Zog went out of his way to find a block of wood. He carved it into an oval, hollowed out the center, leaving a long slit, then made a small mallet from a wooden stick. With great piety, he began to tap.

"DONG— DONG— DONG—"

A sound meant to clear the mind and quiet desires echoed on the third floor of the workshop.

"What are you doing, performing some kind of ritual?" Furin couldn’t help but ask.

"How did you know?" Zog replied, still tapping his wooden fish. "I am performing a ritual. No bugs, no bugs..."

"What does ’bug’ mean?"

"An error in the Dragon Language," Zog blurted out.

"Who are you trying to fool? You think I don’t know the Dragon Language?" Furin stared intently at Zog, trying to find a flaw in his story.

"Ah, ah, right. In the Red Dragon Language. Haha."

"Do you often attribute your strange words to the Dragon Language when you’re with other people?"

Guilt written all over his face, Zog glanced at Furin and clumsily changed the subject. "Of course not! I wouldn’t... I haven’t... Ah, let’s test the last function."

He immediately activated the Illusion Mimicry.

A simple window appeared: a file index on the left, a workspace on the right, and the Inscription input method at the bottom.

It looked pretty legit.

’It’s still a long way from a full-fledged VSCode, but I guess you could call it a stripped-down Notepad with autocomplete.’

’Don’t underestimate Notepad. That thing is actually pretty powerful. At least, compared to the current situation where every Mage is practically a "manual artisan," this is an absolute game-changer for productivity.’

"I hereby declare that the Visible Inscription Workshop v0.1 Early Access version is officially complete!"

’Calling an Early Access version "officially complete" sounds a bit strange, but these Illusionists won’t be ditching the project unless they die of old age. They’ll stick with it until the full version is developed.’

’The spirit of craftsmanship!’

’This way, the development work can be split into two tracks. The elite Illusionists will continue to perfect the Inscription Workshop, while the main force that was developing the auto chess game can be transferred over to create a game engine using the current workshop.’

’The development of the auto chess game is already in its final stages. We don’t need this many people just to import the missing music and voice acting. A small team for maintenance and updates will be enough.’

’We can just about manage. I’ve already plucked the Continent’s Illusionist population clean. To recruit more, I’ll have to look overseas.’

’When does the new crop of... ahem, Illusionists, graduate? A Zog Group offer, total compensation package of five hundred Silver Coins, just a click away.’

’Maybe I should organize a Zog Youth Illusionist Competition sometime. Set the prize money at a thousand or eight hundred Gold Coins. And then roll out a Zog Pan-Continental Genius Youth Program.’

’All the heroes of the world will be in my grasp!’

The elderly Illusionists were in no mood to celebrate this milestone for the Visible Inscription Workshop. They were just a bunch of old bones; if they hurt themselves celebrating, they wouldn’t even know who to blame.

The essence of a Priest’s Healing Technique was to enhance a person’s natural recovery ability and let them tough it out. No matter how much you enhanced an old person’s recovery ability, there was only so much it could do.

As for infections, a modern medical system hadn’t been developed yet, so forget about antibiotics. When a Priest showed up, it was always, "Your immune system has been enhanced, now go get ’em!"

Psychological illnesses?

In this era, psychological illnesses didn’t exist. You were just an idiot, crazy, or mentally unstable. And then you died.

In the end, it was just Zog, Furin, and an exhausted Elsa who could barely stand, cutting a cake late at night that had "Visible Inscription Workshop V0.1" written on it.

’Of course it was late at night. What other time could it be? Is there any release day that doesn’t involve working overtime deep into the night?’ 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

’Sigh, to think I’d find the feeling of working at a game company even in this fantasy Otherworld. What was even the point of transmigrating?’

’The good thing is, here, I’m the boss. I’m the one stressing others out; no one can stress me out.’

’Finally, there’s no one telling me an open-world game is a great idea today and making me build an open-world demo, only to decide tomorrow that turn-based is better and making me scrap the last one to build a turn-based demo.’

