《Shattered Sovereign》 March March I watched the vast sea of troops marching east from atop my vantage point on the hillside. It was a glorious sight. Two and a half million men strong, all of them marching under different banners and colors. Yet despite their differences, these disparate factions were united under one noble goal: the destruction of the Primordials and, with their end, gaining freedom for the entirety of the known world. All the races of humanity: the elves, the dwarves, the halflings and the sapiens; they were all represented here, in this immense, endless army. All of them had put aside their differences and devoted themselves to work together against a common threat. I closed my eyes and sighed. It had been a long, trying road to get to this point. A road filled with countless years of tireless debating, negotiations, and politicking. So much back talking and compromises. So much time wasted. Yet it had all been worth it. For the first time in history, Mankind was united against the unforgiving power of the Primordials. I opened my eyes when I heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind me. From the sound of his gait and the familiar tapping of a heavy scabbard against his hip, I was able to guess the man¡¯s identity. He was Lord Burien, my aid and most trusted confidante. Once he drew close enough to speak, I heard the steel plates of his armor shifting as he bent down to one knee on the grass. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°It is time, Your Majesty,¡± he said with a soft tone. ¡°Our force is ready to join the advance.¡± ¡°Good.¡± With a heavy heart, I took one final look around the endless green of the countryside which had been my home for all of my life. Ispara, known throughout the world as the realm of green, endless fields. It was a peaceful country, one with verdant trees and soft grasses, very much unlike the cursed lands we would soon be visiting. I made sure to burn the memory of my homeland deep into my soul, for I would not be seeing it again. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± With a resolute will, I pulled my helmet¡¯s visor down, covering my face with the thin layer of magical steel. I thought of my friends, my family, and my kingdom; of their fates if this grand venture were to fail. I softly promised to myself that we would not. The Primordials would die, and the world would change. Turning around, I began my march down the hillside and towards the massive camp containing the two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers of Ispara, with Lord Burien at my side. My heart pounded hard deep within my chest. Soon we would be off, to join the mighty tide of humanity that sought to do the impossible. It would take years, perhaps decades, to accomplish our goal. But wewouldaccomplish it. Every soul in this unified army, be they the lowest footman to the mightiest king, were prepared to sacrifice their lives to do so. It was at moments like these that I was proud to be a human being. And so, with the thunderous march of millions, the first step towards a new age of mankind had begun. The Second Crusade was in full swing. Chapter 1: Birth Chapter 1: Birth Darkness was all around me. From every angle I was stifled, an infinite weight pressing on all sides. Movement was impossible, though I still tried. My awakening existence demanded that I move, yet the all-encompassing tightness imprisoning me prevented it. Muscles pulsed, ligaments pulled. The unending mass of black fought against me. An eon passed; my attempts never ceased. Eventually, my persistence won. I felt my¡­ fingertips(?) press back against the weight, pushing the oppressing mass away and allowing the digits room to wiggle. I felt a thrill fill my burgeoning mind at this small victory and worked even harder to free myself from this black prison. My neck(?) twitched, causing my head(?) to shift. The twisting motion pushed against the blackness, the pressure on my cheek(?) increasing as it pressed back at the unknown mass holding me. My jaw moved, opening my mouth. On instinct my lungs tried to pull air in, but this only caused bits of rock(?) and soil(?) to enter and push down into my throat. I hacked and coughed, desperate to breathe(?), but there was no air here. I drowned slowly and in silence. Furiously, I continued to move, each wiggle and twist a hard-fought battle. My fingers grasped and clutched, and eventually I found enough purchase to pull myself in a direction. My arm(?) strained as I clutched at the dirt and pulled, forcing my entire body through the black. Inch by hellish inch I pulled myself through the darkness. That airless, lightless void seemed endless, yet I did not relent. Over and over I continued, my left arm reaching out and digging through the black, grasping at and using it to pull myself forwards. A thousand years passed. Maybe more. I continued onwards. I rested when I could, slept when I could, yet I did not quit. I would have screamed if not for the dirt, frustration and anger and fear raging through my newborn mind as I wormed my way through that all-encompassing darkness. Madness edged in at the corners of my brain, yet I retained my sanity and stubbornly refused to give in. My fingers continued to dig, my mind refused to wane. I would not give up. It seemed as if another eon had passed when my fingers pushed through something hard, then met nothing. The absence of the unending weight was so alien that upon feeling it all of my movement stopped. I waved my fingertips about, then felt cold(?) air blow past. Excitement surged within me and I scramble forwards, fingers digging through the darkness, trying to reach this new yet oh so familiar sensation. Eventually my hand burst through, followed by my arm, then my shoulder, then the rest of me. I pulled my body through the rock and as soon as my head burst out and into the open air I spat out the soil and filth inside my mouth. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. For the first time, I managed to breathe. I gasped and coughed and hacked and shuddered, relishing the cold, stale air that rushed into my lungs. I continued to scramble out of the hole until my entirety was completely free from the dark embrace of the earth. I lay on the ground, face pressed against the dirt for who knows how long. I was free, finally free. I breathed in and out, enjoying the taste of the air and the lightness of my body. I felt so tired. Exhausted. My mind slowly drifted towards sleep. Before I could reach blessed slumber, something appeared in front of my vision.
I flinched at the glowing blue box that was in front of my face and tried to scramble away from it. For some reason my right hand and legs refused to move so all I had managed was to flail around a bit.
What was this thing? And those words. What did they mean? I tried to move my right hand towards the floating blue box to touch it, but once again it refused to listen. My gaze traveled down to my shoulder and soon found out why. Where my right arm should have been there was nothing more than a ragged stump. My arm! What the hell happened to my arm?!
I ignored the box, too preoccupied with my missing arm. I twisted my body and tried to stand, only my legs wouldn¡¯t work. The movement caused me to fall on my back. I lifted my head and looked down, quickly discovering that my arm wasn¡¯t the only thing missing. No¡­
Name: Unnamed Level: 1 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 2 Endurance: 5 Dexterity: 1 Intelligence: 12 Wisdom: 8 Attributes: Ancestor Might Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S
Everything below my chest was missing. Nothing remained except rent, ragged flesh. I opened my mouth to scream, only for a shrill, inhuman shriek to emerge from it instead. Chapter 2: Crawl Chapter 2: Crawl I was on my back, staring up into the night sky. My throat was hoarse, worn down from all the screaming. My panic had now gone making way for a sort of tense, distraught calmness. What the hell happened to me? I lifted my head and looked down at what was left of my body. There was not much of it. Whatever had occurred, it had taken almost everything. All that was left of me was my left arm, upper chest, and head. Instead of bloody gore, a sort of rough, red flesh was found in the connected areas to the missing portions. Almost as if the torn off areas had scarred over a long time ago. How am I still alive? And breathing? With most of my torso gone, I shouldn¡¯t have any lungs left. Yet here I was, still breathing; though such breaths were quick and shallow due to my distraught state. And my legs¡­ I should have legs, shouldn¡¯t I? I thought long and hard, but couldn¡¯t quite remember. Yet something told me that I should have legs. Two of them. I lay my head back down against the hard, cold dirt. Above me was that stupid blue box with the words that made no sense. I could understand them, somehow, but their true meaning eluded me.
Name: Unnamed Level: 1 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 2 Endurance: 5 Dexterity: 1 Intelligence: 12 Wisdom: 8 Attributes: Ancestor Might Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S
What was all this? Name¡­ Species¡­ Strength, endurance, dexterity¡­ Were these words all supposed to describe me? But unnamed? I had a name! My name was¡­ I searched my mind but could find nothing. But I knew I had a name! I was certain of it! Yet try as I might, I just could not recall what it was. I continued to scan the information in the box. My species was listed as a Dirtborn. Quite the insulting description, actually. And it said that I was a monster? That was wrong, too. I wasn¡¯t a monster, I was a¡­ No, no, no! Why couldn¡¯t I remember anything? Obviously, whatever had caused my injuries had also affected my memory. Whatever the case, I know I wasn¡¯t a monster. I was certain of it. But what was I? Think! Two arms, two legs, one head. What had two arms, two legs, and a head? Human. Yes! That¡¯s right! I was a human! That was my species! As for my race¡­ was I an elf? A dwarf? Sapien? I just could not remember. But what happened to me? With this amount of damage, I should be dead. Could I even still call myself a human as I was now? If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I continued to scan through the words in front of me. Gender: N/A. Not applicable? Why? Was it because my lower torso was missing? I tried to recall whether I was a man or a woman, but nothing came to mind. How could I forget something so important as that? My age was listed as zero. How the hell could I be zero years old? This made no sense. I looked at the line labeled Titles. It had one entry: Original. What did that mean? As if reacting to the question in my mind, another blue box opened in front of the first one.
Original You are the first of your kind. Grants the Attribute ¡°Ancestor Might.¡±
First of my kind? Ancestor Might? What? I wanted to go look at the first box, but this new one was blocking my view. I wished for it to go away, and suddenly it vanished. Interesting. These things were responding to my thoughts. Looking at the first blue box, I scrolled past the listing with numbers and got all the way down to the Attributes line. Its lone entry was Ancestor Might. I focused on it and another blue box popped up.
Ancestor Might You gain power from your descendants. The more descendants you have, the stronger you will become. Current descendants: 0
So the more children I had, the stronger I got? I lifted my head and looked at the mangled remains of my body which was notably missing some very important parts necessary for having children. I sighed. The line below Attributes was Abilities and it had two listings: Mind Sight D and Language Comprehension S. I was about to focus on them to learn more when a loud howl suddenly pierced the still air. I tensed, the remains of my body going rigid. For the first time since I dug myself out of that hole, I suddenly recalled my surroundings. I lifted my head and scanned the area. The sky was wide and open above me, with numerous twinkling stars visible in the black night sky. The moon was wide and bright tonight, casting light down upon the landscape I found myself in. It seemed that I had emerged near the banks of a lake, the waters of which were calm and still several meters away from where I lay. I could see numerous dead trees dotting the landscape, which was barren, flat, and empty. Where was I? I didn¡¯t recognize the area, which wasn¡¯t much of a surprise since I couldn¡¯t even recognize myself. Well, wherever I was, it was dark and desolate. Everything around me looked dead, though that earlier howling told me that there was still life nearby. And that life would most likely be hostile. I mentally told the blue box in front of me to go away, and it obeyed. I then twisted my body a bit, trying to turn myself over. It took a long while, but with a lot of effort I managed to twist about until my face was resting in the dirt. Long strands of black fell in front of my face, and I quickly realized that those unfamiliar strands belonged to me. Dirt was caked tightly to each hair, making them lumpy and hard. I quickly ignored its poor state as I had bigger things to worry about right now. With my cheek pressed against the ground, I tried to use my remaining arm to drag myself to some place safer. It seemed to take all my strength just to move myself a few inches. Damn it, if only I had my right arm I could at least crawl around somewhat. Maybe I could find a branch and make a cane. Something to help me move around. Movement to my right caught my attention. I flicked my vision towards it and saw several small rocks rolling towards me. At first I was alarmed, but then the rocks stopped as they clumped together about a foot in front of my face. I then saw a branch and some roots slowly moving towards me. What was going on? The branch fitted itself into a notch in the rocks, then the roots untangled themselves and slowly wound around both. Pretty soon the roots had tied together the rocks to the branch and I found what looked like a makeshift weighted cane in front of me.
You have gained the Assembly ability! Assembly Rank E You can use the materials around you to create primitive instruments.
Did I do this? I did wish to have a cane, and suddenly one assembled itself right in front of me. Was this some type of magic? It had to be, right? I reached out my pale, thin arm to grasp the makeshift cane that had just magically created itself. I was amazed when I touched it, feeling the solid shape of the branch. It was real! I wasn¡¯t hallucinating. I planted the weighted edge of the cane in the dirt, then used it to pull myself forward. It was much better than simply using my arm, but it was still slow going. I was about to try again when I heard a rustling nearby. From behind some dead shrubs emerged the lanky body of some type of animal. It looked like a mix between a dog and a rat, with shaggy black fur and thin, scraggly limbs. The creature was nothing but skin and bones, clearly on the verge of starvation. Its glowing yellow eyes focused on me with ill intent. Chapter 3: Fight Chapter 3: Fight My fingers gripped the shaft of the cane tighter as I locked eyes with the beast. A low growl began to emanate from its throat. It lowered its head as its lips snarled up to reveal rows of jagged, sharp teeth. Before I could react to this obvious show of threat, the beast lunged forwards, its thin legs carrying it in a swift dash across the dirt towards me. Fear gripped my heart. All I could do was lie motionless on the ground as the dog thing rushed at me. I could feel the vibrations in the dirt caused by its footfalls as it got closer and closer. When it was close enough that I could smell the stink of its unclean flesh, I finally reacted, my body moving more out of instinct than intent. My left arm lashed forwards, swinging the makeshift cane with all my might. The weighted end smashed hard into the dog¡¯s head, snapping it to the side and causing the beast to yowl in pain. Unfortunately, the force of the blow had caused the roots holding the cane together to untangle, and the rocks scattered across the dirt. I was left with nothing but the branch. I swung it at the beast once more, smacking it across the snout. It was obvious the impact didn¡¯t do as much damage as before since the dog merely growled louder, its yellow eyes glowing with murderous rage. I attacked with the branch several more times but did not hit, the beast snapping its jaws at it whenever it drew near. During one wild swing, the monster managed to clamp its teeth down on the wooden shaft. It snarled and tugged, trying to pull the branch out of my hands. A game of tug-of-war began as we both tried to lay claim to the branch, but with my one arm and more than half of my body gone it was obvious the dog would be the victor. It pulled and managed to drag me along with it across the dirt until my grip finally loosened and the branch was pulled out of my hands. The beast tossed the flimsy piece of wood away, then dashed forwards with its jaws opened wide. I held my arm up to shield my face and that was what the dog clamped its teeth onto. Trapping my thin wrist in its slavering maw, the beast began to snarl and shake its head, biting down hard in its attempts to rend the flesh from my bones. Strangely enough, try as it might, the dog¡¯s sharp teeth failed to penetrate my pale flesh. Its jaws clamped down even harder and although I could feel the points of its teeth digging into my skin I did not feel any pain.
You have discovered the attribute Invulnerable Flesh! Invulnerable Flesh Your body is invincible. Nothing in this world can harm you!
I ignored the blue box, forcing it to close with a thought. This was definitely not the time to be getting mysterious messages from out of nowhere. I was fighting for my life here! This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Despite the inconvenient timing of that box popping up, its words did not lie. Try as it might, the dog-beast¡¯s sharp teeth could not pierce my flesh. Although I felt no pain, the monster¡¯s flailing and chomping was still uncomfortable. I struggled mightily against it, trying to free my trapped limb from its slavering jaws, but my lack of mass and muscle made me relatively weak. As the beast snarled and bit, one of its forelimbs jabbed against the ragged, red flesh below my chest, its sharp claws digging into the soft meat. A sensation of indescribable agony shot out throughout my body from that point of contact. It was pain of an immeasurable magnitude. I had never felt, or at least remembered feeling, something so absolutely horrible. It was like a raw nerve had been exposed and a red-hot iron rod had been pressed into it. Terror gripped me along with the pain as I screamed, the inhuman wail from before erupting from my mouth once more. The loud shriek seemed to surprise the mutt since it suddenly let go of my arm, backing up while its hackles rose. It was still putting pressure on my ragged flesh with its paw, though the agony lessened a bit as it withdrew. Still reeling, I wildly swung my arm at it, and my palm smacked it solidly on the snout. That caused the dog to jump away, more from surprise than actual pain, and as quickly as it came, the pain disappeared. I stopped my screaming once it did, my throat hoarse and breathing rapid. Once the shrill noise ceased, the dog-rat seemed to come back to its focus. It snarled once more at me, then lunged, its foaming mouth once more headed towards me. In my desperate state, I did not see the beast as a threat. No, I was not in fear for my life at that moment, I was more terrified of the horrible agony that had so gripped me just a few seconds ago. I definitely did not wish for it to return. So in my desperation, as I saw the snarling dog lunge, I did the exact same. Some bestial part of my brain suddenly took over, caring not for life or limb but fearing more of the absolute pain from before. I, too, lunged, my teeth bared and snarling as viciously as the dog was. It was my jaw which clamped across the monster¡¯s neck first. I viciously bit down, mind not registering that my teeth sank into the dog¡¯s flesh quite easily. The monster flinched and tried to back away, but I was caught in a frenzy. I bit down harder and began to shake my head about as the dog previously did, trying to rend and tear his flesh this time. The beast shrieked in pain and fear, trying his damndest to retreat, but it was all for naught. I had him, and I wasn¡¯t letting go. Eventually, all my wild flailings paid off and I managed to tear off a large chunk from the monster¡¯s neck. I pulled, ripping his flesh open, black, disgusting blood spraying all over. The dog, now free, stumbled away before collapsing a few feet away, whining piteously as it bled out. I spat out the rancid meat from my mouth and collapsed onto my back, breaths coming in desperately as the wild frenzy that had taken hold of me slowly faded away. The next thing I remember was the bright stars hanging up in the pitch black sky of night. I think I must have passed out for a bit because the dog¡¯s blood, which had been so wet and slick before, now felt dry upon my skin. My breathing was calmer, and, though the memory of that agonizing pain still lingered, my body felt fine and at ease. I turned my head to look upon the form of the beast that had attacked me, and saw that it was limp and still. It was dead. I had killed it. It was with that thought that the strange blue box from before suddenly appeared, bearing more strange messages from the unknown.
Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience. You are now Level 2!
What? Chapter 4: Seek Chapter 4: Seek
Name: Unnamed Level: 2 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 3 Endurance: 6 Dexterity: 2 Intelligence: 13 Wisdom: 9 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly E
What did this all mean? When I first read the blue box with all the information and numbers on it, I distinctly remember it saying I was level 1. Now it says I¡¯m level 2. I went up a level for defeating that dog monster? What was going on here? Was I being rewarded for killing? This is all so bizarre. It¡¯s like a game or tournament of some sort. And the numbers by strength, endurance, dexterity, intelligence, and wisdom went up by one as well. Does leveling up mean I get stronger, hardier, faster, smarter, and wiser as well? What kind of nonsense is this? What in the hells is going on? Frustrated, I mentally willed the blue box away, and like before, it did as I bid. Soon, the only thing filling my vision was the night sky and the numberless sea of stars above me. I saw familiar constellations among their number, as well as the landmark stars many used to guide their way. There was the South Star Red next to the constellation of Arkarus the Archer. South Star Blue was directly across the way from them, and taking up a large portion of the black sky was King Pallidus, Bane of Kamfer. I frowned. How was it that I knew all the names of these stars and constellations above me, yet for some reason I knew not my own? What predicament did I suffer that was so dire that not only had it left me in such a horrid state physically but rent my mind in tatters as well? I looked inward, attempting to remember something, anything, that might give a clue as to who I am. I knew that I was human, a sapien. I was certain of this fact. I thought back, willing my mind deeper and caught fragments of images. I could recall men in armor, wielding swords and pikes. A land of greenery. A woman, holding me close. My wife? Mother? Sister? Daughter? All the people in those fragmented memories looked tall, with strong physiques and rounded ears. They were not elves, dwarves, or halflings. Definitely sapiens. There were other memories, though these were even more fragmented than the previous. I saw flashes of horses, of towns and cities, conversations about money and other things. There were images of a flag of green and blue, with a flying dove emblazoned in its center. Maps upon a large table. A melody written in stone. All of the things inside my head, though clues to the mystery of my identity, were too scattered and unconnected. Like a shattered plate upon the tiles. One fragment of a memory, that of a metal cup filled with wine, brought me back to the present as I suddenly realized that I was thirsty. How in blazes such a thing was possible when I was but less than half a man was yet another mystery to be solved. With a solemn sigh, I pushed away my inward thoughts and attempted to move myself towards the lake with my one reedy, thin arm. I reached out with slender fingers and grasped at the dirt, sinking them into the earth as deeply as I could, then used the purchase to slowly pull myself in the direction I wished to go. Strangely enough, I found it much easier this time than I did when I last attempted to move. Did my one point increase in strength truly make such a difference? It took a great deal of work, but eventually I managed to drag myself to the water¡¯s edge. It was with some difficulty that I managed to flip myself over so that I was lying down on what was left of my chest, with my face in the wet earth. I then crawled the rest of the way to the water, intent on filling my not-there belly with the cool, refreshing liquid. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. I stopped upon seeing my reflection. Looking upon my reflected image upon the lake¡¯s still surface, I saw by the light of the moon a grotesque sight. Upon a long, slender neck stood a head, upon which rested a face that was neither masculine nor feminine. Androgynous would be the word. But what truly gave me pause was the fact that the space where my eyes and forehead should have been was instead replaced by the same red, ragged flesh that marred the underside of my chest as well as the shoulder where my missing right arm was supposed to be. I had no eyes, yet I could see. Perfectly. My thoughts went back to the blue screen and soon enough, the damn thing appeared before me. I scanned its words until I reached the Abilities section where the first entry met my gaze.
Mind Sight D.
It was obvious to me now what it meant even without reading the entry description, which suddenly popped up while I focused on it.
Mind Sight Rank D Able to use your mind to see 180 degrees in front of your face. Can see in both range and depth.
I truly was a monster. What else would you call a thing like me. I willed the blue boxes away and once more used my nonexistent eyes to look down upon the water¡¯s reflection of myself. Framing that androgynous face were long strands of black hair, tangled and filthy with dirt and debris. The hair was long, very long, falling about to where my back should have been if I still had one. I reached my hand up to my face and pushed away some strands to reveal an ear. It was round, like a sapien¡¯s. Perhaps I had been human once, but not anymore. Whatever had happened to me had turned me into a horrifying, broken creature. A true monster, like the blue box had labeled me as. If it was right about this, was it right about everything else? Did I get stronger by killing things? Would I level up by just killing monsters, or would killing other creatures do as well? What about animals? What about people? I shook my head, not wanting to think about that. I turned my attention away from the water and looked around at the scenery. It was almost as depressing as my reflection. For miles around the little lake there was nothing. Just rocks and dirt as far as the eye could see, with little patches of dying grass and the occasional dead tree to break up the monotony. Where exactly was I? The sound of a keening howl sent shivers of terror through me. I looked over at the corpse of the dog-rat, still lying where it had fallen. Of course there would be more of those things around. The howl sounded very far away, but that didn¡¯t mean there weren¡¯t other mangy mongrels nearby. I needed to get out of here, perhaps find shelter or a safe place away from more monsters. Maybe I could find other people and they could help me. ¡­ No. If anyone sees me as I am, they would attack me on sight. I know I would have. I needed to keep away from others, at least until my memory comes back and I had a better understanding of what my situation exactly was. If my memory comes back. I took a quick second to dip my hand into the water and bring a palm-full of liquid up to my lips. I sipped at the water, then quickly spat it back out. It tasted disgusting. Definitely not good for drinking. Despite its foul nature, the water was good enough for washing. I used a few handfuls to wash away the dried black blood that stained my mouth, feeling slightly better at being less sticky. It was then that I noticed my teeth. At first they looked like regular human teeth, white and straight. But as I looked closer I saw that their tips were pointed and sharp, like the blade of a saw. No wonder it had been so easy to bite into that dog-beast¡¯s neck. I turned my eyes away from the startling image, not at all ready to judge their implication. I scanned the area around me, looking for a direction to head to. There wasn¡¯t much to see, but in the distance there were what looked like mountains rising up from the flat earth. From the position of the South Star Red I knew that they were to the west of my current location. The mountains were probably leagues away, but sadly they were the only areas of interest in this misbegotten wasteland. I could see no other locations that I could make for. Whatever the case, it would be a long, arduous trip to make, especially since I had to do so by means of dragging myself with one arm. A thought then occurred to me. I recalled the cane that I had magically constructed, and wondered if I could make another one. I looked around and saw some piles of dry, brittle driftwood near the lakeshore. All around me were small stones along with the roots and detritus of dead plantlife. Yes, I had all the ingredients I needed to make another cane. Assembly. That was what the blue box had called the ability. According to its words, I could use Assembly to construct primitive instruments using the materials around me. I focused my will as I had before and thought about the cane. Soon enough, a long branch magically dragged itself towards me from the nearby pile of wood. Rocks and stones rolled forwards, and dead roots and vines wiggled their way near. The plant fibers wove their way around the branch and stones, attaching the rocks to the end of the branch and giving it a weighted end. It took mere moments for the cane to assemble itself before me, and now I had a tool to help me traverse this hellish landscape. I reached out and gasped my new cane by its shaft. I lifted the item and felt most of its weight at the end, where the stones had been fastened to it by the roots. Intriguing. I then sank the weighted end of the cane into the dirt, where it found purchase. I used it as leverage to pull myself, dragging what was left of my body forwards, towards the west in the direction of the mountains. With there not being much left of my body, I was very light and found that the cane easily handled my weight. And so, my long trek began. Chapter 5: Persevere Chapter 5: Persevere Countless hours passed as I dragged myself through the rocky dirt towards my destination which was far to the west. Over and over the cane¡¯s tip dug into the earth, over and over did I use it to pull myself across the ground. Once or twice some sharp, protruding rock managed to jab into the delicate red flesh under my chest, causing a spike of indescribable pain to shoot through me. It was all I could do not to screech out in agony, filling the silent, desolate area with my inhuman wail. Sadly, such instances could not be helped, and so I grit my teeth and continued onwards, seeking safety in that distant mountain range. Some time into my journey, the sun began to rise. I looked back in awe at the red filling the once black sky, the bright orb of fire just cresting the horizon to the east. It was strange. I knew what a sunrise was, but I had no memory of one at all. For all intents and purposes, this would be my first sunrise. I felt my lips twitch upwards into a small smile as I beheld the beautiful reds, oranges, and purples the sky had transformed into as the sun began its slow ascent. Then I heard growling. I shot my attention towards a nearby rise of earth and saw another dog-rat. It was even mangier and thinner than the first monster that had attacked me and its hungry yellow eyes were focused intently in my direction. It snarled, foamy drool dripping from sharp, yellowed teeth, then shot forwards in a run towards me. The fight was much quicker and far less brutal than my earlier interaction with one of these beasts. As soon as the monster was within reach of my cane, I bashed it across the skull with the tool, briefly stunning it. I then lunged forwards, employing the same tactic I had with the original beast, and clamped my jaws around its neck. I bit hard, sharp teeth sinking into its filthy flesh, until black blood erupted from the wound I had inflicted. The monster died even quicker than the first. I spat out several times, trying to rid my mouth of the foul taste of its rancid blood. I was only marginally successful.
You have defeated and have gained experience.
Strange. I did not increase in levels this time. Was it because this beast was weaker than the one I had defeated previously? Or did the amount of kills I needed to level up increase with each level? More questions with ever elusive answers. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I was about to move on and continue my trek westward when I took a second glance at the dead monster. The beast was thin as reeds, its body all but skin and bones, but its pelt seemed serviceable. Perhaps I could use it to build something that would aid me in my travels? Something that would make this trip much easier, maybe? Would Assembly even work with corpses? Its description in the blue box said that it would use materials around me in my creations, and what was a dead animal but more resources for mankind to use? I focused on the dead form of the dog beast and pictured in my mind what I wanted. I silently wondered if perhaps I needed to break apart the monster¡¯s body first, but soon my silent question was answered as the flesh of the dead beast tore itself and the meat and bone and gristle began to separate themselves from each other. It was quite a gruesome sight to see a dead animal breaking apart into pieces by itself. Thankfully, it seemed that whoever I had been in the past was not the squeamish sort so I wasn¡¯t too bothered by the blood and viscera. Several bones from the beast, mostly from its legs, jointed together and became bound by tendons and ligaments to form a small, rectangular frame. Upon this the skin draped itself around, its ends twisting to wrap themselves around the bone. More ligaments wiggled over, tearing themselves into smaller pieces before piercing the skin, becoming a sort of meaty thread as it used itself to fasten the pelt onto the bone frame. Eventually, the construction finished building itself and I looked upon the makeshift build with equal parts amazement, pride, and disbelief. Assembly had turned a dog-rat monster into a rickety-looking sled. What should have taken hours of work and many tools had been magicked together in just a few minutes. I couldn¡¯t help but be impressed. I slowly maneuvered my mangled form on top of the new contraption, seating myself onto the hide stretched across the center of the bone frame. Once situated, I dug the tip of my cane into the ground and pulled. The sled¡¯s runners, made from leg bones tied together with viscera, managed to slide easily across the rocky earth. Excellent. Pleased with myself, I began my trek anew, this time atop my makeshift sled. It was still slow-going, but the trip was much easier than simply dragging my broken carcass across the dirt. A large benefit to riding the sled was that my sensitive red flesh was kept away from the ground and the sharp rocks that may irritate it. I continued on, my spirits risen. Chapter 6: Grave Chapter 6: Grave As the sun continued its morning rise, I spotted something peculiar. In the distance to the north, I spotted large, floating objects in the sky. I focused on the distant sight and realized that they were chunks of earth and stone that had somehow taken flight. Each was the size of houses, some broken up into smaller chunks, just floating lazily in the air. Sparks of electric energy flashed in the air around them, as if the space surrounding each stone was charged with power. Although curious about the strange phenomena, I made sure to stay well away from it. Something deep within my gut told me that approaching such strange events was unwise and very, very dangerous. It wasn¡¯t a memory, per say, and I was sure that in the past I had never seen such a sight before. It was more of an intrinsic instinct. Like knowing not to touch fire. I knew that the floating, electric rocks were not natural. At the same time though, I knew that such sights were not common, and my instincts told me that they needed to be avoided. And so, I continued my journey to the mountains in the west. With each dragging pull of my cane, I inched ever closer to my destination. The landscape remained much the same and I saw nothing but rocks and dirt, with the occasional dead shrub and tree, as I made my way. The journey was quite boring, with the exception of the rat-dogs. Almost every hour I came across one of the filthy things, and each one I met displayed the same vicious hunger that the previous specimens I had encountered had. Thankfully, I had grown adept at dispatching the foul beasts. A few whacks with my cane and a bite to the neck took them all down. Soon, my pale white skin was quite stained with their disgusting sticky, black blood. I would have to find another source of water to wash myself clean. It was after dispatching the fifth of the vile monsters that the blue box reappeared.
Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience. You are now Level 3!
Once more, I had no clue as to what the peculiar messages meant. I could only guess that killing monsters made me stronger somehow, as the increase in levels and status numbers on the blue sheet testified. Yet what was the ultimate goal here? Why was I increasing in strength in the first place?
Name: Unnamed Level: 3 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 4 Endurance: 7 Dexterity: 3 Intelligence: 14 Wisdom: 10 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly E
Earlier I had likened the blue box¡¯s messages to that of a tournament or contest. This all seemed like some grand game, yet the final objective continued to elude me. What was the point in such a bizarre system? I continued my trek through this dour wasteland. Over and over the weighted tip of my cane would plunge deep into the dirt, and over and over I would use the strength within my single limb to pull my makeshift sled across the earth. Although they were closer than they had been at the start of my journey, the mountains to the west still seemed so far away. I stopped my slow trek, intending to rest. That was when I had a sudden realization. I was not tired. Despite dragging myself through dirt and sand for the last several hours using only one arm, I was feeling fine. My breath was not hitched, nor did a single drop of sweat ever drip from my scarred brow. The slow chill of realization began to creep up what was left of my spine. I did not tire. Despite having a broken, mangled body, I did not die. I still breathed despite my lack of lungs. I thought back to my moment by the lake, where I had felt the need to drink some water. Now though I realized that my need wasn¡¯t true thirst but the memory of it; my throat had felt dry so I had thought that I was thirsty. It was only now that I realized that I had never drank any of the water. I was not thirsty, never had been. I thought back to the memory of my reflection. My inhumanly pale skin. My sharp teeth. My ability to see without eyes. Was I truly human? I had memories of being human, a sapien in fact. Yet my appearance, the wretched state of my body, hell, even the blue box called me a monster! I shook my head to clear it of the foul thoughts clustering within my mind. I was a human being. Every bit of me (that which was left, anyway) screamed at that fact. I was not a monster, regardless of what the blue box¡¯s messages said or what I looked like now. But if so, what had happened to me? How had I been transformed into this thing? And what had happened to bring me to such a low state? I needed answers. But how to get said answers eluded me. I did not know who I was, where I was, and what I was. I did not know what this strange blue box was, either. Nor did I know what this strange, magical ability to construct things came from. The messages called it ¡°Assembly.¡± Why did I have this ability? Could others use it as well? My mindsight looked upwards and saw that the sun was almost directly overhead. It was almost noon time. I needed to continue my trip towards the mountains. At this rate it would likely take me weeks to get there, but that was fine. My body didn¡¯t tire, after all. And something told me that it did not need to sleep, either. And so, my tireless trek continued. I kept track of time through the position of the sun and, when it had dipped low over the western horizon, I tracked the movement of the moon. Through six sun rises did I trudge ever onwards, dragging my mangled body on its rickety sled through the desolate waste. Closer and closer the mountains loomed. Eventually, I could make out their snow-capped peaks in the distance. During my trip, I encountered more of the rat-dogs as well as other types of monstrosities. These took the form of a strange, burrowing beast that looked like a mix of a caterpillar and a mole. Although these new monsters were just as rageful and vicious as the dogs, they were much easier to kill. A swat or two from the tip of my weighted cane usually caved in their soft, dome-like skulls. I fought many dogs and worms along the way, and it seemed as if the amount of monsters increased the closer to the mountains one got. It was after one of these battles that I reached level 4.
Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience. You are now Level 4!
It seemed as if each advance in level required more experience than the previous. Curious. During the seventh (or was it eight?) night, I came across an obstruction in my path. Sticking up from the earth at an awkward angle was the rusted remains of a large sword. The elements of the wasteland had taken its toll on the magnificent weapon, as its once-sharp blade was corroded through. Its golden hilt was dull, caked with dust and sand and grit from years of exposure to the sun and wind. Its pommel was long gone, as was the leather that once surrounded its grip. Despite the once majestic weapon¡¯s sad state, it still served its purpose as the marker for what lay beyond it. Several feet ahead was what looked like a pit dug deep into the rocky earth. I dragged my way past the sword towards the edge and looking down I spied the remains of what was once a mass grave. Countless skeletal bones were scattered across the raw earth at the bottom of the pit, many still encased in the armor that they wore when alive. Whether unearthed by the wind or grave robbers I didn¡¯t know, but the grave housed countless dead soldiers along with the weapons and armaments they carried during a long, past war. Among the armored forms were rusted swords, the broken hafts of polearms, and the shattered remains of shields. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. I frowned as I beheld the forgotten grave, wondering just who these brave men were. From the similarities in their armor, I could tell that they were part of an unified fighting force, perhaps a king¡¯s army or those of a powerful duke¡¯s. Since they all wore solid plate, these were obviously men of means, either lords of some rank or landed knights. To see their remains buried here in this desolate land and not returned to their homes meant that their forces had suffered a bad turn of events. My mind¡¯s eye focused on the unearthed gravesite and I noted with some interest that despite their age, some of the armor looked to be in decent shape. I thought back to my ability, Assembly, and wondered if it would work on the materials in the pit below. There¡¯s no reason it shouldn¡¯t. Metal were materials, and there was a lot of metal in the mass grave. I carefully shifted myself off of my furry sled and pushed my small form to the edge of the pit. Taking care not to tumble down into it, I used my cane to carefully slip my body down the angling slope of the mass grave. My efforts went smoothly at first, until I reached a particularly steep area whereupon I suddenly found myself slipping down the sandy dirt at a break-neck speed. I hissed in pain and agony when I felt the grains of soil and rocks poke at two tender areas on my back. It felt horrible, the same pain that rocked me whenever something aggravated the red, ragged flesh below my chest. My slide down the slope eventually stopped at the bottom. I cursed in irritation at the painful sensations on my back and reached my arm behind me. As I felt around, I winced when my fingers poked at two rough patches of skin located over my shoulder blades. From what I could feel, I had just found two more areas of red, ragged flesh, this time on my back. What¡¯s more, these parts felt like stumps, similar to the one connected to my right shoulder. Strange. Did this mean I once had more than two arms? I ignored this further evidence of my currently inhuman nature, choosing instead to focus on the unearthed bodies before me and the gear they possessed. I dragged myself to the closest skeleton, this one still partly buried under a mound of dirt. His top half was exposed, showing that the blue armor he wore was still in one piece. Rust and dents covered the aged metal, while some of the leather fasteners looked to have rotted away completely. The dead knight¡¯s visor was also open, showing the grinning skull inside the ornate though rusty helmet. I used my hand to remove some of the dirt covering the body. After about five minutes of work I wound up only exposing more of the rusted chest plate and part of the right arm. This wasn¡¯t working. With me only having a single limb and not being very mobile, there was no possible way for me to dig up the armor. At least, not physically. I thought about my Assembly skill and how it was able to move things through the air magically. I focused on the partially buried body in front of me and willed it to move. I strained my mind, focusing hard and visualizing what I wanted to happen, but despite all my efforts nothing happened. I ceased my mental struggle, growling in frustration while I grounded my sharp teeth together. I was obviously doing this wrong. How did I get the ability to work before? I thought back to both instances of creating the cane as well as the construction of my sled. It was then that I realized that *creation *was the key. In all the previous times I used Assembly, I was actively trying to make something. I glanced down once more at the body, at the desiccated skull locked forever inside the metal helmet. Was it right to disturb these brave knights¡¯ eternal rest just to use their remains as ingredients? I looked into the empty sockets of the skull, wondering what color eyes this soldier had when he was alive. I quickly shook my head, knowing it didn¡¯t matter. Like the dog-rats who I had killed and whose bodies I had torn apart for material, these soldiers were long dead. They had been left here, forgotten, abandoned in this hellish place. I was still alive, and with their help, I could survive this wasteland and make it home. Wherever that was. With that decision made, I set out to make something. But what should I make? I looked down at the soldier¡¯s half-buried corpse once more, noting the rusted armor. The dark blue of the metal was still visible under the rust. The main difficulties I had was due to my lack of limbs. I could not walk or run, nor could I do much with only one arm. It quickly dawned on me that I would not be able to make it to the safety of the distant mountains just by simply dragging myself. I was too slow, too defenseless as I was. I had encountered more and more monsters the closer I got to my destination. I could only deduce that their numbers would increase the more I travel forwards. With such thoughts in my head, it was obvious what I should build next. A new body. Was such a thing even possible though? Within my fragmented mind, I recalled instances where people who lost limbs had them replaced by prosthetics. Such devices were mechanically complicated and had complex magical enchantments woven into them. This made them rare and extremely expensive. Not to mention that the replacement artificial limb was usually not as good as the lost natural one. A painter who lost his arm could gain a prosthetic to replace it, but he would never paint with the skill he once had. Was this really my answer? Could I use my skill, Assembly, to fashion myself not just prosthetic limbs, but an entire replacement body? On the whole the idea sounded ludicrous. But I had no choice in the matter. I was less than half a man as I was. I needed two arms and two legs if I was to survive this wasteland. And so, I began building. I used Assembly to gather all the materials around me that I would need. With a clear intent to create in mind, the magic that powered the skill easily moved the dirt that covered the armored skeleton. Assembly flowed through me as I began gathering materials. Pieces of rusted armor began dragging themselves across the dirt, accompanied by sticks, vines, and stones from the surrounding area. The components shifted together like puzzle pieces, guided by my will and the strange power within. First came the chest piece. A battered cuirass wrapped around what remained of my torso, clasping tightly to my flesh. For my missing right arm, I wove together gauntlets and vines, creating joints from smaller pieces of metal and wood. The artificial limb took shape, looking bulky and much sturdier than the delicate appearance of my remaining natural arm. The legs proved more complex. I layered greaves and sabatons, using sturdy branches as supports and weaving them together with strips of leather and vine. The entire process took less than ten minutes, the components flowing together with an ease that surprised me. I flexed the mechanical fingers of my new right hand. The digits moved slowly, somewhat stiffly, but they did move! Although the movement was jerky, the limb adjusted to my thoughts as if they were my own flesh and blood. A thrill of excitement rushed through me as I realized my theory was correct - Assembly flowed through the constructed limbs, allowing me to control them through will alone. I reached out to my side and grasped a small rock, the mechanical fingers adjusting their grip clumsily. Though I couldn''t feel texture or temperature through the constructed limb, I maintained a modicum of control over it. The connection between my mind and these assembled parts seemed to stem from the points where they touched my flesh. As long as the constructed pieces maintained contact with my body, they responded to my commands as readily as my remaining natural arm. I stretched both arms out, comparing them side by side - one pale flesh, the other a patchwork of metal and wood. Different in appearance but equally under my control. For the first time since awakening in this desolate place, I felt something close to whole again. I attempted to stand on my new legs, but immediately toppled over onto the dirt, a puff of dust rising into the still air as I slammed down. The balance was wrong - two legs weren''t enough to support my awkward form. I scowled, then went back to work. More pieces of armor rose from the grave as I redesigned my lower half. Three additional legs took shape, giving me five points of contact with the ground. Two of my new legs were created using gauntlets, giving the appearance of two arms jutting from my lower torso, grasping at the dirt like the paws of a beast. I ignored this detail, as I was focused mainly on remaining balanced and not falling flat on my face again. This time when I stood, my body remained upright. The movement was stiff and mechanical, but I was no longer forced to drag myself across the earth. I took several experimental steps, metal joints creaking as I adjusted to my new form. A helmet caught my attention, half-buried in the dirt nearby. I reached down with my original arm and lifted it free. The visor was intact, perfect for hiding my eyeless face. I placed it over my head, lowering the faceplate. The world dimmed slightly through the narrow vision slits, but I could still see clearly with whatever sense allowed me sight without eyes. As I tested my new mechanical limbs, a blue status window materialized before me.
