Cybertron Half-plane, core hub.
A faint blue light reflected on Allen's face, the flickering shadows making his calm, placid eyes seem all the more profound.
Three years.
It wasn't a long time, nor was it short, but it was enough for his Half-plane Workshop to grow even more magnificent.
Allen sat before the main control console in Cybertron's central hub, a densely packed financial report floating in front of him.
Green numbers represented income, red represented expenses. The red took up more than half the screen.
[Current average monthly net income: 2.94 million Low-Level Magic Stones. All identified mineral veins in Zone 18 are being mined at full capacity. Production has hit its ceiling.]
2.94 million. The goal set three years ago was 3 million, so he was just a little short.
"The zone's output has peaked. The veins' potential has been completely exhausted," Allen murmured to himself, no trace of regret in his voice.
