The central control room.
Dull metallic impacts echoed through the enclosed space.
"Nine hundred ninety-eight, nine hundred ninety-nine..."
Adam was bare-chested, sweat sliding down his granite-hard back muscles. He held a solid refined-steel barbell, its ends loaded not with plates but with two heavy lead balls, enough weight to crush a warhorse.
"One thousand."
Clang.
He casually dropped the barbell, shattering two floor tiles. Adam exhaled a stale breath, grabbed a nearby towel, and roughly wiped his face. He walked over to the metal rack in the center of the room, where a suit of full-body heavy plate armor hung. Dark red runes covered the inside of the black armor, flickering as it charged with mana, as though it were breathing.
Faint commotion drifted in from outside.
It sounded like flies buzzing around his ears.
Adam could not even be bothered to listen to what they were saying. It was probably those worthless expendables causing trouble again, or some idiot pouring raw materials into the wrong vat.
"A bunch of useless fools."
He stroked the armor's cold surface. Once this Tyrant-model magic armor had finished its calibration, he would stand a fighting chance even against a level six high-ranking knight.
As for whether those laborers lived or died? If they all died, he could simply capture more. The peasants in his territory were like weeds anyway; cut down one crop, and another grew back.
Knock, knock, knock.
Urgent knocking sounded at the door.
Adam's fingers stopped, and a hint of brutality crossed his face.
"Get in here."
The heavy alchemical door opened a crack, and the tall, thin overseer stumbled and scrambled inside. His cap sat crooked, and cold sweat covered his face.
"My lord! Disaster! Lord Adam!"
The overseer knelt on the floor, his voice trembling.
"Outside... those pigs