Congratulations! Assembly has reached Rank D! You may now use Assembly to create more complex instruments!
I blinked at the message, unsure what to make of it. The ability had ranked up; that had to be beneficial, though I couldn''t recall exactly what the ranking system meant. I waved the notification away with my flesh hand. A glint of metal caught my attention. Half-buried in the dirt lay a rusted greatsword, its blade still mostly intact despite the obvious wear. I reached down with my new, mechanical arm and wrapped my fingers around the worn grip. The weapon came free with a shower of loose soil. Though corroded, the blade retained its deadly edge. This would serve me far better than the crude cane against the wasteland''s creatures. Now for the real test. I approached the sloped wall of the mass grave, my five mechanical legs moving in an unnatural rhythm. The first attempt to scale the incline ended with me sliding back down, metal limbs scrabbling uselessly against the loose dirt. On the second try, I drove my artificial appendages deeper into the soil, using them like picks to haul myself upward. My new body creaked and groaned with the effort, but held together. Inch by inch, I climbed. The greatsword strapped across my back shifted with each movement. Finally, my leading limb caught the lip of the pit. With one final heave, I pulled myself over the edge and onto level ground. I rose to my full height, testing my balance on the firmer soil. The mechanical legs responded smoothly now, working in concert to keep me stable. No more dragging myself through the dirt like a worm. With this enhanced mobility and the sword as a weapon, I could better defend myself against whatever monsters lay ahead. I turned westward, toward the distant mountains, and began walking with measured steps. My new form may have been ungainly, but it was far more formidable than before. Chapter 7: Others Chapter 7: Others The days blurred together as I marched across the wasteland. My mechanical legs never tired, though they occasionally needed adjustment when dirt and grime worked into the joints. The familiar rat-dogs and worms proved little challenge now. Despite the aged and rusted blade, my sword cleaved through them with ease when they dared approach. A new threat emerged on the fourth day: massive, diseased-looking boars that charged at me with frightening speeds. Their flesh hung in rotting strips, exposing blackened bone beneath. The first one I encountered managed to catch me off guard; it slammed into my legs with enough force to knock me sideways. Thankfully, my five-legged stance allowed me to recover quickly. The beast quickly wheeled around for another charge. This time I was ready. I braced my legs and swung the greatsword in a wide arc, catching the creature in the midst of its rush. The rusted blade bit deep into its shoulder, nearly severing the limb. Foul black ichor sprayed from the wound as the boar crashed to the ground. Before it could recover, I brought the sword down and cleaved open its skull.
Congratulations! You have defeated and have received experience. You are now Level 5!
I grunted upon seeing the notification. So my score went up again. I called up my status.
Name: Unnamed Level: 5 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 16 Endurance: 19 Dexterity: 9 Intelligence: 16 Wisdom: 12 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly D
I read through the entries, still wondering what it all meant. I noticed that the score for all my physical stats increased by 10 each when I received my new mechanical body. It made sense, in a way. Perhaps this "System" truly was breaking down all my attributes in a numerical way. But why? What was the purpose of this thing? I dismissed the blue box and continued on my way. More of the corrupted swine appeared each day, sometimes in pairs. My armored form proved resistant to their attacks as their tusks couldn''t penetrate the metal plates I''d assembled. My sword made short work of them, though their thick leathery hides required more force than the smaller beasts. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. The increasing frequency of monster encounters puzzled me. When I''d first emerged from the earth, these creatures had been scattered and rare. Now I faced multiple battles each day. The closer I got to the mountains, the more of the fiends had appeared. Perhaps this meant I was approaching more hospitable lands? These beasts had to be surviving on something, after all. I paused atop a small rise, scanning the horizon. The mountains loomed closer now, their peaks shrouded in thick, misty clouds. Somewhere ahead there had to be signs of civilization, either ruins, roads, anything. I refused to believe this entire world was composed of nothing but empty wasteland and vicious monsters. The mountains grew larger with each passing day. My mechanical legs carried me steadily forward, the familiar creak of metal joints a constant sound amidst the dreadful silence. The wasteland''s emptiness stretched endlessly, until I heard it. Voices. Human voices. My inner mechanisms clicked faster as excitement coursed through whatever remained of my body. After endless days of solitude, the sound of speech felt like a much needed balm upon an infected wound. I picked up my pace, my five mechanical legs working in concert as I moved toward the source. Through a cluster of dead trees, I spotted them. Six figures huddled around a small fire, their faces illuminated by the flames. Four had the tall, sturdy builds of sapiens, while two were shorter and broader: dwarves. The scent of cooked meat drifted on the breeze as they passed around what looked like trail rations. I steadily approached their camp, eager to finally have human contact. One of them glanced up and froze upon seeing me. "M-monster!" He shouted. The camp erupted into action. They grabbed their weapons, pulling out swords, spears, and a bow. Each of their faces were contorted with fear and determination. "What manner of beast is that?" "Look at those legs - it''s unnatural!" I raised my arms in what I hoped was a peaceful gesture. The last thing I wanted was to frighten them. They approached cautiously, weapons still raised. "What are you?" One of the dwarves demanded. "Where did you come from?" Finally, a chance to communicate! I opened my mouth, eager to explain. But instead of words, a piercing inhuman shriek tore out of my throat. The sound echoed off the dead trees, amplifying its otherworldly pitch. The humans cried out, dropping their weapons to clutch at their ears. "It''s attacking!" "Kill it before it can do that again!" The sapien with the bow loosed an arrow that pinged off my chest plate. Another charged with a spear, aiming for the gaps in my armor. What had meant to be a greeting had turned into exactly what I''d feared. "Stop!" I wanted to tell them. "I''m human, I swear!" But all that came out of my mouth were more shrill, painful shrieks that caused the group to cringe and cry out in agony. I stumbled backward, metal legs clanking against rocks. Their weapons found purchase where monster claws could not. A dwarf''s axe bit deep into my chest plate, tearing through the carefully assembled armor. A sword sliced through the vine bindings at my joints, threatening to unravel my mechanical frame. "Aim for the gaps!" one of them shouted. An arrow whistled through the air, headed towards my head. Pain exploded as it found the slit in my visor, piercing the raw red flesh where my eyes should have been. My shriek of agony shattered the night air. The humans dropped their weapons again, covering their ears, as my unholy cry felt echoed across the desolate landscape. Something snapped inside me. My body moved on its own, driven by a primal need to end the pain. The greatsword swung in wild arcs. Metal screamed against metal. Flesh parted. Blood sprayed. I became a whirlwind of death, my rusted blade slicing through their armor and the soft meat underneath, each of my desperate strikes empowered by my mechanical body. When the red haze finally cleared, I stood alone in the ruined camp. Six bodies lay scattered around the dying fire, their blood soaking into the parched earth. I hardly fared better; my armored frame bore numerous dents and gashes. Several of my legs hung loose, their bindings severed. I stared down upon my handiwork in horror. These were the first humans I''d encountered, perhaps the only other thinking beings around for miles. And I''d slaughtered them like animals.
Congratulations! You have defeated 6 enemies and gained experience! You are now Level 6!
I sank to my many knees among the corpses. The System had labeled me a monster from the start. Now I understood why. Chapter 8: Caught Chapter 8: Caught I sat among the carnage, my mechanical body creaking as I assessed the damage. The dwarf''s axe had nearly split my chest plate in two. Several of my legs hung askew, their vine bindings severed. The arrow still protruded from my face, sending waves of agony through my ruined flesh. I yanked it out with a fierce, angry pull, the resulting pain almost knocking me unconscious. I tossed the miserable missile aside, sending it to the dirt. Using Assembly, I gathered materials from the camp. Their weapons and armor would serve to repair my frame. Metal moved under my touch, clamping together into stronger plates. I wove new bindings from leather straps and belt fragments. When I finished, my mechanical body stood whole once more, though the rusted plate was now stained with human blood. I couldn''t leave them like this. Whatever monster I had become, these men deserved better than to rot out in the open air. The rocky, hard-packed ground fought me every inch of the way as I dug. My mechanical arm scraped against stone, sending sparks flying. The enhanced strength of my frame let me break through the harder patches, but progress remained agonizingly slow. Hours passed. The first grave took the longest as I figured out the best technique. Stab down with the sword to break up the rocks and compacted soil, then scoop with my hands. By the third grave, I''d developed an efficient rhythm. I laid them to rest one by one, arranging their arms across their chests. The dwarves I buried with their axes; it seemed right somehow. When the last body was covered, I gathered stones to mark each grave. "I''m sorry," I tried to say, but only that damned shriek emerged from my cursed lips. Even in death, I couldn''t give them proper words. The sun had crossed most of the sky by the time I finished. Six stone cairns now stood as silent sentinels in this wasteland. I''d done what I could for them, though it felt like an utterly hollow gesture. I was the cause of their deaths, after all.
The landscape shifted as I trudged forward. Bare rock gave way to patches of dead grass, then to twisted shapes that rose from the ground like grasping fingers. Trees, or what remained of them. Their gnarled, blackened branches reached toward the perpetually gray sky, dry and utterly lifeless. My mechanical legs clicked against exposed roots and fallen branches. Dried bushes crackled as I pushed through them. The sound echoed through the dead forest, breaking its oppressive silence. The western mountains dominated the horizon now. Their peaks pierced the clouds, dark and foreboding. What had seemed like an endless journey when I first emerged from the earth now felt close to ending. A few days'' march would bring me to their base. A squealing cry broke through my thoughts. Another corrupted boar charged out from behind a cluster of dead trees. Its tusks glowed with an unnatural purple light, foam dripping from its mouth. I brought my sword around in a slow but practiced arc, cleaving through its skull. The beast dropped mid-charge, its maggot-ridden brains spilling upon the earth. Stolen story; please report. A shadow passed overhead. Looking up, I spotted dark shapes wheeling against the gray sky. Bats, but wrong; too large, with wingspans wider than I was tall. Their skin appeared diseased, patches missing to reveal bone beneath. One dove at me, its mouth opening to reveal rows of needle-like teeth. My rusted blade met it halfway, splitting it from jaw to belly. Another swooped in from behind. I spun, my mechanical legs moving stiffly but working in perfect coordination. The sword took its wing off, and the bat crashed into a dead tree trunk with a wet crunch. The rest of the flock scattered back into the clouds. I watched them go, their shrieks fading into the distance. The bat I''d wounded tried to crawl away but I ended its suffering with a quick thrust from my sword. More corrupted creatures would come; they always did. But with my weapon and this mechanical body, I feared none of them. The mountains drew closer with each focused step. Some hours later, I was met with an obstacle: a massive boulder blocked my path, its weathered surface stretching high above. I scurried around it''s wide side, trying to get around. The crunch of gravel under my mechanical feet echoed off the stone face. As I stepped past the obstruction, a glint of steel caught my attention. Three men burst from behind scraggly bushes, rusty blades already in motion. Their leather armor hung in tatters, faces gaunt and wild beneath matted hair. But their attacks came in practiced sequence: one high, one low, one thrust. I brought my sword up to parry the first strike. "Wait-" I tried to say. The sound that emerged was an inhuman screech that sent them staggering back, hands clutching their ears. Their expressions twisted from pain to rage. They recovered fast, pressing the attack with renewed fury. A blade found a gap in my leg joints. Another scraped across my chest plate, leaving deep gouges in the metal. I swung my sword in a wide arc, trying to drive them back without killing them. "Please stop-" Another shriek. More pain etched across their faces. Something heavy dropped over me. Barbed metal points dug into the seams of my armor as a weighted net entangled my frame. Looking up, I glimpsed more of the wild men atop the boulder, grinning through broken teeth. I tried to break free but each movement only caused the barbs to sink deeper, the net drawing tighter. My legs locked up. The sword slipped from my grasp. With a final metallic groan, I toppled sideways. The impact of my mechanical body hitting the ground echoed through the rocky terrain like a hammer strike. Moving proved impossible, the rough fibers of the net was now wrapped tightly around my frame. I moved my head around as best I could, trying to see what my captors were doing. Through my mental sight, I saw several rough looking men surrounding me. They were all tall and had round ears, marking them as sapiens. Yet their looks and demeanor caused me to question this. In my fractured memories, sapiens were an honorable folk, well known for being strong warriors. Yet these men had the wild look of beasts in their eyes, their bodies marred by numerous scars that told stories of rough times lived. "What the hell is it?" One of the men grumbled out the question as he looked down at my still form, tangled in the heavy net. "Some weird monster, obviously!" Answered one of his fellows. He used his spear to poke me through the net, the dull point clanking against my cuirass. "It''s got armor on, so it''s prob''ly one of ''em intelligent ones!" "Never seen nothing like it before," the first man said. "That just means it''s rare!" Another said to the two. "And rare means some rich snob''ll pay us buckets for it." He let out a bark of greedy laughter. "I defin''ly like the sound of that!" The men continued to chat about how much money they could make off me as they each grabbed a section of my tangled body. With much complaining, they began dragging me through the dirt towards some unknown destination. Who knew what awaited me next in this insane land. Chapter 9: Prize Chapter 9: Prize The cart jerked and swayed beneath me, each bump sending metallic clangs through my cage. I''d managed to work free of that cursed net, but these thick iron bars proved far more stubborn. Even with my considerable strength, they refused to bend. Four bedraggled men trudged ahead of my cart, ropes over their shoulders as they pulled it along the mountain path. Their ragged clothes and shuffling steps spoke of long days spent at this task. Armed guards walked alongside, occasionally prodding stragglers with spear butts. Fragments of conversation drifted back to me from the men in charge. "...good haul from that village..." "...Qordos always pays top coin..." Two more carts followed mine in this grim procession. The nearest held men and women, farmers by the look of their simple clothes, though it was hard to tell under all the bruises and dried blood. They sat in defeated silence, avoiding the guards'' eyes. The last cart tore at something deep within me. Children. Ten small faces peered out between the wooden slats, some crying quietly, others just staring ahead with hollow eyes. A girl who couldn''t have seen more than twelve summers sat at the front, her blond hair, freckled face and green eyes reminding me of... someone. The memory slipped away like smoke. "Move faster!" A guard struck the nearest cart-puller with his spear shaft. "Want to reach Qordos before dark!" The slaves stumbled forward, shoulders straining against their ropes. The children''s cart hit a deep rut, drawing whimpers from its cargo. The freckled girl reached out to steady a smaller child who''d nearly fallen. I pressed against my cage bars, testing each joint and seam. There had to be a weak point somewhere. These slavers had taken me for some rare beast to be sold, but they''d also raided peaceful villages, torn families apart, caged children like animals. Something cold and furious stirred in my fractured memories. This¡­ this was not how humans were supposed to behave towards each other. We were all in this struggle together. Weren''t we?
The mountains loomed closer until their shadows swallowed our caravan. The path wound down into a valley where Qordos sprawled like an open wound on the landscape. Smoke rose from dozens of cooking fires between canvas tents and crooked wooden structures that looked ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. My cage rattled as we entered through a gap between two guard towers. The stench hit me first; the unwashed bodies, waste, and despair was thick enough to choke on. Slavers in mismatched armor lounged about, weapons close at hand. A dwarf with an eye patch bartered with a tall sapien over a group of chained workers. Near a large tent, an elf in leather armor counted coins while two more slavers led away a family in chains. The cart lurched to a stop near the slave pens. Row after row of crude enclosures were packed with bodies. Men, women, children of every race huddled together on mud-covered ground. Some reached through the bars toward family members in other pens. Guards walked the lanes between, clubs ready for any who caused trouble. At the far end of the camp, slaves were being herded into covered wagons hitched to teams of horses. These weren''t the crude carts that had brought us here; these were built for long journeys. A slaver checked marks on a ledger while others secured the wagon doors with heavy locks. "Got some''thun special here!" One of my captors called out to a group near the largest tent. "Never seen nothin'' like it! Some kind of many-legged armored monster we caught in the wastes." The children''s cart rolled past mine towards one of the pens. They swung wide the cart''s gate and the slavers hollered at them to get out. The small bodies clambered out of the cart, wary eyes looking around as they were led into the pen. The freckled girl glanced my way as they passed, and I saw dry tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on her face. A guard shoved her forward when she hesitated at the pen''s entrance. "Good work, boys!" A rather rotund slaver with a bare torso said to the men who had caught me. He looked into my cage, noting my large armored form and numerous legs. "Well, well," he spoke up after his cursory exam. "Whatever it is, it''s definitely rare. This thing will fetch a good price with the rich boffs down south." The fat man waddled away to survey the other two carts and the people who had emerged from them. "This the lot from Weath?" One of my captors nodded. "Aye." "Not as much as last time," the slaver complained. "Oi, it was a bitch gettin'' this many back here at all!" The other slaver rubbed his ragged hair, looking frustrated. "There was an adventurer at Weath when we swung through, a strong one. Prolly over level 15 by my reckon. Lost three men to that bastard." "Damn fucking ''venturers," the fat man spat. "Oh well, nothing to be done. Go have Vert give ya yer pay." He then turned around and called towards a tent. "Harke!" A short, skinny man dressed in dirty robes pulled the flap of the tent open and stumbled out. He rushed over to the fat slaver and bowed. "Y-y-yes sera?" His voice was soft and his words stuttered, very much a reflection of his frightened, nervous demeanor. "New inventory just got delivered," the slaver said with a smile. "Go check on each of them, make sure they''re nice and healthy. They should fetch us a good price, especially the kids." I watched as Harke''s thin lip hair contorted from a scowl. A flash of revulsion crossed his features before he dropped his gaze to the ground and muttered, "Y-yes, sera." The scrawny man started shuffling toward the fresh batch of captives, retrieving a tattered ledger from within his garments. He halted abruptly before my prison when his gaze landed on my motionless figure. His eyes lifted to meet my masked visage, transfixed with obvious wonder. "F-f-f-fascinating!" He said aloud. "D-Dirtborn?" My hollow gaze snapped up to meet his the moment that stammered term left his mouth. Where in the world had he learned that phrase? As far as I was aware, it had only ever appeared within my personal status box, nowhere else. Chapter 10: Examination Chapter 10: Examination The slavers wheeled my cage next to the children''s pens. Through the iron bars, I watched the healer, Harke, move methodically among the young captives. The thin man would pause before each child, eyes unfocused for a moment, before checking them over with gentle hands. When he found injuries, a soft green light would emanate from his palms. Cuts sealed closed, bruises faded, and swollen joints returned to normal. His healing magic worked efficiently, though his hands trembled with each touch. The freckled girl caught my attention again as Harke approached her. Unlike the others who stayed silent, she spoke up. "I''m Mallie." Her gap-toothed smile seemed out of place in this wretched camp. "What''s going to happen to us?" Harke''s thin mustache twitched as he attempted a reassuring smile. "D-d-d-don''t worry. You''ll be s-sold to nice families who''ll t-take good care of you." "You''re not very good at lying." Mallie''s bright eyes studied his face. "But that''s okay. You''re nicer than the others here." "I-I''m not one of them!" Harke''s voice cracked. He wrung his hands, glancing nervously at the nearby guards. "I''m a p-prisoner too. They caught my whole team. K-killed the others, but kept me for my healing. I d-didn''t choose this!" "I know," Mallie said softly. "I can tell you''re scared too." Harke''s shoulders slumped as he completed her examination. The facade of the dutiful camp healer crumbled for just a moment, revealing the broken man beneath. Here was another soul trapped in this place, forced to use his gifts to help keep the slaving operation running smoothly. I observed Harke''s methodical progress as he began his examination at the adult pens. The captives reached for him through the bars, voices desperate. "My daughter, is she well?" A woman''s weathered hands clutched at his robes. "She''s f-f-fine. All the children are being t-treated well." Harke''s stutter grew worse with each lie. "What''ll happen to us?" A man this time, face lined with worry. "You''ll be s-sold to work the fields or mines. It''s... it''s not so b-bad." Harke couldn''t meet their eyes as he moved between the pens, healing injuries with trembling fingers. Finally, he approached my cage. His steps grew hesitant, and he wrung his hands nervously as he studied my mechanical form. "C-c-can you speak?" He asked, keeping a careful distance. I shook my head slowly. Relief flooded his features. "You understand me though? That''s... that''s good! That will make things m-m-much easier, then." His curious gaze examined my form through the bars, looking from my face, to my mechanical body, then to the pale white flesh of my bare left arm. "I m-must say, I''ve never s-seen an intelligent monster like you before." Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I tilted my head, the gesture questioning. "You don''t know what that m-means?" Harke moved closer, his curiosity seemingly overwhelming his fear. "Intelligent monsters are d-different from regular ones. The ones in the Hellzones just attack anything they see, but intelligent monsters can think and r-reason like humans do. They form communities, have relationships, even live in some human cities, though usually in the p-poorest areas." His explanation stirred something in my fragmented memories, but it slipped away before I could grasp it. Still, his words helped make sense of why I was different from the savage beasts I''d encountered in the wasteland. "Most kingdoms treat them terribly though," Harke continued. "Kill them on sight or enslave them like... like what''s happening here." I reached through the bars, my pale flesh arm moving slowly to avoid startling the nervous healer. My hand settled on his thin shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. Harke flinched at first, then relaxed as he understood my intent. A weak smile crossed his face. "Thank you. That''s... that''s very kind." He straightened his brown robes. "Now, I need to check you for injuries. It''s remarkable really, you''re quite large and intelligent for being less than a y-year old." My mechanical body stilled. How could he know my age? The blue box that only I could see listed it as zero years. I remained motionless as Harke''s eyes unfocused, similar to when he''d examined the other prisoners. His gaze swept over my form - from the mechanical legs to the armored chest, lingering on my exposed flesh. "Fascinating," he muttered, his stutter momentarily forgotten in his concentration. "Your flesh shows no signs of injury or wear, despite your apparent emergence from the ground, according to your species name. The mechanical components are crude but functional. And your stats..." He trailed off, shaking his head in wonder. I tilted my head, questioning. His knowledge of my origins unsettled me. "Oh! You''re wondering how I know these things?" Harke''s hands twisted in his robes. "It''s my Analyze ability. I-it lets me s-see details about living things - their health, abilities, even basic history. I''m at Rank B Analyze, which is quite high for s-someone of my level." For a moment, the short man seems proud of his accomplishment, a smile brightening his worry-lined face. The happy look quickly vanished as his mind returned to reality. "That''s why they keep me here. Not just for healing, b-but to evaluate new captures." His shoulders slumped at this admission. I patted his shoulder again, feeling a strange kinship with this imprisoned healer who could see through my mysteries. "Well, you seem healthy enough," Harke said, stepping back from my cage. "Though I admit, I''ve n-never examined a monster quite like you before. I should report this to Belmund." He gave me an apologetic look before hurrying towards a large tent where the fat jailer had disappeared earlier. I settled back against the iron bars, my mechanical body creaking as the tension eased from its joints. The camp sprawled before me: a collection of tents and wooden structures built into the mountain valley. Burly guards patrolled between the slave pens, hands resting on weapon hilts. Some carried whips which they weren''t shy about using on anyone who made too much noise. The stench of unwashed bodies and human misery hung thick in the air. In one pen, a group of peasants huddled together, their clothes caked with dried mud from their journey. Another held what looked like merchants, their once-fine clothes now torn and dirty. Every face showed the same defeated expression. My gaze drifted to the children''s pen. Most of the young ones were pressed against the far side, as far from my cage as possible. But not Mallie. She stood at the bars closest to me, her bright green eyes fixed on my mechanical form. When our gazes met, her face lit up with that gap-toothed smile I''d seen earlier. She raised her hand and waved, as casual as if greeting a friend in a village square. I froze. This small human child, who''d witnessed my capture and transport, who surely heard the guards call me monster; she showed me no fear. My pale flesh arm moved hesitantly, returning her wave with slow, careful movements. Her smile grew wider, and she bounced on her toes, seeming pleased by my response. It stirred something in my fractured memories, a sense of warmth, of simple joy. But like all my other memories, it slipped away before I could fully grasp it. Chapter 11: Night Chapter 11: Night The sun dipped behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the camp. A hush quickly fell over the pens as a tall sapien strutted through the grounds, flanked by several armed guards. His battle-scarred face and muscled frame spoke of violence, and the massive axe strapped to his back gleamed dully in the fading light. Belmund burst from his tent, his fat jiggling as he rushed to meet the man. "Boss! You''re just in time to see the new stock." "These better be worth my time, Fatso." The man''s voice carried the casual menace of someone used to being obeyed. "Oh yes, especially this one." Belmund waddled to my cage, gesturing excitedly. "A ''Dirtborn'' monster, Boss. Harke confirmed it. First one of it''s kind! Think o'' what the southern kingdoms would pay for such a rare creature!" The man, apparently the one in charge of this awful place, approached my cage. His eyes held the cold calculation of a merchant appraising livestock. I remained still, my mechanical body rigid with disgust. He turned to address the pens. "Listen well, slaves. I am Chanos, boss of Qordos, and I welcome you to the Lodrik Hellzone! Worry not; your stay here, if you are lucky, will be brief." The large sapien glanced around at the prisoners in the pen, his grim scarred face glaring at each and every one of them. "Just remember this one rule of Qordos and you shall be fine: in this camp, I am your god. You will treat me as one of the Holy Twelve themselves, for your lives are mine." He paced before the cages. "All of you worthless pieces of meat are bound for the southern kingdoms. Behave, and you might survive the journey. Disobey..." The large man smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "Well, I won''t kill you; dead slaves are worthless, after all. But I will beat you to within an inch of your miserable life. Then I''ll get creative." He laughed, jerking his thumb towards where Harke stood trembling. "Our friend here will patch you up afterward. He''s quite skilled at putting broken things back together." Harke flinched at the cruel praise, his hands twisting in his robes. "Remember," Chanos continued, "your lives mean nothing to me beyond the coin they''ll bring. Act accordingly." As he turned to leave, I fixed my eyeless gaze on his back, hatred burning in my chest. This man was no god, whatever that was. I had forgotten much, but I knew what a lowlife was. This strutting thug with delusions of grandeur was nothing but a petty tyrant.
Hours crept by. I sat silently in my cage, mind awhirl, stuck deep within disconnected thoughts. The clatter of a large pot and wooden bowls broke the evening quiet, bringing my awareness back to reality. Two slavers shuffled between the pens, ladling out gray-white slop that reeked of spoiled vegetables and stagnant water. They shoved these through the bars and prisoners lunged for their portions, shoveling the gruel into their mouths with dirty hands. Harke approached my cage carrying a wooden platter piled with an assortment of items. Raw meat dripped blood onto vegetables, and clumps of grass and hay filled the remaining space. "I-I wasn''t sure what your kind eat." He set the platter near my cage. "The meat is fresh from today''s hunt, and I gathered some p-plants from around camp." His eyes darted to my mechanical frame. "Please, show me what you p-p-prefer." I stared at the offering, then shook my head. Since emerging from the earth, I''d felt no hunger, no thirst. Just the constant ache of my mangled flesh. "You must eat something." Harke pushed the platter closer. "Even monsters need sus-sus-sustenance." Again, I shook my head. My shriek-cursed voice prevented me from explaining that food was meaningless to this broken form of mine. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Very well." Harke''s shoulders slumped. "I''ll leave it here in c-case you change your mind during the night." After he left, I tilted my head skyward. The moon hung full and bright, casting silver light across the camp. Around it, familiar constellations wheeled in their ancient patterns: Kol, the Hunter''s Bow; Miz, the Serpent''s Crown; Ash Shell, the Shattered Shield. In my fractured memory, their names remained clear as white crystal while all else was shadow. These eternal, twinkling lights were my only companions now, unchanged since before I clawed my way up from darkness from beneath the soil and into this cruel, awful world.
A sharp scream pierced the night. My head snapped toward the adult pen where a thin figure managed to squeeze his lanky body between bent bars. The man sprinted across the moonlit ground, but he made it only twenty paces before the guards tackled him. They dragged the escaped prisoner to the center of the camp, throwing him down in front of all the pens. Torchlight cast dancing shadows as the guards circled their prey. "Watch close, you lot!" One guard barked. "This''s what runners get." Clubs cracked against bone. Fists pummeled flesh. The man''s screams turned to wet gurgles as blood filled his mouth. After minutes of savage beating, the slavers pinned down his hands. One by one, they snapped his fingers backward until each digit jutted at wrong angles. Children wailed in their pen, terrified at the sight. Mallie gathered the smallest ones close, shielding their eyes while her own remained fixed on the violence. Her freckled face had gone deathly pale. The guards tossed the broken man back into his pen like a sack of meal, his body hitting the ground with a meaty thud. "Healer!" Belmund''s voice boomed, sounding annoyed. "Get over here!" Harke rushed past my cage, medical book clutched to his chest. He dropped beside the moaning prisoner and started a cursory evaluation of the damage before his hands began to glow with healing magic. "They b-b-beat him too hard!" Harke''s voice shook. "I-internal bleeding... crushed organs... he might not-" "That bastard better survive!" Belmund growled as he watched the healer work. "Lest you want to feel the guards'' batons yourself!" Harke''s mouth snapped shut. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked, jaw clenched in barely contained fury. The prisoner''s ragged breathing filled the tense silence as the emerald light from his hands began to knit broken flesh and bones. I gripped the bars of my cage, metal creaking under my mechanical fingers. The casual cruelty that these men committed was obscene. How could humans do this to each other? We had more important matters to worry about than fighting amongst each other! The Primordials- My thoughts paused. Wait. The what? Those razor clear recollections that had so swiftly sprung up from my shattered mind slipped away just as quickly, dissolving into hazy, spectral wisps that my struggling consciousness failed to grasp. What thoughts had I just seen? Why did this unsettling sense of disquiet now surge throughout my being? What in the world were the Primordials?
Dawn crept over the mountains, painting the black sky bright orange. As the morning''s light touched upon Qordos''s tattered tents, slavers began to extinguish their torches. Freshly slept guards replaced those who had duty the night before, and cooking fires were lit to feed the hungry men their breakfast. The escapee from last night lay motionless where he''d fallen, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Harke had worked throughout the night to save him, his healing magic barely keeping the man''s broken body from giving out. Belmund''s bulk cast a shadow across the pens as he rattled the metal bars. "Rise and shine, you worthless lot!" Bleary-eyed prisoners stirred from their fitful sleep upon the dirt floor. The fat slaver''s lips curled into a cruel smile. "Thanks to last night''s entertainment, none of you get breakfast today. Can''t have anyone getting ideas about running, can we?" The adult pen erupted in muttered curses. Several farmers shot venomous looks at the unconscious escapee. Belmund''s belly shook with laughter at their reactions. He waddled over to my cage, his mirth dying when he spotted the untouched food platter from the night before. "What''s all this then? Too good for our food, monster?" I remained still, my mechanical body unmoving. His face reddened. "Harke! Get over here!" The healer emerged from his tent, dark circles under his eyes due to lack of sleep. He stumbled towards us, exhaustion clear in every step. "Why isn''t it eating?" Belmund jabbed a fat finger at my cage. "I won''t have it dying before we can sell it down south!" "I-I tried last night." Harke''s voice cracked. "It w-won''t take any food I offer." "Useless!" Belmund kicked my cage, the impact nearly toppling his unbalanced frame. He caught himself, face purpling with rage and embarrassment. "You lot! Back to work!" He stormed off, bellowing at nearby guards. Harke''s weary form slumped against my cage. "You''re only m-making things h-harder for everyone by not eating. For me, for the others..." He gestured weakly at the pens. "He''ll take it out on us when he''s ang-ang-angry." I sat motionless, unable to explain through my cursed voice that I had no need for sustenance. My silence only drew a tired sigh from the healer. And so went my first day at Qordos. How I would give anything for it to be my last. Chapter 12: Vicious Chapter 12: Vicious Two days dragged by in this iron prison. My mechanical fingers traced each bar, testing their strength and composition. The metal was thick, sturdy, built to contain creatures far stronger than my current form. Assembly could reshape these bonds, but the guards'' watchful eyes never strayed far from my cage. Their curiosity about the "monster" kept them alert. I would have to wait for nightfall, when darkness could mask my abilities. A shrill scream suddenly pierced the morning air. My head snapped toward the children''s pen where a young-looking slaver yanked Mallie by her arm, her feet scraping dirt as she struggled against his grip. Her green eyes were wide with terror. Belmund burst from his tent, his bare chest heaving. "Pike! What''s all this hubbub about, eh?" The young slaver barely gave the fat man a glance. Lean muscle rippled beneath tanned skin as he tightened his grip on Mallie''s wrist. "Just lookin'' to having some fun with this pretty thing." Mallie screamed and tried to break away from the man''s tight grip, but Pike held onto her tightly. "But she''s marked for the southern markets!" Belmund''s jowls quivered, trying to reason with the younger slaver. "Pure stock fetches triple the price. You can''t-" "I don''t give a fuck what you think." Pike''s laugh cut through the air like a blade. "Boss Chanos put me in charge of quality control. I''m checkin'' the merchandise." "Damn it! At least take one from the adult pen instead!" "Where''s the fun in that?" Pike dragged Mallie toward his tent, the small girl struggling the whole way. "I like ''em young and fresh." Something ancient stirred within my broken memories. A familiar rage, hot as molten steel, flooded through what remained of my body. My mechanical frame creaked as my fingers curled into fists. The rage pulsing through me found purpose. My fingers pressed against the iron bars, and Assembly flowed from my touch. Metal bent and twisted beneath my will, its solid form shifting and bending. The guards, usually so watchful of me, had their gazes remained fixed on the confrontation between Pike and Belmund, their weapons slack in their hands. Bar by bar, the cage transformed. Metal groaned and twisted, pulling free from its moorings. The sound was lost beneath Mallie''s continued struggles and Pike''s cruel laughter. Iron reshaped itself, components joining together into a new form. The net''s hemp fibers wove themselves around the weapon''s base, creating a perfect grip for my mechanical hand. The mace took shape, brutal and efficient. Spikes erupted from its head, each formed from broken metallic shards, every one of them promising devastating force. My fingers closed around the wrapped handle, testing its weight and balance. It was perfect. My legs, all six of them, coiled beneath me. With one powerful thrust, I launched my armored form through the gaping hole where the bars once stood. I landed on metal hands and feet, each of my five lower limbs absorbing the impact easily. The wooden supports in each leg clicked, and plant fiber ligaments pulled, as I sprinted toward Pike and his struggling victim. My mechanical body moved with deadly purpose, each step bringing me closer to the man who dared try to harm an innocent child in front of me. Pike''s back was turned, still dragging Mallie toward his tent, still not noticing his death approaching. Mallie''s eyes widened as she saw me charging forward, my mace raised high. I brought my new weapon down in a vicious arc. Pike''s head turned at the last moment, his eyes meeting my visored face. Recognition, terror, and death flashed across his features in rapid succession as the spiked head pulverized his skull. Blood and gray matter sprayed across the dirt as his lifeless body crumpled, limp fingers finally releasing Mallie. She screamed and scrambled away, diving behind a stack of barrels. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I spun, mechanical legs clicking as I sought more threats. The guards stood frozen, weapons dangling uselessly at their sides as they gaped at their comrade''s remains. Belmund''s fat face turned purple with rage. "Get that bloody thing!" His jowls quivered as he jabbed a finger towards me. "But don''t mangle it up too badly, it''s still worth something!" Guards rushed forward, steel glinting in the morning sun. I met their charge head-on, swinging my mace in a wide arc. The weapon connected with the first guard''s temple, reducing his head to a red mist. Another slaver''s sword clanged harmlessly off my exposed arm, the blade leaving no mark on my pale flesh. I pivoted, bringing the mace around in a brutal counter-strike. He attempted to block but his shield splintered like kindling under the blow, the mace continuing forward to slam into his side. The fierce blow shattered ribs beneath his leather armor, causing the man to gurgle blood before collapsing. More slavers converged, shouting battle cries that quickly turned to screams as my mace found its mark. Some tried tossing nets, but without the element of surprise, their clumsy attempts were easy to avoid. My mechanical legs carried me between their throws as I continued my assault, each swing of my weapon leaving broken bodies in its wake. "Look out!" Mallie''s shrill cry pierced through the chaos of battle. Something heavy smashed into my back, and I felt as well as heard something penetrate my armor. White-hot agony exploded through me as the sensitive red flesh on my back was hit, causing waves of pain coursing through what remained of my body. My mechanical legs scrambled as I spun around, coming face to face with Chanos. The slaver chief stood before me, his massive battle axe held high, having just carved through my armored back like it was paper. I swung my mace in a vicious downward swing, but Chanos deflected it with contemptuous ease. He moved with impossible speed for his size, the axe blade whistling through the air. Metal screamed as it struck my head. The rusted helmet I wore shattered, pieces raining down around me as my eyeless face was exposed. Chanos stared at me, eyes going wide as he and his men saw my pale, human-like features for the first time. He then threw back his head and laughed. "What a shame! You''d be quite pretty if it weren''t for those... deformities." Rage burned through me. I lunged forward, mace swinging in deadly arcs, but Chanos danced away from each strike. My weapon found nothing but air as he dodged and weaved, that mocking smile never leaving his scarred face. His agility was unreal. He leaped suddenly, his massive frame spinning in the air with a grace that defied his bulk. The axe came down in a devastating overhead strike. I raised my pale, bare arm instinctively, counting on my invulnerable flesh to block the blow. The axe head struck my forearm with earth-shattering force. While my flesh held firm, the impact traveled through my entire mechanical frame. Wood splintered. Vines snapped. Metal groaned and warped. The ground beneath me cratered from the sheer power of his blow. My carefully crafted body all but exploded, components flying off and scattering across the blood-stained dirt. A cloud of dust fell heavy in the air, and when it cleared all that was left of my form was scrap metal. I lay silent upon the dirt, stunned amidst the wreckage, my consciousness swimming from the devastating impact. Through the haze of pain, I watched pieces of my mechanical form rolling away across the ground. Chanos loomed over my broken body, his battle axe resting casually on his shoulder. He glanced around at his men, who stood back warily, eager to keep their distance. "What''s everyone standing around for?" Chanos'' voice boomed across the yard. "It''s just a crippled freak now." Slavers crept forward cautiously, their weapons still raised. Some kicked at the scattered pieces of my mechanical body, metal and wood skittering across the earth. "Look at you cowards." Chanos spat. "Jumping at shadows like children." A ragged cheer went up from the gathered men. They crowded closer, emboldened by their leader''s words and my helpless state. "Belmund!" Chanos turned to the fat slaver who stood trembling nearby. "Is our prize still breathing?" "I... I..." Belmund''s jowls quivered. "Harke! Get over here and check this thing!" The healer hurried forward, kneeling beside what remained of my body, which was now just a head, partial torso, and a single arm. His hands shook as he reached toward me, hesitating inches from my flesh. "It''s... it''s alive." Harke''s voice cracked. "I don''t understand how, but it''s definitely alive." Chanos threw back his head and laughed. "Perfect! Looks like we''ll still get paid after all." Rage burned through me, hot and impotent. I wanted to scream, to tear him apart with my bare hands, but my broken body refused to respond. The ease with which he''d defeated me stung worse than any physical pain. "Clean this mess up," Chanos commanded Belmund. "And find somewhere stronger to keep it this time. I don''t want any more surprises." He strode away, his men trailing after him like loyal dogs, still celebrating his victory. I lay in the dirt, watching them go. Shame and fury mingled in my chest, a toxic brew that threatened to consume what was left of my sanity. That monster had swatted me aside like an insect, and now I was even more helpless than before. Chapter 13: Speak Chapter 13: Speak The slavers dragged what remained of my broken form across the camp, tossing me into what appeared to be an old storage shed. Thick wooden walls rose around me, the only light filtering through barred windows near the ceiling. They left me there on the straw-covered dirt floor, alone with my thoughts and some empty wooden crates. I lay on my back silently, feeling a fierce burning shame from my defeat. Hours passed before the door creaked open. Harke stepped inside, carrying another platter loaded with food. He set it beside me and slid down the wall until he sat cross-legged on the ground. "I..." His eyes traced over my mangled body. "I don''t understand how you''re still alive. These injuries; they should be f-f-fatal." I remained silent, knowing my attempts at speech would only cause him pain. "I t-tried healing you earlier, but my magic had no effect. It''s like..." He paused, brow furrowed. "It''s like your flesh rejected it completely. And your eyes, or lack of them. How can you even s-see?" I attempted to shrug, the motion awkward with only one shoulder. The question had occurred to me as well, but like so much else about my existence, I had no answer. My status screen told me Mind Sight was responsible for the ability to see, but that didn''t really explain much. "The others have started calling you No Eyes," Harke said softly. "Both the guards and the prisoners in the pens." Another attempted shrug. The people here could call me whatever they wanted. It''s not like I knew what my true name was, anyways. As if in response to Harke''s words, a familiar blue box materialized before my vision:
Name change detected. You have been granted the name No Eyes.
I opened my status box, noting that "Unnamed" had indeed been replaced with "No Eyes" in my designation.
