Some people might imagine that being a programmer is a very prestigious and impressive profession.

They sit in a customized chair, facing eight monitors. After a moment of thought, their fingers dance across the keyboard. Several black terminal windows pop up, code scrolling by in a chaotic flurry against a mandatory background of cascading green 0s and 1s.

In reality, only programmers in movies and TV shows are like that.

A real programmer’s workflow usually goes something like this: think for half the day, type out a few lines, run the code, and discover it doesn’t work. Then they hit backspace, open a search engine, lean back in their ergonomic chair, and start scratching their head.

Now, Zog was watching a room full of old men and women scratching their heads.

’I’m honestly afraid they’ll scratch away the few hairs they have left.’ You’d never see a sight like this at a game company on Earth. Programmers don’t last to that age, but Mages can.

’Win!’

There were no search engines here, so they could only rely on consulting books and Scrolls. The Repin Library and the one in Twin Tower City had been stripped bare of any and all materials remotely related to Illusion Techniques.

So, Zog had no choice but to get another building—a proper purchase this time. Two floors were for stacking books, one was for housing people.

Since the books all had limited checkout periods, they first established a large database within the Divine Remains before starting development on the Workshop.

In addition to the library’s contents, the various senior Illusionists also contributed their own knowledge. Perhaps after gradually realizing just how revolutionary the Visible Inscription Workshop project was, they cast aside their old rivalries.

Regardless of the profit-driven machine it would later become, the internet in its infancy was brimming with the idealism and romanticism of its technical-minded creators.

Of course, this database was still quite primitive. It only had a keyword search function, lacking any special algorithms to retrieve relevant information based on a user’s query.

On the bright side, at least there were no ads.

Elderly Mages, their ages approaching triple digits, sat at workstations made of white desks. In front of them was auxiliary equipment for constructing Magic. The only thing separating the scene from a major tech firm was the lack of an ID badge hanging from each person’s neck.

However, the compensation package Zog offered them was light-years ahead of any major tech firm.

Nine-to-five, weekends off, meals provided, all public holidays, and even paid vacation.

The Mages genuinely worked overtime out of pure passion for the project.

They got overtime pay.

R&D progress wasn’t slow either. ’So why exactly do those bosses who work their employees to the bone do it?’

’Probably because they’re just scumbags.’

Zog himself didn’t participate in constructing the Inscriptions. He had no choice—his skills were too crude, and he couldn’t keep up with the senior Illusionists.

Even the little games he’d made before had been overhauled by the students at Repin Academy. They’d collaborated to refactor the base code and had already iterated through several new versions.

So now, his main job was to run tests with the Mage Apprentices.

But testing wasn’t an easy job, either.

"Furin, come quick! I found a problem with your function."

"Where?" Furin no longer looked her usual elegant self. She wore loose-fitting clothes and a pair of slippers. Her hair was haphazardly twisted up and held in place with a pen, and her face was bare of makeup. She carried a bag of snacks with her everywhere, ready to eat at a moment’s notice—an effective stress reliever.

"See? Right here." Zog reactivated the Illusion Mimicry and ran the function Furin had written.

After a short delay, it ran smoothly.

"Where’s the problem?"

"Um, it was there just a second ago." Zog tried again. It still ran smoothly.

"If you cry wolf again, I’m getting physical," she threatened, baring her teeth at Zog before shuffling back to her workstation in her slippers.

’No way.’ Zog was positive he’d seen an error message.

Unconvinced, he tried one more time.

It froze.

"Furin! I told you there was a problem!" This time, Zog was clever enough to preserve the scene of the crime.

"Coming!"

Communication between the developers and the testers always devolved into shouting matches.

Furin stared at the error in silence for a long time. Two jets of hot air shot from her nostrils, and Zog could have sworn he saw sparks flying out with them.

"Elder Long has quite a temper! Ow, ow, ow! I thought you said you’d only get physical if I cried wolf!"

"Then bite me back!"

Furin stormed back to her workstation.

「Half a minute later.」

"Argh! Why can’t I reproduce it!"

A cup of tea, a pack of cigarettes, and a single bug to fix all day.

Zog was tired.

He didn’t smoke, and there wasn’t any tea, either. The Sutton Kingdom had yet to discover the Eastern Continent, producer of the magical, refreshing little tree leaves.

And since this planet’s Age of Exploration had long since ended, it was likely he was fated to live out his dragon life without ever tasting tea.

There was only coffee, and he maintained that drinking it was no different from drinking medicine.

The break room also provided various snacks and the daily newspaper.

He grabbed a random copy, first looking for the jokes, then the comics, and finally, with great reluctance, turning to the actual articles.

"Pope Grants Title to Loman Empire’s Second Prince."

"Civilian Clash on Villain Kingdom Border."

"SHOCKING! Famous Actor Commits Demonic Act, Innocent Girl Speaks Out..."

’Wait a minute.’ Zog stared at the ridiculously familiar-sounding headline. ’Had my own smear campaign against the Potion Factory set a bad precedent for this world’s journalism?’

’How did they all learn to write clickbait? They sure learn bad habits fast.’

But, he had to admit, he was genuinely curious about the details.

"Actor Raul Winter, who recently shot to fame for his role in *Holy Mountain Journey*, is facing accusations. A six-year-old girl has come forward to expose his alleged misdeeds, claiming that as a friend of Raul’s daughter, Marin, she was repeatedly assaulted by Raul himself during a playdate..."

’Crap. There goes the Demon Shadow Actor we just spent so much time building up.’

BANG!

The break room door was thrown open. It was Elsa. With her was War Axe, who had someone tucked under his arm. ’The person looks a little familiar... is that Huan from the Shepherd’s Theater Troupe?’

’He’d gotten a lot tanner and thinner in the few months since I last saw him. But why is he panting? He’s the one getting carried.’

"We have a problem!" Elsa said.

"Is Raul in trouble?" Zog finished her thought.

"How did you know?"

"The whole city probably knows by now." Zog showed her the newspaper in his hand.

Elsa glanced at the paper and continued, "It’s more than just an accusation now. The Guard Corps has already arrested him."

"Oh?"

Zog smelled a conspiracy. ’The reaction was too fast. The Guard Corps and the newspapers were acting in perfect sync, trying to blow this up as quickly as possible.’

"Should we break him out, or...?"

"What if it’s true?"

"Impossible! Mr. Raul could never do something like that!" Huan said hurriedly.

"So, here’s the question: how long have you known him?"

"Uh, two months... Sir. A little over two months." Huan wasn’t sure how to address the Sub-Dragon before him, so he settled on "Sir."

"Two months. Is that enough time to really know someone?"

"It-it’s enough. Mr. Raul would never do that." Although Huan gave that answer, his voice lacked conviction.

"So, are we supposed to do nothing?" Elsa asked.

"We can’t just do nothing," Zog said. ’Based on my experiences from Earth, I’ve learned not to have high expectations for the moral fiber of people in show business.’

"Of course we can’t do nothing! People die in the Guard Corps’ dungeons!"

Huan was right. This era had no concept of "civilized" law enforcement.

"So, first we need to figure out if this is true or not. If it’s false, we’ll try to resolve this as peacefully as possible."

"And if it’s true?"

"War Axe, how does the Beastman Tribe deal with members who harm children?"

"We cut it off and feed it to the pigs!"

"Excellent. Then we’ll do that."