"The situation right now is that every major company is working behind closed doors, developing in isolation, and the cost of developing and learning a new engine is rising exponentially. Small and medium-sized development teams and individual creators simply can't afford the expensive licensing fees for commercial engines, let alone fully digest those complex, obscure underlying architectures."
Jensen Huang nodded in agreement from the side.
"From the perspective of hardware design, this everyone-for-themselves situation is a disaster too," he said. "NVIDIA is developing graphics acceleration chips. There are dozens of different closed-source engines on the market, and every single one has different rendering logic. In order to make our drivers compatible with these engines, we've spent an enormous amount of engineering resources. Even so, the performance of the software-hardware collaboration still can't reach its theoretical maximum. If the industry doesn't have a standardized, open underlying framework, hardware performance will always be dragged down by inefficient code."
"Simply open-sourcing an old engine from several years ago won't solve the pain point of popularizing cutting-edge technology."
Nakayama Takuya summed it up: "Old code can only be used to study history. It can't be used to build the future."
The meeting room fell quiet.
Carmack knew very well what Takuya's words were pointing at.
To solve this problem, they would need to take the most advanced current technology and share it.
But he couldn't do that.
Id Software was not only the fruit of his painstaking effort; the id Tech Engine was the commercial core the company depended on to survive.
He couldn't completely set aside the company's interests and hand over a cutting-edge engine still in development to everyone for free.
That was an irreconcilable contradiction.
"Do you have any concrete solution?" Carmack looked at Nakayama Takuya. "Since Mark gathered everyone here,