Name: No Eyes Level: 6 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 8 Endurance: 10 Dexterity: 5 Intelligence: 17 Wisdom: 13 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly D
Harke shifted uncomfortably on the dirt floor. "F-f-fighting Chanos was... well, it wasn''t very s-smart. He''s level eleven." I tilted my head, curious. So Chanos was level 11, and I wondered about the difference in our levels. Five levels didn''t seem insurmountable, yet he thrashed me so easily. "He''s an Axeman class." Harke traced patterns in the dirt. "One of the basic battle classes, sure, but he''s still a lot stronger than anyone else here." My confusion must have shown in my body language, as Harke''s eyes widened. "You don''t know about classes?" I shook my head. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "R-right, your status screen probably looks different than ours." He pulled his knees to his chest. "At level five, humans get to choose a c-c-class based on what they''re good at. Like me, I studied the healing arts, so I became a Healer. Warriors get combat classes, those who use axes become Axemen. People who choose to craft become Smiths, Bakers, and such. It makes all of us better suited to those r-roles. Stronger even, in the case of c-combat classes." The blue status box still hovered in my vision. I scanned through the categories again, finding no mention of class designation. Something cold settled in my chest. "You''re looking at your screen now, aren''t you?" Harke''s voice was soft. "No c-class category?" I nodded. "The System... it t-t-treats monsters differently. Even intelligent ones like yourself." He picked at a loose thread on his robe. "You don''t get classes. Just your basic abilities and attributes." My fingers dug into the dirt. The System gave humans additional power through specialization, while denying the same to intelligent monsters? The unfairness of it burned. The System seemed designed to keep monsters, all monsters, at a disadvantage. But then again, perhaps that was a good thing. Regular monsters were mindless killers, after all. If they had classes on top of their bestial strength, then it would be very bad for innocent people. "N-not to worry though," Harke continued. "Humans may get classes, but monsters, even intelligent ones, level up much quicker than we do. I''ve heard some scholars say that some species can gain levels twice as fast as a regular human." I grunted. I suppose that was the silver lining in my cloud. Harke''s eyes narrowed as he studied me. "Your stats must be i-i-interesting. I mean, you''re obviously s-s-severely injured, yet you don''t seem to be in pain. A-and these abilities..." He tapped his chin. "The way you move and react; it''s like you can s-see perfectly fine without eyes. Maybe you sense vibrations? Like a bat using s-sound waves?" I watched him, fascinated by the way his mind worked through the puzzle of my existence. "Or perhaps it''s something else entirely. A m-mental ability?" He leaned forward. "I''ve read about monsters and other creatures who could perceive the world through pure thought alone." My status screen still hovered before me, and I focused on the Mind Sight ability listed there. He wasn''t far off; I did indeed see through some form of mental perception. The ability allowed me to see in a 180-degree arc, perceiving depth and distance as clearly as if I had eyes. Harke continued muttering to himself, lost in theories and possibilities. "If you can see with your mind, w-what else might you be capable of? There could be other mental abilities we don''t even know about..." His words sparked something in my thoughts. He was right, if I could see without eyes, perhaps there were other ways to overcome my body''s limitations. My cursed voice prevented speech, but what if I could bypass my ruined throat entirely? If Mind Sight allowed me to perceive the world through thought alone, could I not also communicate the same way? The possibility excited me. All this time I''d assumed my inability to speak was absolute, but perhaps I''d simply been approaching the problem wrong. Instead of trying to force sound through my cursed throat, maybe I needed to find another path entirely. I focused inward, trying to gather my thoughts into something coherent I could project outward. Nothing happened. Harke continued his musings about mental abilities, unaware of my attempts. I tried again, concentrating harder. Still nothing. But the concept felt right, like attempting to flex a muscle I''d never used before. I knew it should work, even if I couldn''t quite manage it yet. Minutes passed as I experimented, testing different mental approaches. Finally, frustrated by my inability to communicate, I pushed that feeling outward with all my strength: my anger at being voiceless, my desperate need to speak. Harke jerked back, hands flying to his temples. "Agh!" He squeezed his eyes shut. "W-what was... did you just...?" I tilted my head, watching his reaction with interest. "It was like... images and words and feelings all mixed together." He massaged his forehead. "Like someone shouting in my m-mind, but with pictures too. Was that you?" Encouraged by his response, I focused again. This time I concentrated on a single word, trying to keep the projection simple and clear. Hello. Harke''s eyes went wide. "I heard that! Someone just whispered ''hello'' in my head!" He stared at me. "It was you, wasn''t it?" A blue status box materialized:
You have gained the Mind Speech ability! Mind Speech Rank E You are able to communicate with others with your mind. Higher rank allows more control over your speech.
I smiled up at Harke, my jagged teeth glinting in the dim light of the shed. He flinched back, pressing against the wall. "Please don''t do that again." He held up his hands. "Those teeth are... unsettling." The absurdity of the situation struck me. Here I was, a broken monster in a shed, finally able to communicate, and the first thing I do is terrify the one person trying to help me. A sound bubbled up from my ruined throat; not the usual painful shriek, but something musical, like wind chimes in a storm. I was laughing. After a moment, Harke''s expression softened and he joined in, his normal human laughter mixing with my otherworldly chimes. When our mirth subsided, I gathered my thoughts carefully. The Mind Speech ability was new, and projecting words took concentration. Hello, I sent first, keeping it simple. Then: Good. A pause while I focused. Meet you. I raised my remaining hand toward him. It was a human gesture I somehow remembered, though I couldn''t recall where exactly I had learned it. "It''s nice to finally hear your voice," Harke said, reaching out to grasp my pale fingers. "Even if it is all in my head." He gave my hand a firm shake, and for the first time since awakening in that desolate field, I felt a connection to another living being. Chapter 14: Rebuild Chapter 14: Rebuild Harke shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twisting the hem of his robe. "I hope you don''t mind me asking, but... are you male or female? I c-can''t quite tell." I paused, considering the question. Don''t know, I projected carefully. Memories. Gone. His brow furrowed. "T-truly? All of it?" Most. I nodded. Remember. Pieces. Images. Words. "You don''t even remember your own name?" No. The admission stung more than I expected. No Eyes. Works. For now. Until. Remember. Real one. "What do you r-remember?" Was human. Once. The words came slowly as I gathered my thoughts. Something. Happen. Woke up. In Dark. In Dirt. Clawed through. Dirt. Found way. Here. In halting, stilted words slowly projected into his own mind, I told him about my journey west: the battles with the dog-creatures, building my mechanical body, the tragic encounter with the travelers that revealed my monstrous nature. His eyes widened at each revelation, particularly when I described my invulnerable flesh. "F-fascinating," he breathed. "A human transformed into something new. The System itself labeled you as a unique species." He leaned forward. "If we ever g-g-get out of here, I''ll help you discover who you were. There must be records, or people who knew you before..." My. Thanks. I smiled, forgetting for a moment how my razor-sharp teeth affected others. But this time Harke didn''t flinch away. Instead, he smiled back. "We''re both prisoners here," he said. "We should h-help each other."
"I have to go," Harke said after a while. He stood up, brushing dirt off his robes. "As camp healer, I have v-various duties I must perform. I''ll try to return before d-d-dark, though." Harke''s footsteps faded as he left the shed. The door creaked shut, leaving me alone in the dimness. Shafts of light pierced through gaps in the wooden walls, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. I felt exposed, vulnerable with just my head, partial torso, and single arm. The urge to cover myself, to build something to protect my damaged form, grew stronger with each passing moment. I surveyed my prison. Broken crates lined the walls, their wood splintered and weathered. Scraps of cloth, frayed rope, and rusted nails littered the dirt floor. Not much to work with, but perhaps enough. My gaze fixed on a particularly sturdy-looking crate. I activated Assembly and felt the familiar tingle of power. The wood began to splinter and break apart under my will, nails pulling free with metallic pops. Scraps of cloth and lengths of twine were all collected together, and I assessed each piece for usefulness. I gathered the material, then let my power guide me into shaping them. The work was slower than usual. Each piece had to be precisely fitted, every nail and scrap of cloth used to maximum effect. I wove strips of cloth between wooden supports, creating flexible joints. The nails I bent and shaped into crude pins and fasteners. Bit by bit, a skeletal arm took form. It was nowhere near as sophisticated as my previous work, but it was functional. After what felt like hours, I attached the finished limb onto my right shoulder. The wood creaked as I tested the crude elbow joint. The fingers were little more than sticks bound together with twine, but they moved when I concentrated. Using both arms, I pushed against the dirt floor. My body scraped upward along the rough wall until I achieved a seated position. The new wooden arm trembled under my weight, but held. I settled myself, finally able to rest somewhat upright instead of lying helpless on my back. I flexed my newly crafted fingers, watching the twine tighten and loosen. The arm was weak, barely more than kindling held together with strings and hope. But it was something. A start. Now I just had to start assembling the rest of my body.
The wooden arm, crude as it was, gave me enough leverage to continue my work. I gathered more materials, pulling them closer with my makeshift fingers. The shed held enough scattered debris: more broken crates, canvas scraps, and bits of metal that had fallen from old tools. My power flowed through these materials. Wood splintered and reformed under my will. I shaped curved panels, fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle around my damaged torso. The work was delicate as each piece had to protect the raw, exposed flesh on my body without pressing against it. Canvas strips woven between wooden segments created flexible joints, allowing me to twist and bend. I reinforced vital areas with metal strips salvaged from broken tool handles and rusty brackets. The construction grew piece by piece, encompassing my form in a protective shell. The wooden panels creaked as they settled into place. I adjusted the fit, ensuring nothing rubbed against the sensitive red tissue where my body ended. The makeshift armor was far from perfect; gaps showed between poorly fitted sections, and the whole thing squeaked with every movement. But it served its purpose. My ruined flesh was finally shielded from the air and dirt. I ran my original hand over the rough surface, testing each joint and connection. The wood was weathered, the metal corroded, but it held together. For the first time since my capture, I felt less exposed, less vulnerable. The crude covering wouldn''t stop a determined attack, but it gave me back a small measure of dignity. A familiar blue glow filled my vision as I finished adjusting the wooden panels.
Congratulations! You have gained experience through the use of Assembly. You are now Level 7!
I paused, my hand still resting on the crude armor. That was unexpected - I''d thought experience only came from combat. My curiosity piqued, I focused on bringing up my status screen.
Name: No Eyes Level: 7 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 8 Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Endurance: 10 Dexterity: 5 Intelligence: 19 Wisdom: 14 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly D
Strange. Unlike other level-ups, only my Intelligence and Wisdom stats gained points. Also, Intelligence had gained two points instead of the usual one I gained during a level gain. What did that mean? I resolved to ask Harke about it when he returned. My gaze lingered on the title "Original." I still didn''t understand what made me the first of my kind, or why being a Dirtborn warranted such a designation. The term itself also felt wrong somehow, like an ill-fitting garment. I wasn''t sure why this was. Perhaps it was the fact that I had memories of being human, a sapien? That would make sense, though something about that felt wrong as well. There were so many mysteries about myself that I needed to get answers to. How did I become a monster? Why was I buried so deeply beneath the earth? Why did I have all these strange abilities? And most importantly, just who was I? The mystical blue box in front of me refused to answer, as if mocking all my concerns.
Hours passed in the dim shed before the door creaked open. Harke stepped inside, and to my surprise, Mallie followed behind him. Both stopped short at the sight of my transformed appearance. "You''ve b-been busy." Harke remarked with a smile, his eyes tracing the wooden panels and canvas joints of my new coverings. I shrugged, the motion now smooth with a pair of shoulders. The crude arm wasn''t perfect, but it let me move naturally again. Mallie? Here? I directed the thoughts toward Harke. Mallie''s bright eyes studied me with open curiosity rather than fear. Unlike the other children who shrank away from my cage, she showed no sign of being bothered by my monstrous appearance. "I managed to c-convince Belmund that I needed help with all my duties." Harke placed a steadying hand on Mallie''s shoulder. "He agreed to let her assist me, at least until the southern c-caravans arrive for the Weath captives." My wooden fingers curled into a fist at the mention of the slavers'' plans. The thought of these children being sold and shipped away like cattle made something twist inside my damaged chest. "He made a new arm!" Mallie pointed, her gap-toothed smile showing no trace of the horror most felt upon seeing me. "And look at all the armor! Did you build that yourself? How did you do it?" Yes. I answered her questions through Mind Speech, sending my whispery voice into her thoughts. Have. Ability. Her eyes widened at the voice in her head. "Wow, you can talk now!" The girl rushed over to me and sat down next to my half-built body. "You''re amazing. Can you make other things too? Like toys or tools or-" "Mallie," Harke interrupted gently. "R-remember what we discussed about being careful?" She nodded, though her enthusiasm barely dimmed. "Right. Sorry. But it''s just so interesting! The other kids think you''re scary, but I knew you weren''t really a monster. Well, I mean, maybe you are technically, but not a bad one." Her guileless acceptance stirred something in my fractured memories. A flash of another young face looking up at me with trust. But like all such fragments, it slipped away before I could grasp it. Mallie''s gaze drifted to the untouched platter near the wall. "Aren''t you hungry?" I shook my head no. Don''t need. To eat. Or drink. I projected the thoughts to Mallie first, then Harke. Harke leaned forward, his healer''s curiosity evident. "Fascinating. C-complete metabolic self-sufficiency? I''ve never encountered anything like it, even among magical constructs." "What? But that''s terrible!" Mallie''s face scrunched up in horror. "You can''t eat anything? Not even meat pies or sweet bread with honey?" A musical chime escaped me, my version of laughter. The sound rang through the shed like tiny bells. Remember. Eating. When human. Before. "You were human before?" Mallie scooted closer, her green eyes wide. "What happened?" I shrugged, telling her I didn''t know. The admission tasted bitter. Remember. Liking food. Sweet things. Cake. Chocolates. Sugar candies. Mallie''s face lit up. "You must have been really rich! Only fancy folk get to eat sweets like that. Even the baker in Weath only made sweet bread for special occasions." Her words struck something in me. She was right; sugar, chocolate, these weren''t common foods. I strained against the fog in my mind, trying to recall more details. Had I lived in a manor? A castle? Images flickered: marble halls, gilded mirrors, servants bowing. But were these real memories or just imaginings sparked by Mallie''s suggestion? Perhaps. I projected the thought carefully. Makes. Sense. Can''t remember. "Oh! Maybe you were a merchant prince!" Mallie bounced excitedly. "Or a duke''s daughter! Or-" "C-careful," Harke warned, glancing nervously at the door. "Not so loud." I flexed my wooden fingers, considering. The quality of those half-remembered sweets, the richness of the surroundings in those fleeting images; they spoke of wealth and privilege. Yet something felt off about that assumption. The memories carried a weight, a gravitas beyond mere noble luxury. Strange. I mused. Feel. Different. Other. "What do you mean?" Mallie whispered, leaning closer. I struggled to put the sensation into thoughts they could understand. See myself. Different. Standing. Above. Men kneel. Lords kneel. The memory slipped away as I tried to grasp it, leaving only that lingering sense of tremendous height and authority. Everyone. Kneel. "Like a king?" Mallie suggested in an awed voice. The word sent a jolt through me. King. Something about that word resonated, but not quite right. Not exactly wrong either. I shook my head in frustration as the fragments refused to coalesce into anything meaningful. Don''t know. Can''t hold. Memories. Keep sliding. Away. "That must be awful," Mallie said softly, her earlier excitement dimming to sympathy. "Not knowing who you were." She brightened suddenly. "Maybe when you get better, when you''re fixed, you can eat again! Harke''s really good at healing people." I chimed softly at her innocent optimism. Maybe. Though I doubted any healing could restore what I had lost. Whatever I was now, this broken thing caught between monster and memory, seemed permanent. "The metabolic independence could be related to your invulnerable flesh," Harke mused, scratching notes in his little book. "A form of perfect stasis, perhaps? Or maybe-" "Stop using big words," Mallie complained. "Just say if you can fix her or not." "I- wait." Harke''s eyebrows shot up at Mallie''s choice of words. "Her?" "Well, yeah." Mallie gestured at my face. "Look at those pretty features. The long black hair. She''s obviously a lady." "That''s not necessarily-" Harke tugged at his mustache. "Just because someone appears f-feminine doesn''t mean they''re female. He c-could be an effeminate man!" "Nope." Mallie crossed her arms with the absolute certainty only a child could muster. "No Eyes is definitely a girl." My musical chime filled the shed again. The debate over my gender struck me as absurdly entertaining, especially since I had no insight to offer either way. The fragments of memory held no clue about such matters. Does it. Matter? I projected to them both. "Of course it matters!" Mallie scooted even closer, her knees nearly touching my wooden arm. "If you''re a girl, we can be friends and talk about girl things and I can braid your hair and-" "Mallie," Harke cut in gently. "Maybe we should let No Eyes decide?" I tilted my head, considering. The truth was, I felt no particular pull towards either gender. My body, what remained of it, seemed deliberately ambiguous. Don''t know. Don''t feel. Either. "Well, I''m deciding for you then!" Mallie declared. "You''re a girl now. It''ll be more fun that way." I chimed again, amused by her determination. What did it matter what pronouns this child used for me? I had far bigger concerns than gender, like escaping this camp, protecting these prisoners, discovering my past. I projected to her the mental equivalent of a shrug. Mallie beamed triumphantly at Harke. "See? She agrees with me." "I will maintain scientific objectivity on this matter," Harke huffed, adjusting his dirty robes. "The proper classification of No Eyes'' biological nature requires thorough study and documentation. Until then, ''it'' remains the appropriate term." Mallie rolled her eyes. "You''re just being stubborn now." Harke''s blanched at her words, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his notebook tighter. The reaction seemed extreme for such a minor accusation. My chimes filled the shed again, the crystalline sound of my laughter making both of them pause. There was something endearing about their disagreement, about how strongly they each held onto their positions on a matter that meant little to me. But watching them, the captured healer maintaining his scholarly dignity even in chains and the bright-eyed farm girl refusing to let captivity dim her spirit, stirred something deep within my broken form. These weren''t just slaves or prisoners. They were people, with hopes and dreams and the right to live freely. Will help, I projected to them both. Both you. Get free. "Really?" Mallie''s eyes lit up with hope. Yes. Promise. Will save. Everyone. Can. The certainty of this decision settled into me like molten steel cooling into shape. Whatever I had been before, king, noble, or merchant, didn''t matter now. What mattered was that I knew, with unshakeable conviction, that humans *deserved *freedom. Not just these two, but all the captives in this cursed camp. Even my shattered memories told me as much. My wooden fingers flexed as I imagined tearing down the slave pens. The memory gaps in my mind might never fill, but this one truth stood clear: I would not let these people be sold like cattle. "That''s..." Harke swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the door. "That''s a d-dangerous promise to make." *Don''t care. * "See?" Mallie grinned. "I told you she was good." Chapter 15: Analyze Chapter 15: Analyze "Escaping won''t be simple," Harke said, his fingers drumming against his notebook. "The camp has around sixty sla-slavers patrolling at all times." Numbers. Mean nothing, I projected. Already killed. Many warriors. "And nearly got d-destroyed," he countered. "You caught them off guard before; they''ll be more w-wary of you now. And there are a lot of them. Even if their levels are low, they''ll swarm anyone who causes t-trouble." I flexed my wooden fingers, remembering how easily my previous mechanical body had been torn apart. The crude armor I''d constructed from shed materials wouldn''t fare much better against determined attackers. "Then there''s Chanos." Harke''s voice dropped to barely a whisper. "He m-may only be level eleven, but-" Only? Isn''t that. High? "For regular people, yes. But for a combat class? He d-doesn''t really compare to higher ranked adventurers. But it''s n-not just about levels." Harke opened his notebook, showing me detailed notes on various camp members. "Chanos is an Axeman. Personal talent affects how the System distributes stats when l-leveling up. His speed and agility are far beyond what you''d expect." I remembered how quickly the slaver boss had moved, dodging all my strikes with ease. At how his axe had carved through my metal body like paper. "That''s why he runs this c-camp," Harke continued. "Nobody here can match him in c-combat. Even if you managed to deal with all the other slavers, Chanos would-" Find way, I cut him off. Must be. Weakness. "If only I had my bow." Mallie kicked at a loose board, her small face scrunching up. "I could take care of that big oaf myself." How? I asked, intrigued by her confidence. "Simple." She mimed drawing a bow. "One arrow, right in his eye. He wouldn''t even see it coming." Harke shook his head. "M-Mallie, Chanos is too dangerous. You c-can''t just-" "I never miss." She crossed her arms. "That''s why the War Academy wants me. Got the letter and everything, right before..." Her voice trailed off, shoulders slumping. My wooden fingers creaked as I shifted position. War Academy? "Oh, right. She means the Kaldos Academy of War. It''s the finest school for warriors in the world," Harke explained, his stutter momentarily forgotten. "They only accept the most gifted students." He turned to Mallie with new respect. "You received an invitation? At your age?" "Been shooting since I could walk." Pride crept back into her voice. "Pa always said I had a gift. Last harvest festival, I hit every target they set up. Even the ones they hid behind trees and rocks." You must be. Very skilled. "Best archer in three villages." She beamed. "The Academy scout said he''d never seen anyone shoot like me before. Said I was a natural talent!" "The War Academy doesn''t give out invitations lightly," Harke said. "Most nobles would kill to have their children accepted there. For them to invite a village girl..." He shook his head in wonderment. The revelation changed how I viewed the small girl before me. Behind that gap-toothed smile lay remarkable ability. Yet here she sat, trapped in a slave pen instead of pursuing her destiny at the Academy. Another reason to ensure these slavers paid for their crimes. "I should have known." Harke ruffled Mallie''s hair. "My Analyze sh-showed you at level 2. That''s impressive for someone your age." Analyze. You mention. Before. What is? "It''s an ability that lets me read parts of someone''s status screen." He held up his notebook. "That''s how I knew what you were when you first arrived. My rank is B level, which means I can see information like name, species, level, and core attributes." Useful. Can you. Teach? "Well, only caster classes can..." His voice trailed off as a realization dawned across his face. "Wait. Y-you''re a monster." Yes. I. Know. "No, I mean, monsters don''t have classes like humans do! The System treats you differently." He flipped through his notebook with growing excitement. "Humans are restricted by their c-c-class. A warrior can''t learn magic abilities, a mage can''t use weapon skills. But monsters... you''re not b-bound by those limitations." Can learn. Anything? "In theory, yes. You''re only limited by your at-attributes and whatever the System decides you''re capable of." He scratched his chin. "That''s why some monsters c-can use abilities that seem impossible together. I once saw a basilisk that could breathe f-f-fire and ice." Mallie''s eyes widened. "Does that mean No Eyes could learn to shoot a bow too?" "If the System allows it." Harke turned back to me. "Would you like to try learning Analyze? It might work, though I''ve never heard of teaching abilities to monsters before." Yes. Show me. Harke sat down on the dirt floor, settling in front of me with his notebook balanced on his knee. "The k-k-key to Analyze is focus. You have to want to know about the target." How focus? The concept felt foreign through my fractured memories. "C-close your eyes- ah, sorry." He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Just concentrate on me. Try to see beyond the s-surface." I directed my attention toward him, though without eyes the process felt strange. Nothing happened. "Think about what makes a person who they are," he continued. "Their essence, their b-being. The System captures all that information. We just need to access it." Nothing happens. "Keep trying. Sometimes it takes hours for people to get their first read." Mallie watched from her perch on a crate, legs swinging. "Took me three whole days to learn Focused Arrow. Pa said learning''s like that sometimes." I concentrated harder, reaching out with whatever senses allowed me to perceive the world. Harke sat before me, a blur of life and energy. But I needed more than that surface impression. "Remember," Harke said, "you''re not just looking at m-m-me. You''re looking through me, into what the System sees." The System. The force that labeled me a monster, that displayed those blue boxes. I shifted my focus, trying to perceive Harke the way those status screens might. A flicker appeared above his head. Something. There. "Good! Keep going. What do you see?" I pushed harder, willing the shimmer to solidify. Letters began forming in my mind.
Name: Harke of Vensor
"Yes!" He practically bounced in his seat. "That''s Rank E Analyze. You did it!" A blue box materialized before me:
You have gained the Analyze ability! Analyze Rank E Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. You can now read the names of targets you focus on.
"Remarkable," Harke muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "I''ve never seen anyone pick up an ability so quickly. Then again, I suppose monsters do learn faster than humans..." Simple. Just name. "For now. But with p-practice, you''ll be able to see more information. Level, species, attributes; everything the System tracks about a person." I turned my attention to the Mallie, focusing as Harke had taught me. The same shimmer appeared, coalescing into clear text in my mind.
Name: Malladay of Weath
Found yours, I projected to her. She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, did you have to look at that awful name?" Malladay. Not bad. "It''s terrible! Everyone calls me Mallie!" She kicked her feet against the crate. "Ma''s the only one who uses Malladay, and that''s just when I''m in trouble." "Names in the System are tied to our true identities," Harke explained, still writing in his notebook. "They reflect who we really are." "Well, the System got it wrong." Mallie crossed her arms. "I hate being called Malladay. Wish I could just change it." Harke looked up from his notes. "Actually, you c-can. If you become famous enough, the System might offer to update your registered name." Her eyes lit up. "Really? To anything I want?" "Within reason. The System usually suggests variations based on what people actually call you. So ''M-mallie'' would probably be an option." "What if I wanted to be called..." She tapped her chin. "The Arrow Princess of Doom!" Harke almost dropped his notebook. "That''s not how it-" "Or maybe The Legendary Bow Mistress!" She stood on the crate, striking a dramatic pose. "The Terror from Weath!" "Mallie, please." Harke pinched the bridge of his nose. "The System won''t let you pick something so... elaborate." She has. Spirit, I commented, amused by her antics. "Too much spirit, I think," Harke muttered, but I caught the hint of a smile beneath his mustache. Mallie plopped back down on her crate. "Fine. Plain old Mallie will do. Still better than Malladay."
We need. Escape, I projected to Harke. But first. Need better body. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. "It''s impossible. The g-g-guards watch everything. Even if we got past them somehow, Chanos would hunt us d-down." Not impossible. Just difficult. Need materials. Metal, strong parts. "And where exactly do you plan to g-get those?" Harke''s voice carried an edge of frustration. "They keep everything valuable under lock and key." Where. Store weapons? "There''s a supply tent near the m-m-main gate. But it''s guarded day and night. Three m-men at all times, more when shipments arrive." He shook his head. "You wouldn''t get within twenty paces." Not what asked. Where. Broken weapons? Damaged armor? Harke''s eyes widened slightly as he caught my meaning. "The slavers don''t bother fixing anything that''s too damaged. They just..." He wrinkled his nose. "They t-toss it all by the latrines. Sometimes right in them, the lazy bastards." Perfect. "Perfect? It''s filthy! And half-rusted through-" Can work. With rust. Clean metal. Make it. Strong. I flexed my crude wooden fingers. Better than. This. "Y-y-y-you want me to dig through the..." He grimaced. "To bring you pieces from there?" Yes. Much as. Can carry. Small amounts. Don''t draw. Attention. "They''ll notice if I keep going to the latrines with empty hands and c-coming back with arms full of metal." Be subtle. One piece. At time. You visit. Many parts. Of camp. Yes? As healer? "Well, yes, but-" Pick up pieces. Hide in. Robes. Bring to me. When can. Harke sighed, shoulders slumping. "I suppose I could... but it will t-take time to gather enough." Time. I have. Patience too. "F-fine." He stood, brushing dirt from his robes. "But if I get caught stealing rusty sword p-pieces from the latrine pit, I''m blaming you." Fair trade. Freedom worth. Worse things. Than digging through. Waste. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You don''t have to smell it." "What are you two talking about?" Mallie bounced on her toes. "Your faces got all serious, and No Eyes keeps tilting her head." Harke glanced at me, and I nodded. He explained our plan to gather materials from the waste pits to help rebuild my mechanical body. "Oh! Oh! I can help!" Mallie''s eyes lit up. "I''m small, I can squeeze into places and nobody pays attention to us kids anyway-" Too dangerous, I projected. If caught- "But I won''t get caught." She planted her hands on her hips. "I''m good at being sneaky. Papa used to say I was worse than a fox in the henhouse, always getting into places I shouldn''t." Guards. Would hurt you. "She has a point though," Harke said, able to piece the one sided conversation through Mallie''s words alone. "Two p-people could gather materials faster than one. And the guards really don''t watch the children as closely." "See? Even Harke thinks it''s a good idea!" Mallie beamed. "Please let me help!" I studied her determined face, seeing that same fierce spark that had drawn me to help her in the first place. Promise. Be careful. "Yes!" She jumped up, pumping her fist. "I promise! Super careful, like a mouse in church!" Quiet, I projected. Don''t want. Guards hearing. She clapped both hands over her mouth, but her eyes still danced with excitement. When she lowered them, she whispered, "When do we start?" "We should wait until after the evening meal," Harke said. "The guards get l-lazy then, especially if it''s been a quiet day." Mallie nodded eagerly. "I can pretend you sent me to fetch something near the latrines. The guards won''t think it''s strange if I''m alone." I felt a twinge of worry. Small pieces only. Nothing obvious. "I know, I know." She rolled her eyes. "I''m not stupid. I''ll only grab bits that look like regular trash. Promise." Good girl, I projected, and her face lit up at the praise. Harke traced patterns in the dirt with a broken twig. "So what kind of b-body will you make? Once we get enough materials?" I considered his question. My first instinct was to recreate my previous design; the five-legged frame had provided excellent stability and strength. But memories of Chanos shattering my limbs like dried sticks gave me pause. Different. This time, I projected. First body. Too slow. "Too slow?" He raised an eyebrow. "It seemed quite m-mobile when you were fighting the guards." Not enough. Chanos. Too fast. The memory of his fluid movements, the way he''d danced around my attacks, still burned. Need speed. Agility. "Ah, I see. You''re thinking of something more... streamlined?" Yes. Two legs. Like human. But stronger. Better joints. I flexed my wooden fingers, imagining the improvements. Lighter materials. Better balance. "But won''t that make you more vulnerable? Less armor..." Can''t beat Chanos. With armor. Need to match. Speed. I remembered how easily he''d penetrated my defenses. Keep strength. But add mobility. "Makes sense." He nodded slowly. "Like a d-dancer with steel muscles." The analogy sparked something in my fractured memory: a ballroom, rarely used, filled with swirling figures in elaborate costumes. But like all my memories, it slipped away before I could grasp it. Yes. Exactly. Will use. Joint designs. From first body. But improved. I projected images of my plans into his mind: ball-and-socket connections that would allow for fluid movement, counterweights to maintain balance, reinforced pivot points to handle sudden directional changes. "That''s... actually quite brilliant." Harke leaned forward, studying my wooden arm with renewed interest. "You''re not just rebuilding, you''re evolving the d-design." Learn from. Mistakes. Won''t let him. Break me. Again. "No, I suppose you w-won''t." He smiled slightly. "Though I hope it doesn''t come to another fight." Always comes. To fight. With men like. Chanos. "Unfortunately true." He sighed, then perked up. "Oh! What about the arms? Will you still make two?" I flexed my wooden fingers, considering Harke''s question. The ragged flesh behind my right shoulder drew my attention, and I traced the scarred edges with my makeshift hand. Something nagged at my broken memories, phantom sensations of limbs that weren''t there. More arms, I projected. Not just. Two. "M-more?" Harke''s brow furrowed. "How many were you thinking?" I touched the torn flesh of my back, feeling the rough edges where... something... had been torn away. Four arms. Total. "F-four?" His eyes widened. "But... how would you even control that many?" Controlled five legs. Before. Four arms. Not difficult. I sent him mental images of my design: four limbs moving in perfect coordination, each wielding a different weapon. More options. In combat. "But the human brain isn''t meant to-" He stopped himself, giving me a studying look. "Though I suppose you''re not exactly h-h-human anymore, are you?" No. Not human. The admission hurt less than it should have. Monster now. Different rules. "Still..." He rubbed his chin. "Four arms. That''s... ambitious." Will work. I projected images of how I''d managed the five-legged form, showing him how naturally it had come to me. Like breathing. Don''t think. Just do. "If you say so." He still looked skeptical, but didn''t argue further. "And what would you do with four arms? Besides f-fighting, I mean." Many things. Climb better. Carry more. Work faster. I paused, considering. Build better. More hands. More efficient. Mallie, who had been quiet during our exchange, suddenly piped up. "You''ll be like a spider! But with weapons instead of a web!" The image made me pause. Yes, exactly like that: swift, precise movements, multiple limbs working in perfect harmony. I nodded at her. Good comparison. "A heavily armed spider," Harke muttered. "That''s not t-t-terrifying at all." Already terrifying, I projected, gesturing at my eyeless face. Might as well. Be effective too. "What about weapons?" Harke asked. "For your new body?" Depends. On materials. I flexed my wooden fingers. Need light. Fast weapons. Spears maybe. Lances. Longswords. "Not axes or h-hammers?" Too slow. Need range. Speed. I projected images of fluid combat moves. Strike before. They reach me. "Like how Chanos fights," Harke nodded. Yes. Beat him. At own game. I projected to Mallie what I had just told Harke, and she immediately perked up. "Could you make a bow?" Her eyes sparkled with hope. "For me, I mean. I''m really good with one." I turned my eyeless face toward her. If bring. Materials. Right ones. Wood. String. Yes. "I could find those!" She bounced on her toes. "There''s lots of broken wagon parts, and-" The thought sparked something in my mind. Could make. More weapons. "More?" Harke''s brow furrowed. For others. The slaves. I gestured in the direction of the pens. Arm all. Harke''s eyes widened. "You m-mean..." Break out. Give weapons. Fight back. "That''s..." He ran fingers through his hair. "That would be dozens of weapons. Maybe hundreds." Can do it. If enough. Materials. "But the slaves aren''t f-f-fighters," he protested. "Most are farmers, c-craftsmen!" Better armed farmers. Than unarmed slaves. I clenched my wooden fist. Numbers. Against guards. Mallie nodded eagerly. "Villagers in the outer regions like Weath know a little bit about fighting! We have to, so close to the Hellzone and all! We''ll be fine!" Again, I heard that strange word: Hellzone. What was that? I decided to ask Harke later. "This is getting more c-c-complicated by the minute," Harke muttered. Simple plan. Arm slaves. Fight guards. Free everyone. "You make it sound so easy." Not easy. Necessary. Chapter 16: Sneaky Chapter 16: Sneaky The days crawled slowly while I was stuck in my wooden prison. Between visits from Harke and Mallie, I traced patterns in the walls with my makeshift fingers, counting splinters and mapping every crack in the aged boards. Their visits brought life to my solitary existence. Mallie''s bright chatter filled the musty air while Harke''s analytical mind provided engaging conversation. But more importantly, they brought materials. "Look what I found!" Mallie dropped a handful of rusty nails into my wooden palm. "The cook threw these out when the kitchen shelf broke." Good. Very useful. I projected, already planning how to incorporate them into my growing collection. "That''s not all." She reached into her pockets, producing bits of wire and metal scraps. "The stable master lets me help with the horses now. Lots of old horseshoes and broken tools there." Harke''s ingenious mind also came up with a clever idea, one that had worked perfectly. He''d managed to convince Belmund that as a monster, I required metal for sustenance. "It''s quite f-fascinating," Harke had told the rotund slaver, putting on his best scholarly voice. "The creature appears to metabolize metallic substances for survival. Quite remarkable, really." Belmund had scratched his bare chest, frowning. "So... it eats metal?" "Precisely! And if we don''t provide enough, well..." Harke had let the implications hang in the air. Now, thanks to his deception, I received a steady stream of discarded metal. Broken tools, rusted weapons, damaged armor pieces, all delivered under the guise of "feeding" me. "B-brought you something special today," Harke whispered during one visit, producing a small but intact sword blade from beneath his robes. "Found it b-buried under some refuse near the eastern wall." Perfect for. Small weapons, I projected, already calculating how many shivs I could craft from it. The pile of materials grew steadily in my corner, hidden beneath straw and broken boards. Each piece brought me closer to freedom, to revenge, to fulfilling my promise. When no one watched, I worked tirelessly, Assembly flowing through me as I shaped and reformed the metal. Mallie proved especially resourceful. Her small size and innocent appearance let her go places others could not. "The dumb guards don''t even look at me," she said proudly, emptying another pocketful of scavenged treasures. "They think I''m just some stupid kid." Their mistake, I projected, admiring her cunning. Keep bringing. What you can. "But not too much at once," Harke reminded her. "We don''t want anyone getting s-suspicious." He was right. We had to be patient, careful. But with each passing day, with each piece of metal added to my collection, I felt better. Soon, I would have enough to build not just my new body, but weapons for all those who yearned for freedom. I stared at the growing pile of materials in the corner of the shed, anxiety gnawing at my wooden frame. The collection had grown beyond what we could easily conceal. Scraps of metal poked through the straw, glinting in the dim light that filtered through the shed''s walls. "We n-n-need to find another hiding spot," Harke had warned during his last visit. "The guards are getting more curious." He was right. Just yesterday, one of the slavers had stuck his head in, peering around with narrowed eyes. Only quick thinking from Mallie, who''d created a distraction by dropping a bucket of water, had kept him from investigating further. Too many pieces, I thought to myself, picking up a nail and rolling it between my crude wooden fingers. Need better solution. The nail caught the light, and I found myself wishing I could just make it disappear, tuck it away somewhere safe like... like... The nail vanished. I froze, wooden joints creaking as I stared at my empty hand. A blue status box materialized in front of me.
You have gained the Depository ability! Depository Rank E You can now store up to 100 pounds of materials in a separate dimensional holding space.
What? I reached out mentally, searching for the nail. There! I sensed it, existing in some impossible space just beyond my perception. With a thought, it reappeared in my palm. My heart would have raced if I still had one. I grabbed another piece of metal: gone. A strip of leather: vanished. Each item I could feel, catalogue, and recall at will. Pretty soon, all the materials Harke and Mallie had gathered wound up inside my magical storage space. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. The ability felt... familiar. Like remembering how to walk, or breathe. Had I possessed something similar in my forgotten past?
Congratulations! Your ability Depository has reached Rank D! You can now store up to 450 pounds of materials!
The system message appeared as I practiced, growing more comfortable with this new power. Perfect timing; this would solve our storage problems and speed up our preparations considerably. This changed everything. We could gather more materials, faster, without fear of discovery. My new body would soon be ready, and with it, freedom for all those imprisoned here.
What is Hellzone? I projected the question to Harke during one of his visits. He settled onto a crate, adjusting his dirty robes. "W-well, you''re in one right now. This is the Lodrik Hellzone." I tilted my head. Explain. "Hellzones are... sp-sp-special places. The Holy Twelve, er¡­ the gods who rule our world, well, their p-power can''t reach here." Harke''s fingers traced patterns in the dust. "The land is d-dead, warped by chaotic magics. Monsters roam freely." The description matched what I''d seen since clawing my way out of the earth. The desolate landscape, those rat-dog creatures, the floating electric rocks... "Nobody really lives in Hellzones except monsters and criminals." He cast a meaningful glance toward the shed door, where boots crunched past on patrol. "Like our... h-hosts." Why Qordos here? "P-perfect hiding spot. Regular armies won''t follow slavers into a Hellzone. Too d-dangerous." Harke''s voice dropped lower. "But there''s another reason people brave these places. Hellzones are rich in rare materials. M-magical gems, ancient preserved woods, alchemical ingredients. Things you can''t find anywhere else. "Adventurers come from all over to hunt for treasures here. The big cities pay very well for Hellzone materials. Some make fortunes, if they survive l-long enough." If they survive. I remembered the group I''d killed, their weapons and armor suggesting they were such treasure hunters. The memory still brought me shame. "The Lodrik Hellzone is actually one of the... t-tamer ones," Harke continued. "Close to civilization, relatively speaking. The Kingdom of Aspiration is right to the north east of us. The monsters near the edges aren''t too dangerous, either. But deeper in..." He shuddered. "Well, that''s where the real treasures are. And the real d-dangers." The information settled into place alongside my fractured memories. Something about Hellzones felt significant, but like so much else, the meaning danced just beyond my grasp. I then questioned Harke about a different term that had surfaced from my broken recollections, one that stirred powerful feelings inside me. But try as I might, I couldn''t remember the reason those emotions ran so deep. What is. Primordial? Harke looked confused. "P-Primordial? What do you mean?" Not sure. Does word mean. Anything. To you? Harke''s brow furrowed as he considered my question. His fingers drummed against his knee while he searched his memory. "I... I''ve never heard that word before." He adjusted his position on the crate. "Is it perhaps something from your p-past?" Maybe. Word feels. Important. The term churned in my mind, bringing forth intense emotions I couldn''t place. Anger, fear, respect; all tied to this mysterious word that meant nothing to the healer. "Could be from an ancient language?" Harke pulled out his notebook, flipping through pages of cramped writing. "I''ve studied quite a bit of etymology in my research of healing m-magic. But ''Primordial''... it''s not ringing any bells." The word had surfaced when I''d witnessed the escaped prisoner''s torture. Something about the violence had triggered it, along with fleeting images that dissolved before I could grasp them. Now, trying to recall those fragments felt like grasping at smoke. "What does it make you feel?" Harke asked, quill poised over a fresh page. "When you think of this word?" Power. I projected the thought with such force that Harke winced. Great power. Not human power. Not like king. Or lord. Power like. Thunderstorm. Hurricane. Fire from. Sky. "Interesting." He scribbled in his book. "Though that doesn''t tell us m-m-much about what it actually means. Could be anything, really: a person, a place, an object..." I slumped against the shed wall, frustrated. Another dead end in the maze of my lost memories. "Don''t worry," Harke said, closing his notebook. "If it''s important, it will come back to you eventually. The mind has ways of protecting itself from trauma. S-sometimes memories need time to resurface naturally." But something told me this wasn''t just about my personal history. The word "Primordial" carried weight beyond my own fractured past. It felt like knowledge that should exist in the world, yet here was an educated healer who''d never encountered it. Why did that strike me as wrong?
