Three brass pressure chambers were arranged side by side beneath the barrel, each fitted with a brass pressure gauge marked with three warning zones: green, yellow, and red.
Following the pipes upward from the pressure-release valve, Theus discovered that the other end was connected to a metal cylinder. After roughly estimating its weight, he sucked in a sharp breath.
"This thing has to weigh dozens of pounds, right?"
"More than that. The steam tank hasn't even been filled with mercury yet. Once it's full, it'll weigh nearly three hundred pounds."
"Huh?" Theus was dumbfounded. At that weight, let alone moving it around on a battlefield, even a slightly frail person wouldn't be able to lift it.
"You think this thing is meant for ordinary people? It's equipment used by mechanical priests. You could scrape them from head to toe and still not gather a pound of flesh—they've long since been all metal prosthetics. Forget three hundred pounds; those with high-output power furnaces can easily carry three thousand."
Theus fell silent. What kind of alien technology was this? Robots on Blue Star needed a string just to twirl a handkerchief, while people in this world could casually carry a car.
Thinking of the mechanical priest who had killed him last time, with speed too fast for the naked eye to discern, he truly had already surpassed the limits of mortals. Even Transcendents were probably no more than this.
"If they have this kind of technology, why haven't they conquered the world yet? With equipment like this, the Empire Army's smoothbore muskets would be a joke in comparison."
Theus truly found it hard to believe. He had been smug over the technological superiority of rifled guns, only to discover that the Mechanical Cathedral had already developed individual artillery like this. Judging by