prynovel Chapter 102 First Standardized Production
Chapter 102 First Standardized Production
An abandoned underground workshop in the city, shrouded in sweltering heat.
The ear-piercing metallic scraping sound almost punctured eardrums as the massive gears of the ancient machine tool tirelessly whirred under the power of magic.
"Pull it down!"
Several new players, dressed only in shorts and covered in soot, shouted commands at the top of their lungs while pressing their entire weight onto the heavy cast iron control lever.
Sweat streamed down their oil-stained backs, dripping onto the scorching stone slabs, hissing in the white smoke.
These young people, who usually can't even carry a bottle of water, are now gritting their teeth, completely unaware that their feet are blistered on the rough stone slabs.
Every time the machine tool completes a cut, the hundreds of kilograms of pressure bar need to be manually reset.
The sound of gears rubbing together, mixed with the smell of burning metal, filled the entire space.
To prevent burns from the high temperature, several players responsible for receiving the materials thoroughly soaked the tattered sacks they had collected in water and wrapped them around their forearms and palms.
Each time the scorching hot steel bar is pulled out of the cutting groove with pliers, the water-soaked burlap sack hisses and evaporates, sending up a plume of white mist.
The realistic feedback perfectly captured the intense, scorching heat, and the high-intensity physical exertion kept these people's stamina constantly on the verge of its limit.
But no one complained about being offline.
In order to get a bite to eat, these players unleashed a level of labor that even the natives feared.
Da Niu, being rather lazy, and several other first-tier warriors, including Wang Liang, squatted beside a wooden crate not far away, staring expectantly at the spark-splattering cutting table.
"Hey! Foreigner, when will muskets be mass-produced?"
Da Niu yelled, trying to drown out the roar of the machine tools, "I've already switched jobs! Going out with a broken iron sword and hacking away every day is too tacky. Do you think a combination of ranged muskets and melee combat would be worthwhile?"
Elliott was holding a homemade wooden vernier caliper and measuring it against the freshly cut steel bar.
Hearing Da Niu's urging, he irritably wiped the sweat from his forehead, turned around, and shattered the soldier's fear of insufficient firepower with his broken Chinese.
"We can't make guns."
The foreigner spread his hands, his brows furrowed tightly. "The gaps are too big. The pressure will escape. Unless you want to, bang! blow your own hands off."
The excitement on Da Niu's face vanished instantly.
"But look at this!"
Elliott turned and pulled a half-cooled sword blade from the iron basket, slamming it onto the anvil. "Sword, and a pickaxe. The machine can cut them. Exactly the same size!"
Without modern, precise rifling technology, this crude, ancient magical machine tool simply cannot produce a qualified gun barrel.
However, its enormous torque and sharp alloy blades can easily cut the black steel obtained from the Warrior Tribe into standard-sized metal pieces, just like cutting tofu.
"Exactly the same size."
These words may sound ordinary in everyday life, but on Treasure Island, where everything is handcrafted by blacksmiths hammering away, they represent efficiency and scale.
Half an hour later, the first batch of broken... no, they should be called standard-issue weapons, from the production line were thrown into the quenching pool.
A large cloud of white mist rose up.
Lynn stepped forward, picked up a completely cooled longsword from the pool, and casually tossed it to the big bull squatting beside him.
Da Niu caught the sword hilt steadily, and his first impression upon holding it was its weight.
He stood up, gripped the black steel longsword in one hand, and casually swung it a couple of times in the air. Listening to the whistling sound of the blade tearing through the air, his brows gradually furrowed.
Then, he bent his finger and flicked it hard on the rough spine of the sword.
"when……"
The sound was muffled and short, lacking the crisp echo characteristic of fine steel.
"No, it's far from good enough."
Da Niu shook his head, then drew the one-handed sword he had bought from the Warriors Tribe from his waist and placed the two weapons side by side for comparison.
The sword, forged by the old blacksmith Sind of the Warrior Tribe, has delicate forging patterns left by countless hammer blows on its blade. The edge has undergone a special clay tempering treatment, giving it a captivating, cold gleam.
Holding it in your hand, the distribution of the center of gravity is perfect, and when you swing it, it feels like an extension of your arm.
Then look at this piece of junk that was cut out of the assembly line in my hand.
The blade even shows tiny burrs left from cutting, giving it an overall cheap, industrial feel.
Da Niu ran his rough thumb along the side of the sword, and the unpolished burrs cut through the skin, drawing blood. He then wiped the blood from his hand onto his trouser leg.
"This is just a sharpened iron plate, what's the point of all this?"
Da Niu commented without any reservations.
"Hey foreigner, the stuff your machine cuts isn't very good. It hasn't been forged and folded. If this thing hits hard bone, the blade will definitely shatter."
Moreover, the center of gravity is too far forward; my wrist can't handle it.
The demon beside him also came over to take a look and nodded in deep agreement: "Indeed."
We're at least a top-tier combat force, and we're using high-quality goods handcrafted by Grandpa Sinde.
"You're such industrial scrap, I wouldn't even use you as my main weapon if you gave it to me for free. You're likely to malfunction at crucial moments and ruin my life."
Two players from the second closed beta test gave relatively objective reviews, stating that the rough workmanship of the Ancient Machine Tool, in terms of absolute quality, is simply incomparable to the craftsmanship of the top blacksmiths on Treasure Island.
Elliott wasn't angry when he heard his work being belittled; instead, a businessman's cunning gleamed in the foreigner's blue eyes.
"The quality can't compare to handmade. Yes, I admit it."
Elliott stepped forward and took the standard longsword back from Da Niu. "But how long does it take to forge a new one of Sind's swords? Three days? Five days? And if it breaks, how do you repair it?"
Da Niu was stunned for a moment. "If it breaks, of course you take it back to the blacksmith to have it remelted. What else can you do to repair it? The repair fees are ridiculously expensive."
"Watch closely."
Without a word, Elliott pulled a crude iron wrench from his tool bag at his waist, clamped it onto the nut at the bottom of the standard longsword hilt, and gave it a sharp twist.
With a few clicks, the nut came loose, and the metal pin used for fixing it was pulled out.
Elliott gripped the hilt and pulled, and the black steel blade that Da Niu had described as "industrial waste" detached directly from the handguard.
Then, Elliott turned and walked to the iron basket, grabbed another brand-new sword blade that had just been cut, precisely inserted it into the slot of the hilt, re-inserted the pin, and tightened the nut.
The whole process took less than ten seconds.
A perfectly intact longsword reappeared before everyone.
"This is called standardization."
Elliott patted the blade. "No blacksmith needed. No need for reforging. The blade's bent or broken. Just unscrew it and replace it with a new blade. The cost is only a tenth of a handcrafted sword!"