Harke burst into my shed, his face pale and sweating. His usual stutter was worse than ever. "B-b-bad news. Very b-bad." He collapsed onto the floor next to me, wringing his hands. "The c-caravan. It''s coming." When? "A w-week. Maybe less." He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. "They''re from the southern kingdoms. B-barbarians. They''re the ones who... who usually buy c-captives from Weath." My wooden fingers creaked as I clenched them. Mallie. "Yes. Her and the others." Harke''s voice cracked. "We''re running out of t-time. There''s no way we can-" Plenty of time. "What?" He stared at me. "But we''ve barely started! The weapons, your new body-" Don''t need sleep. I gestured to a pile of metal parts we''d collected. Can work constant. Day and night. "But that''s..." Harke''s eyes widened as he realized what I meant. "You really don''t need to rest at all?" No. Will build. Everything. Be done. I reached up with my wooden arm and placed a hand on his shoulder. Trust me. "Even if you work non-stop, that''s still..." He shook his head. "The risk if we''re caught-" Will not fail. The thought-words carried steel in them. Will free everyone. "And then what?" Kill them all. My wooden fingers tightened on his shoulder. Every slaver. Every guard. Chanos. Belmund. All of them. Harke swallowed hard, but didn''t pull away. "You really think we can do this?" Yes. I released his shoulder and turned to the collected materials. Now go. Bring more metal. Every piece. Counts. He nodded and stood. At the door, he paused. "No Eyes?" Yes? "Thank you. For giving us hope." He smiled sadly. "Especially m-m-me." I watched him leave, then began sorting through our stockpile. One week to build a body that could match Chanos. One week to forge enough weapons to arm every prisoner. One week to plan our escape and revenge. More than enough time. Both my wooden and flesh fingers began twisting metal strands together as Assembly activated. I had work to do. Chapter 17: Prepare Chapter 17: Prepare I fitted another metal plate into place, the edges aligned tightly and with no gaps thanks to Assembly. The new chest cavity housed delicate machinery, a framework of gears and pulleys that would give me greater mobility than before. Each piece clicked together with perfect precision, guided by an innate knowledge I couldn''t explain. Thin copper wiring threaded through the joints like artificial tendons, allowing for fluid movement. The three arms took shape, each skeletal yet elegant, each hand having three fingers articulated with miniature mechanisms that would let me grip weapons with inhuman strength. My new form would have no wasted bulk, no unnecessary weight. Every component served a purpose. My mind raced with improvements, seeing how each part could connect more efficiently. A slight adjustment to the shoulder socket here, a reinforced joint there. The knowledge flowed through me as naturally as breathing. This body would be faster, deadlier. The perfect counter to match Chanos'' speed. The shed filled with the quiet sounds of metal joining to metal as I worked without pause. Time meant nothing since I had no need for rest or food. Only the changing light through the cracks of the walls marked the passing of days. A familiar blue box appeared in my vision:
Congratulations! You have gained experience through the use of Assembly. You are now Level 8!
I opened up my status box to check my gains.
Name: No Eyes Level: 8 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original Strength: 8 Endurance: 10 Dexterity: 5 Intelligence: 23 Wisdom: 16 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh Abilities: Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly D
Like with my previous level up, it seems that only my Intelligence and Wisdom scores gained any increases. Could it be because I had gained the experience through my use of Assembly instead of killing? I had forgotten to ask Harke about this earlier; I needed to make sure to do so the next time I saw him. I continued my work. Each hour spent crafting taught me more about the intricate dance of gears and springs, expanding my understanding of mechanical principles. Yet the knowledge felt less like learning and more like remembering. It was as if I had built countless machines in some forgotten past. I flexed one of the newly-completed arms, watching the fingers curl with smooth precision. The movements were silent, efficient. Perfect for what was to come.
The door creaked open and Harke slipped inside, his arms laden with rusty armor plates. He set them down carefully, trying to minimize the noise. "These were in the d-d-discard pile behind the armory," Harke whispered. "No one will miss them." Thank you. I stored the pieces in my Depository while examining my status screen. Question. When leveling up. Through Assembly. Gain only. Points. In Intelligence and Wisdom. Normal? Harke settled onto an overturned crate, adjusting his robes. "Ah, that''s because of how the System handles experience gains. Different classes gain experience in different ways. The combat classes level up through battle, while craftsmen gain levels through c-creating things." I have. No class. "Exactly. You''re... unique. As a monster, you seem able to gain experience through multiple methods. C-combat experience typically gives fewer points but spreads them across all your s-stats. Crafting or studying tends to boost Intelligence and Wisdom specifically." I flexed my newly constructed arm, considering this. What''s the difference. With. Intelligence and Wisdom? "Intelligence governs mundane creation: tools, weapons, machinery and the like. That''s what you''re using with Assembly." Harke gestured at my mechanical body. "Wisdom relates more to magical crafting, such as spells, enchantments, that sort of thing. That''s what I use as a healer." So. Intelligence improves. Assembly? "P-perhaps. That will depend on whether this ability of yours is mundane or magical in nature. Y-you said you gained increases in both Intelligence and Wisdom, c-correct?" I nodded. "Well, I s-s-suppose your Assembly ability is both. It''s known that high level Blacksmiths working with magical materials to create magical weaponry and armor gain increases in both Intelligence and Wisdom, so you are probably s-s-similar." He examined my handiwork with appreciation. Relief flooded through me at Harke''s explanation. I had been worried about the massive gap between Chanos''s and my statistics, but if I could gain levels through Assembly, the difference wouldn''t matter as much. "How are the w-weapons coming along?" Harke asked. I reached into my Depository, pulling out an array of crude but lethal implements. Sharpened pieces of metal transformed into daggers, broken pipes fashioned into stabbing weapons, and makeshift shivs crafted from whatever scraps I could salvage. I laid them out on the floor between us. Although these weapons weren''t finished yet, their future lethality was quite evident. Harke picked up one of the knives, testing its edge with his thumb. "These are... impressive. Especially considering what you had to work with." He examined the grip, wrapped in strips of leather I''d salvaged from a rotting boot. "The balance is good, too." Made from garbage. But sharp. Will kill. "Could you make larger weapons as well? Spears p-perhaps?" He set the knife down. "Something with reach might give the prisoners an advantage against the guards'' swords." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. I nodded, already calculating the materials needed. Long metal rods from bed frames could serve as shafts. The tips would need to be harder, maybe from those armor plates he''d brought. The construction would be simple enough, I''d just need more materials. Yes. Can make spears. Need more metal. Or wood. Longer pieces. "I''ll see what I can find. The guards sometimes throw out broken weapon parts behind the armory. If I''m careful, I might be able to salvage some of those too."
I finished attaching the last pieces of my new form as dawn''s light crept through the shed''s cracks. The body before me looked nothing like my previous creation; where that had been bulky and imposing, this was sleek and deadly. I''d sacrificed protection for mobility, using lighter metals and carefully carved wooden components to create something far more agile. Standing at just over five and a half feet tall, I tested each joint methodically. The two primary arms moved smoothly, the gears clicking softly as I flexed my fingers. Behind them, two thinner arms extended from my back, their movements quick and precise. These secondary limbs weren''t meant for power; they were designed for swift strikes and deflection. My new legs took some adjustment. The multi-jointed design gave me a distinctly inhuman gait, with backward-facing knees that distributed my weight differently. Each step felt light, almost springy, as the complex system of pulleys and counterweights worked in concert. The helmet was my masterpiece: an asymmetrical creation cobbled together from various metal scraps and wooden plates. I''d left no eye holes, since I didn''t need them, but incorporated a face guard that left my jaw exposed. If I needed to use my teeth again, I could. The rest of my vulnerable red flesh remained safely hidden behind layers of salvaged armor. I let my original hair remain uncovered, the long black strands cascading down my back like liquid shadow. It fell past my shoulders, a stark contrast against the dull metals and worn wood of my constructed form. The dark tresses flowed with an unsettling grace that made me appear more wraith than machine. Each time I shifted, the hair swayed, brushing against the gears and plates of my constructed spine. The sensation triggered fragments of memory, of something being placed atop my head, brushing against my hair. The object felt small but heavy, a symbol more than any form of armor. But like all my memories, it slipped away before I could grasp its meaning. My pale left arm, the only original limb I had left, looked almost delicate next to the mechanical appendages I''d crafted. Yet I knew its strength, knew the invulnerable flesh could withstand blows that would shatter steel. The exposed jaw with its sharp teeth completed the unsettling image of a creature caught between flesh and machine. I caught a glimpse of myself in a broken piece of mirror I''d salvaged. The contrast was striking: gleaming metal and weathered wood framework housing my mangled form, with that curtain of black silk softening the harsh lines of my artificial body. Even without eyes, I could see how the hair framed my exposed jaw, making me appear more like the person I might have once been rather than the monster I''d become. And yet¡­ the color was wrong. I was certain of that. I remember my hair being¡­ lighter? Shorter? I shook my head, banishing such thoughts away. I couldn''t be distracted from the task at hand. I moved across the shed, testing my balance. Despite the mismatched materials (copper wiring here, iron plates there, wooden joints reinforced with steel bands) everything worked in perfect harmony. The body moved like water, each motion flowing naturally into the next. Three days, I thought, watching dust motes dance in the morning light. Three days until the southern caravan arrives. I flexed all four arms simultaneously, listening to the subtle whir of gears and pulleys. This form wasn''t built for endurance or power; it was built for speed, for killing. Built to match Chanos blow for blow. My weapons reflected this. The quartet of weapons lay arranged on the earthen ground, awaiting my grasp: a pair of blades along with a matching set of lances. I lifted the longsword in my primary right hand, its weight perfectly balanced. Though crafted from scavenged metal, the blade held true: thin and precise, meant for piercing vital points. Not the sharpest edge, but the tip would find gaps in armor with lethal efficiency. My flesh hand gripped a shorter blade, its slight curve catching what little light filtered through the shed''s walls. I''d designed this one for raw cutting power, the weight distributed to maximize each swing''s force. Where the longsword would pierce, this would slash and tear. The secondary arms moved in perfect sync as I tested the spears. Each was longer than I was tall, with reinforced points that could punch through plate armor. The shafts were wrapped in strips of leather I''d salvaged from old boots, providing secure grips for my mechanical hands. Combat forms surfaced from the depths of my fractured mind. My body moved through ancient patterns. High guard with the long sword while the curved blade swept low. The spears worked in concert, one striking high while the other targeted the legs. Block, thrust, sweep, strike. Each movement flowed into the next with practiced grace. I spun, all four weapons moving in different arcs yet somehow working as one. The long sword led with a thrust, while the curved blade followed in its wake. The spears traced complex patterns in the air, striking at imaginary weak points. My new legs carried me through the forms with fluid precision, the backwards-facing knees allowing for explosive changes in direction. More sequences emerged from my past. A horizontal slash with the curved sword, followed by a spear thrust to the throat. Long sword point forward while the second spear swept the legs. High block transitioning into a low strike. Each combination felt natural, as if I''d performed them countless times before. The weapons moved faster and faster as muscle memory took over. Both swords whirled in complex patterns while the spears struck like serpents. My mechanical body responded perfectly, every gear and joint working in harmony. I was a blur of blades and points, dancing through forms that spoke of years of martial training. The movements came from somewhere deep within, from whoever I had been before. These weren''t simple fighting techniques; they were the practiced forms of someone who had spent a lifetime mastering the art of war. I stopped my practice sequence, letting my weapons fall to neutral positions as Harke and Mallie entered. They''d slipped in so quietly I hadn''t noticed them at first. Mallie''s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open in clear amazement at my display. "That was incredible!" She clapped her hands, then quickly covered her mouth when Harke shot her a warning look. I placed my weapons down carefully, then reached into a pile of straw near the corner. From beneath it, I pulled out my surprise: a bow I''d crafted specifically for her small frame. The weapon was a composite of metal and wood, with a string made from braided leather strips. Alongside it, I''d created two dozen arrows, their tips sharpened to deadly points. For you, I projected through Mind Speech. Mallie bounced on her toes as she took the bow, testing its draw with practiced hands. Her face lit up brighter than the morning sun. "Careful now," Harke whispered, though he was smiling too. "We don''t want the guards hearing." Have more. I told them, moving to another pile of straw. Brushing it aside revealed my arsenal: crude but effective weapons laid out in neat rows. Short stabbing spears with hardened points. Daggers fashioned from broken tools. Metal shivs with cloth-wrapped handles. "How m-m-many?" Harke asked, examining one of the spears. Thirty-seven. More coming. Can''t store. In Depository. Complete weapons. Only raw materials. Go in. "That''s still impressive," Harke said. "You''ve been b-busy." Don''t sleep. I reminded him. I work. Every moment. Mallie had already nocked an arrow, aiming at an imaginary target on the far wall. Her form was perfect, exactly as she''d described from her training. "This feels amazing," she whispered. "It''s perfectly balanced." New body complete. Can focus on. Arming everyone. I projected to them both. By tomorrow night. Will have enough. Weapons for all. Prisoners. I demonstrated my increased production speed by grabbing a length of metal from my carefully organized pile. My mechanical hands worked in perfect synchronization, bending and twisting the material. Within moments, a crude but effective dagger blade took form. "That''s incredible," Mallie whispered, still cradling her new bow. "You''re so much faster now." Harke wrung his hands, his usual nervous energy more pronounced. "B-but what about the g-guards? They''re always watching. And Ch-Chanos..." Two days, I projected firmly. Strike at dawn. Guards are fewer then. Most still. Asleep. "I can shoot them from the roofs!" Mallie''s excitement bubbled through her whispered voice. "Just like in training. They taught us about elevation advantage and-" "Shhhh," Harke cautioned, though I noticed he didn''t disagree with her tactical assessment. I moved to another pile of materials, my new legs carrying me with silent grace. Everyone must be. Ready. When break free. Chaos will follow. Prisoners must. Grab weapons. Fight. No hesitation. "The adults will fight," Mallie nodded firmly. "You should have heard them last night! Another poor man was beaten. They''re ready." Harke''s face paled at the memory. "B-but what if-" No more waiting, I cut him off. No more healing. Broken prisoners. No more watching. Children suffer. My mechanical hands continued crafting as I spoke, another spear taking shape. Dawn. Day after tomorrow. Tell everyone. Be ready. Mallie gripped her bow tighter, determination hardening her young features. Harke still looked uncertain, but I saw resolution beneath his anxiety. They both understood. This was happening. I turned back to my work, all four arms moving in concert as I shaped metal and wood into instruments of liberation. The time for planning was over. In two days, we would write our freedom in blood. Chapter 18: Attack Chapter 18: Attack The pale light of dawn slowly crept over the mountain peaks, painting the slave camp in shades of dark gray. From my shed, I could hear the camp stirring; the early shift of guards were making their rounds, slaves being roused for another day of misery. But today would be different. Through the cracks in the wooden walls, I watched Belmund stumble from his tent, still half-drunk from the previous night''s revelry. He barked orders at two guards, who moved to unlock the slave pens. My new mechanical body hummed with readiness. I''d spent the final hours of darkness making minute adjustments, ensuring every joint and gear moved in perfect silence. The asymmetrical helmet concealed my eyeless face while providing optimal awareness of my surroundings. Last night had been tense. I''d sat motionless in my shed as Harke and Mallie made their careful rounds throughout the camp. They''d moved like shadows, passing weapons through the bars of the pens. Most of the adult slaves had accepted them eagerly, hiding their new arms under blankets and straw. Some had refused, too broken by fear to even consider fighting back. We couldn''t force them, their terror would have given us away. The children''s pen had been the most difficult. We couldn''t arm them all, most were too young, but the older ones like Mallie could fight. She''d distributed small knives among those she trusted most, showing them how to hold them properly. Through it all, the guards remained oblivious. They''d grown lazy in their dominance, never imagining their captives could pose a real threat. Their patrols were predictable, their attention poor. They didn''t notice the subtle changes in how the slaves carried themselves, the way they watched the guards'' movements with new purpose. Now, as morning painted the sky, I could sense the tension in the camp. Harke was in position near the main pen''s gate, pretending to sort through his medical supplies. He had managed to convince Belmund to unlock the pen and let him inside as there were signs of sickness among the captives. The fat slaver had all but panicked, not wanting a plague to spread within Qordos''s walls, so he eagerly believed the healer''s lie. Mallie had already climbed to her position on the storehouse roof, using the skills she''d learned at her home village of Weath. Her new bow was strung, arrows ready. She''d chosen her first target: the guard who watched the main tower. The weapons I''d crafted weren''t pretty. They were crude things of necessity: spears made from scavenged metal, knives shaped from broken tools. But they would kill just the same, and there were enough for every willing hand in the camp. I flexed my mechanical arms, testing the weapons I''d integrated into this new form. Everything moved smoothly, silently. The time for preparation was over. Now we would see if our plan would grant these people their freedom, or if we''d all die in the attempt. The camp erupted into chaos exactly as planned. When the pen''s heavy gate swung open, I witnessed our careful preparation transform into violent action. The slaves burst forth like a wave of vengeance, their crude weapons glinting in the dawn light. Two guards didn''t even have time to draw their swords. The first took a sharpened metal rod through his throat, the second a rusty blade between his ribs. Their bodies crumpled to the dirt as more prisoners poured out. Belmund''s eyes went wide with terror. His bare chest heaved as he turned to flee, but the slaves surrounded him. I watched through the shed''s cracks as they fell upon him with savage fury. Their weapons, my creations, plunged again and again into his flesh. His screams echoed across the yard, years of cruelty being repaid in moments of violence. I saw Harke as he darted through the chaos, keeping low as he sprinted toward the other pens. The ring of iron keys jangled his quaking hands, snatched from Belmund''s still-warm corpse. A sharp twang cut through the morning air. Above, Mallie''s arrow found its mark. The guard in the watch tower pitched forward, tumbling from his post before he could reach the alarm bell. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and I felt a surge of pride at her precision. The bow I''d crafted had served her well. From my vantage point, I observed the first phase of our rebellion unfold perfectly. The initial surge of violence had caught the slavers completely off guard, just as we''d hoped. Now the real battle would begin, as the rest of the camp''s guards would surely respond to the commotion. I burst through the shed door, my metal foot shattering the wooden planks. The two men guarding my shed spun around, hands fumbling for weapons. Too slow. My spear took the first through his chest, the crude point punching clean through his leather armor. The second managed to draw his sword, but my mechanical arms moved with fluid precision. One blade severed his sword hand, the other pierced his throat. My new form worked better than I''d hoped. The backward-facing knees gave me explosive speed, letting me dash cross the yard in powerful bounds. The four arms moved in perfect coordination, each weapon becoming an extension of my will. I''d designed this body for efficient killing, and now it proved its worth. A group of guards emerged from a large tent, shouting in confusion. I leaped into their midst, my blades whirling. The first died before he could raise his shield. The second managed to parry one sword but couldn''t block the spear that pierced his gut. The third tried to flee but my blade caught him between the shoulders. I dashed through the camp, my metal feet barely touching the ground. Near the cooking fires, four slavers had cornered some escaped prisoners. I fell upon them from behind, my weapons ending their lives in seconds. The freed slaves snatched up the dead men''s weapons, joining the spreading rebellion. By the main gate, a knot of guards had formed a defensive circle. I charged straight at them, my mechanical body moving faster than any human could match. Their arrows clattered harmlessly off my armored frame. I crashed into their formation like a battering ram, my four arms dealing death from all angles. Those who survived my initial assault were cut down by the waves of vengeful prisoners who followed in my wake. I found more slavers trying to barricade themselves in the storehouse. My enhanced strength tore through their hasty defenses. They died cursing and pleading, their blood staining the grain sacks they''d hidden behind. The freed slaves showed no mercy, finishing those I left wounded. Through it all, my new body performed flawlessly. Each movement was precise, each strike lethal. The gears and pulleys I''d crafted worked in perfect harmony, allowing me to shift from one target to the next with mechanical efficiency. This wasn''t just combat; it was an extermination. These slavers had treated humans like animals. Now they learned what it meant to be hunted. Slaughtered. I cut through the camp like a storm of blades, leaving death in my wake. The slaves followed behind, ensuring none of their tormentors survived. Those who tried to surrender received the same mercy they''d shown their captives. Those who fought died quickly. Those who ran died tired. The camp erupted in shouts as Chanos burst from his tent, his massive battle axe already in his hands. His face twisted with rage as he took in the carnage around him. Six of his most trusted guards flanked him, their weapons drawn. I turned my mechanical body to face him, activating my newly acquired Analyze ability. The blue text appeared in my vision:
Name: Chanos Vehger
Vehger. He had a surname, which meant a noble lineage. The revelation struck me: this butcher, this slaver chief, came from the aristocracy. What twist of fate had led a nobleman to become the leader of these dregs? "Kill them all!" Chanos roared, charging forward with his men. I met their charge, my four arms wielding blades in perfect synchronization. The first guard swung high, but I ducked under his blade and drove a spear through his chest. The second tried to flank me, but my backward-jointed legs let me pivot with unnatural speed. My sword opened his throat before he could react. Chanos reached me then, his massive axe whistling through the air. "This time, monster," he sneered, "I''ll finish what I started." I ignored his taunt, focusing on the fight. My blades struck in a complex pattern, forcing him to defend. He was good, much like I remembered, but my new body moved with mechanical precision. When he tried to counter-attack, I was already gone, my enhanced speed carrying me just out of reach. His axe crashed into the dirt where I''d been standing. I struck back instantly, my spear finding a gap in his defense. The tip scored a shallow cut along his left arm. Blood welled up, staining his sleeve. Chanos snarled and backed away, reassessing me with narrowed eyes. The surprise was evident on his face; he hadn''t expected this new speed, this fluid grace. Gone was the lumbering mechanical construct he''d defeated before. He hefted his axe again and charged, roaring. But this time, I was ready. I danced around Chanos''s wild swings, my mechanical body moving with fluid precision. His axe cut through empty air as I ducked and weaved, each of my strikes finding gaps in his defense. The spear in one of my secondary arms darted in, puncturing his shoulder. He growled and swung again, but I was already gone. My main sword stabbed across his thigh, drawing a thin line of red. The wound wasn''t deep, this new body lacked the raw power of my previous construct, but it added to the growing collection of cuts across his flesh. "Stand still and die, monster!" Chanos brought his axe down in an overhead strike. I sidestepped, letting the blade bite into dirt, then stabbed him rapidly, twice in the side, with my long blade. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Blood soaked his leather armor now, dripping from a dozen shallow wounds. His legendary speed began to fade. Where before his axe had been a blur of motion, now I could track its arc easily. His strikes grew wider, sloppier. "Coward!" He spat blood as he lurched forward. "Fight me properly!" I pirouetted away from his attack, scoring another hit along his arm. His muscles still rippled with power, but exhaustion showed in his labored breathing, in the way his boots dragged through the dirt. His rage mounted with each failed strike. The calm precision I remembered from our first encounter dissolved into bestial fury. He cursed with every swing, his face twisted into a mask of hatred. "I''ll tear you apart!" His axe whistled past my head. "Rip those metal limbs off one by one!" But his threats were empty. More of my attacks slipped through his guard. My spear found his chest, my sword opened his back. None of the wounds were fatal, but they bled. They weakened. They slowed him down. He stumbled after a particularly wild swing, and I landed three rapid strikes before dancing away. Blood ran freely down his legs now, forming small puddles where he stood. His mighty arms trembled as he raised his axe again. I had Chanos exactly where I wanted him: bleeding, exhausted, his legendary speed reduced to clumsy swings. Victory was within my grasp when searing pain exploded through my face. An arrow had somehow pierced my helmet''s armor, burying itself deep into the sensitive red flesh where my eyes once were. The agony was indescribable. A shriek tore from my throat; not the controlled mind-speech I''d learned, but the raw, primal sound of a monster in pain. The sound rippled across the camp like a physical force. Everyone, slave and slaver alike, dropped their weapons to clutch their ears. Even Chanos staggered backward, his face contorted in agony. My mechanical hands scrambled at the arrow, yanking it free from my ruined flesh. Before I could recover, another arrow punched through my chest armor with impossible ease. The metal that should have turned aside any normal arrow gave way like parchment. How? I''d crafted this armor myself, knew its strength. Though lighter than my previous body, it was still thick enough to resist conventional weapons. These arrows shouldn''t have been able to penetrate so easily. Through the haze of pain, I spotted the archer: a slender elf perched atop one of the watchtowers. His bow moved in a blur, loosing another arrow before I could properly react. I threw myself sideways, the projectile whistling past where my head had been moments before. The elf''s movements were too quick, too precise. Each arrow flew with deadly accuracy, seeking the vulnerable spots in my mechanical form. This was no ordinary archer, his arrows carried power beyond mere physical force to pierce my carefully crafted defenses. An arrow whistled past my head, then another thudded into my shoulder joint. The elf''s aim was devastating, each shot finding weak points in my construction. Though none of his arrows managed to harm me, it was only a matter of time before he got lucky and struck at one of the ragged red patches on my body beneath the armor. A different arrow streaked across the battlefield, forcing the elf to duck. Mallie stood atop the storage shed, her bow drawn. Pride swelled in my chest as the weapon I''d crafted for her sang true. She loosed another shot, but the elf was ready this time. He rolled aside with inhuman grace, the arrow splitting wood where he''d stood moments before. The elf''s bow snapped up, targeting Mallie. My heart seized. I screamed through mind-speech, unable to form words due to my fright, but she was already diving for cover as his arrow split the air where she''d been standing. I coiled my legs, ready to sprint to her aid. The sound of rushing air was my only warning. Chanos''s axe carved through my left secondary arm, metal and gears scattering across the dirt. The limb clattered uselessly onto the dirt as it fell. "Not done with you yet, monster!" Blood ran down his arms, his chest heaving with exertion. But his eyes burned with renewed strength, seeing his chance to end me. I spun to face him, my remaining arms bringing weapons to bear. Fury drove my strikes faster, harder. My blades wove patterns of death around him, seeking any opening. I had to finish this quickly; Mallie needed me. Chanos matched my intensity, his massive axe flowing from defense to attack with practiced ease. Though wounded and slower than before, his experience showed. He''d fought countless battles, survived innumerable duels. Each swing of his axe carried killing force, and now I had one less arm to defend against them. Metal shrieked against metal. Our weapons clashed again and again as we danced across the blood-soaked ground. But I couldn''t focus fully on him, my attention split between our duel and tracking the elf''s position. Every second we fought was another second Mallie remained in danger. I pressed my attack, abandoning caution for speed. My remaining blades struck from multiple angles, forcing Chanos to give ground. He might have experience, but I had cold machine precision. I would end him, then deal with the archer. For Mallie''s sake, I had to win. Now. I abandoned my calculated strategy, throwing myself at Chanos with reckless abandon. My blades carved into his flesh again and again, opening deep wounds across his chest and arms. Blood poured from the cuts, staining his leather armor crimson. Still, he fought on, his massive axe sweeping deadly arcs through the air. Just. DIE. The words burst through my mind-speech, my patience shattering like glass. His axe whooshed toward my midsection, a blow that would have split me in two. I coiled my mechanical legs and leaped, the enhanced springs launching me over his strike. I twisted in mid-air, my remaining arms latching onto his broad back like iron hooks. Chanos roared and tried to throw me off, but my grip held firm. My mechanical fingers dug into his flesh, anchoring me in place. Before he could react further, I struck. My jagged teeth found the back of his neck, biting down with savage force. The taste of copper filled my mouth as I tore through muscle and sinew. His screams turned to wet gurgles as I ripped away a chunk of his throat. Blood sprayed in an arc as I spat out the flesh. Through the gore, I glimpsed white bone: his exposed spine. With another savage bite, I severed what remained. Chanos''s head toppled forward, detaching completely from his body. It rolled across the blood-soaked dirt, coming to rest face-up. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the morning sky, a look of equal parts disbelief and agony on his features. I released my grip, letting his corpse collapse. Without pausing to savor the victory, I spun toward where I''d last seen Mallie. My mechanical legs propelled me forward, every gear and spring straining for maximum speed. I raced across the camp, my mechanical legs propelling me with desperate motion. Relief flooded through me as I spotted Mallie, alive and unharmed. She knelt beside Harke, tears streaming down her freckled face. The healer sat propped against a wooden post, his robes stained crimson around a dagger lodged in his left shoulder. At their feet lay the elf archer, one of Mallie''s arrows protruding from his right eye socket. His delicate features were frozen in a mask of surprise, his deadly bow fallen beside his limp hand. "Please don''t die!" Mallie clutched at Harke''s robes. "I can''t lose you too!" Harke''s laugh turned into a pained cough. "It''s not as bad as it looks, Mallie. The b-b-blade missed anything important." I crouched beside them, my remaining arms hovering uncertainly. Through Mind Speech, I asked what happened. "The elf was about to kill her," Harke explained, wincing. "I c-c-couldn''t... I couldn''t let that happen. So I cast Cure Poison on him." "But that spell is for healing," Mallie interjected, wiping her eyes. "Yes, but cast on someone who isn''t poisoned?" Harke managed a weak smile. "Makes them terribly sick. Dizzy. Nauseous. Enough to throw off his aim." "He tried to stab Harke in the heart," Mallie said. "But Harke moved just enough that it hit his shoulder instead. That''s when I shot him." Her small hands balled into fists. "I didn''t h-hesitate." I examined the elf''s corpse. His quiver still held several arrows that gleamed with an unnatural sheen: enchanted ammunition. That explained how they''d pierced my armor so easily. If not for Harke''s quick thinking and Mallie''s deadly aim, either of them might have died. A healer. Weaponizing. Healing spells. I mentally said with a smile. Clever. "S-sometimes the best medicine is preventing someone from needing it in the first place." Harke grimaced as he shifted position. "Though I must admit, being on this side of a blade is not my p-preferred situation."
The crowd of freed prisoners surged and writhed like an angry sea around the camp''s main tent. Crossbow bolts kept them from rushing forward, forcing them to duck behind carts and barrels. The remaining slavers, just twelve of them, had barricaded themselves inside, firing through gaps in the canvas. I strode through the crowd, my mechanical legs carrying me with fluid grace. The freed prisoners parted before me, their expressions a mix of fear and savage hope. Blood dripped from my three remaining weapons, two swords and a spear, leaving a crimson trail in my wake. "Stay back!" One of the slavers shouted through the tent flap. "We''ll kill every last one who comes close!" My response was silence. What need was there for words? They would die, just as Chanos had died. Just as every other slaver in this cursed camp had died. A crossbow bolt struck my chest plate, the impact sending vibrations through my mechanical frame. The projectile managed to punch through, but aside from a hole in the metal, the bolt did no damage. Another shot bounced off my helmet. Thankfully, that one had been deflected by the metal. Their weapons were mundane, unlike the elf''s enchanted arrows. "It''s that monster!" Another slaver''s voice cracked with panic. "The one Chanos captured!" "Where''s Chanos?" A third voice demanded. I raised my right hand. Held up high for all to see was Chanos''s severed head, dangling by the hair from my mechanical fingers. The crowd behind me roared as I dropped it, letting it roll toward the tent''s entrance. The slavers'' screams were music to my ears. I stormed forwards, my mechanical legs eating up the distance in long strides. The slavers had barricaded themselves within, using overturned tables and crates as cover. Their crossbow bolts whistled past me, but I didn''t slow. I burst through the tent''s entrance, canvas and support poles shredding under my assault. My blades whirled in three deadly arcs: left, right, and center. The first slaver died before he could reload his crossbow. The second managed to draw a sword, but my reach was longer. The third tried to run. None of them made it. Blood sprayed across the tent''s interior as I carved through their defensive line. Behind me, the freed prisoners poured in through the gap I''d created. They wielded their crude weapons with desperate fury, overwhelming the remaining slavers through sheer numbers. "Kill them all!" Someone shouted. "Make them pay!" "This is for my husband, you pigs!" Snarled a woman as she stabbed a slaver through the chest. The sounds of combat filled the tent: steel on steel, screams of pain and rage, the wet impact of weapons finding flesh. I moved through the chaos like a machine of death, my blades ending any slaver who showed resistance. One tried to surrender, dropping his weapon and raising his hands. A former slave gutted him before he could speak. Another attempted to flee out the back of the tent. An arrow, Mallie''s, caught him in the spine. The last slaver fell to his knees, blood pooling beneath him from multiple wounds. His eyes were wide with terror as the freed prisoners surrounded him. Someone kicked away his sword. "P-please..." he begged. A dozen makeshift weapons struck at once. When they stepped back, he wasn''t begging anymore. Silence fell over the tent. The morning sun filtered through tears in the canvas, illuminating the aftermath of our violence. The former slaves stood among the carnage, chests heaving, weapons dripping red. Then someone let out a whoop of triumph. Another joined in. Soon the entire crowd was cheering, their voices rising in a thunderous celebration of newfound freedom. They hugged each other, laughed, cried; all the pent-up emotion of captivity finally breaking free. "We did it!" Mallie''s voice rang out. She stood in the tent''s entrance, bow in hand, freckled face split by a fierce grin. "We''re free!" The crowd took up the cry: "Free! Free! FREE!" I watched them celebrate, my mechanical body still and silent. These people had been property mere hours ago. Now they stood tall, their chains broken, their captors dead. They had taken back their freedom with blood and steel, their will unwavering in the face of evil. This was the humanity I remembered. This was the humanity that, despite all differences, stood up and united against the Primordials. This was the humanity that would bring down- My mind cleared, the risen memory quickly fading. What¡­ what did I just see? As the freed people in Qordos cheered, I remained silent, lost in the past. Chapter 19: Trek Chapter 19: Trek I stood beside Harke as he counted the survivors gathered near the entrance of Qordos. His quill scratched against parchment, marking names and numbers. "Eighty-seven survivors," Harke said, lowering his book. "Most of the casualties were from the adult p-pens." My mechanical fingers clenched. Those brave souls had charged the slavers with nothing but crude spears and shivs. They''d known the risk, but fought anyway. Better to die standing than live in chains. Through Mind Speech, I asked Harke, Children? "Th-three died." His voice cracked. "The youngest was eight." I watched the long procession of people heading to the burial grounds, carrying their dead wrapped in whatever cloth they could find. Mallie walked among them, her bow slung across her back, helping a limping woman transport a body. The morning sun cast long shadows across the blood-stained ground of Qordos. Bodies of slavers lay scattered where they fell, sprawled in doorways, slumped against walls, face-down in the dirt. Already flies buzzed around them. None of us wanted to bother burying the scum. Let the carrion birds feast. Must burn. This place. I told Harke. Will take supplies. Leave rest. To flames. He nodded. "The food stores alone c-could feed everyone for weeks. And there''s coin, weapons, clothing..." He paused, looking at the corpse of a slaver nearby. "What about them?" What about them? The sound of singing drifted from the burial grounds, a mournful dirge in a language I didn''t recognize. Yet something about the melody stirred fragments of memory, like ashes rising from a dying fire. I''d heard songs like this before, long ago. Songs of grief. Songs of war. My three remaining arms, one flesh and two mechanical, hung loose at my sides as I listened. Fifty-three dead. Fifty-three lives ended in violence, their last moments spent fighting for freedom in this cursed place. They deserved better than shallow graves in the Hellzone. They deserved to be remembered. Please. Write down. Their names. I told Harke. Must be remembered. He looked up from his book, eyes red-rimmed. "I-I will. I already started a list." The singing continued, carried on the wind. I remained still, my asymmetrical helmet turned toward the sound, letting the mechanical body I''d built stay motionless in respect for the dead. Fifty-three names. Fifty-three stories ended here in Qordos. I would remember this number, carry it with me wherever I went next. Their sacrifice had bought freedom for the others. The least I could do was ensure they weren''t forgotten.
After the burial, people scattered through Qordos like ants, gathering supplies for the long trek to Weath. It had been decided that Mallie''s home would be our destination. The Kingdom of Aspiration was the nation bordering the Lodrik Hellzone, and Weath was the closest town to us. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Packs were filled with dried meat, water skins, clothes; anything that could help them survive the journey through the Hellzone. I walked the perimeter, scanning for useful materials. My fourth mechanical arm hung loose, recently reattached after the battle. The copper wiring needed adjustment, but it would hold. Mallie fell in step beside me, her new bow clutched tight. Her usual bounce was gone, replaced by dragging feet and slumped shoulders. You fought well, I told her through Mind Speech. "I gained two levels." Her voice was flat, empty of pride. She kicked a rock, sending it skittering across blood-stained dirt. Are you not. Pleased? She stopped walking, staring at the ground. Her shoulders trembled. "I don''t... I don''t think I want to go to the War Academy anymore." I turned to face her, waiting. "The fighting..." Tears rolled down her freckled cheeks. "I hated it. Being scared. And then... and then not being scared, which was worse. The killing." Her voice cracked. "I knew him. Tommy. He was from two farms over from mine." She wiped her face with a grimy sleeve. "I gave him one of the knives. Told him to stay close to me during the escape. But he... he..." A sob tore from her throat. "He''s dead because of me." I knelt, bringing my flesh hand to rest on her thin shoulder. The contrast between my pale, invulnerable skin and her tear-streaked face made something ache in my broken chest. Not your fault, I told her. He chose. To fight. Died. So others could live. So children. Could see parents. Again. She threw herself against my mechanical chest, crying harder. I kept my real hand on her shoulder, letting her grief pour out. Around us, the camp bustled with preparation, but we remained still: a strange monster comforting a young warrior who''d learned the true cost of battle far too soon.
Smoke billowed into the morning sky as Qordos burned behind us. The flames devoured wood, cloth, and flesh; everything we couldn''t carry or I couldn''t store in my Depository. The acrid stench followed our procession as we trudged northeast across the broken landscape. My mechanical legs carried me up and down the line of former captives. Four arms held weapons ready: two spears and two swords. The survivors gave me a wide berth, their eyes darting away whenever I passed. Even after fighting together, they couldn''t forget what I was. A monster. The System''s designation burned in my status screen like a brand. Harke walked at the front, consulting a worn map he''d found in Chanos''s quarters. The other freed prisoners naturally gravitated towards him. His gentle voice and healing hands had been their only comfort during their imprisonment. Now they looked to him for guidance through the Hellzone''s dangers. I caught movement in the distance; a pack of those dog-rat hybrids were stalking our group. My mechanical joints whirred as I changed direction, heading to intercept. The beasts attacked at my approach, their bestial rage blinding them to the danger I posed. They''d learned too late, the price of their folly their lives. The monsters'' deaths had finally propelled me to level up.
Congratulations! You have defeated 4 enemies and have received experience. You are now Level 9!
