The Speaking Pork Trotter

In the neon of blue and purple, under the thick steel sky, at the forefront of this surge of data, lies the world post-tech revolution.
It's also the dividing line between reality and illusion.
Steel and flesh, past and future.
In this place, the world outside and inside coexist. Everything in front of us feels like a wall of time within reach.
The darkness is slowly creeping in.
But hey, my friend, you gotta know, we can't just counter darkness with softness.
Gotta use fire.

Naming Technique of the Night

Lordbluefire

The Golden Crab Farm had always existed only in legends, occasionally appearing once every few decades before continuing as a legend.


The three crabbing vessels next to the Arctic gradually made way, wanting to see what the situation was like in Arctic's other crab pots.


Almost every pot hauled up contained more than 100 king crabs.


Kreg did a quick calculation and realized that this single deployment of crab pots was enough for the Arctic to return fully loaded!


He shouted to the sailor beside him, "Put our crab pots down too! This is definitely the Golden Crab Farm. The Arctic only dropped 180 pots, there must still be king crabs down there!"


The Arctic was small and battered, able to carry only 180 crab pots, even less than the quota allowed for other crabbing vessels.


Normally, the Alps would carry 300 crab pots.


The best battlefield