The core hub area of the "Cybertron" Half-Plane.
A faint blue light reflected on Allen's face. The flickering shadows made his eyes—as calm as still water—appear even more profound.
Three years had passed. It wasn't a particularly long time, nor was it short, but it was enough for his half-plane workshop to become even more magnificent.
Sitting before the main console in Cybertron's hub area, Allen studied the dense financial report hovering in front of him. Green numbers represented income, while red indicated expenses. Red occupied more than half of the screen.
[Current average monthly net income: 2.94 million Low-Level Magic Stones. All explored veins in Zone 18 are operating at maximum capacity. Production has hit the ceiling.]
2.94 million. His goal three years ago had been three million; he was just a little short.
"Zone 18's production has peaked, and the potential of the veins has been squeezed dry," Allen murmured to himself, his voice completely devoid of regret.