"Water break!" Harke''s voice carried down the line. The procession halted, people dropping to rest on broken ground. I continued my patrol, scanning the horizon. The mountains which I had worked so hard to get to was now at my back, their jagged peaks piercing the tattered clouds. Something about those peaks tugged at my fractured memories, but like always, the thoughts slipped away before I could grasp them. A child''s cry split the air. I whirled, weapons ready, but it was just a little boy who''d stumbled. His mother helped him up, shooting me a fearful glance before hurrying away. I lowered my arms, that familiar ache in my chest growing stronger. The wind carried the smoke from burning Qordos across our path. Good. Let it burn. Let nothing remain of that place of suffering. In my Depository, I felt the weight of salvaged supplies: cloth, metals, broken weapons. Even medicine was in there; for some reason the System counted it as a form of material. Everything else would feed the flames, ensuring no other slavers could use the camp. We moved on, a ragged line of humanity threading through the desolation. I kept watch, a monster protecting those who feared me, while behind us Qordos burned to ash. Primordials Primordials Not a single soul born upon the surface of our world remains ignorant as to what the Primordials are. They are the enemy of all Mankind, yes. But that is just one facet of what these mighty beings are. The Primordials are entities of great power. They were born from the days when the planet was but a mere infant. Primordials are older than us, older than the total collective history of mankind. And they are the ones who are solely responsible for the horrifying state that our world is currently in. The Primordials are the basic concepts of existence given thought and form; they are the walking, thinking, breathing fundamental truths that were birthed during the formation of all things. All together they number twelve, though some older scholarly texts claim that there used to be more of them in the distant, primeval past. Whatever the case, these twelve immensely powerful beings hold the fate of the world in their metaphorical hands. They have always existed, residing within their chaotic domains since the beginning of time. Some argue that they always will exist as long as the world continues to do so. They are as intrinsic to the nature of this plane as the earth that nurtures us, the sea that sustains us, and the sky that guides us. Without them, our planet could not exist. And yet it is because of these creatures that we human beings suffer. The Primordials, at their very core, are beings of chaos. They are unfathomable, yet predictable; cruel, yet without malice. As much as their existence forms the world, it is their tumultuous natures that makes our world unstable. It is because of these twelve that the mountains sometimes catch fire and that the seas oft transform into poison. It is they who are responsible for the times when grass comes alive to kill our livestock, or when the darkness under one¡¯s bed starts whispering vile truths to us while we sleep. It is their mere presence upon the world that transforms entire spring harvests into useless detritus, their will that causes whole continents to vanish overnight. Stolen novel; please report. The races of Man suffer because of them. It was only through great steadfast determination, as well as the unwavering instinct to survive, that humanity has been able to sustain itself in such a callous environment. Mankind has always been stubborn. We have always refused to give in to hardships. Since the time of our distant ancestors till today, humanity has marched on, despite the dangers that plagued them at each step. All of those who came before us suffered and endured in order to carve out a small portion of this world into something that we, their children, could own. Yet that is not enough, not anymore. Humanity can no longer sustain itself on the meager morsels we have scrounged. Due to our great success, our numbers have grown far too plenty. Each year, more and more healthy, hale children are born while less of our aged elders return to the earth. This victory against our world means less resources for everyone to go around. Our cities have grown overcrowded and our lands are unable to support Mankind''s vast needs. Each day more bellies remain empty and the great, looming specter of famine hangs over all of our kingdoms. In order to save our people, we must have more. We must take more. The world as it currently is refuses to give us what we need. Thus, we must do everything in our power to change the world, to change how reality itself is. We great kings and queens of Mankind must stand up and do what the brave fighters of the First Crusade could not. We must all unite. We must all mobilize. We must all march. Only then can we achieve the one singular dream which has haunted humanity since our various peoples'' birth: a true, final end to the Primordials. And the beginning of the Age of Humanity. ~Excerpt from a speech by King Vardin of Ispara during the Great Parley of Kingdoms, in support of forming the Second Crusade. Chapter 20: Hellzone Chapter 20: Hellzone Two weeks of trudging through the Hellzone had hardened our large group. The survivors no longer huddled together at every sound, no longer flinched when corrupted beasts emerged from the wastes. They''d learned to fight back. I watched Mallie demonstrate proper bow grip to three other children. Her freckled face stayed focused as she adjusted their stances. The weapons we''d taken from Qordos had served us well: crude swords, spears, even a few crossbows. When those weren''t enough, I crafted more using Assembly and materials from my Depository. "Corrupted boar, north ridge!" The warning call came from one of our scouts. My mechanical body pivoted, joints whirring. Through empty eye sockets, I spotted the creature: twice the size of a normal boar, its hide crackling with unnatural energy. Before I could move, five of the former prisoners had already formed a sort of defensive line, weapons ready. They worked together quite roughly, with two with spears frantically keeping the beast at bay while the others attempted to flank it. Despite this, the former slaves'' persistence paid off and the boar died quickly. Pride swelled in my chest as I watched them strip the carcass for useful parts. "We''re getting better at this," Harke said, appearing beside me. "Though I wish we didn''t have to." I sent my thoughts to him through Mind Speech. Hellzone. Gives no choice. Fight or die. At least. They can defend themselves. Better. Each day brought new threats. Packs of those dog-rat hybrids. Swarms of corrupted bats. Even a bear-like creature with too many limbs. But we adapted. The survivors learned to watch each other''s backs, to move as units rather than individuals. My mechanical body needed constant maintenance. The harsh terrain wore down joints, snapped cables. Each night I repaired myself, using Assembly to reshape metal and reinforce weak points. The work kept my mind off darker thoughts, like why these lands felt so familiar, or why the word "Primordial" haunted my broken memories. "No Eyes!" A child''s voice pulled me from my repairs. One of the younger boys, Derek, ran up, holding out a twisted piece of metal. "Found this. Thought you might need it." I accepted his offering through Mind Speech. Thank you. He didn''t run away like before, just nodded and rejoined his friends. The changes were subtle but real. Many survivors still avoided me, but others had begun to accept my presence. They''d seen me fight alongside them, protect them. Monster or not, I was part of their group now. A week ago, we''d faced our largest threat, a horde of those dog-creatures, at least thirty strong. The battle lasted mere minutes but felt like hours. Two of our number died and were five injured, but we prevailed. I helped dig the graves myself, my mechanical arms working tirelessly while others spoke prayers I couldn''t voice. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Now we moved as a hardened unit. Scouts ranging ahead and behind. Fighters protecting our flanks. Even the children had roles, gathering useful materials or helping tend to injuries. We were no longer escaped slaves fleeing through hostile territory. We were survivors. Through my non-existent eyes, I watched two of our members, a married couple from Weath, rest against a fallen tree trunk. The husband sighed, running a hand through his dirt-streaked hair. "Shame we can''t get any experience from all this fighting," he said. "Being a Farmer class is useful back home, but here?" He shook his head. His wife nodded. "At least the children are gaining levels. System''s more generous with them." I shifted my gears, the motion drawing their attention. They didn''t flinch anymore; it was progress. My thoughts drifted to Mallie, who''d just reached level 5 after our last skirmish with a pack of corrupted wolves. The System had presented her with class options, and I''d expected her to choose Hunter. It seemed a natural fit; less combat-focused, more about tracking and survival. But she''d picked Archer instead. Why that choice? I asked her through Mind Speech. Thought you didn''t want. To be warrior. Mallie adjusted the bow I''d made her, her freckled face serious. "I don''t like fighting. Not after..." She glanced at the other children, remembering Tommy. "But these people need protecting. Need to get home safe. An Archer can do that better than a Hunter." Her green eyes met where mine should have been. "I can help more people survive this way. That''s what matters." And War Academy? I asked. Will you still go? She shrugged, checking her bowstring. "Don''t know yet. Got to get everyone home first." The determination in her made me smile, a warm lump forming in my throat.
The attacks grew less frequent as we pressed on. First the larger beasts stopped appearing, then even the corrupted rats became scarce. Soon we found ourselves trudging through an endless expanse of gray dirt and lifeless soil. The featureless plain stretched to the horizon, broken only by our ragged line of travelers. Days passed. The dirt turned to thick mud that clung to boots and slowed our progress. I watched the group''s spirits sink lower with each struggling step. Even Mallie''s usual determination wavered as we slogged through the muck. The sameness of it all wore on everyone. No monsters to fight meant no distractions from the monotony. Conversations died. Songs fell silent. The children stopped playing their makeshift games. I kept my mechanical body moving, though the mud threatened to seize up my joints. Every few hours I had to stop and clear the worst of it from my gears. The survivors passed me without comment, their eyes fixed on the ground. "Look!" A child''s shrill voice pierced the gloom. "Look, look!" I turned my head, weapons ready, but there was no threat. One of the younger boys pointed frantically at something near his feet. A tuft of grass poked through the gray mud. Not the sickly, twisted vegetation of the Hellzone, but real grass. Vibrant green stems swayed in the breeze. Nothing natural grew in the Hellzone. Nothing truly alive could take root in its corrupted soil. The realization hit the group like a wave. We had made it. We had escaped. Cheers erupted around me. People fell to their knees, touching the grass with trembling fingers. Others embraced, tears streaming down their faces. Some simply stood there, overwhelmed by the sight of something so simple as a living plant. Harke dropped his medical bag and sat heavily in the mud, shoulders shaking as he wept. Mallie hugged her bow to her chest, grinning through her tears. We had survived the Lodrik Hellzone. Against all odds, we had made it back to the lands of humanity. Chapter 21: Green Chapter 21: Green The gray mud gave way to more patches of grass with each mile we covered. By the second day, green had overtaken the lifeless dirt entirely. The survivors'' pace quickened as nature flourished around us. This was real nature, not the twisted mockery of the Hellzone. A cool breeze carried the scent of pine and wildflowers. Birds called from somewhere ahead. The group''s excitement built as we crested a hill to find a proper forest spread before us. Living trees stretched toward the sky, their branches swaying with life and vigor. "Trees! Real trees!" Derek ran forward, pressing his palm against rough bark. "Feel how warm it is!" Others followed his lead, touching leaves and flowers with wonder. Some simply stood beneath the canopy, faces tilted up to catch glimpses of blue sky between the branches. "First pretty girl I see, I''m asking for her hand," Tomas, a young lad of eighteen summers declared, puffing out his chest. "Don''t care if she''s noble or common." Several women in our group shot him withering looks. "And what makes you think she''d have you?" Elena called out, earning scattered laughter. "Me, I just want a proper meal," Old Willem said, patting his stomach. "Going straight to the tavern, ordering everything they''ve got. Been dreaming of mutton for weeks." The group''s spirits soared higher as we found a clearing to make camp. Flowers dotted the grass, and a clear stream bubbled nearby. People rushed to refill their water skins with fresh, clean water. Young Pip splashed into the stream with a makeshift fishing line. Within minutes he let out a whoop of triumph, holding up a silvery fish. The others cheered and gathered around to admire his catch. I kept my distance, my mechanical body whirring softly as I watched them celebrate. Their joy was infectious, even if I couldn''t fully share in it. This was their world, full of life and possibility. I remained apart, observing their happiness from the shadows of the trees. The survivors settled into their makeshift camp, their laughter and chatter echoing through the trees. I remained at the edge of the clearing, my mechanical joints creaking as I adjusted my position against a thick oak. Harke approached, bedroll tucked under his arm. He spread it out beneath the tree beside me, smoothing the fabric with practiced motions. "How are you holding up?" He sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag. I shrugged my metal shoulders, the gears clicking softly. What will. You do once we. Reach Weath? "Well..." He smiled, though something sad flickered in his eyes. "F-first I''ll make sure everyone''s settled and safe. Then I need to head to Yorr. That''s where my adventuring team started from. The guild needs to know what h-h-happened to them." My mechanical body went still. The thought of Harke leaving created an unfamiliar ache deep within my core. He''d been the first to see me as more than a monster, to speak to me as a person. The prospect of continuing without his steady presence felt... wrong. He must have noticed my distress. "Don''t worry. I''ll v-visit whenever I can." Promise? I looked away, embarrassed. "Of course." He sighed. "I wish I c-could invite you to come with me, but Yorr''s in the Kingdom of Falling Stones. They''re... not kind to intelligent monsters there. E-even entering the kingdom would put you at risk." I nodded, understanding but still feeling the weight of our inevitable parting. Through my non-existent eyes, I watched the firelight dance across his face, committing to memory the features of my first true friend in this strange world.
The forest enveloped us in its embrace as we followed the stream''s winding path. My mechanical feet crushed fallen leaves and twigs, the sound harsh against the gentle burble of flowing water. The survivors spread out more now, no longer huddled in tight defensive formations like in the Hellzone. Children darted between trees, collecting colorful leaves and interesting rocks. The adults took time to gather berries and edible plants that Harke identified. Even my constant vigilance began to ease as the creatures here were natural, untainted by corruption. Regular wolves and bears kept their distance from our large group. Which way now? I asked one of the Weath villagers through Mind Speech. "Keep following this stream north," Martin said, pointing ahead. "It feeds into the Blue Water River. Once we hit that, it''s about a week''s journey to home." His eyes grew distant, probably thinking of family waiting for him. The mechanical joints in my legs whirred as I navigated around a fallen log. My new body performed well, though I had to make minor adjustments each night. The forest''s dampness caused some gears to stick if I didn''t maintain them properly. Derek appeared at my side, arms full of scrap metal he''d collected. "Found these in an old campsite," he said proudly. "Thought you might need them for repairs." I accepted the offering with one of my four hands, storing the pieces in my Depository. The boy no longer flinched at my movements. It was progress; slow but steady. Thank you, I projected. Smart thinking. He beamed at the praise before running off to rejoin his friends. The other children had started treating my presence as normal, though most adults still kept their distance. I didn''t blame them; my mechanical form and inability to speak normally marked me as fundamentally different from everyone else. Mallie walked nearby, bow ready as always. She''d taken to ranging ahead and behind our group, watching for threats. The responsibility sat well on her young shoulders. She caught my gaze and gave a small wave before disappearing into the underbrush. The stream led us through valleys and around hills, its clear waters growing steadily wider. Fish darted beneath the surface, silver flashes in the dappled sunlight. Birds called from the branches above; real birds, not the twisted creatures we''d left behind. Their songs filled the air with life, so different from the oppressive silence of the Hellzone. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Each day brought us closer to civilization, to the world of humans. While the others grew more excited, I felt an increasing weight in my core. Soon I would have to decide what path to take. The survivors would return to their lives, but where did a monster like me belong in their ordered world? For now, I focused on our journey, keeping watch as we made our way north. The stream gurgled beside us, leading us onward to whatever waited ahead. The stream''s gentle murmur faded into background noise as Mallie burst from the treeline, chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, bow gripped tight. "People coming," she gasped between breaths. "Six of them, armed." The camp erupted in whispers. Parents pulled children close while others grabbed whatever weapons lay nearby. The fear in their eyes spoke volumes, since memories of Qordos were still fresh. I stepped forward, mechanical joints whirring. I''ll go. Meet them. Find what. They want. "N-no!" Harke grabbed my arm, his fingers trembling slightly. "Th-they''ll attack the moment they see you. Let me handle this." They could be. Dangerous. I flexed my four arms, each capable of wielding a different weapon. "Which is exactly why we need to approach c-carefully." Harke''s voice stayed firm. "Your presence might provoke violence. We should send a h-h-human group first." My mechanical fingers clenched. He was right, of course. In this world, my monstrous form would only inspire fear and hatred. I nodded slowly. Martin, Willem, and Tomas, all from Weath, volunteered to accompany us. We moved through the forest, leaving the main group behind. Harke led our small party, his healer''s robes marking him as non-threatening. I stayed at the rear, far enough away as to not scare the strange group, yet close enough to interfere if they proved hostile. The strangers appeared ahead, walking with the confidence of experienced travelers. Their weapons and armor showed signs of regular use, scratched but well-maintained. Two women in leather armor flanked the group, while four men in varying degrees of plate mail formed the core. Adventurers, I projected to Harke. "Yes," he whispered. "The equipment quality, their f-formation; definitely guild-trained." We met them in a small clearing. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, glinting off polished steel. The adventurers tensed at our approach, hands moving to weapons but not drawing them. I watched the plate-armored man swagger forward, my mechanical fingers flexing with nervous energy. The forest''s peaceful atmosphere shattered as he commanded us to halt, his hand resting on an ornate longsword pommel. I saw Harke''s anxiety spike as he stepped forward. "G-greetings, fellow t-t-t-travelers. I am H-H-Harke, a healer f-from-" "Gods above," the man interrupted with an exaggerated sigh. "Is there someone else who can speak? I''d rather not waste daylight listening to this stammering." His companions'' laughter echoed through the clearing. My four arms twitched, wanting to reach for my weapons. The Weath villagers'' faces darkened at the mockery of their friend, but they held their tongues. Rage burned in my core at their treatment of Harke. A sound emerged from my mechanical form, meant to be a threatening growl, but my cursed voice transformed it into an eerie, flute-like whistle that echoed unnaturally through the trees. The female archer immediately nocked an arrow, her eyes narrowing. "Tell your beast to behave," she spat at Harke, "or I''ll put this through whatever passes for its heart." My Assembly-crafted joints creaked as I shifted position. The woman had no idea how ineffective her arrow would be against my invulnerable flesh, but her threat against Harke made my mechanical fingers curl into fists. I remained motionless as Old Willem stepped between Harke and the adventurers, his weathered hands raised in a peaceful gesture. "We''re simple folk from Weath," he said, voice steady and clear. "Been held at Qordos these past months. Just want to get home to our families." "Qordos?" The leader barked out a laugh. "That slaver fortress in the Hellzone? You expect us to believe simple farmers broke out of there?" "Believe what you will," Willem replied. "But we did escape. Nearly ninety of us made it out." While they argued, I activated Analyze on each adventurer in turn. A blue message flashed across my vision: Congratulations! Analyze has reached Rank D! Use of ability allows you to see target''s name and level. The leader''s status appeared first:
Name: Marcurius of Vale Level 9 Swordsman.
I sneered. His companions were even less impressive: two Level 7 Spearmen, a Level 6 Rogue, and the women were both Level 5 Rangers. Such weak creatures, acting so superior. In my mechanical body, I could tear through them like paper. The thought of their shocked faces as my four arms drew weapons brought a certain satisfaction to me. But I forced myself to quickly abandon such imaginings. We weren''t in the lawless Hellzone anymore. Here, in human lands, violence would only bring more problems. I watched Harke gather himself, no longer cowed by their mockery. The villagers stood firm beside him, their faces set with quiet dignity. They had survived Qordos, fought monsters in the Hellzone. These preening adventurers with their shiny armor couldn''t truly threaten them anymore. So I held my position, letting my allies handle the situation their way. Sometimes the hardest battle was choosing not to fight at all. I remained still as Harke stepped forward again, his stutter less pronounced now. "What Willem says is t-true. I am Harke, a Level 13 Healer from the Adventurer''s Guild in Yorr." My helmeted head tilted slightly. Level 13? I hadn''t realized Harke was that powerful. It explained his skill with healing magic, though his nervous demeanor had masked his true capabilities. "Six months ago, my party ventured into the Hellzone," Harke continued. "The slavers ambushed us near the western peaks. They k-killed two of my companions and captured the rest of us." The change in the adventurers was immediate. Their arrogant postures softened, replaced by professional interest. It seemed that their opinion of Harke had drastically changed upon learning that he was one of them. Even Marcurius''s sneer faded and he introduced his group, though I had already learned their names through Analyze. "We''re headed to the Hellzone ourselves," Marcurius said. "Heard there''s good experience and treasure to be had there." He glanced at me, then back to Harke. "Still, if what you say is true, to have so many of you escape those vile fiends is amazing. How did you manage to do it?" "That would be th-thanks to our friend here." Harke gestured toward me. The female archer who had threatened me earlier tightened her grip on her bow. "What level is... it?" "Level 17," Harke lied smoothly. I kept my mechanical body motionless as the woman''s face went pale. Her fingers trembled slightly on her bowstring. The rest of the party shifted uncomfortably, no doubt reconsidering their earlier bravado. If only they knew I was merely Level 9. Still, Harke''s deception served its purpose: their wariness would keep them from doing anything foolish. I stood silent as Harke and the adventurers traded information, my mechanical body still and imposing. One of the Spearmen gave news about Weath, which the group had passed through on their way here. This brought visible relief to Martin and Willem''s faces. Their families were safe, their homes intact. "The village is rebuilding," the Spearman said. "Lost some good folk to those slavers, but they''re a hardy bunch." Harke nodded, then shared details about the Hellzone. "Qordos is destroyed, so you don''t have to w-worry about getting ambushed. We b-burned it to ash after killing every slaver there." The adventurers'' eyes darted to my four-armed form. Marcurius swallowed hard, no trace of his earlier swagger remaining. Even the archer who''d threatened me earlier couldn''t meet my eyeless gaze. They made their farewells quick, each giving me a wide berth as they passed. I tracked their movements until they disappeared into the forest, heading toward the wasteland we''d escaped. Why tell them. I was Level 17? I asked Harke through Mind Speech. He shrugged, tension leaving his shoulders. "It made things m-much simpler. They were less likely to start trouble thinking you were that powerful." Deception through truth, I mused. Best kind of. Lie. Harke nodded in agreement. Are all adventurers. Like them? I asked him. "W-well, no," he said with a frown. "I''m n-not like that. Neither were any of my group. There are s-some bad eggs in every clutch, you know." We walked back to rejoin our group, the forest peaceful once more. Martin and Willem discussed the news of their village while Tomas kept watch ahead. The encounter had ended without violence, a welcome change from our time in the Hellzone. I noticed Harke watching me. Something wrong? "Just glad you stayed back," he said quietly. "It would have gone very differently if you''d approached them directly." I flexed my mechanical fingers. Yes. It would have. Chapter 22: Weath Chapter 22: Weath The Blue Water River''s mouth stretched before us, its waters catching the last rays of sunlight. Our group moved with practiced efficiency now, setting up camp and posting watches. The children no longer needed help pitching tents. I stood sentinel through the night, my mechanical body requiring no rest. The rushing water''s sound reminded me of something, but like all my memories, it slipped away before I could grasp it. Dawn broke crisp and clear. We broke camp quickly, everyone eager for this final stretch. The dense forest gave way to sweeping grasslands, dotted with wildflowers that made Derek sneeze. A well-worn dirt road cut through the pastoral landscape, wide enough for our entire group to walk together. Other travelers passed us regularly now. Merchant wagons loaded with goods. Adventuring parties in their gleaming armor. Farm carts piled with produce. Most gave me a wide berth, but their fear was tempered by curiosity about our unusual group. "Refugees from the Hellzone," Harke would explain when asked, his stutter barely noticeable now. "Heading to Weath." "Weath?" A merchant raised his eyebrows. "That tiny backwater? Why there?" "It''s home," Mallie would say simply, and something in her tone discouraged further questions. The days blurred together as we walked. Nine sunrises, nine sunsets. The children''s excitement grew with each milestone passed. Even the adults walked with lighter steps, recognizing landmarks from their captures months ago. Through Mind Speech, I asked Harke, What will you do. When we reach. Weath? "Head to Yorr," he replied quietly. "The Guild needs to know what happened to my party." I nodded my mechanical head. We''d discussed this before. I couldn''t follow; the Kingdom of Falling Stones had strict policies about intelligent monsters. But watching these people I''d freed walking toward their home, I felt... something. Not quite satisfaction. Not quite pride. But something. Pip''s shout broke through my thoughts. "Look! Look there!" On the horizon, barely visible in the morning light, stood the first buildings of Weath village.
I kept to the back of our group as we approached Weath, my mechanical form casting long shadows in the morning light. The first farmers we passed dropped their tools, mouths agape at the sight of nearly a hundred ragged travelers led by a four-armed machine. Through my mental eyes, I watched men emerge from their homes clutching pitchforks and scythes. Their suspicious glares followed our progress down the main road, muscles tensed for conflict. I adjusted my grip on my weapons, ready to defend our group if needed. A piercing wail cut through the tense atmosphere. An elderly woman burst from her home, her gray hair flying wild as she ran toward us. "Tomas! My boy! My Tomas!" The young man who''d spent nights by our campfire bragging about future conquests broke into tears. "Mother!" He sprinted to meet her, collapsing into her embrace. That single reunion broke the dam. More villagers poured from their homes, weapons forgotten as they recognized familiar faces among our group. Names rang out across the street, followed by cries of joy and disbelief. "Little Pip!" "By the gods, Sarah, we thought you dead!" "Willem? Old Willem lives!" But the most heart-wrenching moments came as parents found their lost children. Mallie''s father, a broad-shouldered man with her same freckles, fell to his knees when she ran to him. Derek''s older sister covered his face with kisses while their mother hugged them both. Even tough-faced Pip dissolved into sobs in his grandfather''s arms. Through Mind Speech, I shared with Harke, Their joy. It feels. Right. He nodded, watching the reunions unfold. "This is what we f-fought for at Qordos." The suspicious glares had transformed into wondering looks as the villagers realized we''d brought their loved ones home. Though they still gave me a wide berth, there was less fear in their eyes now. Just curiosity about the strange mechanical being that had helped return their family members. I remained at the edge of the celebrations, my metal feet planted firmly in the dirt road. This moment wasn''t for me. It belonged to the humans who''d survived, fought, and finally made it home. Sadly, this homecoming was not all joy and celebration. I watched as more villagers approached our group, their hopeful expressions turning to grief as they learned the fates of their loved ones. Each death we reported carved new wounds into my heart. These weren''t just names on Harke''s list anymore; they were sons, daughters, parents, friends. Tommy''s parents approached Mallie, their faces already etched with the knowledge that came from months of uncertainty. Mallie''s small hands twisted in her shirt as she spoke, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. "He saved us," she whispered. "When the fighting started, he helped the younger ones escape. He was so brave." The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. His mother collapsed against his father''s chest, their shared grief a tangible thing. I remembered hearing about Tommy''s final moments from Mallie, of how the poor boy fought bravely, but his courage was sadly not enough. More villagers pressed in around us, their voices rising in a cacophony of questions and exclamations. Some sought news of missing family members. Others simply stared at my mechanical form, whispering behind raised hands. "Everyone! Clear the road!" A strong voice cut through the chaos. An elderly man in fine clothes, though not as fine as the fragments of memory that sometimes surfaced in my mind, strode toward us. Despite his age, he carried himself with authority. "This is no place for such matters," he declared, looking over the crowd. "I am Antos, mayor of Weath. We should move this gathering-" "To the town hall!" someone called out. "The town hall won''t fit half these people," another voice protested. Antos waved away the concern. "Then we''ll gather in the street outside. It''s a better spot than this dusty road, and we can at least pretend to have some proper order to things." I admired his practical approach to maintaining dignity in an impossible situation. Even as he spoke, he was already herding people in the right direction, his calm presence bringing structure to our chaotic homecoming. The mayor''s weathered face turned toward me, his lips pressing into a thin line. Though his expression remained controlled, I caught the slight widening of his eyes, the instinctive step backward. "What in Altanava''s glorious, holy tits is this thing?" His voice carried authority despite the vulgar wording. Harke moved forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "This is N-no Eyes, Mayor. I assure you, it''s perfectly safe! Without it, none of us would have escaped Qordos. It led the escape, helped arm the p-p-prisoners, fought-" "And who the hell are you, exactly?" Antos cut in, shifting his attention. "H-harke of Vensor, a healer. I was c-captured by the slavers months ago, forced to tend their prisoners." His stutter grew more pronounced under the mayor''s scrutiny. "We-" Antos raised his hand, silencing Harke mid-explanation. "Save the details. We''ll hear everything once we''re properly settled at the town hall." He turned back to me, studying my mechanical form with clear unease. "This... No Eyes. You sure it''ll behave?" "Y-yes, sir," Harke straightened his spine. "No Eyes is not dangerous." A pause, then he added with surprising firmness, "At least, not to regular, honest folk." I remained still throughout this exchange, my four arms held carefully neutral. Through Mind Speech, I assured Harke, I will be. Good. The slight nod he gave showed he''d received my message. These people had suffered enough without a monster causing panic in their streets. The combined mass of displaced survivors and local townspeople wound their way along the narrow lanes toward the central meeting house. I stood at the edge of the gathering, watching over the crowd assembled before Weath''s town hall. The building seemed modest compared to the grand structures that sometimes flickered through my fragmented memories, yet it held a simple dignity that suited this farming community. I monitored the conversations around me, particularly focusing on Harke as he addressed Mayor Antos. My healer friend''s stutter grew more pronounced under the pressure of so many eyes. "The s-slavers attacked my party in the night," Harke explained, wringing his hands as he relived his capture. "They k-killed most of my friends. Took me and the wounded. They w-w-were sold. I wasn''t." "Three months ago, my caravan was attacked, right on the road in the middle of the day!" A merchant added, his eyes leaking tears. "My w-wife was killed. They took me and me daughter. She was sold off immediately. Gods, please let her be safe!" Others joined in, their voices overlapping as they shared their experiences. I watched Mayor Antos absorb each detail, his weathered face growing grimmer with each new revelation. "Get these people food and water," he commanded a group of villagers. "And someone fetch Marta, she''ll know which houses can take in extras for now." He turned to a young boy. "Run to the outer farms. Tell them their people have returned." The mayor''s efficiency impressed me. Despite the chaos of nearly a hundred refugees suddenly appearing, he maintained control, delegating tasks with the precision of a well-oiled machine. I observed as villagers brought out bread, cheese, and water skins. The refugees, despite their hunger, shared everything equally, a habit formed during our long journey. Even now, they looked to Harke and me before eating, though I gave no signal. These weren''t prisoners anymore, but the patterns of survival died hard. "And the escape?" Antos pressed Harke. "How did you manage it?" "It was No Eyes," Mallie piped up from beside her father. "She made weapons for everyone!" "We lost good people," another survivor added. "But we made the slavers pay." I shifted uncomfortably as more stories emerged about my role in the uprising. The mechanical joints of my four arms creaked slightly as I adjusted my stance. The villagers nearest to me startled at the sound, creating a small clear space around my position. Harke continued his account, other voices chiming in to fill gaps or confirm details. The full story of Qordos emerged: the cruelty, the resistance, the final bloody battle for freedom. Through it all, Mayor Antos listened intently, his sharp eyes occasionally darting to my mechanical form as survivors described my part in their liberation. I remained silent throughout, knowing my shriek-cursed voice would only cause panic. Instead, I watched this community work together to absorb its lost members, impressed by their efficiency and care. It was a stark contrast to the brutal world we''d left behind in the Hellzone. Through my mental eyes, I watched Mayor Antos turn to face me directly. His gaze lingered on my mechanical form before shifting to Harke. "Can this... thing talk?" Before Harke could answer, I projected my thoughts toward the mayor. I can communicate. Through mind. Antos jumped, his hand clutching his chest. "Ayen''s succulent elven ass! What the hell?!" "What? What happened?" Several villagers pressed closer, their faces a mix of concern and curiosity. "I heard..." Antos steadied himself. "A voice. In my head. Like a whisper." Frightened murmurs rippled through the crowd. An elderly man in beige robes pushed forward, his staff tapping against the packed earth. "Evil spirits," The old man spat, making the sign of the Holy Twelve. "This... thing brings dark magic into our village!" "No, no!" Harke stepped between the man and me. "It''s not evil spirits. No Eyes uses Mind Speech, a system ability. It''s perfectly natural." Antos raised his hand for silence. "So you can speak to me?" He addressed me directly. "Through¡­ thoughts?" Yes. "Huh." He rubbed his chin. "Where did you come from? What are you exactly?" I answered his questions, watching his reactions as my mental voice touched his mind. Other villagers kept interrupting, asking what I was saying, which clearly irritated the mayor. "Can you speak to more than one person?" Antos asked. "It would be easier than having me repeat everything." I hesitated. Unsure. Never tried. "Sometimes I can hear what No Eyes tells Harke," Mallie piped up. "But only when I''m really paying attention." I focused on my Mind Speech ability, imagining my mental voice expanding outward like ripples in a pond. I pushed more power into it, trying to project to everyone gathered. Greetings. My mental voice thundered through their minds, causing the entire crowd to flinch. Several people clutched their heads. I quickly reduced the power. Apologies. Still. Learning. A collective gasp rose from the villagers as my whispered thoughts reached them all. A blue status window appeared before my eyes:
Congratulations! Mind Speech has reached Rank D! You may now communicate to more than one person!
"Well," Antos said, rubbing his temples. "That''s certainly something." Chapter 23: Gods Chapter 23: Gods I stood at the edge of the village, watching farmers lead their new temporary workers toward the fields. The mechanical joints of my four arms clicked as I shifted, the morning sun glinting off my armored frame. Two days of peace had settled the initial fear of my presence, though children still ran when I approached. Footsteps crunched behind me. I turned to see Moskin and Katherin, Mallie''s parents, approaching with Harke. "No Eyes." Moskin''s weather-worn face creased into a smile. "We wanted to thank you proper for bringing our girl home." Your daughter. Is brave. I projected the thought carefully, having learned to modulate the mental voice''s strength. She helped save. Many lives. Katherin''s fingers tightened around her husband''s arm. "Did she now? And who put her in danger in the first place? Having children fight?" "Dear-" Moskin started. "No." Katherin''s blue eyes fixed on my mechanical form. "I won''t pretend this... thing... is some kind of hero. Our daughter came back changed. Different." She chose to fight. I kept my mental tone neutral. To protect others. "She''s twelve!" Katherin snapped. Harke stepped forward, his nervous stutter more pronounced. "M-madame, without Mallie''s help, many more would have d-died. Including me." "And now she doesn''t want to attend the War Academy." Katherin''s voice cracked. "Her dream, gone." Dreams change. I shifted my weight, joints creaking. She learned. True cost of combat. That knowledge has value. Moskin nodded slowly. "Aye. Better to learn it now than at the Academy." He extended his hand toward me. "Thank you. For everything." I carefully gripped his hand with one of my mechanical ones, noting how Katherin flinched at the contact. Mayor Antos approached, breaking the tension. "Harke! Good news. Found spots for the last three families with the Hendersons. Their barn''s been empty since the winter flood." "E-excellent." Harke pulled out his worn notebook. "That leaves just the four from Stone Creek. Their message hawks should arrive home t-today." "Good, good." Antos scratched his beard. "Can''t feed everyone forever, but we''ll manage till their folk come collect them." I watched Mallie''s parents leave, Katherin never looking back while Moskin offered a final wave. The mayor''s efficiency at placing refugees impressed me, though I understood the urgency. Weath''s food stores wouldn''t last long with so many extra mouths. Harke flipped through his notebook. "Most should be gone within two weeks. The ones from Further Vale might take longer, given the distance." You leave tomorrow? I asked. "Yes. The Guild needs to know what happened to my party." He glanced at me. "Will you..." I will stay. Until the last refugee. Leaves. I turned my head toward the distant mountains. Then we''ll see. Harke tucked his notebook away and met my gaze. "I''ll come back, once I''ve settled things in Yorr. The Guild needs to know about my f-friends. And their families need to be informed as w-w-well." How long? "Five months there, maybe the same back." He kicked at a loose stone. "Could be a y-year before I return." Something cold settled in my chest. Harke had been the first to truly see me as more than a monster, the first to help me communicate. My first... friend? The word felt both foreign and familiar. I understand. I kept my mental voice steady. The dead deserve justice. "Speaking of returns," Mayor Antos cut in, scratching his chin, "we ought to figure what to call you proper-like. Bit awkward saying ''it'' all the time." My name is No Eyes. "No, no. I mean are you a he or a she? Been wondering since you arrived. The whole village''s got a betting pool going." Harke cleared his throat. "The matter isn''t quite that simple. No Eyes''s memories are... fragmented. Even basic things about the past are unclear." Mallie insists I''m female, I offered. Antos barked out a laugh. "Well, can''t rightly call you a woman unless you build yourself something sexier than that contraption. Maybe add some curves to your chest and hips!" My mechanical body went still. Harke''s face flushed red. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Antos''s words hung in the air. I do not... I cannot... For once, Mind Speech failed me. "Ha ha, didn''t know your face could turn red!" Antos laughed, enjoying our aghast expressions.
I walked through Weath''s dirt streets, taking in the simple wooden buildings with their sturdy stone foundations. Thatched roofs crowned most structures, though the tavern and general store boasted proper shingles. Everything spoke of frontier practicality, built to last against harsh winters and monster attacks. Villagers gave me a wide berth. Some hurried inside at my approach, while others watched with narrowed eyes. A woman pulled her child close as I passed, though the little boy waved at me before being hustled away. The creak of wooden chairs drew my attention to the pub''s front porch. Several old men sat enjoying tankards in the morning sun. Most fell silent at my approach, but Old Willem''s weathered face split into a grin. "No Eyes! Come join us for a spell." He patted the railing beside him. I cannot drink, I projected carefully. "Bah, company''s more important than ale." Willem''s easy manner seemed to relax his companions. "Though don''t tell my wife I said that." Chuckles rippled through the group. I settled my mechanical frame against the railing, joints whirring softly. Tell me about Weath, I prompted. I''ve seen many. Farms. "Aye, we''re farmers first," said a thin man with a scraggly beard. "But the real coin comes from adventurers heading into the Hellzone." "Troublemakers, the lot of them," grumbled another. "Always starting brawls, breaking furniture." "Now Tam," the elder across from him countered, "you''re forgetting that one young man from Delain." The old man turned to me and started explaining. "There was a Level 17 Swordsman here in the village when them slavers attacked; drove off most of those Qordos bastards all by himself!" "One good apple don''t make up for a barrel of rotten ones." "Better to have them than not," argued a white-haired elder. "Criminals think twice about attacking when adventurers are about." The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The slavers attacked often? I asked. Willem nodded grimly. "Every few years. Usually in spring when the passes clear. Take whoever they can grab, mostly young folk." He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Can''t for the life o'' me think why those bastards bothered nabbing me! I''m one foot in the grave already!" His friends laughed. "That''s why we need the adventurers," the white-haired man insisted. "If that young man hadn''t been here, we''d have lost twice as many in that last raid." I bid Willem and his companions farewell, their laughter fading behind me as I walked down the packed-earth road. My mechanical legs whirred with each step, the sound stark against the natural bustle of village life. The general store sat squat and solid on the corner, its weathered sign creaking in the breeze. Through the windows, I glimpsed shelves stocked with dried goods and basic supplies. A young woman arranging items at the counter caught sight of me and froze. I moved on. Smoke billowed from the blacksmith''s chimney, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal echoing across the street. The scent of coal and hot iron triggered something in my fractured memory, the ghost of recognition, gone before I could grasp it. The smith''s apprentice hauled water from the well, muscles straining. He nearly dropped the bucket when he saw me. The bakery Mallie spoke of was perched in between two larger buildings, its blue-painted door standing out against white-washed walls. The aroma of fresh bread wafted through the morning air. A bell chimed as customers entered and left, their arms full of wrapped loaves. None approached while I lingered nearby. I kept my distance from the buildings, content to observe from the edges. My mechanical form cast long shadows in the strengthening sunlight. Children playing with wooden swords stopped their game to stare as I passed, though one small girl waved shyly before her mother pulled her away. The village sprawled in organic clusters, structures built where needed rather than planned. Gardens sprouted between houses, late summer vegetables ripening on the vine. Chickens scratched in the dirt, unbothered by my presence. A cat sunning itself on a fence post watched me with half-closed eyes, neither afraid nor interested. This was the peace Mallie had described; simple folk living simple lives. Even with the threat of monsters and raiders lurking beyond the fields, Weath held onto its quiet dignity. I understood why she missed it during her captivity. I found a fallen log at the edge of the village green and settled my frame upon it. The morning sun warmed my mechanical parts, glinting off polished metal. From here I could watch village life unfold without disturbing anyone''s routine. A stone building caught my eye, its gray walls standing apart from Weath''s wooden structures. Unlike the practical construction of homes and shops, this building bore intricate carvings along its circular walls. My mechanical legs carried me closer without conscious thought. The open doorway revealed no guards, just cool shadows within. I ducked my head to enter, my average-sized frame barely fitting through the unusually low entrance. My original body probably could not have entered at all. Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating a circular chamber. Twelve alcoves lined the walls, each holding a quarter life-sized statue. The figures were carved in wood with remarkable skill, their faces holding such detail they seemed almost alive. I approached the first alcove. The statue depicted a warrior in elaborate armor, his face stern and commanding. Below, a bronze plaque read: "Kaldos, God of War and Change." Moving clockwise, I read each name. "Mirrin, God of Peace and Stability" showed a serene figure with open, welcoming hands. "Altanava, Goddess of Day and the Sun" stood proud, rays of light emanating from her crown. "Ludeneril, God of Night and the Moon" was cloaked in flowing robes decorated with crescent moon shapes. "Ayen, Goddess of Magic and Trickery" held a staff wrapped with serpents. Next came "Vardin, God of Science and Knowledge." Something about this statue made me pause. The figure wore the clothing of a senior scholar, his expression both wise and determined. I continued my circuit. "Clethu, God of Birth and Life" cradled an infant. "Naori, Goddess of Death and Decay" bore a solemn, hooded visage. "Jothas, God of the Earth and Its Bounty" stood surrounded by carved wheat and fruit. "Prostas, God of the Sky and the Stars" gazed upward, his robes swirling with celestial patterns. "Kanis Rael, Goddess of Law and the Past" held scales and scrolls. Finally, "Binar, God of Chaos and the Future" completed the circle, his features ever-shifting depending on how the light struck the wood. The creak of hinges broke my contemplation of the wooden statues. An old man in a beige robe entered, leaning on a gnarled staff. His thin lips pressed into a frown at the sight of me. I recognized him as the old man who had cursed me as an evil spirit during the meeting in front of town hall. "How peculiar," he said, his voice dry as autumn leaves. "A monster showing such interest in humanity''s gods." Gods? The term was unfamiliar to me. I had heard people say the word before, mostly as a curse when something bad happened. Chanos had also compared himself to one, as though that comparison held special significance. What is a god? The old man recoiled as if struck. "What blasphemy is this? How can you not know of the Holy Twelve?" His knuckles whitened on his staff. "Though I suppose I shouldn''t expect better from a monster." I mean no offense. I kept my mechanical form still, trying to appear non-threatening. Simply wish to. Learn. He snorted. "Well, at least you''re attempting to educate yourself rather than wallowing in ignorance like the rest of your kind usually does." He tapped his staff against the stone floor. "I am Ludwig, keeper of this temple. The Holy Twelve are the creators and protectors of our world. Through their divine power, they shield humanity from evil." What evil? "Monsters, of course." Ludwig''s gray eyes fixed on me with undisguised contempt. "Beings like yourself, who exist only to destroy and corrupt. The gods are all that stand between humanity and chaos." The term ''monsters'' triggered something in my broken memory, a flash of ancient knowledge, gone before I could grasp it. I turned back to the statues, studying their carved faces with new understanding. Yet these figures look human, I observed. "Of course they do! The gods took human form to better guide and protect us." Ludwig''s voice carried the practiced cadence of someone who had given this lesson many times. "They created the System itself to help humanity grow stronger, to defend against the monster threat." The Hellzones, I projected, remembering the desolate wasteland where I first awoke. The endless gray mud, the corrupted beasts, the floating stones crackling with deadly energy. Ludwig nodded, his wrinkled face severe. "Places untouched by divine grace. Without the gods'' protection, nature runs wild and corrupt. The very air turns poison, the ground bleeds acid, storms of fire rage across blackened skies." He gestured toward the temple entrance. "Look outside at our peaceful fields, our bountiful crops. This is what the gods'' blessing bring. But venture just a few leagues south..." He shook his head. Where I was found. "Yes, where your kind thrives." His lip curled. "In those godless places, monsters multiply like maggots in rotting flesh. The corrupted beasts grow larger, more vicious. Even the plants turn deadly." He tapped his staff against the floor for emphasis. "Without the Holy Twelve''s power holding back the chaos, the entire world would be one vast Hellzone. We''d all be dead, or worse, transformed into abominations like-" He caught himself, but his meaningful glance at my mechanical form made his meaning clear. The memory of clawing my way up through endless soil flashed through my mind. Had I truly been born from that corrupted earth? Was that why the System labeled me ''Dirtborn''? "The gods shield us from such horrors," Ludwig continued. "Their divine power maintains order, keeps the natural world functioning as it should. Prevents the spread of corruption." He gestured at the carved figures. "Through their wisdom and mercy, they created safe havens for humanity to flourish." Yet people still enter Hellzones, I noted. "Greed and foolishness." Ludwig spat the words. "Those who venture into cursed lands seeking riches deserve whatever fate befalls them. The gods provide everything we truly need right here in their protected domains." My eyeless face turned to observe the carefully crafted figures of humanity''s gods. Was what Ludwig said true? Did these¡­ gods create the world and protect it from harm? Something about that claim felt wrong to me. From my fractured memories, I was certain that the world wasn''t created by intelligent hands. My shattered recollections suggested it emerged from turmoil, spawned by stellar flames and a collision of cosmic energies. This world was order birthed from chaos. All held together by the primal will of the Primordials. My thoughts whirled to a stop. There was that word again. Primodials. What did it mean? And why was I so certain that they existed even though no one I spoke with knew what the word even meant? "Those who deal with monsters," Ludwig said suddenly, "risk more than just their lives. They risk their very souls." I frowned, suddenly feeling a cold pit form in my chest. I have memories. Of being human, I confessed to him. Ludwig''s weathered face grew somber. "There are those among my order who believe intelligent monsters like yourself were once human." He leaned on his staff, studying me with those hard gray eyes. "They say such creatures are humans who committed grave sins against the gods. Their crimes were so heinous that they received the ultimate divine punishment: the loss of their very humanity." My mechanical frame went still. Is... is that. What happened. To me? The old priest''s expression softened slightly. "I cannot say for certain. Though in truth, I do not put much stock in that theory." He shook his head. "I believe the gods to be just, but not cruel. To strip away someone''s humanity... that seems too harsh a punishment, even for the gravest of sins." His lips pressed into a thin line. "More likely, these memories you claim to have are simply delusions. The pathetic yearnings of a creature ashamed of what it truly is." I wanted to argue, to deny his words. But they cut deep, deeper than any weapon could pierce my invulnerable flesh. Because there was truth in what he said. I was ashamed. Ashamed of being labeled a monster by the System. Ashamed of the terror I saw in people''s eyes when they looked at me. Ashamed of the inhuman shrieks that emerged when I tried to speak. How desperately I wanted to believe I was once human, a sapien with a name, a past, a purpose. But what if the priest was right? What if these fractured memories were nothing but self-deluding fantasies? Or worse... what if they were real? What unspeakable crime could I have committed to deserve such a fate? What horror had I unleashed that warranted the gods themselves striking away my humanity? Thank you. F-for your time, I projected to Ludwig, my mental voice wavering slightly. I turned and ducked through the temple doorway, my mechanical legs trembling with each step. The morning sun felt colder now, its light offering no comfort as I retreated from the house of gods. Chapter 24: Monster Chapter 24: Monster The morning dew clung to my mechanical legs as I stood with the gathered villagers and refugees. Harke adjusted the straps of his pack one final time, his hands trembling slightly. The sight made my chest ache with an emotion I couldn''t quite name. All around us, people wiped at their eyes. Even the usually stoic Old Willem dabbed at his face with a sleeve. Harke had been their rock during those dark days in Qordos, his healing magic and quiet strength keeping hope alive. Mallie broke from her parents'' side and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Harke''s waist. "I''ll miss you," she sobbed into his robes. I watched, wishing I could express my own feelings so freely. But my monstrous form and cursed voice made such tearful displays impossible. Instead, I extended my flesh hand forwards when Harke approached. He gripped it firmly. "Thank you," he stammered, voice thick with emotion. "F-for everything. I wouldn''t be here without-" His words dissolved into unintelligible sounds as tears welled up. "I p-promise I''ll return as soon as I can!" The display made my own chest feel uncomfortably warm. I gave his hand an awkward pat with another of my arms. Safe travels. Harke shouldered his pack and turned west, following the road we''d traveled together. He was bound for larger settlements where he could hire transport to Remembrance, which was this kingdom''s capital. From there, a ship would carry him across the sea to the Kingdom of Fallen Stones. A short carriage ride would take him to Yorr where he could report his fallen companions'' fate to his guild. I remained rooted in place as his figure grew smaller, my mental vision tracking his progress long after the other villagers had dispersed. Only when Harke finally vanished over the horizon did I lower the mechanical arm I''d raised in farewell. My first true friend since awakening in that cursed earth was gone. The thought settled like lead in what remained of my chest. But I knew this wasn''t truly goodbye; he''d promised to return. And something told me Harke always kept his promises.