’They’re all just investors trying to make a quick buck. Give them a few months to reskin a game, launch it, buy traffic, milk it dry, and then move on to the next one.’

’A few games get insanely popular from the rat race, their creators get fat off the profits, and all that’s left behind is a huge mess.’

’I hope "the only college student in the village," Black Monkey, is doing all right. I don’t expect them to save the market—The Wandering Earth didn’t save sci-fi movies, either—but someone has to be the pioneer.’

Zog stuffed a piece of cake into his mouth, and tears instantly streamed down his face.

"What’s wrong?" Furin asked nervously. ’Zog’s been acting weird all day. Is it that time of the month? No, wait, what kind of damn period would a male Dragon have?’

The Complete Transformation Technique was even making Furin’s thought processes more human-like.

Before, if a Dragon was weak enough to cry, the solution was always to beat them until they felt better.

So you couldn’t really blame Dragons for not having normal brains; that was just how their species’ educational methods were.

’Education determines destiny.’

"I’m fine," Zog said. He wasn’t actually getting sentimental. "It’s too sweet! Why is it so sweet? BLEGH—"

This damn cake was as sweet as eating a Snickers bar covered in M&Ms that had then been dipped in a layer of syrup.

It was straight-up physically nauseating. The last time Zog’s defenses had been broken this badly was when the Magic Goddess played dirty and gave him that Eleven Ring Scroll. This time, he was being damaged from the inside out by a piece of cake.

It was pure sugar. Seriously, the only flavor was sweet.

He knew sugar was a precious commodity in this world, so ordering a top-of-the-line cake would mean it’d be very sweet, but why did it have to be *this* sweet?

’Aside from the fact that they actually used real cream, this cake has no redeeming qualities. If my blood sugar doesn’t spike to 18 after one bite, my pancreas deserves a medal.’

’It seems this world not only lacks an Eastern Continent that produces those mysterious, refreshing little leaves, but it also lacks one that produces spices.’

’I miss artificial flavorings.’

"We shouldn’t hog all this good stuff for ourselves. Let’s leave some for the others."

Zog thoughtfully cut the cake into small pieces and placed one on each workstation. Furin cast a Frost Skill on them to prevent them from spoiling.

’May the grandpas and grandmas not get any cavities.’

Elsa had already fallen asleep while standing. ’This kid’s got some real talent,’ Zog thought, so he had no choice but to hoist her up and carry her back to the toy store.

Furin strolled alongside him down Chrysanthemum Street.

It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such quiet.

The two places weren’t far apart. In the distance, he could see a small stall set up outside the toy store, lit by a Lighting Technique.

’What’s going on? Did the toy store add a new service I don’t know about?’

As he got closer, he saw it was actually Toto’s stall. She wasn’t selling anything; she was just sitting in a rocking chair, with a long line of people waiting around her.

Toto saw them too and instantly shot to her feet. "I didn’t see anything! I don’t know anything!"

"What did you even see in the first place!"

"I didn’t see anything!"

"Elsa’s asleep, not dead. Stop being so jumpy. Anyway, what are you doing here after work?" Zog felt that ever since he’d met Toto, he’d never once seen her sleep. ’Is she the ultimate lifeform or something?’

"I’m power-leveling."

"Huh?" Zog heard a word that was both unfamiliar and familiar, one that by all rights shouldn’t exist here.

"Power-leveling for your mini-games."

’You’re really something else. Your efficiency in discovering a new industry is honestly a bit too high.’

Zog casually opened the Flying Red Middle game hub.

Jump Jump, first place: Toto.

Down a Hundred Floors, first place: Toto.

Twin Tower City Blocks, first place: Toto. Wait... ones, tens, hundreds, thousands... over nine hundred thousand points! That’s a whole digit more than second place.

"Are you even human, Toto?"

"Nope. I’m a Half-Elf."

That shut Zog up immediately.

"Oh, right," Toto said, taking out a letter. "A Dwarf gentleman asked me to give this to you just now."

Zog took it and looked at the writing on the front:

For the esteemed Sub-Dragon who calls himself Zog. To be opened by the addressee only.