and range of fire far quicker and more distant than that of elven Mages.
Now they had developed these large mechanical bodies; although they had cockpits and required the pilot to expose half of their body to operate them, looking at the four-barreled large shotgun fixed to its left arm, elves couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be in close combat—even the most skilled Sword Dancers wouldn’t want to get close to it.
And on its left arm was a Flamethrower.
Fueled by a tank on its back, it had a range of up to one hundred meters. It had two modes: one spewed direct flames, while the other sprayed fuel to be ignited by something else—like a rocket.
What a foolish mistake we made, to think that by virtue of their short lifespans, they were inherently inferior to us longer-lived beings, such a foolish idea... Truly laughable.
Knowledge is the most terrifying entity, whether it’s humans, elves, or other life forms. In this Science Research Institute, all races have proven their excellence and that knowledge is the most fearsome power in this world.
It doesn’t have the hardness of swords, nor the damage from Spell Formations, but the armed beings have created weapons far more powerful than swords and spells.
"Your Excellency, we have received a message from Carterburg; Mr. Malin needs the number one machine," the approaching maintenance team’s statement made the elven ambassador look towards the number one machine.
It was a low-profile machine that moved on tracks, its frontal armor was a thick 200 millimeters, and its main armament was a 76-millimeter short-barreled shoulder cannon. The loading team placed the ammunition in a counterweight basket at the back; three Half-humans were responsible for loading, and firing was controlled by the pilot. The ambassador had seen this device before; not even the strongest Chaos monster could withstand a hit. A holy-blessed silver-penetrated steel core shell could blow a huge hole through the body of a monster.
"What happened to Mr. Malin in Carterburg?"
"Rat-men from the Outer Domain, it seems like a clan has infiltrated. Damn Chaos."
The Half-human leader of the maintenance team replied, as he urged his companions to speed up the loading process: "Mr. Malin requires the quickest and best service, hurry up!"
The elven ambassador thought for a moment and decided to pass the message to the elven clans in Carterburg, and he would join the battle with the embassy’s guards—elves never missed a fight with unwelcome guests from the Outer Domain.
"What are those long ears up to?" The Great Craftsman Dwarves had felt since earlier that there was something amiss with the elven ambassador. Why was he bringing his guards over here?
Hmm, the Anti-Chaos Array hadn’t sounded an alarm, so these folks hadn’t lost their minds yet, but because of that, what were they planning?
Right, what is that Half-human maintenance team doing? They’re arming the number one machine? This thing was made for street fighting; were they preparing to go to the Mowish stronghold to show loyalty?
That wasn’t right either; they were situated in the capital, where there were no battle cries to be heard, nor any sound of cannons.
So, out of curiosity, the Great Craftsman Dwarves stopped a Half-human: "What are you doing?"
"Mr. Malin’s message, to have the number one machine ready at the fastest speed. He needs it."
"Green skins again, or Black Orcs?" That was the first thing the Dwarves thought of.
"No, it’s said to be Rat-men from the Outer Domain. Even His Highness Nameless is alarmed." After saying this, the Half-human pulled his sleeve out of the Dwarf’s grasp: "Don’t block me. If we delay Mr. Malin’s affairs, both of us will be in big trouble."
What do you mean, "ball"!
The Craftsman exploded in rage—why hadn’t Mr. Malin informed them? Rat-men, that must be underground, a task for which Dwarves were most suited, a hundred times... no! Two hundred times more than Elves!
While still fuming, a Dwarf messenger ran over, his face coated in sweat: "Your Excellency! How come you are here? I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes!"
The Great Craftsman Dwarves glanced down at his feet... huh, why was this a human work area?
"What’s the matter?" Trying to cover his embarrassment, the Craftsman glared with round eyes.
"Message from Mr. Malin; they asked if we could provide a squad of Flame Soldiers for him. He said he wants to barbecue some rats."
"One squad? That’s not enough! I will lead the team myself! Tell our old folks, it’s time for a roast." The corner of the Craftsman’s mouth curled into a dangerous arc.
"I never knew why you made the underground sewers as grand as the corridors of the royal palace, but now I understand." Looking at the full map of the underground sewers in front of Malin, Lieutenant Bobplane Kachev scratched his head: "What are we, the City Defense Force, supposed to do?"
Although Bobplane Kachev wasn’t the commander of the City Defense Force, he was the highest-ranking officer currently in duty—two days ago, the commander of the City Defense had gone to the provincial military headquarters with his deputy. Now, the largest officer of the 800-person City Guard was an old man who had been a non-commissioned officer for thirty years. Lieutenant Bobplane Kachev was somewhat the commander of a reinforced company and had fought against Chaos in the North, more worldly than the non-commissioned officer.