The days crawled past without Harke''s presence. My mechanical feet traced the same paths through Weath''s dirt roads, watching farmers tend their crops and merchants hawk their wares. The peaceful routine felt strange after weeks of constant vigilance in the Hellzone. I approached the wheat fields one morning, hoping to assist with the harvest. My four arms could surely speed up the work. "We''ve got it handled," Farmer Tull said, backing away from my form. "Don''t need no help here." The other workers kept their distance, tools gripped tight. I turned away, my gears clicking in resignation. It had been a cold reminder that while I may be tolerated here in this human village, I was not fully trusted. At least the refugees still welcomed me. Old Willem would wave as I passed the tavern, and Derek often brought me interesting bits of metal he''d found. But their numbers dwindled daily as messages arrived from distant families or they simply decided to chance the journey home. "My sister''s sending a wagon from Millbrook," Pip told me yesterday, practically bouncing with excitement. "Says she''s been searching for me since the slavers took me." He lived with his sister in a neighboring village and had only come to Weath to visit relatives. That was when the slavers attacked and captured him. I was happy for him, truly. Each departure meant another life restored, another family reunited. Yet watching them leave, one by one, reopened the hollow space in my memories where my own past should have been. Young Tommy''s parents left this morning, clutching their son''s wooden pendant. It was all they had left of him. The couple chose to move to a larger settlement nearer the kingdom''s center. With Tommy''s younger siblings to consider, they couldn''t justify keeping their family in a frontier village like Weath, believing the risks were too great for their remaining children. Mallie stood beside me as we watched their wagon disappear down the road. They can mourn him properly. Now. I said through Mind Speech. Mallie nodded, wiping her eyes. "I still see him sometimes, you know? In my dreams. He''s always smiling, like he used to." I placed one mechanical hand gently on her shoulder, careful not to squeeze too hard. The gesture felt inadequate, but it was all I could offer. The village settled into its routines around us; women washing clothes by the stream, children chasing each other through alleyways, men returning from the fields with tools slung over their shoulders. Such simple moments of life, yet they felt alien to me. Like watching actors in a play I couldn''t quite understand. I found myself missing the constant threat of the Hellzone. At least there, my purpose had been clear: protect, fight, survive. Here in this peaceful hamlet, what role could a monster like me possibly serve?
The news hit the village like a thunderclap. Farmer Sholz, his wife, and their two children had been found butchered in their beds. The neighbor who discovered them had emptied his stomach in the yard before running to alert the mayor. I stood at the edge of the gathering crowd as Antos addressed the villagers. His usual jovial demeanor had vanished, replaced by grim determination. "Keep your doors barred at night. No one travels alone, especially after dark." His eyes swept across the frightened faces. "Until we know what happened-" A voice cut through the murmurs. "We know what happened." Farmer Tull pointed at me. "That thing''s been watching us, waiting." The accusation struck like a physical blow. I wanted to protest, to explain how wrong they were. But my cursed voice would only cause pain. "It killed all those slavers, didn''t it?" Someone else called out. "Tore them apart!" "My cousin saw it rip out Chanos''s throat with its teeth!" The crowd''s fear found a target in me. Suspicious glances transformed into open hostility. I saw hands tightening on pitchforks and scythes. "No!" Mallie pushed through the crowd. "No Eyes saved us! She wouldn''t hurt innocent people!" Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. "It''s a monster, girl." Tull''s voice dripped with venom. "That''s what monsters do." Derek and Old Willem joined Mallie''s defense, along with a few other refugees. But they were drops of reason in a sea of fear. I looked down at my mechanical hands, built for protection, now viewed as instruments of slaughter. They weren''t wrong about Qordos. I had killed without mercy, had felt satisfaction watching the slavers die. Perhaps that was my true nature, merely dormant until now. I did not harm. The Sholz family, I projected to the crowd, causing several to flinch at the mental contact. But I understand. Your fear. "See? It''s in our heads now!" A woman clutched her child closer. "Reading our thoughts!" Mayor Antos raised his hands for silence. "Calm the fuck down! We have no proof-" "We don''t need proof! Look at it!" The hatred in their eyes sparked memories of that first group of travelers I''d encountered, of how they''d attacked me without hesitation. Because that''s what humans did when faced with monsters. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps this peaceful coexistence had been nothing but a dream. The crowd''s hostility pressed against me like a physical force. I readied myself for violence, calculating how many I could disable without killing before they overwhelmed me. Then a stern voice cut through the chaos. "ENOUGH!" Ludwig''s command froze everyone in place. The priest hobbled forward, his walking stick striking the ground with sharp, angry taps. "Is this how the people of Weath behave? Like a mindless mob?" His cold gray eyes swept across the crowd. "The Holy Twelve frown upon such disorder. Such... unruliness." Several villagers lowered their weapons, shame creeping into their expressions. Ludwig''s presence seemed to drain the bloodlust from the air. "You let fear rule you," he continued. "Acting like the very monsters you claim to hate. We are human. The gods blessed us with reason, with minds to think rather than simply react." I watched him, puzzled. This was the same priest who''d questioned my humanity, who''d suggested my memories were divine punishment. Yet here he stood, defending me. "Yes, this being before you is a monster." Ludwig gestured at me with his staff. "But the gods do not punish the innocent. Where is your proof of guilt? Your evidence? Without it, this creature stands blameless before divine law." The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Tull opened his mouth to argue, but Ludwig silenced him with a sharp look. "Or perhaps you know better than the gods?" The priest''s voice dripped with sarcasm. "Shall we ignore their teachings of justice and proper order?" One by one, the villagers backed down. Some muttered prayers, others simply looked away. The weapons lowered, though the fear and suspicion remained in their eyes. I glanced at Ludwig, trying to understand this unexpected intervention. He met my eyeless stare, his expression remaining as stern as ever. I watched Antos regain control of the situation, his weathered face set with determination despite the lingering tension in the air. "Thank you, Ludwig." He clasped the priest''s shoulder before turning to address the crowd. "Now, we need men to patrol. Six groups of three. Rotate every four hours." The organization gave people purpose, drawing their attention away from me. Hands that had gripped weapons now raised to volunteer. I noticed most positioned themselves to keep me in sight while they discussed patrol routes. "Tom." Antos beckoned a lean youth forward. "Take my mare. Ride to Millbrook, tell Baron Holstoff what''s happened here." "Waste of time." Farmer Drell spat on the ground. "When the slavers attacked, his lordship didn''t lift a finger. Same with every other time Weath was in danger." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. I observed the shared bitterness in their expressions, the resigned acceptance of nobility''s indifference. "Could be different this time." Antos''s eyes found mine, glinting with something that might have been amusement. "After all, I have seen stranger. It''s nobility''s job to protect us simple folk, after all. And by Naori''s big bouncing jugs, it''ll happen eventually!" Several men laughed while Ludwig rolled his eyes. "Mayor, if you could please keep your blasphemies to a minimum while in my presence." Antos''s words sparked an odd sensation in my fragmented memories, something about nobles and responsibility, about duty to those under one''s protection. But like all such glimpses into my past, it slipped away before I could grasp it. It was really starting to get annoying. The crowd dispersed as Antos arranged the patrol schedules. I noticed how the chosen groups carefully divided the ones with fighting experience among them: Old Willem with his battle-scarred hands, Martin who''d proven himself during our escape, others who''d fought well at Qordos. Smart. The mayor was ensuring each patrol had experienced fighters. I watched Mallie push forward through the dispersing crowd, her hand raised. "I want to help patrol!" The reaction was immediate. Katherin''s shriek could have rivaled my cursed voice. "Absolutely not!" "But Mom, I''m an Archer now!" Mallie''s freckled face flushed with determination. "I gained that class during our escape for a reason. I can help!" "She''s right about one thing," Antos scratched his beard. "Aside from our mechanical friend here, she''s got the highest combat level in Weath." "And the War Academy wants me!" Mallie pressed her advantage. "They wouldn''t invite someone who couldn''t handle themselves." Katherin''s face reddened. She turned to her husband with pleading eyes. "Moskin, tell her no. She''s just a child." I observed Moskin''s weathered face as he considered his daughter. The quiet farmer hadn''t seen her fight at Qordos, hadn''t witnessed her determination and skill. Yet, he knew his daughter. "You can join the patrols," he said. "Moskin!" Katherin''s voice cracked. "Yes!" Mallie bounced on her toes, then sprinted towards their house. "I''ll get my bow!" Katherin''s gaze found me, filled with such venom that had I possessed normal flesh, it might have ignited. In her eyes, I saw the blame, for her daughter''s transformation from child to warrior, for the loss of the innocent girl Mallie had been before her capture.. I could not disagree with her assessment. The events at Qordos had changed Mallie. I had changed her, showing her both the darkness in the world and her own capacity for violence. Yet I also remembered her tears for Tommy, her compassion even toward a monster like myself. Her desire to protect. Perhaps that transformation wasn''t entirely for the worse. Once the crowd scattered to their assigned duties, I approached Antos. My mechanical feet made soft clicking sounds against the packed dirt, causing him to tense slightly before turning to face me. I wish to help, I projected. I can. Create weapons. Traps. Defenses. The mayor''s weathered face creased with discomfort. He ran a hand through his white beard, avoiding my eyeless gaze. "Look... No Eyes. Best thing you can do right now is keep your distance." He sighed heavily. "Ludwig may have calmed them down, but folks are scared. Seeing you around... it''ll just make things worse." They still. Suspect me. "They''re simple folk. When something terrible happens, they look for what''s different. What''s changed." He gestured at my mechanical form. "And you''re about as different as it gets." I processed his words, noting how he spoke of "they" rather than including himself. Do you. Suspect me, Mayor? "Of course not!" The response came too quickly, too forcefully. I studied him, noting the subtle tells: the way his fingers twitched, how his eyes wouldn''t quite meet my faceplate, the slight shift in his stance. Despite his denial, fear lurked beneath his jovial exterior. He saw me as others did: a monster, a killer, a thing to be feared. I turned my back on Weath, each mechanical step carrying me further from the village''s fearful stares. My disgust grew with every click and whir of my joints; disgust at their quick judgment, at Antos''s transparent lies, but mostly at myself for believing I could ever be anything but a monster in their eyes. Past the worn dirt road, beyond the neat rows of farmland, I entered the woods. The trees welcomed me with indifference, caring nothing for my mechanical form or eyeless face. I found a small clearing, a pocket of solitude within a copse of ancient oaks, and sat heavily on the ground. If they wanted me gone, so be it. I''d give them exactly what they desired: a monster safely out of sight. The evidence was clear, trying to live among humans had been foolish. They would never see past what I was, never look beyond my mechanical shell to whatever soul might dwell within. I had two choices: somehow recover my lost humanity, or accept eternal isolation as my fate. My thoughts threatened to spiral into darkness, into places I didn''t want to explore. I reached into my Depository, pulling out pounds of scavenged metal and materials. I didn''t have a plan, didn''t need one. The simple act of creation would be enough. My Assembly ability hummed to life as I began fitting pieces together. Gears interlocked, metal bent and folded together, shapes taking form beneath my mechanical fingers. I couldn''t shed tears in this constructed body, but I could build. Each component I assembled pushed back against the memory of villagers'' hatred, every connection I forged drowned out the echo of Antos''s false assurances. The work absorbed me completely. In the manipulation of metal and machinery, I found something like peace; or at least a temporary escape from the pain of rejection. Here, alone in the woods, I could pretend that what I created mattered more than what I was. Chapter 25: Useless Chapter 25: Useless I listened to Mallie''s report with growing unease, my mechanical hands stilling on the half-assembled contraption before me. Another family was dead. More accusations pointed my way. "They''re wrong about you," Mallie said, sitting cross-legged on a fallen log. Her bow lay across her lap, her fingers absently tracing the curved wood I''d crafted for her. "Everyone who knows you knows you''d never do something like that." How did you find me. Out here? I asked, genuinely curious about her presence in my woodland sanctuary. She grinned, a flash of pride crossing her freckled face. "I learned Tracer! Marked you and a few others I wanted to keep track of. It''s a useful ability for an Archer." I turned my eyeless face toward her, intrigued. Using Analyze, I examined her status:
Name: Malladay of Weath Level 5 Archer
Still level 5, I observed. Must be difficult. To advance without combat. "Yeah." She kicked at the dirt with her boot. "Can''t exactly go hunting monsters around here like in the Hellzone. And the village is too peaceful for me to gain much experience." She paused, frowning. "Well, it was peaceful. Until..." I nodded, understanding her unspoken words. Until the murders began. Until the villagers needed someone to blame. Until they found their perfect monster. Antos sent for help. Again? "He sent two riders to Millbrook. The baron ignored them, just like last time." Mallie''s voice carried a bitter edge. "Fat lot of good having noble protection does us." I resumed working on my project, letting the familiar motions of Assembly calm my troubled thoughts. The murders bothered me more than the accusations. Something about their brutality, the deliberate staging of the bodies... It was unsettling. It was inhuman. "What are you making?" Mallie asked, leaning forward to peer at my work. Not sure yet, I admitted. Sometimes. Just need to create. The truth was, I''d been building constantly since my exile to the woods. Scattered around my clearing were dozens of half-finished devices, each abandoned when the compulsion to create something new seized me. It helped quiet the darkness in my thoughts as well as the growing anger at being blamed for atrocities I hadn''t committed. Mallie reached for one of my abandoned creations; it was a curious L-shaped device of brass and steel. She turned it over in her hands, examining the hollow barrel and the internal spring-loaded mechanisms with keen interest. "What''s this supposed to be?" She held it up in front of her, pointing the barrel toward a distant tree. Careful, I warned through Mind Speech. And. I''m not certain. What it does. And I wasn''t. The design had come to me in fragments, like so many things did. It was technical knowledge without context or memory. My hands knew how to craft intricate machinery that my mind couldn''t quite comprehend. The contraption appeared designed to propel objects with tremendous force, though the mechanics and purpose remained a mystery to me. "Like a tiny crossbow maybe?" Mallie squinted down the barrel. "But where would the bolt go?" This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Don''t know. "You''ve got loads of weird stuff here." She gestured at the clearing littered with my failed experiments. Mechanical arms with too many joints. Wheels that spun without touching. "Half of it looks like magic items, but different somehow." She was right. My creations weren''t quite magical devices, nor were they purely mechanical. They existed in some strange space between, guided by knowledge I couldn''t explain. With a shrug, Mallie tossed the unfinished item onto a pile of similar discards. It landed with a hollow clank among dozens of other mysterious contraptions, each one a puzzle I couldn''t solve, all echoes of understanding just beyond my grasp. "I have to go," she said after examining more of the junk I made. "My patrol starts soon." I watched Mallie''s retreating form through the trees, my mechanical fingers twitching with unease. She moved with the confidence of someone who''d survived a Hellzone, but she was still just a child. A brave, skilled child, but a child nonetheless. The account of the recent slaughter haunted my thoughts. I recalled the witness''s grisly details of how the Sholz clan was discovered, their corpses positioned with calculated care, their jugulars savagely ripped apart. No child should face such dangers alone, no matter what their level or class. Wait, I called through Mind Speech, rising from my seat on the ground. The gears in my legs whirred as I strode after her. Mallie turned, surprise crossing her freckled face. "Something wrong, No Eyes?" Will escort you. Back to village. "I can handle myself." She patted her bow. "You saw me fight in Qordos." Different here, I replied, falling into step beside her. Unknown enemy. More dangerous than slavers. My four arms each carried a different weapon. Two swords were in my main hands, two spears held by the secondary ones on my back. I was ready for any threat. The asymmetrical helmet I''d crafted swiveled, scanning the forest around us. "The villagers will panic if they see you near their houses," Mallie warned, though she didn''t object to my company. Don''t care. Your safety matters more. We walked in companionable silence, my mechanical feet surprisingly quiet on the forest floor despite their complex construction. I''d designed this body to be fast and light, learning from my encounters with Chanos. "You know," Mallie said after a while, "you don''t have to protect everyone all the time. Sometimes I think you forget to take care of yourself." I tilted my head, considering her words. Perhaps she was right. Since escaping Qordos, I''d thrown myself into defending others: first the refugees, now the village that feared me. Maybe it was easier than confronting the fragments of memory that haunted my thoughts, the lingering question of who and what I truly was. But looking at Mallie, the young, brave, and determined Mallie, I knew I couldn''t stop. Whatever I had been before, whatever the villagers thought of me now, protecting others felt right. It felt like a purpose. Like a duty. Almost there, I noted as the village''s wooden palisade came into view. I''ll watch. From the treeline. Mallie nodded, understanding my unspoken promise to keep her safe from the shadows. "Thanks, No Eyes. Be safe!" I watched Mallie stride toward the village gate, bow ready and head held high. Her small figure radiated determination, and something in my mechanical chest tightened. If a child could face such dangers with courage, what excuse did I have to hide in my forest sanctuary, tinkering with useless contraptions? My four arms flexed, testing the weight of my weapons. The villagers'' fear and mistrust had driven me to isolation, but that ended now. I didn''t need Antos''s approval nor the villagers'' acceptance to do what needed to be done. Using Assembly, I adjusted the joints in my legs for silent movement. The mechanical limbs responded instantly, gears and wiring shifting to distribute weight more evenly. I began my own patrol route, keeping to the shadows beyond the village''s torchlight. While Mallie and the other villagers watched the streets and houses, I would guard the places they feared to tread. The dark woods where monsters might lurk. The overgrown fields where shadows moved in the moonlight. The abandoned barns and root cellars where killers could hide. The western fields stretched before me, tall grass swaying in the cold wind. Beyond that, the forest loomed, darker and more ancient than my little clearing of discarded inventions. Whatever was killing villagers had to come from somewhere. Had to leave traces. This is my purpose now, I thought, moving through the grass like a ghost of steel and shadow. Not to be accepted. Not to be understood. But to protect. Let the villagers fear me. Let them blame me for the murders. I would guard them anyway, because that''s what I had to do. Because something in my fractured memories told me this was right. This was what I was meant for. I had been a protector once, though I couldn''t remember when or how. But watching Mallie take up her bow to defend her home had awakened something in me. A duty. A calling. The night stretched ahead, full of shadows to search and secrets to uncover. I moved into the darkness, ready to face whatever horrors might be hiding there. Chapter 26: Traces Chapter 26: Traces My mechanical feet barely disturbed the underbrush as I moved through the darkened forest. The Mind Sight painted everything in varying shades of clarity; not color exactly, but pure understanding of depth and form. Trees stood like stark sentinels, their branches reaching across my field of vision. Bushes clustered at their bases, perfect hiding spots for those who wished to remain unseen. I kept my weapons ready, the twin swords and spears balanced perfectly in my four mechanical arms. The modifications I''d made to this body served me well as each joint moved in perfect silence, the gears and pulleys all cushioned with strips of cloth and leather. A branch snapped somewhere in the distance. I froze, my Mind Sight sweeping the area in a perfect arc before me. Nothing moved except the leaves stirring in the night breeze. The pitch black night meant little to me; I saw almost as clearly as I had during daylight. Human memories flickered at the edges of my consciousness. I remembered seeing with eyes once, remembered how the dark forest would have appeared to human sight as just shapes of deeper black against black. But those memories felt distant, unreal compared to the clarity of my Mind Sight. I moved forward again, each step calculated and precise. My mechanical body responded perfectly to my commands, the product of countless adjustments and refinements. The asymmetrical helmet I''d crafted swiveled smoothly as I scanned the surrounding area, looking for any sign of disturbance or passage. The forest floor told its own story: here there was a broken twig, there a scuffed patch of earth. But nothing fresh enough to matter. Nothing that spoke of killers in the night. I continued my patrol, each one of my mechanical steps precise and calculated. The forest teemed with life around me. Deer were nestled against tree trunks, their breaths slow in sleep. A fox stalked through the underbrush, its mind focused on some small prey. Insects danced through the air like motes of awareness in within my mental sight. I paid them no attention, my four arms keeping the weapons ready as I moved. Hours passed, with the moon tracking slowly across the sky above the canopy. I then saw something that caught my attention: a scrap of fabric snagged onto a thorny branch. I approached, my joints silent as I reached out for it with one mechanical hand. The cloth was worn, frayed at the edges where it had torn free. Not new damage. This had been part of an old shirt. I moved forward with greater caution, each step placed with deliberate care. My Mind Sight swept the area constantly, seeking any sign of movement. Through the trees ahead, I detected the flickering glow of flames. Creeping closer, I positioned myself behind a thick wall of brambles. The campsite beyond was chaotic; this was no orderly arrangement of supplies or sleeping areas like humans would make. The fire burned sloppily, belching smoke in all directions. Waste and filth lay scattered about with no regard for cleanliness. But what drew my attention were the piles of stolen goods near the center of the messy camp. Bags of grain and vegetables taken from farmers'' storage. Heaps of clothing. Farm tools that could only have come from the murdered families'' homes. All gathered here in messy clusters. Near the poorly-made fire sat a tiny figure, no more than three feet tall. Its skin was a sickly green, its body thin and angular beneath tattered rags. Large ears flopped at the sides of its head, and a long, hooked nose protruded from its face. In all my limited memories, I had never encountered such a creature. I studied the being from my hiding spot, mechanical fingers tightening around my weapons. The small figure hunched near the fire, gnawing on what looked like a raw potato. Its movements were jerky, nervous; not the fluid motions of a practiced killer. My Assembly-crafted joints moved silently as I shifted position. The stolen goods scattered around the camp told their own story, but something didn''t add up. Those families had been butchered in their beds, their deaths violent and savage. This creature looked barely capable of lifting a sword. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. I activated Analyze, the ability Harke had helped me discover. Blue text appeared in my Mind Sight:
Name: Vom Level 1
A mere Level 1. The thought of this weak creature overpowering entire families was absurd. Even the children in those homes could have fought off something this feeble. Harke''s words echoed in my fractured memories. He''d spoken of intelligent monsters living among humans, forming communities, having lives and relationships just like any other person. This one was clearly sapient. The camp, though messy, showed planning. The creature wore clothes, used tools, and had organized its stolen goods. I loosened my grip on my weapons slightly. Violence might not be the answer here. If this creature was truly like the intelligent monsters Harke had described, perhaps it could provide information about the real killers. I emerged from the brambles, my mechanical body moving with deliberate slowness to avoid appearing threatening. The creature''s large ears twitched at my approach, and it spun around, dropping its potato with a squeak of terror. I leveled my main sword at the small creature, who immediately threw its hands up in surrender, dropping to its knees. Who. Are you? What are you. Doing here? My Mind Speech reached out to him. The creature bowed repeatedly, its movements frantic and desperate. "Please great metal master, Vom just eating potato. Vom very hungry. Not steal much, just little food." The voice was screechy, like a dying mouse, but its intonation marked the monster as male. The words came out in a strange, guttural language I''d never heard before, yet I understood every syllable perfectly. A memory surfaced and I recalled seeing in my status box an entry for Language Comprehension, Rank S. The ability to understand any spoken and written language. Not what I meant. I kept my mechanical body still, trying not to frighten him further. Why are you here? In Weath? Whose camp is. This? "This camp belong to master Gomka." Vom''s voice trembled. "Vom keep camp clean for master and others when they return from raids." Master? "Yes, yes. Vom slave. Gomka take Vom from his village many seasons ago. Gang very strong, very mean. They raid all northern kingdoms." His large eyes darted around nervously. "Vom not allowed to fight. Not allowed to level up. Must stay in camp, clean things, fix broken weapons, clean shit off boots with tongue." Something in my chest tightened at his words. This creature, barely more than skin and bones, trapped in servitude. My mental sight notices the various scarring and bruises on his pale green skin. What are you? "Vom is goblin." He tugged at his ragged clothes. "Monster race. But Vom not bad monster. Vom just want to live." I studied him through my Mind Sight. A goblin, another intelligent monster like myself. But unlike me, he had no means to defend himself, no power to fight back against his oppressors. I suppose Harke was right. Intelligent monsters were very similar to humans. Even they had scum among their numbers. Tell me. Your master and his. Gang. How strong? I kept my weapons lowered, trying to appear less threatening to the trembling goblin. "Very strong, very strong!" Vom wrung his hands together. "Master Gomka strongest of all." Levels? Vom shook his head. "Vom don''t know. They very strong, though. Once, they broke Vom''s hand with a slap!" I gritted my sharp teeth in irritation. This creature was useless. Damn it, I need information! How many? What weapons do. They use? "Ten, besides master Gomka." Vom counted on his thin fingers. "All have big weapons. Swords, axes, bows. Very scary. Master Gomka strongest but others very strong too." I frowned at his vague description. To a Level 1 creature, anyone would seem formidable. His assessment told me very little about their true capabilities. Where are they now? "Master Gomka take others to hoomi village. Say they going to have fun." Vom''s ears drooped. "Always have fun. Always make mess for Vom to clean." My mechanical body went rigid. While I''d been questioning this pathetic creature, the real threat was heading toward the defenseless village. Come with me. I reached for the goblin. Now. "No, no!" Vom scrambled backward. "Master Gomka beat Vom if leave camp. Break bones, cut ears, worse things." He hugged himself, trembling. "Vom must stay. Must clean. Must be good slave!" Anger surged through me. I didn''t have time for this! You stay, I will kill you. Myself. My mechanical arms raised their weapons. Choose. Tears welled in Vom''s large eyes. "You mean like master! All strong ones mean to poor Vom!" But he stumbled forward, reaching up with shaking hands. I scooped him up in one of my mechanical arms, careful not to crush his frail body. Then I ran, my enhanced legs carrying us swiftly through the dark forest. Each stride ate up the distance as I raced back toward Weath, praying I wasn''t too late. Chapter 27: Defend Chapter 27: Defend My mechanical legs propelled us through the darkness, servos whirring as I pushed them to their limits. Tree branches whipped past, barely missing my armored frame. Vom clung tightly to my chest plate, his thin fingers wrapped around the metal ridges. "Please slow down," he whimpered. "Vom getting sick." I ignored his pleas. Which way to village? From your camp? "South," he squeaked, burying his face against the cold metal. "Always south to hoomi houses." The forest thinned, and moonlight filtered through the canopy. My Mind Sight picked up the edge of the treeline ahead. With one final burst of speed, we broke through into open farmland. Fields of wheat stretched before us, silvered by moonlight. The scattered houses of Weath''s outer farms dotted the landscape. In the distance, the village proper huddled around its central square. I set Vom down. He stumbled, legs wobbling. Where will they strike? "Vom not know." He wrung his hands, eyes darting between the distant buildings. "Master Gomka never tell Vom important things. Just ''clean this'' and ''fix that'' and ''lick boots clean.''" Think. I grabbed his shoulder with one mechanical hand. Where would they go first? "Maybe..." Vom scratched his head. "Maybe closest farm to camp? Master Gomka always move camp after raids. Say trackers can''t find if we keep moving." I scanned the fields. At least six farmhouses lay scattered across the northeastern approach. Any could be Gomka''s target. Which direction. Did they head when. Leaving camp? "That way." Vom pointed toward a cluster of three farms. "But they circle around lots. Master Gomka very tricky." I released him, my gears clicking as I shifted stance. How long. Since they left? "When moon was there." He pointed to a spot in the sky. Maybe an hour ago. A scream pierced the night, distant but clear. My head snapped toward the sound. One of the eastern farms. I raced across the moonlit fields, Vom''s slight weight clutched against my chest. The farmhouse emerged from the darkness: a two-story wooden structure with a thatched roof. Ten cloaked figures surrounded it, their weapons glinting in the pale light. An arrow whistled through a window, splintering the shutters. Inside, someone shrieked. I set Vom down behind a hay bale. Stay here. "Yes, yes. Vom stay quiet." He curled into a ball, trembling. My mechanical body moved silently as I crept closer. The raiders seemed content to toy with their prey, laughing as another arrow punched through wood. The archer drew back his bow again, the motion fluid and practiced. "Come out, come out!" One of the raiders banged the pommel of his sword against the door. Only screams of fright and pleas to leave them alone answered him. The gang''s leader stood apart from the others, massive even under his cloak. One eye gleamed from beneath his hood as he watched his men terrorize the family. This was Gomka. Had to be. The man, or monster in this case, had to be a full foot taller than my current form was. Underneath his dark cloak, he wore black leathers that strained against his muscular frame. He had green skin like Vom, but his was much darker and looked more leathery. His face was set in a permanent savage sneer, with a lone tusk jutting out from his lips on the right side. His left eye was missing, covered with a patch. I counted ten raiders total: the archer, Gomka, and eight others armed with swords and axes. Five of them were the same race as Gomka, all tall and broad shouldered, with tusks jutting from their mouths. The archer and one other were a strange sight, looking like walking, talking lizards with thin limbs and long tails. They were also quite short, as both barely stood above five feet. The final two of their number were, strangely enough, goblins like Vom was, though they appeared healthier and stood a few inches higher than the captive. I was sickened that this pair would simply watch while one of their own kind was forced to endure such horrible abuse. The gang of intelligent monsters had the house completely surrounded, two men at each wall. Their positions suggested experience as there were no blind spots, nor gaps in coverage. I activated Analyze, my mind reaching out to read their status screens. The names and levels flickered into view above each raider. Gomka''s screen appeared first: Level 14. My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. He outleveled me by a significant margin. The lizard archer, Salzaren, showed as Level 12. Another dangerous opponent. Two of Gomka''s kind, Throk and Vah, were Level 7. The remaining raiders all registered as Level 5. Their positioning spoke of experience fighting together. This wasn''t some disorganized band of thugs like the Qordos guards. My gears whirred as I assessed the situation. Even with my new four-armed body, taking on ten experienced fighters would push me to my limits. The higher-level opponents posed the greatest threat, with Gomka''s raw strength and Salzaren''s archery, they could easily destroy my metal frame if I wasn''t careful. Something about their coordinated movements triggered several fragments of memories: watching drilling soldiers in formation, pouring through thick tomes containing the histories of war, learning battlefield tactics from old warriors. Once again, the recollections vanished as quickly as they came, which was a blessing this time since such information proved useless during this situation. I watched Salzaren loose another arrow through the window. His form was impeccable, each shot placed with deadly precision. The Qordos guards had been undisciplined, relying on brute force. These raiders moved like trained killers. The lizard-man''s arrow, obviously backed by some type of Archer ability, blasted through the window''s wooden shutters, shattering them into countless fragments upon impact. The family''s screams grew more desperate as the raiders continued their cruel game. I needed to act soon, but rushing in against superior numbers and levels would be suicide. Even with my invulnerable flesh, they could still damage my mechanical parts. And if they destroyed too much of my body, I''d be helpless to stop them. Another arrow shattered a window. The children inside screamed. "Having fun yet?" Gomka''s voice was a growl. "We can do this all night. Or you can open that door and make it quick." The father shouted back: "Leave us be! The village guard will come!" "Village guard?" Gomka laughed, the sound like rocks grinding together. "No one''s coming. No one can hear you all the way out here." He was right. The nearest farm was too far for screams to carry. The family was alone out here, with only me to witness their torment. I flexed my four mechanical arms, checking the weapons I''d attached to each one. Two swords, a spear, and a heavy mace. My gears whirred softly as I settled into a combat stance. The archer nocked another arrow, drawing back with practiced ease. "Last chance!" he called out, his voice sounding strangely melodic. "Open up or we start using fire arrows!" My mechanical limbs tensed as I weighed my limited options. The archer, Salzaren, stood slightly apart from the others, focused on terrorizing the family inside. One quick strike could eliminate their ranged threat. But the moment his body hit the ground, chaos would erupt. No. Too risky. There were too many of them, and once they take me down and break my body, then they would be free to harm the family inside the farmhouse. There had to be a better way. The fragments of memory inside my mind whispered of other solutions. I recalled several scenes of myself standing before armies, of meeting with various commanders, finding words to solve our conflicts instead of violence. The images were hazy, but the lesson remained clear: sometimes talking prevented bloodshed. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. I stepped out from the shadows, my mechanical body moving with deliberate slowness. Stop this. My mental words carried to all of them. The raiders spun toward me, weapons raised. Salzaren''s bow snapped to aim at my chest. "What in the hells?" One of the goblins stumbled back. Gomka''s single eye narrowed. "Well, now. This is a surprise." The large hooded figure held up a hand, stopping his men from attacking. His single eye studied my mechanical form with open curiosity. "Interesting." He stepped forward, head tilted. "A golem that speaks to minds. Haven''t seen one of those before." His single eye focused on my form, settling on the parts of my flesh body that were exposed. "No, not a construct. You''re something else." Release them, I projected. They have nothing. Of value. "Nothing of value?" He barked out a laugh. "Food, clothes, tools. Everything has value out here." Can provide those things. My gears whirred as I maintained my non-threatening stance. Let them go. Unharmed. I will give. "You?" His eye narrowed. "What could you possibly offer us?" Food. From village stores. Tools I can craft myself. Whatever you need. To survive. Salzaren kept his bow trained on me. "Boss, this thing''s trying to trick us." "No." Gomka raised his hand again. "It''s making an honest offer. Aren''t you... whatever you are?" I am called No Eyes. "Yeah, I see. Humans definitely named you. They love giving our kind stupid, demeaning names." He grinned, showing his single tusk. "But tell me something, No Eyes. Why do you care what happens to these humans? You''re like us, a freak, a monster. They fear you, hate you. Don''t try to deny it." It is the right thing. To do. "The right thing?" He spat on the ground. "There is no right thing. Only survival. Only strength. These humans would kill you without hesitation if they could." Some would. Others showed. Kindness. "Kindness, huh? Must have been nice." His voice dripped with scorn. "Then again, you ain''t ugly like us orcs. Our human masters kept us in chains. Fed us scraps, while they dined on meat. Beat us when we didn''t lick their boots clean enough." The family had gone quiet inside, listening to our exchange. What you suffered. Was wrong, I projected. But these people. Innocent. "No human is innocent!" Gomka''s eye blazed with hatred. "They''re all the same. They see us as things to be used or destroyed. So why protect them?" Violence. Creates more violence. Hatred hurts. I am tired of hating. Of hurting. I just want peace. Don''t you? Gomka''s fierce expression softened, some of the hatred draining from his face. "Peace, huh?" His voice grew distant. "Yeah, that sounds nice. Like a dream." He shook his head, single eye refocusing on me. "But that''s all it is, a dream. This miserable world can''t¡­ won''t give us that." I started to respond, but he cut me off with a raised hand. "Salz, use Analyze on our metal friend here." The lizard archer kept his bow steady, his yellow eyes narrowing in concentration. I felt the familiar touch of the ability brush against my consciousness. I was a little surprised that an Archer could learn the skill, but then I remembered that he was a monster and thus had no class restrictions on him. "Name''s No Eyes, like it said. Level 9." Salzaren''s melodic voice carried clear in the night air. "Race is... Dirtborn? Never heard of that. No gender listed. And age..." He paused, blinking. "Zero." Gomka''s face twisted in confusion. "Zero? That can''t be right." "That''s what it says, boss." The massive orc studied me with new interest, his aggressive stance relaxing slightly. "Well, well. Now I understand." His voice lost its harsh edge. "No wonder you''re so fucking naive. You''re just a child. Brand new to this world." I shifted my mechanical limbs, unsure how to respond to his assessment. "Level 9 though..." Gomka scratched his chin. "That''s impressive for someone so young. Must have faced some real fights to gain levels that fast." He turned to Salzaren. "How long did it take you to reach Level 9?" "Three years, boss." "And you''re one of the quickest learners I know." Gomka''s eye fixed on me again. "You might level faster than any intelligent monster I''ve ever seen. Interesting." Gomka took a step closer, his massive frame towering over my mechanical body. "Here''s what I''m thinking. You''re new to this world, and clearly talented. We could use someone with your skills." What are you. Suggesting? "Join us." He spread his arms wide, indicating his gang. "Leave these ungrateful humans behind. Think about it! I''m guessin'' you made that metal body yourself, which means you''d be a good fit among us. Make us stuff like that and in return we can teach you how to survive in this world. How to thrive." The archer lowered his bow slightly. "Boss, you sure about this?" "Look at that body." Gomka gestured to my mechanical frame. "The craftsmanship is incredible. Imagine what else it could make for us." And the family? "We''ll leave them be. In fact..." His single eye gleamed. "We''ll leave this whole village alone. No more raids on Weath. I give you my word." I studied him through my Mind Sight. His posture was open, relaxed. No signs of deception in his voice or stance. "Look at you: four arms, metal body, that strange flesh. You''re different, like us. These humans''ll never accept you. But we will." He gestured at his gang. "We''re all freaks here. Outcasts. But together, we''re strong. We can stand up to anything these bastards will throw at us." My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. The offer struck something deep within me, awakening a profound loneliness I''d been trying to ignore. Since emerging from the earth, I''d felt isolated, apart from everything around me. Even among the freed slaves who fought beside me, there had always been distance, fear in their eyes when they looked at me. These raiders, these monsters, they were like me in many ways. Feared. Hated. Different. Perhaps with them, I could find belonging, acceptance... But then Mallie''s face flashed in my mind. Her bright smile when she first waved to me through the cage bars. The way she showed no fear, only curiosity and kindness. I remembered Harke''s patient explanations, his willingness to help me understand myself. Old Willem''s easy acceptance, sharing drinks with me at the pub despite my inability to drink. And I remembered the dead families in their beds. Children murdered in their sleep by these very raiders. The terror in the voices of the family trapped inside this farmhouse. No, I projected firmly. I cannot. Join you. "Cannot?" Gomka''s eye narrowed. "Or will not?" Both. I am not like you. Not in the ways. That matter. "You''re too young to know better." His lip curled in contempt. "You think that just because a few of these scum treat you well that they''re all good. But I can tell you¡­ they''re not. They''re all vile, evil. You either kill them, or they will do worse to you." Perhaps. But I choose. To not harm. "Choose?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "There is no choice, not for our kind. This miserable world decides what we are. Forces us into roles we never wanted!" No. I straightened my mechanical frame. We always have choice. You chose to kill. Innocent people. I choose. To protect them. "Pathetic!" His voice dripped contempt. "They''ll never thank you. Never trust you. You''ll always be alone." Better alone. Than surrounded by murderers. Gomka''s face twisted with rage, his single eye blazing. His massive hands clenched into fists, and I shifted my mechanical limbs into a defensive stance. The raiders around us tensed, weapons half-raised. But the attack never came. "Pack up!" Gomka barked at his men. "We''re leaving." The raiders exchanged confused looks. Salzaren kept his bow trained on me. "Boss?" one of the orcs asked. "Now!" Gomka''s voice cracked like thunder. Why? I projected, my Mind Speech carrying a note of suspicion. Gomka turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "I don''t hurt kids." You murdered families. In their beds. Children died. "Humans don''t count." His voice turned harsh, cold. "They''re not people. Just vermin breeding more vermin." The raiders gathered their gear quickly, obviously used to swift departures. The two lizard people moved with a fluid grace, while the tusked ones stomped about with barely contained aggression. "We''re done with Weath," Gomka said. "Moving on to better hunting grounds." He paused, studying me with his single eye. "If you ever wise up, head to the Central Hellzone. That''s where most of our kind gather. Whole settlements of intelligent monsters, living free from human oppression." Our kind? "Freaks. Monsters. Whatever you want to call us." He spat on the ground. "Places where we don''t have to pretend to be something we''re not. Where we can live without fear or shame." The raiders formed up behind him, a disciplined unit despite their monstrous appearance. Salzaren finally lowered his bow, though his yellow eyes never left my mechanical form. "Remember what I said," Gomka called out as they melted into the darkness. "These humans will turn on you eventually. When they do, you know where to find real friends." I remained motionless as Gomka''s words echoed in my mind. A place where monsters lived free. The Central Hellzone, a name that sparked both curiosity and unease within me. The thought that others like myself had carved out their own sanctuary was... intriguing. You can come out now, I projected toward the farmhouse. They''re gone. "Stay back!" The father''s voice cracked with fear. "We won''t open this door while there''s still a monster outside!" My mechanical hands tightened on my weapons. After everything I''d just done, they still... I just saved. Your lives. "Saved us? For all we know, you''re with them! Probably planning to rob us the moment we let our guard down!" The mechanical gears in my chest whirred faster as anger built inside me. I had stood against my own kind, rejected an offer of belonging, put myself at risk, all to protect these people. And this was their response? If I wanted. To harm you, I projected, unable to keep the bitterness from the mental words, I would have. Joined them. Instead, I chose. To protect you. "Protect us? You''re just another monster! We don''t want your kind of protection!" The father''s words struck deeper than any weapon could have. Gomka''s earlier statement rang true; they would never accept me, never trust me. Perhaps he had been right about other things as well... No. I shook my head, dispersing those thoughts. Their fear didn''t justify Gomka''s murders. Their stupidity didn''t make his actions right. Very well, I projected. Stay inside. Like mice in their holes. I will leave. I turned away from the farmhouse, my joints creaking slightly in the night air. The Central Hellzone tugged at my thoughts, a place where I wouldn''t have to face this constant fear and mistrust. Where I might find others who understood what it meant to be different. But I couldn''t abandon Weath. Not while people like Mallie, Harke, and Old Willem showed me that humanity wasn''t all hatred and fear. Not while there were still those worth protecting, even if they didn''t want my protection. That was my duty after all. That was why I was born. A king protects his subjects. No matter what, that truth was all that mattered. I stopped in my tracks, the foreign thoughts that had just intruded into my mind vanishing quickly. What was that? Chapter 28: Blame Chapter 28: Blame I combed through the spot where Vom had been, discovering just crushed vegetation and displaced foliage. The diminutive goblin had slipped away under cover of darkness, with only subtle impressions in the soil leading into the dense thicket as evidence he''d been there. Perhaps this was for the best; he''d fulfilled his role by alerting me to the bandits'' presence. Yet I couldn''t help but question whether the shell-shocked monster would make it alone out there. Did he go back to Gomka''s camp, or did he run away to his freedom? Perhaps I''ll never know. Following the worn dirt path away from the farm, I caught sight of moving torches ahead. The village patrol walked in formation, weapons ready. Mallie''s small form stood out among the adults, her bow at her side. Stop, I projected to the group. Several jumped at my Mind Speech. I have news. "No Eyes?" Mallie stepped forward while the others gripped their weapons tighter. I explained about finding Vom at the raiders'' camp, about Gomka and his gang attacking the farm up ahead, and how I''d convinced them to leave Weath for good. "You actually let them go?" Farmer Tull''s face reddened. "Those murderers?" There were ten. All strong, I projected. Fighting would be tough. Endanger family. "They killed children in their sleep!" another villager shouted. "And you just let them walk away?" I chose to protect Living. Rather than avenge dead. "No Eyes is right," Mallie said firmly. "The Henriks could have died if there was a fight." After a heated discussion, the patrol split into two groups. One headed toward the farm to check on the Henriks, while the other turned back to inform Mayor Antos of what had transpired. I fell in step beside Mallie as we walked with the second group. "Did they really just leave?" she whispered. "Just like that?" Yes, I told her simply. I didn''t respond any further, my thoughts drifting to Gomka''s words about sanctuary and acceptance. But the memory of his casual dismissal of human lives pushed those thoughts away. We reached the village proper, torchlight from windows casting long shadows across empty streets. The patrol leader knocked on the mayor''s door while the rest of us waited in tense silence. Mayor Antos shuffled out of his house, his sleeping cap askew and robe hastily tied. Despite the late hour, his eyes were sharp and alert as he listened to the patrol''s report. "So this monster gang was behind all the killings." He stroked his white beard. "And No Eyes here drove them off?" I confronted them. At Henrik farm, I projected. Convinced them to leave. "Well then." Antos turned to me, his weathered face breaking into a grateful smile. "Seems we owe you our thanks. The Henriks are good folk. Lost their eldest in the Hellzone two summers back." "Thanks?" Tull stepped forward, jabbing a finger in my direction. "Mayor, that thing let killers walk free! Should''ve torn them apart, like it did to those slavers at Qordos." "Enough." Antos''s voice carried the weight of authority despite his bedclothes. "Those are words for daylight hours. I''ll call a meeting tomorrow, and we can discuss everything properly then." Tull opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. "For now," Antos continued, addressing the patrol, "keep your rounds going. Just because No Eyes convinced them to leave doesn''t mean they won''t try sneaking back. Double the watch on the eastern approaches." The patrol members nodded, though some still cast dark looks my way. As they moved to resume their positions, Antos caught my attention with a small gesture. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Whatever else gets said tomorrow, you protected our people tonight. That counts for something in my book." I inclined my helmeted head in acknowledgment, watching as he disappeared back into his home. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone in the torch-lit street with my thoughts.
