Katie's long eyelashes flickered.
"Let me tell you the true motive behind this plan. It is for those who have lost the ability to survive."
She looked past the workshop walls, as if seeing the misery in the town beyond.
"The apocalypse doesn't just steal lives; it steals the 'right to live.' Without a stable currency, people will start killing each other over the last crust of bread. We must make 'money' flow to make 'civilization' breathe again."
Her voice grew low, haunted by a nightmare.
"Senior, you are always busy in the workshop or leading warriors against bosses. You haven't seen... or rather, you haven't looked closely at the eyes living in the shadows."
She turned slightly, her mind flashing back to her walk through the civilian districts.
"A few days ago, I passed a scrap heap in South Sector 2. I saw children, not even waist-high, fighting joyfully over a shard of Shadow Shifters plating. To them, it wasn't a dangerous remnant of war; it was their only toy. Their childhood consists only of rust and hunger."
She paused, her voice trembling with a hint of bitterness.
"And in the shadows of the corner, I saw Uncle Rickman's old comrades—veterans from the front lines—and elderly people who can no longer work. They were huddled by leaking supply crates, clutching old-world banknotes that have been worthless for a decade. Those papers won't even burn without making too much smoke. They weren't begging; they were just waiting for the last spark of their lives to go out."
Katie turned back to Lawson, her eyes burning like torches.
"That is the 'everyone' you are protecting. If we don't give them a medium to trade their labor for hope, they are just waiting to die! I proposed the'Reforging Furnace' so that the scrap metal those kids find can be traded for hot soup. I forced you to give up your savings to back the credit of the entire market, so that the labor of those old men can become the dignity of survival once more!"
She gave a bitter laugh, a stray tear glinting in the corner of her eye.
"In the apocalypse, the scariest thing isn't monsters—it's 'meaningless death.' We have to give them a reason to believe that if they work, they can live like humans. So, Senior, that 'Throne of God' isn't for looking cool. It's for using these 'meaningless data points' to buy back thousands of real lives."
Lawson stood frozen. The numbers he once treated as life itself suddenly felt as light as a fleeting dream.
"We aren't giving charity," Katie took a deep breath, returning to her calm self.
"We are rebuilding the skeleton of civilization."
In that instant, Lawson's "miserly" aura vanished. He straightened his back, his feet planted firmly on the cold floor, looking like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Then build it! Forget the gold coins—take the floorboards of this workshop if you have to!" Lawson let out a thunderous roar.
The sadness over his lost wealth was incinerated, replaced by the burning fighting spirit of a Creator.
"I will complete every facility, every module in that manifesto—no matter the cost! I want every gear of this fortress to lock into place! I want every shadow to be lit by the hope of NLP!" He looked upward, challenging the heavens.
"If you all dare to bet your fates on me... then I, Creator Lawson, will be the most generous 'Broke Creator' this wasteland has ever seen!"
While the Armored Fortress hummed with the energy of reconstruction, a battle capable of shattering the laws of the world was unfolding in a distant ruin.
Lawson No.1 stood amidst the rubble, his cloak fluttering in the silent wind.
"Still won't give up?" he whispered.
A black rift tore through the void. A man in a deep abyss-colored cloak stepped out, a cold metal mask hiding his face.
"I appear only to take your life—the Supreme System of the Armored Warriors!"
The man in black raised his hand, condensing shadow energy into a dark, ominous blade.
"Do not forget, we were once one. It is yet unknown who will win," Lawson No.1 replied. Gold light flowed from his fingertips, forming a holy blade of light.
"True, we share a source," the man in black sneered.
"But today, this is no longer a private grudge!"
He waved his hand, and several black portals opened like a honeycomb.
Mysterious figures stepped out, their pupils glowing with the violent red light of beasts. Lawson No.1 gasped.
"You've allied with the Shadow Generals? Beyond redemption!"
"Do not slander our Supreme King!" one of the towering figures roared, his body bloating into a monstrous form.
The darkness and the gold light collided with an explosion that turned the ruins into scorched earth.
This was a battle beyond the dimensions of this world. Facing the overwhelming numbers of the Shadow Generals, Lawson No.1 was eventually forced to his knees.
CLANG!
His silver mask shattered, falling into the dust to reveal a handsome, resolute face with medium-length brown hair.
He didn't beg. Instead, he smiled coldly.
"My beloved warriors... even if I fall today, the fire of heroism in your hearts will never go out..."
In his final moment, he sent a prayer across space: 'Protect those children for me... protect this world...Master Lawson.'
The next second, he transformed into a sphere of absolute, suicidal golden light—a falling sun that charged into the roaring horde of avengers.
The light swallowed the darkness, the ruins, and all sound.
No one knew the result of that final clash, or what final ace the "System Master" had left for the world.
South Sector 2, Nova Star.
The air hummed with the high-intensity vibrations of heavy machinery.
People swarmed around the Reforging Furnace that was under construction, their faces lit by the glow of molten metal and hope.
Yet, amidst this scene of feverish construction, Ester sat as the most discordant "overseer." She was slumped in a chair, using the tablet—once a supreme relic connected to the System, now a useless "brick"—as a makeshift desk for origami.
Her slender fingers moved mechanically, folding tissue paper into lonely cranes that looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of industrial rebar and steel.
Lawson, lugging a crate of energy cores, finally reached his limit for her laziness.
"Ester! You hopelessly lazy girl, at least pretend to help! You're folding enough cranes to fill a mountain. Are you planning to gather a thousand and pray for a miracle cure for your 'terminal-stage laziness'?"
Ester looked up, but the usual spark in her eyes was missing, replaced by a dull fog of confusion.
She lowered her gaze back to the crumpled tissue, her fingers clumsy.
"Brother Lawson... I don't know what's wrong. Since a moment ago, I've felt this inexplicable dread. Like... something terrible is happening."
Seeing her lost, hollow expression, Lawson's heart softened. He set the crate down and patted her shoulder.
"Fine, fine. If your mind is racing, get up and help move some of the lighter supplies. It's better than sitting here letting your imagination run wild."
Ester nodded obediently and set her paper cranes aside.
"Alright. Maybe working up a sweat will make this feeling go away..."
CRACK—!
A sharp, ear-piercing sound of shattering glass erupted.
It wasn't a collapsing wall or a strained machine.