I stood at the back of the town hall, my mechanical body hunched over. The morning sun streamed through dusty windows, casting long shadows across packed wooden pews. Familiar faces from Qordos (Derek, Old Willem, and others) clustered near the front, while most villagers kept their distance from my corner. Mayor Antos called the meeting to order, but Farmer Henrik jumped up before he could speak. "That thing was talking to them like old friends!" His finger jabbed in my direction. "Letting killers walk free after what they did to the Sholz family!" "No Eyes let them just leave!" his wife added, her voice shrill. "Why would it do that unless it was working with them?" I chose speech instead of violence, I projected to the crowd. Several people flinched at my Mind Speech. Fighting would have. Endangered you. "See? It admits letting them go!" Tull stood, face red. "Those murderers deserved justice!" "Justice?" Mallie pushed through the crowd. "Like getting the Henriks killed in a fight? No Eyes made the right choice!" Old Willem''s gravelly voice cut through the shouting. "That monster saved all our lives at Qordos. Freed us from slavery. You think it''d throw that away to help some raiders?" "Different kinds of monsters," someone muttered. "They stick together." The refugees who remained, barely a quarter of our original group, voiced their support for me. Derek described how I''d helped them to defend themselves. Others recounted the escape from the slave camp. But the villagers'' fear ran deeper than the facts. I saw it in their eyes when they looked at my mechanical body, heard it in their whispers about monsters and murder. Even those I''d directly saved seemed unable to separate me from their terror of the unknown. Mayor Antos raised his hands for silence. "No Eyes has proven itself a protector of this village, not an enemy. The raiders are gone. Now we must decide how to prevent their return." If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "By killing them when we had the chance!" Henrik shouted. "By getting help from the baron!" another voice called. "The baron won''t help," Mallie said. "We need to defend ourselves!" The arguing continued, voices rising and falling like waves. I remained still in my corner, watching the divide between those who knew me and those who feared me grow wider with each heated word. I will continue. To protect this village, I projected finally. Whether you trust me. Or not. Some faces softened at that. Others hardened further. The meeting dissolved into smaller arguments about patrols and defenses, but the core question remained unresolved: could a monster truly be trusted to protect humans?
I patrolled the village''s eastern edge, my mechanical legs moving silently through the morning mist. A group of farmers worked the fields ahead. Some waved. Others turned their backs. "Monster lover!" someone shouted at Farmer Reese when he offered me a nod. Reese just shrugged and continued working. "That thing saved my boy, who was at Henrik''s farm that night," he called back. "Could''ve been a bloodbath if it chose violence." I kept walking, already used to how conversations shifted when I passed. The village had split into clear factions after the meeting. Those who knew me from Qordos formed a core of supporters, along with families like the Reeses, who''d appreciated that I chose peace over bloodshed. But others grew bolder in their hatred. They spat when I passed, whispered "murderer" just loud enough for me to hear. A rock occasionally flew my way, though none dared confront me directly. My mechanical form and four arms, along with the weapons I held in them, served as enough deterrent. "Morning, No Eyes!" Derek waved from his family''s vegetable plot. His father, once wary of me, now nodded in greeting. "Pa says your way of handling those raiders was right smart. Saved us all a heap of trouble." Thank you, I projected. How are the defenses? "Better now that folks ain''t so scared of you helping," Derek said. "Some of them farmers who called you monster last week? They saw how you didn''t fight when you could''ve. Made them think different about what monsters are supposed to be." I continued my rounds, noting how the fearful glares from some contrasted with warm greetings from others. The division in the village was clear, yet it wasn''t as simple as before. Those who''d witnessed my choices understood something had changed. A monster choosing peace challenged everything they believed about my kind. Old Willem summed it up best when I passed the pub: "Never thought I''d see the day when a monster showed more sense than humans. But here we are, better off ''cause you didn''t give in to violence. Makes a man question what he thinks he knows." His friends nodded in agreement, their wrinkled, wizened faces looking quite somber at his words. I paused before Goodmak''s General Store, catching my reflection in the grimy window. The morning sun cast harsh shadows across my cobbled-together form, making me look even more monstrous than usual. My pale face peered out from behind the asymmetrical mask I''d crafted of scrap metal and oak planks, the eyeless face plate somehow more unsettling in the warped glass. The mechanical body I''d built was all the wrong proportions; I had a truncated torso perched atop legs that stretched too long, like a spider''s. My original left arm looked almost delicate next to the longer metal one I''d constructed on the right. The two additional arms sprouting from my back completed the insectoid appearance, jointed and angular where they shouldn''t be. My hair was the only feature that wasn''t monstrous; the long black strands cascaded down my back like silk, a reminder of whatever I''d been before becoming this patchwork creature. I reached up with my flesh hand to touch it, watching the reflection mimic my movement. I''d built this body for efficiency in combat, focusing on reach and multiple weapon capabilities. Every joint, every gear had been crafted for maximum damage potential. No wonder the villagers recoiled; I looked like something born to kill. I could rebuild it, I thought, examining the crude mechanisms visible through gaps in the plating. Make it more proportional. Less¡­ monstrous. My Assembly ability had improved significantly. With the right materials, I could craft something less threatening, something that wouldn''t send children running when I walked past their homes. The reflection stared back, a monster trying to remember how to look human. Perhaps if I appeared more like them, moved more like them, they''d see past what I was to who I might be. I stepped away from the window, my mechanical joints whirring with renewed purpose. Of course! It was so obvious now. My current form prioritized combat efficiency over approachability. No wonder the villagers struggled to see past my monstrous appearance. I would build something different. Something more... human. My flesh hand traced the crude joints of my mechanical arms. The Assembly ability hummed within me, already spinning designs through my mind. I''d need to modify the central chassis, create quick-release mechanisms for rapid transitions between forms. This combat frame could remain stored away somewhere until it was needed. The new body would need proper proportions. Two arms, not four. A torso scaled to human dimensions. Legs that bent the right way, not these backward-jointed approximations I''d cobbled together in that shed at Qordos. I began sketching in the dirt with a metal finger, mapping out connection points and joint assemblies. The villagers wouldn''t flinch at a more conventional shape. Children might stop hiding behind their parents when I passed. Perhaps I could even sit at Old Willem''s table without making the other patrons nervous. I felt like laughing at my own blindness. All this time I''d been focusing on function over form, never considering how my appearance affected those around me. No wonder they feared me. I''d built myself to look like a killing machine. I stepped into Goodmak''s General Store, the floorboards creaking under my mechanical weight. The clerk, Sarah Goodmak, flinched at my entrance but held her ground behind the counter. I''d like to see. Your plates and tea sets. Please. I projected, keeping my mental voice soft and unthreatening. Sarah''s eyebrows rose. "Plates?" Her hands stopped their nervous wringing. "You want... dishes?" Yes. Curiosity overcame her fear. "Well... follow me then." She led me to the back of the store where shelves displayed various plates and cutlery. The lower rows held basic earthenware dishes, while the shelving above displayed finer porcelain and ceramic pieces. "These came from Vale last month. Proper crockery these are, though we don''t get many buyers for the fancy stuff out here." I examined a delicate teacup, carefully lifting it with my original hand. The porcelain was thin enough to be translucent, with a fine pattern of blue flowers along the rim. Perfect. How much. For full set? I asked, already calculating how many cups and saucers I''d need for the finger joints alone. "Six silvers for the tea service." Sarah watched me handle the cup with growing fascination. "Though I don''t understand what a... someone like yourself wants with fine porcelain." Materials. For building. I set the cup down and moved to examine a stack of dinner plates. These as well. And those serving platters. "You''re going to build something?" Her fear had completely vanished now, replaced by genuine interest. New body. I touched the crude metal of my current form. This one, built for battle. Now realize appearance matters. Too. "Porcelain for a body?" She picked up one of the plates. "It''s so fragile though." I know methods. To strengthen. Will work for intended purpose. Sarah started gathering the items I''d indicated, her movements now relaxed and efficient. The fear that had greeted my entrance was gone, replaced by the professional demeanor of a merchant serving a customer. It was a small change, but it meant everything. "Are you sure you can pay for all this?" She asked as she looked down at the large pile of porcelain goods sitting atop the main counter. It was the store''s entire collection of expensive tableware. Yes. I pulled several bags filled with silver coins from my Depository. The silver pieces came from looting Qordos, and I counted myself fortunate that my Depository recognized the currency as a storable resource. Sarah''s eyes widened at the sight of the coin bags. Her hands trembled slightly as she counted out the silver pieces, stacking them in neat piles. "That''s forty silver total," she said, pushing the remaining bags back toward me. "And here I was worried you couldn''t afford it." A small laugh escaped her. "Shows what I know." Keep five silver, I projected. For your kindness. "Oh! I couldn''t..." Her cheeks flushed. "But thank you. And... I really am curious to see what you will make with all of this." She gestured at the pile of porcelain. "Never thought plates and tea cups could be used for building before." I gathered the delicate pieces into my Depository, feeling the familiar shift as they disappeared into that other space. The weight counter ticked up, but I still had plenty of room. Thank you, I projected. Sarah smiled, and bid me a good day. I nodded, my mechanical joints whirring softly as I turned to leave. The bell above the door chimed as I stepped outside, my mind already racing with designs. The porcelain would work perfectly for what I had planned. Perhaps I could even incorporate some of the floral patterns into the visible sections... Chapter 29: Smithing Chapter 29: Smithing The rhythmic clanging of Blacksmith Clarik''s hammer filled the smithy as I worked, carefully assembling the inner framework of my new form. Wood shavings and bits of porcelain littered the workbench where I''d laid out my materials. "Still can''t believe you''re building yourself out of teacups," Clarik said between strikes. His broad shoulders flexed as he shaped a plow blade on his anvil. Unlike the other villagers, he showed no discomfort at my presence. Need delicate materials. For joints and plating. I projected, fitting together thin wooden strips that would form the base structure. Porcelain ideal for purpose. "If you say so." He paused his work to wipe sweat from his brow. "Though you''ll need something stronger for the bones of it. Wood won''t hold up long term." I nodded, examining the framework taking shape. Steel would be perfect. But rare out here. "I''ve got some stock." Clarik gestured toward his material pile. "Could spare a few bars." No. I kept working, carefully splitting a teacup to form finger joints. You need it more. For tools. "Least I could do, after what you did for Henrik''s boys." He returned to his hammering. "My cousin''s a stubborn arse, treating you like he does after what you did for him. But I''m not. You saved his children, hell, his whole family!" Was right thing to do. I attached the porcelain pieces, testing the joint''s movement. Besides, enjoying working. Here. Good to have company. "Ha! Most folk would say I''m poor company. I just grunt and hammer all day." Better than fear. Or hatred. Clarik''s hammering slowed. "Give them some time. They''re good, honest folk, deep down. They''ll come around once they see past all the metal and gears." It is why. I''m building this. I held up the partially completed hand, its white porcelain fingers gleaming in the forge light. More human, in appearance. Less frightening. "Smart thinking." He nodded approvingly. "Though shame you have to change yourself just to make others comfortable." I shrugged my shoulders, the gears in the joints of my right limb whirring softly. Small price. To pay. For acceptance. The hammer''s rhythm resumed, mixing with the quiet clicks and scrapes of my own work. We fell into comfortable silence, each focused on our respective crafts. The afternoon light filtered through the smithy''s windows, catching dust motes and highlighting the growing pile of transformed tableware taking shape under my hands. "I could try smelting some steel now, if you want," Clarik offered, gesturing to his furnace. "Got plenty of coal." I paused in my work, an idea forming. What if Assembly could do it? Clarik raised an eyebrow as I gathered some iron ore and coal from his stores. Placing them on the workbench, I focused my ability on the materials. At first, I tried simply willing them to combine, to fuse into steel through pure magic. The result was disappointing as it was just a messy clump of ore and coal stuck together. I let out a sigh. There had to be a better way. I began thinking about the actual process of creating steel. The knowledge surfaced with surprising clarity, though I couldn''t tell if it came from my fractured memories or from Assembly itself. Iron ore needed extreme heat in a blast furnace, producing high-carbon iron. Then that iron would be melted, exposed to oxygen to remove the excess carbon. Only then would you get proper steel. As I focused on these steps, I felt Assembly responding differently. The clumped materials began to glow, first a dull red, then brighter. Heat was building within them, though no flame ever touched them. Fascinating. I concentrated harder, willing more heat into the mixture. The glow intensified as carbon began bonding with iron at the molecular level. More heat, more pressure; the materials started to liquefy, transforming before my eyes. Soon a sphere of molten metal floated above the workbench, glowing a fierce red-orange. It hung there, defying gravity, completely under my control through Assembly. "By the Twelve..." Clarik breathed, hammer forgotten in his slack grip. "Never seen anything like that. No furnace, no flame. Just pure magic!" Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Not magic. Not exactly, I projected, though I wasn''t entirely sure what to call this new application of Assembly. More like... willing process to happen. Understanding it completely. The blacksmith circled the floating molten steel, careful to keep his distance from the intense heat. "Whatever it is, it''s remarkable. You''re remarkable." I focused intently on the floating sphere of molten metal, willing oxygen from the surrounding air to flow into it. Through Assembly, I could somehow sense the carbon molecules breaking their bonds, burning away as they met the incoming oxygen. The steel was purifying itself before my eyes, becoming stronger, more refined. A harsh cough broke my concentration. Clarik had doubled over, one hand braced against his workbench while the other clutched at his chest. What''s wrong? I projected, keeping the molten orb stable but turning my attention to him. "Air..." he wheezed, face reddening. "Getting... hard to breathe..." Horror struck me as I realized what was happening. In my fascination with the metallurgical process, I''d been pulling too much oxygen from my surroundings. I immediately reduced the flow, allowing the atmospheric balance to normalize. Clarik straightened slowly, taking deep breaths. "That''s better," he said, still sounding winded. "Felt like being up in the high mountains for a moment there." I''m sorry, I projected quickly. Didn''t mean. To hurt you. "No harm done," he assured me, waving off my concern. "Just warn me next time you plan to steal all the air." But his words made me pause. Why hadn''t I noticed the drop in oxygen? I still had lungs in what remained of my original body; at least I thought I did. I still needed to breathe... didn''t I? I focused on my own breathing pattern and realized with a start that I couldn''t find one. My chest neither rose nor fell. My body, what was left of it, seemed to have no need for air at all. When did I stop breathing? I knew that during my so-called "birth," I had gasped for air like a newborn infant upon emerging from the earth. Yet sometime between then and now, I stopped doing so. I didn''t even notice. Was my breathing just a false reaction caused by my memories, like my urge to drink had been? Clarik, I projected hesitantly. Have you ever. Seen me breathe? He frowned, studying me. "Come to think of it... no. But surely you must? Everything needs to breathe." I shook my head slowly. Apparently not everything. The molten steel still hung in the air between us, its glow slightly dimmed now that I''d reduced the oxygen flow. Another reminder that I was something other than human, despite my memories suggesting otherwise. I resumed the experiment, this time maintaining careful control over the oxygen flow. The molten sphere hung suspended, its glow steady and controlled. Through Assembly, I could sense the carbon molecules breaking down at a measured pace, the metal purifying itself gradually. "How does it feel?" Clarik asked, keeping a safer distance this time. "Being able to do that?" Natural, I projected. Like remembering. Rather than learning. The sphere''s color shifted subtly as impurities burned away. I guided the process with growing confidence, maintaining the delicate balance of heat and oxygen. The metal responded to my will as if it were an extension of myself. Finally, I sensed the transformation was complete. I released my hold on the heat, and watched as it dissipated at an impossible rate. The sphere''s glow faded rapidly, its surface solidifying into a perfect metallic ball that dropped onto the workbench with a solid thunk. Clarik approached cautiously, picking up the steel sphere and turning it in his calloused hands. His eyes widened as he examined it, running expert fingers across its surface. "This is..." He shook his head in amazement. "This is perfect steel. Better than anything I''ve ever forged. The quality, the purity..." Before he could finish, a familiar blue box appeared before my eyes:
Congratulations! Assembly has reached Rank C! You may now use Assembly to smelt, alloy, and forge metal for your creations!
I stared at the notification, processing what this meant for my capabilities. The knowledge that had guided me through creating steel hadn''t come from old memories after all; it was Assembly evolving, growing stronger. Would you like more steel? I projected to Clarik, gesturing at the perfect sphere he still held. Can make as much. As you need. His eyes lit up, but he tried to maintain a casual demeanor. "Wouldn''t want to impose. You''re busy with your own work." Not imposing. I gathered more iron ore and coal from his stores. You''ve given me space here. Let me repay kindness. "Well, if you''re offering..." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Could use about twenty pounds. Got several plows to forge, and Henrik''s boys need new tools for spring planting." I nodded and began the process again. This time, I created multiple smaller spheres of molten steel, carefully controlling the oxygen flow to avoid another incident. The glowing orbs hung in the air like miniature suns, casting dancing shadows across the smithy walls. "Remarkable," Clarik muttered, watching the steel purify itself. "Simply remarkable." Takes less coal this way, I noted as I worked. More efficient than furnace. "Aye, and faster too. What would take me days, you do in minutes." He paused, then added quickly, "Not that I''m complaining about the competition, mind you. This is a gift." I let out an amused chime-like laugh. Not here to steal your trade. Just want to help. The steel spheres cooled one by one, dropping onto the workbench with satisfying thuds. Clarik examined each piece with expert eyes, nodding approvingly at their quality. "Perfect, every single one." He gathered the steel into his arms like precious gems. "This''ll keep me busy for weeks. The farmers won''t believe the quality of their new tools." Happy to help, I projected, already turning back to my porcelain work. Least I could do. "You know," he said, carefully stacking the steel spheres near his forge, "you''ve got a way of proving yourself without meaning to. First saving those kids, now this." He gestured at the steel and gave me a smile. "Actions speak louder than words, or mind speech, in your case." Hope my actions will convince Weath. That I am not a monster. To be feared. Clarik reached out and patted my metal back. "I''m sure you''ll win them all to your side, in the end." I smiled back, though this time I made sure to keep my lips closed so as I didn''t flash my sharp teeth at him. Chapter 30: Human-ish Chapter 30: Human-ish The rhythmic ping of hammer on metal filled Clarik''s smithy as he and I worked on our separate projects. I was shaping the steel skeleton for my new form while he hammered out various items for the farmers of Weath. After a few hours work, I''d pause to create some more pure steel for Clarik''s farming tools. The pace was meditative, allowing my mind to drift while my hands stayed busy. "No Eyes!" Mallie''s cheerful voice rang out as she bounded into the workshop, her bow slung across her back. "You won''t believe what happened today!" I set down some bits of reshaped steel. Tell me. "Got my first deer!" She beamed, practically bouncing. "Right through the eye, clean shot. Master Hunter Jace said he hadn''t seen aim that precise in years." Impressive shot, I projected, genuinely proud of her achievement. "The tracking part was harder though." She wrinkled her nose. "Jace keeps trying to teach me about reading broken twigs and deer droppings, but I just can''t seem to get it. The other Hunters make fun of me since they don''t have to learn all that stuff ''cause they have Hunter abilities. They say my Archer class is better for combat than hunting." "Still," Clarik chimed in from his forge, "a clean kill''s nothing to sneeze at. That''s good eating for the village." Mallie nodded eagerly. "The Butcher''s already working on it. Said the pelt''s in good condition too! Barely any blood on it since I got the eye shot. The Leathersmith might even make something special from it." How is the experience gain? I asked, knowing she''d been concerned about advancing without monster fights. "Slower than in the Hellzone," she admitted. "But steady. Each deer gives me a little. Plus," she grinned, "Jace says there''s been bear signs in the north woods. That would be worth some real experience points." Be careful, I projected automatically, then caught myself as she rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. No solo hunting, especially for big game." She hopped onto a workbench, swinging her legs. "But it''s nice, you know? Having something useful to do. Something that helps people without having to..." She trailed off, but I knew she was thinking of the violence at Qordos. Yes, I agreed. Peaceful work. Is good work. We settled into comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of metalwork. Mallie watched as I continued crafting my new skeleton, occasionally asking questions about the process. The afternoon light streamed through the smithy windows, casting long shadows across the floor. In moments like these, the fears and suspicions of the villagers seemed far away. But it wasn''t just my new body that I had been working on. While Mallie practiced her archery outside, I turned my attention to my combat frame. The basic structure had served well enough during our escape from Qordos, but experience had shown several weaknesses that needed addressing. I lifted open the chest plate, examining the connection points. Would you hand me that coil. Of steel wire? I projected to Clarik, who was organizing his tools nearby. "Here." He passed it over. "Better than the copper stuff you''ve been using, that''s for certain. Won''t snap under strain." I threaded the wire through the joint mechanisms, replacing the older copper strands. The difference was immediate, with each movement becoming sharper, more precise. Where before there had been a slight delay between thought and action, now the response was nearly instantaneous. The armor plates came next. I''d salvaged additional steel from Clarik''s scrap pile, reinforcing the frame at key stress points. The added weight would slow me down, but the protection was worth the trade-off. I''d learned from fighting Chanos that speed alone wasn''t always enough. "Clever design with these hinges," Clarik noted as I installed the new chest plate access. "Makes it easier to get in and out of?" I nodded, testing the swing of the front panel. The reinforced hinges allowed the chest to open smoothly, like a cabinet door. No more awkward wiggling to position myself inside the frame. Old design was inefficient, I projected. This way I can respond. Faster if body is damaged. Or if I need to switch forms quickly. I worked methodically through each limb, strengthening joints and adding armor plating. The legs received extra attention. I''d noticed they tended to buckle under heavy impacts. By the time I finished, the combat frame looked bulkier, more imposing, but the improved engineering meant every movement remained fluid and controlled. Standing up, I tested the modifications. The added weight was noticeable, but the enhanced steel wire compensated, allowing for powerful, precise strikes. I executed a series of movements, the four arms moving in perfect coordination. Yes, this would serve much better if trouble came to Weath again.
I stood in front of a bronze mirror I had made a few days ago, examining my newest creation. The combat frame that had served me so well in the Hellzone was now hunched in the corner of Clarik''s smithy like a discarded suit of armor. The new body I wore was different, a marriage of function and beauty that reflected who I might have been. The proportions were designed to match my remaining arm perfectly, suggesting I had once been quite tall. At over six feet, I towered above my previous mechanical body, though not as high as that first crude five-legged construct I''d built from battlefield scraps. I kept the frame lean, following the delicate lines of my sole surviving limb. Without memories of my gender, I chose an androgynous form. No curves or muscles to suggest male or female, just clean lines and smooth surfaces throughout. The steel skeleton and complex machinery disappeared beneath white porcelain plates, each piece carefully shaped to mimic human anatomy. I had incorporated the blue floral patterns from Sarah Goodmak''s crockery, creating flowing designs that traced across my new body like painted veins. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. I raised an arm, watching the porcelain plates slide smoothly over one another. The engineering was precise, each joint moving with fluid grace while maintaining the aesthetic illusion of skin. The combat form had been purely functional, but this body was art. Perhaps it would help the villagers see me as something more than just a monster. My reflection stared back at me, still eyeless, still bearing those ragged red wounds at my true body''s edges; but now it was housed in something that looked almost human. It was beautiful, in its own way. I lifted the final piece of my transformation: a mask of pristine white porcelain. The surface gleamed in the smithy''s lamplight, delicate blue flowers blooming along its edges like frost on a winter morning. I''d spent hours perfecting every detail, ensuring the curvature would shield my ruined face without appearing too artificial. I lifted the featureless mask to my face, remembering my earlier attempts. The first version had included painted eyes, deep blue irises surrounded by white, matching the porcelain''s color scheme. But something about those false eyes had been deeply disturbing. They stared without life, without movement, a mockery of sight that only emphasized my otherworldly nature. The second attempt incorporated glass eyes, salvaged from a broken doll in the general store. Those were even worse. The glassy sheen caught lamplight in unsettling ways, making them appear to move and shift when they shouldn''t. Several of Clarik''s apprentices had actually backed away when I tested that version. "Those eyes make you look like some kind of possessed statue," Clarik had said, shuddering. "Like something that shouldn''t be alive but is." He was right. The artificial eyes drew attention to what I lacked, making me appear more monstrous than my current eyeless state. The people had already given me a name that acknowledged my condition: No Eyes. Fighting against that identity only made me seem like I was trying to hide something sinister. So this final mask was different. A graceful sweep of pure white porcelain, decorated only with the same delicate blue flowers that adorned the rest of my new form. No attempt at false humanity, just clean, simple elegance. The smooth surface reflected my acceptance of what I was, while its artistry showed what I aspired to be. My fingers traced the steel reinforcement I''d layered within. The metal was thin but strong, providing protection for the vulnerable red flesh where my eyes should have been. The mask would cover from my hairline to just below my nose, leaving my mouth exposed. As I brought the mask to my face, it responded like all my mechanical parts did, drawn to the ragged, red edges of my true form. The porcelain settled against my skin with a familiar sensation, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, simply becoming part of me. No straps or bindings were necessary; it adhered as naturally as the rest of my constructed body. The connection was instant. Like my mechanical limbs, the mask integrated with my awareness. I could feel its smooth surface as if it were my own skin, sense the flow of a breeze against the porcelain. Through Integration, these crafted parts truly became extensions of myself. I turned back to the mirror. The mask transformed my appearance, replacing the horror of my eyeless face with something eerily beautiful. The blue patterns seemed to shift in the light, creating the illusion of expression where there was none. Perhaps now I could walk through Weath without causing children to hide behind their mothers. The smithy door creaked open as Clarik and Mallie entered. I turned from the mirror to face them, curious about their reaction to my transformation. Clarik''s mouth fell open, his usual stream of smithing commentary completely silenced. Mallie had no such restraint. She burst into delighted laughter, clapping her hands together. "Oh! You look beautiful! Like one of those fancy statues in the temple, but alive!" Clarik cleared his throat. "It''s... impressive work. But, uh..." He scratched his beard. "You might want to consider wearing some clothes. You look rather... naked." This set Mallie off again, her gap-toothed grin wider than ever. I looked down at my porcelain-plated form. While the plates covered everything completely, I supposed the human-like proportions did create a certain... unclothed impression. "Wait here," Clarik said, hurrying out of the smithy. He returned moments later with a bundle of clothing: a brown linen shirt, worn pants, and a pair of scuffed boots. "These are extras of mine. Should do for now." I pulled on the clothes, the fabric feeling strange against my porcelain plates. Turning back to the mirror, I had to agree with Mallie''s grimace. Clarik''s clothes hung off my frame like sails in a dead wind. The shirt''s shoulders extended well past my own, and I had to roll the pants several times just to see my feet. The man was a few inches taller than me in my new form, and broader to boot; of course his clothes would ill suit me. "You look awful," Mallie announced with characteristic directness. Her face brightened. "Oh! I could ask Ma if you could have some of her old dresses! They''d fit much better than Clarik''s things." I shook my head. No thank you. "But why not?" Mallie''s lower lip jutted out in a pout. "You''d look so pretty in a dress. The blue one with the lace trim would match your porcelain perfectly." Neither like nor dislike dresses, I projected through Mind Speech. Clothes are clothes. "Then what''s the problem?" She crossed her arms, green eyes narrowing at me in that stubborn way that meant she wouldn''t let this go easily. Your mother already hates me. Views me as a threat. I adjusted Clarik''s oversized shirt, trying to keep it from sliding off one shoulder. Wearing her old clothes would only. Make things worse. Mallie''s expression darkened at the mention of Katherin. She''d witnessed enough of her mother''s cold shoulders and sharp comments directed my way. Just yesterday, Katherin had made a point of steering some of the neighborhood children away when I passed by their home. "Ma''s being stupid about this," Mallie muttered, kicking at a loose nail on the smithy floor. "You saved us. You helped us escape. You''re protecting the village now." Your mother loves you. She wants to keep you. Safe. I touched Mallie''s shoulder with my porcelain hand. From her perspective. I am a monster who involved her daughter. In violence. "But-" She is not entirely wrong. About that last part. Mallie''s shoulders slumped. "I guess." She sighed, the sound full of pre-teen exasperation. "Fine. No dresses. But we have to find you something better than Clarik''s old work clothes. You look like a scarecrow." I turned back to the mirror, studying Clarik''s ill-fitting clothes. The fabric itself was fine; the sturdy cotton and well-tanned leather would serve well enough. The problem lay solely in the size. My Assembly ability hummed to life as I focused on the cloth. The fabric began to shift and reform, excess material dropping away as the shirt contracted around my porcelain frame. Threads unwove and rewove themselves, creating clean seams that followed my new body''s proportions. The shoulders drew in, the sleeves shortened, and the loose billowing chest became fitted without being tight. The pants underwent a similar transformation, length shortening as the waist drew in. Excess fabric fell away in neat strips, leaving properly fitted trousers. The boots were last, leather reshaping itself as unnecessary material peeled away. The laces shortened and realigned, creating footwear that matched my feet perfectly. I reached up and gathered my long black hair, which had remained one of my few unchanged features. Taking a strip of excess cloth, I bound it back into a neat tail that hung between my shoulder blades. The simple action exposed the graceful lines of my neck, completing the transformation. Mallie circled me with an appraising eye. "Much better! Now you actually look like a person instead of someone playing dress-up with their father''s clothes." Looking in the mirror, I had to agree. The fitted clothing gave my mechanical form a more natural appearance. Combined with the porcelain plates and mask, I could almost pass for human at first glance. Only my unnaturally smooth movements and the blue floral patterns flowing across the white surfaces hinted at my true nature. Not to mention my dental features. I gave the reflection in the bronze mirror a smile, revealing the sharp, jagged rows of white. I definitely would not be smiling too often, for everyone''s sake. Chapter 31: Visit Chapter 31: Visit I followed Mallie through Weath''s dirt paths, my new boots leaving clean impressions in the morning mud. The fitted clothes and porcelain frame drew stares from everyone we passed. Different stares than those I had gotten before; these were less fearful, more curious. "Morning Miss Mallie!" Old Willem called from his porch. His eyes widened when he recognized me. "By the gods, No Eyes? Is that really you under all that fancy work?" Good morning, Willem, I projected. Yes. I decided to go for. A new look. "Well now, ain''t that something." He hobbled down his steps, squinting at my new form. "Looking right proper, you are. Like one of them fancy moving dolls I once saw at the capital!" A group of children playing stick-ball stopped their game to gawk. One small boy, Derek''s younger brother Petre, actually waved before his friend yanked his arm down. "The metalwork is beautiful," Sarah Goodmak said as we passed by her store. She touched the porcelain plates I''d bought from her several days back, marveling at how they had changed. "I never imagined they''d become something like this." Mallie beamed with pride as if she''d crafted me herself. "Isn''t it wonderful? No more scary spikes or extra arms. Though I still think a dress would look better on her." "Well, I do have some nice dresses for sale if you''re interested," Sarah teased, giving me a smirk. Will think about it, I told her, copying her smirk with my lips. I was careful not to reveal my sharp teeth. We turned down the main street of the village where farmers were setting up market stalls. Conversation quieted as heads turned our way. I kept my movements smooth and controlled, trying not to startle anyone with sudden mechanical motions. "That''s... different," Farmer Tull muttered, arms crossed. He still gave me an angry glare, but it didn''t have its usual heat. He didn''t back away or reach for a weapon like before, either, so I suppose that was progress. Derek broke away from helping his father stack produce to dash over. "You look amazing! Can you still fight as well without the extra arms though?" Not as capable, sadly, I told him. But less frightening this way. "The blue patterns are pretty," his sister Pippa added shyly from behind a barrel of apples. Mayor Antos emerged from the town hall, did a double-take, then approached with measured steps. He circled me once, stroking his chin. "Well," he said finally. "This is certainly an improvement. Though I hope the new appearance doesn''t mean you''ve lost your ability to defend us?" I shook my head. My other body still available. To me. Can switch back at any time. "Good, good." He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "The village appreciates your efforts to be less... intimidating." We continued our circuit through Weath. With each interaction, I noted the subtle shifts in how people responded to me. Where before they''d recoiled, now they merely stared. Their wariness remained, but the edge of terror had dulled. "See?" Mallie squeezed my porcelain hand. "They just needed to see that you''re not so scary after all." I squeezed back gently, careful of my strength. She was right; appearance mattered to humans far more than I''d initially understood. This new form might not erase their fears entirely, but it was a start. I followed Mallie down the winding path to her family''s farm, my booted feet leaving delicate prints in the soft earth. The morning sun caught the blue patterns etched across my new form, casting dancing reflections on the wheat stalks swaying in the breeze. "Ma''s probably inside making lunch," Mallie said, skipping ahead. "Pa''s always in the fields this time of day." I hesitated at the wooden fence marking their property. Perhaps I should wait here. "Don''t be silly." She grabbed my hand, tugging me forward. "You look wonderful now. Even Ma won''t be able to complain." The farm spread before us with three distinct fields sectioned off by worn wooden fences. The first bristled with golden wheat nearly ready for harvest. The second held neat rows of hay bales. In the third, unfamiliar plants with broad leaves stretched toward the sky. What are those? I asked, pointing to the strange crops. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. "Tobacco. Pa says it sells better than grain these days." Mallie wrinkled her nose. "Smells awful when they cure it though." Movement caught my attention. Moskin straightened from where he''d been checking the wheat, wiping sweat from his brow. Two farmhands worked nearby, both refugees from Qordos who''d stayed to help with the harvest. When Moskin spotted us, he raised his hand in greeting. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my transformed appearance, but his wave didn''t falter. "Morning, No Eyes," he called out, walking over to the fence. "That''s quite a change you''ve made." Good morning, Moskin, I replied. Yes. Thought a new look. Might help. He reached out to touch the porcelain plating on my arm, visible from my rolled-up sleeves. He examined the craftsmanship with a farmer''s practical eye. "Fine work this. Reminds me of them fancy dishes the merchants bring through sometimes." He tapped the metal beneath. "Still solid underneath though, I''d wager." "Isn''t it beautiful, Pa?" Mallie beamed. "No Eyes made it all by herself!" "That so?" Moskin nodded approvingly. "Always did admire folks who can work with their hands. Though I suppose in your case..." He trailed off, apparently unsure how to politely reference my original form. I appreciate the complement, I said, saving him from the awkward moment. How is harvest coming along? I spent a few minutes making small talk with Moskin, then spoke with the farm hands, asking how they were doing. Both young men were hale and healthy, seemingly happy to settle down in this small, picturesque village. I noticed Mallie looking impatient, so I bid the men farewell before following her. She led me into the farmhouse, and I had to duck my head under the low doorframe, still getting used to my new, taller size. The interior was cozy, containing a small kitchen with worn wooden furniture, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a pot bubbling over the hearth. Kathrin stood at the counter, kneading dough. She glanced up, and her hands froze mid-motion. Flour dusted her forearms and apron as she stared at my new form. Good morning, Kathrin, I projected carefully. "Look Ma! No Eyes got all fixed up! Isn''t she pretty?" Mallie bounced on her toes. Kathrin''s lips pressed into a thin line. "So now you''re playing dress-up? Trying to fool us into thinking you''re human?" "Ma!" Mallie''s smile vanished. "What? Am I supposed to pretend that covering a monster in a pretty outfit makes it any less dangerous?" Kathrin slapped her dough. "Evil is evil, no matter how you dress it up." "No Eyes isn''t evil! She saved us! She killed the slavers and brought us home!" Mallie''s face flushed red. "And now you''re defending it? After what happened to the Sholz family? To little Tommy?" Kathrin''s voice rose. "It''s probably just waiting for the right moment to-" "SHUT UP!" Mallie screamed. "You don''t know anything! You weren''t there!" Moskin burst through the door. "What in blazes is all this racket?" "Your daughter is taking that thing''s side again!" Kathrin jabbed a flour-covered finger at me. "Don''t call her that!" Mallie shouted back. "It''s not human, Mallie! Stop pretending it is!" "The slavers were human, but you didn''t care when No Eyes killed them to save me!" "That''s different-" "How? HOW is it different?" "Because I said so! I''m your mother and-" "Some mother! You weren''t there when I needed you!" "ENOUGH!" Moskin''s voice boomed. "Kathrin, the monster- No Eyes brought our girl back. And Mallie, your mother has every right to be worried after what''s happened!" The three of them continued shouting, voices overlapping in a cacophony of anger and pain. I stood awkwardly in the middle, my new porcelain form feeling more conspicuous than ever. I should go, I projected, though I doubted any of them heard me through their arguing. I slipped out the door, leaving the family to their heated discussion. Their voices followed me across the yard, muffled but still clearly angry. So much for my attempt at appearing more approachable. I walked through Weath, my porcelain form catching the morning light. I decided to head back to Clarik''s smithy now that my little stroll was finished. Perhaps the man could use some help with his work. A few children waved as I passed. I remembered them as Derek''s friends who had grown used to my presence. I lifted my hand in response, careful to keep the motion as smooth and unthreatening as I could. The town hall''s weathered walls came into view as I crossed the main street. Two figures stood nearby, their well-kept armor marking them as adventurers rather than locals. They were a strange sight, as I had gotten used to seeing unarmored farmers and merchants during my stay in Weath. I activated Analyze, the familiar blue text appearing in my vision. The other was: They spotted me quickly. At first, they didn''t seem to notice anything amiss, as my body looked quite human from afar. But as I moved closer, they began to notice my strange appearance: the pale skin, the eyeless mask, the metal and porcelain parts visible through my clothing. Their bodies tensed. Hands moved to their weapon hilts with practiced speed. "Monster!" Andrim''s shout split the morning quiet. "Help! There''s a monster in the street!" Three more adventurers burst from the town hall''s doors, weapons already drawn. My Analyze provided their information in rapid succession: The adventurer was older than the rest, perhaps in his mid-forties. His brown hair was slicked back and his beard finely trimmed. He had a stocky build encased in comfortable leather armor, and his sword was a nimble rapier with a thin, lethal blade. This one was a skinny man dressed in brown robes. I didn''t even need Analyze to tell me that he was a mage; his bookish looks and lack of armor marked him as an obvious spellcaster. The third adventurer was a woman, as thin as the pyromancer, though her lithe figure exuded strength and speed. She wore light leather and cloth and had a bow and quiver filled with arrows upon her back. The five spread out in a practiced formation, the female Archer actually leaping up onto a nearby roof and moving to higher ground, while the others fanned out to surround me. Steel glinted in the sunlight as blades cleared scabbards. Great. This day was definitely not going the way I had planned. Chapter 32: Misunderstanding Chapter 32: Misunderstanding I held perfectly still as the unknown adventurers spread out around me. The Archer on the roof nocked an arrow while the others advanced with practiced coordination. Their weapons gleamed in the morning light, well-maintained steel that could easily shred my new porcelain plating. I mean you no harm, I projected, but they flinched at the mental contact. "It''s using magic!" Coyle, the mage, shouted. His hands burst into flames. "Some kind of mind attack!" "Hold formation," Marshes commanded, his dueling rapier''s tip pointed steadily at my chest. "Don''t let it escape." I could have told them how futile their weapons were against my true form, how even if they destroyed this mechanical body, they couldn''t actually harm me. But that would only escalate things. Besides, I''d spent days crafting this new form, carefully shaping each porcelain plate and calibrating every joint. I didn''t want to see it reduced to scrap. "STOP!" Mayor Antos burst through the town hall doors, his face red from exertion. "By Altinava''s bountiful arse, Lower your weapons, all of you!" "Sir, stay back!" Jecker warned. "There''s a monster-" "That''s No Eyes, you fool!" Antos wheezed, clutching his side. "It''s been living here for weeks, helping protect our village!" "What?" Marshes''s rapier didn''t waver. "Aye, saved a whole group of our folk from slavers in the Hellzone. Even stopped some raiders a few weeks ago without bloodshed." Antos straightened up. "It''s an odd-looking fellow, sure, but he¡­ she, whatever, has done nothing but help since arriving." Marshes studied me with narrowed eyes. I noticed his stance shift slightly, still ready but less aggressive. "I see." The middle aged adventurer lowered his blade. "Stand down," he ordered his team. The others hesitated, then slowly sheathed their weapons. The archer on the roof kept her bow half-drawn, but at least it was pointed toward the ground. "Andrim!" Marshes rounded on his companion. "What have I told you about raising false alarms? You nearly started a fight in the middle of town!" "But, sir, it looks like-" "Like someone who lives here peacefully, according to the mayor." Marshes turned to me and bowed deeply. "My sincerest apologies for my subordinate''s rashness. We''re here to protect the village, not harass their defenders." I watched Marshes''s face carefully as he explained his presence. Despite his earlier aggression, there was an earnestness to his manner that seemed genuine. "Baron Holstoff sent us personally, after he received your messengers at Millbrook," he said, straightening his leather vest. "Though I admit it took some... persuasion." "Persuasion?" Antos''s eyebrows shot up. "That old goat never listens to anyone." "One of your former townsfolk made quite an impression." Marshes smiled. "A merchant named Joras passed through Millbrook a week back. Apparently, he was one of the people that was rescued from Qordos." Joras. I remembered him, a well-dressed man who had kept mostly to himself during our journey. He''d mentioned having business contacts back at the capital, but the quiet man hadn''t elaborated. "That pompous silk trader?" Antos barked out a laugh. "Should have known he''d have the Baron''s ear. Half the nobles in the region owe him money." "He was... rather forceful in his suggestions to the Baron." Marshes''s eyes flickered to me. "Told quite a tale about a mechanical warrior who led a slave revolt. Said the least the Baron could do was send proper protection to the village that harbored such a defender." The adventurer then looked me over, rubbing his bearded chin in though. "Sorry again about earlier. I didn''t recognize you. You look nothing like what Joras described." I nodded my head, accepting his apology. New body, I explained, though that only seemed to confuse the adventurers more. Antos scratched his long beard. "Well, I''ll be damned. Never thought I''d see the day Holstoff actually did something useful for Weath." "The Baron was particularly concerned when he learned there were raiders operating so close to his lands," Marshes added. "Can''t have word getting around that he''s letting bandits run loose in his territory. Bad for trade." I found myself appreciating Joras''s subtle manipulation. He''d known exactly which strings to pull: the Baron''s pride as well as his purse. "How long will you be staying?" Antos asked. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "Until the raider threat is dealt with, at minimum." Marshes glanced at his team. "Though given what I''ve heard about this Gomka character, we may need to request reinforcements." Gomka. Already dealt with, I projected to the group. I confronted him and his raiders. At Henrik''s farm. Marshes''s eyebrows shot up. "When was this?" "Few weeks back," Antos said. "No Eyes here caught them before they could do harm to a third family." I explained how I''d found their camp through the goblin Vom, then intercepted the raiders before they could attack. Gomka offered me. A place with his group. I refused. "And he just... left?" Marshes frowned, fingers drumming on his rapier''s hilt. "The same Gomka who''s been terrorizing settlements for months? The one who leaves no survivors?" He shook his head. "With all due respect, I find that hard to believe. Every adventurer in the region''s heard of Gomka and his crew. He''s not known for backing down." You wouldn''t have had. Same outcome, I told him bluntly. Gomka only withdrew because I''m a monster. Like him. If you tried to confront him. He would not bother to talk. "You don''t know that-" I do. I cut him off. Gomka hates humans. Men, women, children. He kills them all, no exceptions. Marshes''s face hardened. "And you let him go, knowing this?" Made choice to protect the family he was. Threatening. Fighting would have put them at risk. I turned my blank porcelain mask toward him. Would you have preferred. I engaged in combat while innocent people. Were in crossfire? That gave him pause. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "No... no, you made the right call." He sighed. "Though I wish you''d killed the bastard. He''ll just move on to other targets now." Perhaps. I didn''t mention Gomka''s invitation to join other intelligent monsters in the Central Hellzone. It would be best to let him think the raiders had simply moved on. But he won''t return here. He knows. I''m protecting Weath. "Well," Marshes scratched his beard, "seems the Baron''s gold might be better spent elsewhere then. Though I''d still like my team to stay a while, if only to verify your story and make sure the raiders have truly moved on." I nodded my agreement. Having trained adventurers around might help ease some of the villagers'' remaining fears about my presence.
We gathered inside the town hall, settling around the large oak table where just days ago villagers had argued about my presence. The contrast wasn''t lost on me as now these same walls witnessed careful planning rather than fearful accusations. "Tell us about each member of Gomka''s gang," Marshes said, spreading out a worn map across the table''s surface. "Numbers, weapons, anything you noticed." Ten raiders total, I projected. Gomka leads them. Level 14. Missing left tusk and right eye. Janis, their scout, leaned forward. "How do you know his exact level?" Analyze ability. "You have Analyze?" Coyle spoke up from where he''d been quietly observing. The mage''s fingers twitched against his staff. "That''s... unexpected. What rank?" Rank D. Only names and levels. Classes for humans, too. I turned my porcelain mask toward him. I could teach you. If you wish. Coyle shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adam''s apple bobbing. "No, that''s... I appreciate the offer, but no thank you." I noticed how he wouldn''t meet my gaze, how his knuckles whitened around his staff. Even with my more human appearance, the thought of learning from a monster clearly disturbed him. "Continue about the raiders," Marshes prompted, breaking the awkward moment. I described the rest of Gomka''s gang, listing out their names and levels as well as giving them thorough descriptions of each monster. I pointed to different locations on the map. Last saw them heading northeast. "Those are precise details," Andrim commented, the adventurer''s eyes narrowing. "And you got all their names too?" Yes. Five of them were the same race as Gomka¡­ "Orcs," Antos told me, giving a name to the monsters. I nodded my thanks to the old mayor before continuing. Their names were Throk and Vah. Both Level 7. Karm, Shofti, Grut were rest. Level 5. There were two small, lizard-like creatures. "Kobolds, most likely, if they were small," Marshes spoke up. "There are also lizardmen, but I hear they''re quite large." Kobolds. Lizardmen. Orcs. There were a lot of monster races in the world; more so than there were human ones. I continued listing out the members of Gomka''s crew: Archer kobold was Salzaren. Level 12. Other kobold is Kolkoda, Level 5. Two were goblins, Level 5. Yagsu and Orlu. There was also the slave, Vom. He was Level 1. Hope he escaped. "What a charming bunch," Antos muttered. Marshes made notes in a small leather book. "This information will be valuable to other adventuring parties in the region. Though I''m curious. How did you learn Analyze? It''s not a common ability, especially among..." He hesitated. Monsters? I finished for him. Harke taught me. Before he left for Yorr. "The healer?" Coyle perked up. "He had Analyze?" Rank B. "Impressive," Marshes nodded. "Though it explains how he survived so long as an adventurer." I watched Coyle process this information, noting how his stance toward me shifted slightly. Learning that a respected healer had taught me seemed to ease some of his tension, though he still maintained his distance. The meeting wound down as the adventurers exhausted their questions. I''d given them everything I knew about Gomka''s gang - their numbers, weapons, patterns of movement. Marshes closed his notebook with a satisfied nod. Antos pushed back from the table. "You''ll need lodging. The Prim Priestess is our only inn, but Old Rowell will take good care of you." He gave them a knowing smile. "Tell him to send the bill to me. I''ll forward it to our dear Baron later." The adventurers shared appreciative chuckles at that. I understood their amusement. The Baron who''d ignored Weath''s pleas would now be paying for their rooms. Marshes rose, adjusting his sword belt. "No Eyes." He turned to me. "Let me buy you a meal at the inn. It''s the least I can do after nearly starting a fight with you earlier." I noticed the subtle shifts in his companions'' postures; the way Andrim''s jaw tightened, of how Janis suddenly found the floor fascinating. Even Coyle, who''d warmed slightly during our discussion of Analyze, tensed at the thought of sharing a table with a monster. Appreciate the offer, I projected, but I don''t need. To eat. "Don''t need to eat?" Marshes''s eyebrows rose, then his face broke into an intrigued smile. "You are quite the interesting person, aren''t you?" Person. The word echoed in my mind. Not monster, not creature; person. It was a small thing, yet somehow it felt significant. The rest of his party filtered out, their boots scraping against the wooden floor. Their discomfort with my presence remained clear, but at least they no longer reached for their weapons when looking at me. Progress, however small, was still progress. Chapter 33: Adventurers Chapter 33: Adventurers The morning sun warmed my porcelain plates as I led Marshes and his team along the eastern forest''s edge. My mechanical legs moved smoothly across the uneven ground, each step calculated and precise. The adventurers followed behind, their leather boots crunching fallen leaves. "And this is where you encountered them?" Marshes knelt to examine a patch of trampled grass. Yes. Henrik''s farm lies just beyond those trees. Over the past few days, I''d grown accustomed to working with these humans. Marshes especially showed no hesitation in addressing me directly, treating my mechanical nature as merely another facet of who I was rather than something to fear. "Good defensive position," Andrim noted, studying the treeline. "Clear sight lines to both the farm and the village." Janis still kept her distance, but at least her hand no longer twitched toward her arrows when I moved. Even Coyle had begun asking questions about my Assembly ability, though he tried to mask his curiosity behind professional interest. We continued our patrol, checking the perimeter I''d established during my nightly rounds. The villagers we passed nodded in greeting. Old Willem waved at me from his garden, and Sarah Goodmak smiled as she hung laundry. "The villagers trust you," Marshes observed as we walked. "That''s not common for..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. For monsters? I projected, amused by his diplomacy. It''s fine. I know what I am. "Do you?" He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. "Most monsters I''ve encountered, intelligent or otherwise, don''t protect human villages or worry about earning trust." I considered his words as we reached the stream near where I''d first spotted the ripped shirt that eventually led me to Vom''s camp. The water gurgled over rocks, constant and unchanging despite all that had happened here. I remember being human, I admitted. Not clearly. But I know I was. "Interesting." Marshes stroked his beard. "In all my years as an adventurer, I''ve never heard of such a thing." Coyle moved closer, curiosity overtaking caution. "Could it be some sort of curse?" Perhaps. I watched a leaf spiral down the stream. But curses can be broken. This feels... different. "Well, whatever you are," Marshes clapped my shoulder, which was the first time any of them had willingly touched me. "You''ve proven yourself an ally to these people. That''s what matters." The simple gesture, the casual acceptance in his words, sparked something warm inside me. Not quite memory, but a feeling of rightness. Of belonging. "Let''s circle around to the west, then back." Marshes scanned the area, looking for any clues. "Light''s too dim right now to see into these woods properly." We completed our circuit as the sun climbed higher, checking the western approaches before returning to the village proper. Children played in the streets now, no longer rushing inside when I passed. Andrim excused himself, saying his throat was parched. He went to the well to get a drink, just as Old Willem had finished filling a ceramic jug with water. The two exchanged some words, and though I could not hear what was said, I could tell it wasn''t pleasant. I watched Old Willem turn his back on Andrim at the well, refusing to help draw water. The adventurer''s face darkened, but he said nothing, hauling up the bucket himself. They''re not usually like this, I projected to Marshes as we walked past. The villagers. I mean. "Oh?" He adjusted his rapier, a habit I''d noticed when he was thinking. "I''d say this is fairly typical for frontier towns. They rely on themselves, don''t trust outsiders much." I considered this as we headed back towards the eastern fields. The morning sun caught my porcelain plating, casting delicate shadows through the painted flowers. A group of children ran past, giving both of us a wide berth. But they needed help. With the raiders. "Needing help and wanting it are different things." Marshes nodded to Farmer Tull, who merely grunted and turned back to his work. "Pride''s a funny thing. These people have survived on their own for generations. Having to ask for outside help... well, it can feel like failure." The insight struck me. I''d assumed their initial hostility toward me stemmed purely from my monstrous nature. But watching Sarah Goodmak deliberately ignore Janis in her store, or seeing Henrik refuse to answer Coyle''s questions about the raiders; well, perhaps there was more to it. Even you? I asked. They asked the Baron for help, and he sent you. "Especially us." Marshes chuckled. "We''re living proof they couldn''t handle things themselves. No one likes to be reminded of their limitations." We reached the eastern treeline where I''d first encountered Gomka''s gang. Marshes studied the ground while I scanned the shadows between trees with Mind Sight. "Though I must say," he continued, "you''ve integrated better than we have. Despite being..." He trailed off. A monster? "I was going to say ''unique''." He smiled. "But yes. You protected them. Didn''t ask for payment or recognition. That means something to people like this." I thought about the villagers who''d gradually accepted me. Old Willem sharing stories at the pub. Derek bringing me scraps for repairs. Clarik letting me use his forge. Even Kathrin''s hostility seemed more about protecting Mallie than fearing what I was. I chose to stay, I realized. To help. You''re here because you were sent. "Precisely." Marshes straightened up from examining tracks. "Sometimes the messenger matters just as much as the message." The insight felt valuable, though I couldn''t quite explain why. Perhaps understanding why people behaved as they did was its own kind of power, different from Assembly or Mind Speech, but no less important.
The molten steel floated above the workbench, magically contained into the form of a perfect sphere, as I heated it to the correct temperature. All the while Coyle watched, completely fascinated. His earlier wariness had melted away like the metal I shaped, replaced by endless questions about my abilities. "So you just... know how to make things?" He leaned closer, squinting at the glowing metal. Not exactly. I focused, and soon the steel orb stopped glowing red as it completely cooled. Feels more like remembering. As if I''ve done this. Thousands of times before. "Amazing!" He scribbled in his notebook, the pages already filled with sketches of my previous works. "And you can create completely new designs?" Yes. Though some are more successful. Than others. Janis entered the smithy, carrying a basket of fresh bread. She''d been making these "casual" visits more frequently, always when Clarik was working. "Thought you might be hungry." She set the basket down, though her eyes were fixed on Clarik''s broad shoulders as he hammered at his anvil. I don''t eat, I reminded her, but she waved me off. "It''s for my brother and the blacksmith." She smoothed the blue dress she had taken to wearing around town. "Someone needs to make sure they don''t waste away while studying your... abilities." Coyle rolled his eyes at his sister''s transparent excuse, but grabbed a piece of bread anyway. "The Assembly ability is remarkable. I''ve never seen anything like it." Clarik paused his work, wiping sweat from his brow. "No Eyes here''s been a blessing. Fixed half the tools in the village, made them better than new." I noticed how Janis straightened when Clarik spoke, how her cheeks colored slightly. The subtle signs of attraction were easier to read now that I''d spent more time among humans. "Could you show me how you make those gears again?" Coyle pulled out fresh parchment. "The ones with the interlocking teeth?" If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I nodded, gathering scraps of metal. Through Assembly, I shaped them into precise circles, then carved exact teeth along the edges. The pieces fit together perfectly, spinning in smooth synchronization. "Incredible." Coyle''s quill scratched rapidly across the page. "And you can feel how they should fit?" Yes. Like pieces of a puzzle. One I''ve solved before. "Your brother''s going to wear out No Eyes with all these questions," Clarik told Janis, who laughed softly. "Knowledge is valuable," Coyle muttered, still sketching. "Besides, No Eyes doesn''t seem to mind." He was right. I didn''t mind at all. His curiosity felt genuine, untainted by fear or suspicion. Even Janis, who clearly used my demonstrations as an excuse to visit Clarik, treated me with casual familiarity. I created another set of gears, smaller this time, with more intricate patterns. Coyle''s eyes lit up at the complexity, while Janis finally tore her gaze from Clarik long enough to admire the craftsmanship. "Beautiful," she said, then quickly added, "Though not as impressive as traditional blacksmith work, of course." Clarik chuckled at that, making Janis blush deeper. I continued my work, enjoying the simple pleasure of creating while surrounded by people who saw me as more than just a monster. How is Marshes doing? I asked while shaping another gear. Haven''t seen him around lately. The casual question made Coyle suddenly very interested in his notes, while Janis burst into loud laughter that echoed through the smithy. Did I say something. Wrong? I tilted my porcelain mask in confusion. "No, no," Coyle mumbled, still not meeting my gaze. "He''s fine. Just... needs some space. To work on the investigation without distractions." Distractions? How would I distract him? This only made Janis laugh harder, clutching her sides. "Oh, you really don''t know, do you?" She wiped tears from her eyes. "Our dear party leader has quite the... appreciation for non-sapiens." Clarik paused his hammering to listen. "In the last three towns we visited," Janis continued, "he''s had relations with an elf maiden, two dwarven women, and even a halfling barmaid." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. But I''m not a woman, I stated plainly. At least. I don''t think I am. I can''t remember. This sent both Janis and Clarik into fits of laughter while Coyle''s face turned bright red. The young scholar buried himself deeper in his notebook, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. "That''s..." Clarik struggled to speak between laughs. "That''s not really the point, No Eyes." I don''t understand. What''s so funny? The molten steel I was working with cooled as my concentration wavered. "Don''t worry about it," Coyle muttered, shooting his sister a glare. "Can we please go back to discussing gear ratios?"
I stood at the edge of the makeshift training field, which was in reality just Farmer Colm''s unused hay field. My porcelain frame was bright white in the morning sun as Marshes demonstrated footwork to a cluster of eager youths from the village. His rapier flashed, precise and elegant, each movement deliberate. "Court Style emphasizes control," he explained, flowing through a series of thrusts. "Every strike must have purpose. No wasted motion." Mallie pressed closer to my side, her eyes fixed on the lesson. "Different from how the raiders fought," she whispered. "They just hacked and slashed." Yes. This is more... refined. I watched as Marshes corrected a boy''s grip on a wooden practice sword. "Balance is key." Marshes tapped the youth''s elbow. "Keep your arm relaxed but ready. It''s like holding a bird: firm enough so it won''t escape, but gentle enough not to crush it." The movements stirred something in my fractured memory. Faint glimpses of courtyard training grounds, filled with noble youth learning similar, graceful forms. But like always, the memories slipped away before I could grasp them fully. "Step, thrust, recover." Marshes demonstrated again, his boots barely disturbing the dirt. "The Court Style was developed for fighting in crowded ballrooms and narrow palace corridors. You must be precise, controlled, and aware of your surroundings." "Why not just swing harder?" one of the boys asked, making wild slashes with his practice sword. Marshes caught the wooden blade mid-swing. "Because your opponent will see it coming. Court Style is about efficiency. Finding the quickest path between two points." He demonstrated with a lightning-fast thrust that stopped just short of the boy''s chest. "Like that." The youth''s eyes widened. He hadn''t even seen the strike coming. His speed rivals the mechanical reflexes. In my combat body, I noted to Mallie. Even with four arms. I''d struggle to match that. Precision. "But you''re stronger," she pointed out. Strength means little. Against skill like that. I watched as Marshes guided his students through basic forms. He could find gaps in my defenses before I. Could bring my strength to bear. The lesson continued, sunlight glinting off Marshes'' rapier as he demonstrated more advanced techniques. Each movement was a study in economy; no flourishes, no unnecessary gestures. Just clean, deadly precision. Marshes caught my gaze and his weathered face lit up with a warm smile. He called a brief halt to the training session, striding over to where Mallie and I stood. "Good morning. Enjoying the demonstration?" His eyes lingered on my porcelain form longer than necessary. It was strange that I wouldn''t have noticed such attention before; only Janis and Coyle bringing up their party leader''s interest allowed me to see his gazes. The forms are... familiar, I replied through Mind Speech. Though I cannot recall why. "Perhaps you were trained in Court Style in your previous life?" He adjusted his grip on the rapier, moving a step closer. "I''d be happy to help you remember, demonstrate some more advanced techniques privately." I remained still, uncertain how to respond to the undercurrent in his tone. My ruined body gave no hints about my original gender, and my fractured memories offered no clarity about past attractions or preferences. The concept itself felt foreign even; distant and academic rather than visceral. "That was amazing!" Mallie bounced on her heels, thankfully interrupting my awkward silence. "The way you move with the rapier. It''s like dancing!" Marshes sheathed his blade with a practiced motion. "Years of practice, young lady. Though I''ll never reach the heights of a true master." "Are you going to evolve your class to Duelist?" Mallie''s eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I heard they''re the best swordsmen in the world." A wistful smile crossed his weathered face. "I''m afraid I''m too old for that now." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "If I''d had the chance to attend the War Academy when I was younger, I''d probably be both a Duelist and higher than level twelve. But such opportunities are reserved for nobles." Actually, I projected to both of them, Mallie received an invitation. To attend the Academy. Marshes'' eyebrows shot up. "You''re joking." He turned to Mallie. "Is this true?" She nodded, suddenly shy. "Before the raiders took me. I''m really good with a bow." "Good enough for the War Academy?" Marshes whistled low. "That''s... extraordinary. In all my years, I''ve never heard of a commoner receiving an invitation." He studied her with new respect. "You must be truly gifted." "I just practice a lot," Mallie mumbled, scuffing her boot in the dirt. "Don''t diminish your achievement." Marshes knelt to meet her eyes. "The Academy only accepts the most promising warriors. If they invited you, it means they see greatness in your future." "Master Marshes!" One of the students called out. "Can you show us that disarming move again?" "Certainly!" The Swordsman said, before turning to me with a smile. "Would you like to join the lesson?" He asked. "The children could benefit from seeing how different bodies adapt to the forms." Yes. That would be... educational. Relief washed through me, thankful that he wasn''t insisting on private lessons. He handed me a wooden practice sword, which I gripped in my right hand. The weight felt familiar somehow, like greeting an old friend. "First position," Marshes demonstrated. "Feet shoulder-width apart, sword arm extended." I mirrored his stance, mechanical joints whirring softly. As I settled into the form, a blue status window appeared:
You have gained the attribute Court Style Swordsmanship! Court Style Swordsmanship Court Style is a sword art that embodies the nobility and grace of a duelist. You practice the swordsmanship of kings!
Just received the Court Style attribute, I projected to Marshes. His eyebrows shot up. "Already? But we barely even started! That''s... unusual. Highly unusual. Most students take weeks just to grasp the fundamentals." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Show me what you can do." I metaphorically closed my eyes and reached deep within myself. Something stirred in the darkness of my broken memories. It was not the precise, controlled movements Marshes had shown, but something adjacent. My body moved of its own accord. The practice sword whistled through the air as I flowed from stance to stance. Where Court Style emphasized economy and precision, these movements were broader, designed to clear space on a battlefield rather than a ballroom. Each vicious thrust was followed by a sweeping slash that would have carved through multiple opponents. I spun, mechanical legs pistoning as muscle memory I didn''t know I possessed took over. The sword became an extension of my arm, describing lethal arcs and devastating thrusts through the morning air. When I finally stilled, Marshes was staring at me with a mix of awe and confusion. "That wasn''t Court Style," he said slowly. "Very similar principles, yes. But the movements look to be of an older style; both less and more refined, if that makes sense." He shook his head. "More militant, meant for large scale warfare rather than one-on-one dueling." His eyes narrowed. "Where did you learn those forms?" I... don''t know. I stared at the practice sword in my porcelain hand. They just felt natural. "Well, whatever it was, it was impressive." He stroked his beard. "Though perhaps we should stick to basic Court Style for now. Don''t want to confuse the children." I nodded in agreement.
The morning sun cast long shadows across Weath''s main road as I watched the adventuring party prepare for departure. Their week-long stay had transformed from tense suspicion to something warmer, more genuine. Coyle approached first, his notebook clutched to his chest. "I''ve learned more about magical engineering from you than years of study." He extended his hand. "Thank you for sharing your knowledge." You''re welcome. I clasped his hand with my porcelain fingers. Your questions helped me understand. My own abilities better. Janis gave me a quick hug, surprising both myself and Clarik who stood nearby. "Take care of our blacksmith," she whispered with a wink. Even Andrim and Jecker, who had initially reached for their weapons at the sight of me, offered friendly waves and smiles. Their fear had melted into cautious acceptance over shared patrols and evening discussions at Willem''s tavern. Marshes stepped forward last, his weathered face creased in a genuine smile. "You''ve done good work here," he said, gripping my hand firmly. "If you''re ever in Millbrook, come find me. I''d like to learn more about those battlefield forms you showed us." I will. I projected warmly. Safe journey to you all. "The baron will hear how you''ve protected these people," Marshes assured me. "Perhaps it will help change minds about intelligent monsters." I watched them shoulder their packs and start down the road, their figures growing smaller against the morning mist. An unfamiliar ache settled in my chest; not physical pain, but something deeper. These humans had seen past my mechanical body and eyeless face to recognize something worth knowing. A week ago, I wouldn''t have believed such acceptance possible. Now, watching them disappear around the bend, I felt both loss and hope intertwined. Loss at saying goodbye to those who had treated me as more than a monster, but hope that perhaps there could be a place for me among humans after all. Old Willem appeared at my side, his gnarled hand patting my arm. "They''ll be back," he said gruffly. "Good adventurers always return to places where they feel they''re welcome." I nodded, still watching the empty road where my new friends had vanished. Crusade Crusade Soon, our union of kingdoms will march forth to conquer the Primordials or die trying. It will be the largest alliance of human races that has ever been attempted, all for the sole pursuit of ridding our world of this threat. Yet we were not the first men to attempt such a grand feat. Over a century ago, a union of sapien kingdoms took up the mantle of war against the Primordials. They acted as we do now, rousing a massive army, one whose number was unmatched in previous history, to march upon the monsters¡¯ blighted lands. Even so long ago, our forefathers saw the calamity that was upon them and bravely chose to fight. History is cruel though and victory would elude them. The First Crusade was a monumental failure. Of the half a million brave heroes who marched forth into battle, only a sad few handful returned. With those soldiers came tales of horror and death. These poor, broken men spoke of lands even more blighted and strange than what plagued our own. They told of the terrible, nightmarish creatures that they had all faced and fought. None who returned from the First Crusade were unchanged by their experience, and the sorrow of their failure was held steadfastly within their hearts until their dying days. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Yet, all was not lost. Though the First Crusade had ultimately failed, those tragic heroes gave us the weapon that would allow the united armies of this Second Crusade a chance at victory. For during their years of constant, never-ending battle, the soldiers of the First Crusade discovered the enemy''s weakness. These courageous men, through their sacrifice and failure, found the one thing that could harm a Primordial''s invincible flesh: the starstones. ~Excerpt from King Vardin of Ispara''s notes, given to officers of the Second Crusade. Chapter 34: Hunting Chapter 34: Hunting Within the warmth of Clarik''s smithy, I worked. Laid out before me were my four weapons: One longsword, one curved short sword, a spear, and a mace. I had had them since the break-out at Qordos and each had served me well. But these weapons were made in haste, using scrounged up materials that were not of the highest quality. I wished to improve on them, as I had improved my body. I held an enchanted arrowhead between my porcelain fingers, one of the bunch that I had taken from the elven archer Mallie had killed. My non-existent eyes observed the wedge-like shape, studying the faint magical glow that still lingered within the metal. The elf''s arrows had pierced my previous combat frame with ease, their enchantments bypassing my defenses. Such power would make an excellent addition to my arsenal. But as I attempted to break down the arrowhead with Assembly, the metal resisted. The material remained stubbornly whole, refusing to separate into its base components. I had tried melting it as I had with other steel, but Assembly rejected the action. I set the arrowhead down with a frustrated click against the workbench. The sound echoed through my porcelain fingers. "Something wrong?" Clarik wiped sweat from his brow, the heat from his forge casting dancing shadows across his face. These arrowheads. Assembly should work on them. But they resist. I picked up another from the pile, turning it in the firelight. Every material I''ve encountered. Steel. Iron. Wood. Bone. Even flesh. All break down into components. But these... Clarik stroked his beard, leaning closer to examine the arrowhead. "Might be the enchantments. Magic''s funny that way; tends to interfere with other magics. Like oil and water, they don''t mix right." I hadn''t considered that possibility. The magical nature of the arrowheads could be preventing Assembly from taking hold. It made sense. Assembly itself had to be some form of magic as well, albeit one I didn''t fully understand. "If you''re looking to work with enchanted items, you''d need an Enchanter," Clarik said. "Someone who knows how to handle magical materials proper-like. Nearest one would be in Millbrook though." Could I learn enchanting? I wondered aloud through Mind Speech. My Wisdom stat is quite high. Perhaps I could... "Aye." Clarik nodded. "High Wisdom''s good for magic, from what I hear. Though I wouldn''t know myself, I''m just a simple blacksmith." I examined my porcelain hand, remembering how naturally Assembly had come to me. Perhaps enchanting wouldn''t be so different. But without someone to teach me... I was distracted from my thoughts when two system prompts suddenly popped up in front of my sight.
You have gained the title of Vanquisher of Qordos! Vanquisher of Qordos You were instrumental in the destruction of the slaver camp Qordos. You are a champion of freedom and an enemy of all who seek to destroy it!
You have gained the title of Defender of Weath! Defender of Weath You are one of Weath village''s defenders. Grants attribute Weath Defense.
The system just gave me two titles, I informed Clarik through Mind Speech. He set down his hammer, wiping his hands on his soot-stained apron. "Did it now? What titles?" Vanquisher of Qordos and Defender of Weath. I touched my porcelain mask. The second one came with the attribute called Weath Defense. "Ah." Clarik''s beard twitched with a knowing smile. "That''ll be Marshes and his lot, spreading word about you in Millbrook. They must''ve told the Baron how you drove off Gomka''s raiders. And I''d wager folk are still talking about what happened at Qordos too." But I received these titles just now. The events happened weeks ago. "That''s how most titles work," Clarik explained, leaning against his workbench. "System doesn''t just hand them out when you do something. Takes time for word to spread, for your deeds to become known. Once enough people hear about what you''ve done..." He spread his hands. "The system recognizes it." So because people are talking about me... "Aye. Your fame''s growing. Both as the one who brought down Qordos and as Weath''s protector." He chuckled. "Though I suspect Marshes might''ve embellished the tales a bit. He''s got a way with stories, that one." I pondered this new information. The system seemed to care not just about actions, but about how those actions were perceived by others. An interesting mechanism, though I couldn''t fathom its purpose. I called up my status page, curious to see how these new titles appeared.
Name: No Eyes Level: 10 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath Strength: 15 Endurance: 13 Dexterity: 17 Intelligence: 27 Wisdom: 19 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly C, Analyze D, Depository D
I focused on the new attribute, and another window appeared:
Weath Defense While within the borders of Weath village, gain +3 to Strength and Endurance.
"What''s it say?" Clarik asked, peering over my shoulder at where I stared, though he couldn''t see the status windows only visible to me. The Weath Defense attribute. Increases my Strength and Endurance by three points when I''m in the village, I explained through Mind Speech. It seems the system recognizes me. As one of the village''s protectors now. "Makes sense." Clarik nodded. "You''ve been keeping watch over us for weeks now. Between that and driving off Gomka''s lot, you''ve more than earned it." I examined my stats again. The Intelligence and Wisdom scores stood out as they had grown considerably since my first awakening. This was primarily due to my frequent application of Assembly, which had earned me a level in that skill during my stay in the village. I also noticed that my Strength and Endurance scores had gone up by three points, just as the entry for my new attribute had stated. It should remain so as long as I stay within the boundary of Weath, regardless of whether I was in my porcelain body or combat form. Weath Defense would definitely help keep the village safe. The smithy door burst open, letting in a gust of cool air that made Clarik''s forge flicker. Mallie bounded in, her face flushed with excitement. "No Eyes! I got a title!" She skipped across the floor, dodging around Clarik''s workbench. You did? I turned from my workbench, setting down the enchanted arrowhead. "Yes! ''Defender of Weath!'' Just now!" Her freckled face beamed. "I was practicing archery when the blue box appeared. My first title, I can''t believe it! Mother wasn''t happy about it, but father said he was proud." Clarik laughed. "Two defenders in one day. Marshes must''ve talked us up proper in Millbrook." It made sense. Marshes had seen Mallie''s skill with the bow firsthand during his stay. A level 5 Archer at twelve years old was remarkable since most children didn''t even receive their first level up until thirteen or fourteen. Add to that her War Academy invitation, and it was no wonder word had spread. "You got the title as well? Neat!" Mallie bounced on her toes. "What about the attribute? The one that makes you stronger in the village?" Yes. Three points to Strength and Endurance while within Weath''s borders. "Same here!" She flexed her skinny arms. "Though I don''t feel much stronger." "That''s because you''re already plenty strong," Clarik said, ruffling her hair. "Don''t need no system telling you that." Have you checked your status page? I asked. The attribute should show up there. Mallie''s face scrunched in concentration. "Oh! There it is. Right under my Archery attribute." She grinned. "We match now, No Eyes! Both defenders of the village." I felt an odd warmth at her words. Despite my monstrous nature, the system had recognized me as a protector of humans. And now Mallie shared that recognition with me. "Better watch out, raiders," Mallie declared, pretending to draw her bow. "Weath''s got two defenders now!" My chime-like laughter filled the room.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the smithy windows when Antos''s stocky frame appeared in the doorway. He nodded to Clarik, who was hammering out a plow blade. "Need a word, No Eyes," he said, gesturing outside. I set down the arrowhead I''d been examining and followed him into the yard. The mayor''s weathered face was creased with worry lines. "Got reports from the Hunters this morning." He scratched his white beard. "Found some strange tracks out in the eastern woods. Big ones. Signs of something feeding on deer carcasses too." What kind of tracks? I asked through Mind Speech. "That''s just it, they ain''t sure. Whatever made them is large though, larger than a bear." He shook his head. "Being so close to the Lodrik Hellzone, we get monsters wandering in sometimes. Regular ones, mind you, not intelligent folk like yourself." I nodded, understanding the distinction. The mindless beasts that attacked anything living were different from sapient creatures like myself. "Problem is," Antos continued, "these things get stronger if they feed enough. Each kill gives them experience, lets them to level up. We need to take care of them quick before they become real threats." He looked at me directly, despite my blank porcelain mask. "None of our folk can handle something this size. Marshes and his lot just left, and who knows when the next group of adventurers will come by." You want me to hunt it down? "Aye." He shifted his weight. "You''re the strongest we''ve got now. That new title of yours proves it. Defender of Weath." I considered this. With my combat frame and enhanced abilities within the village borders, I was likely better equipped than most to deal with such a threat. I''ll do it, I replied. The village has given me. A home. It''s only right I help protect it. "Thank you." Relief flooded his features. "The tracks were found northeast of Henrik''s farm, heading deeper into the woods. Best start there." I returned to the smithy and began to open up the chest cavity for my combat form, which was slightly covered in dust from weeks of disuse. The mechanical body stood in the corner where I''d left it after creating my more human-looking porcelain form. Its four arms and reinforced plating had served me well during our escape from Qordos, but I''d hoped not to need it again. "Going hunting for that monster, then?" Clarik asked, setting down his hammer. Despite spending all day loudly hammering in his smithy, the man had remarkable hearing it seems. Yes. The mayor believes it could be dangerous. If left unchecked. Clarik wiped his hands on his apron. "I''ll come with you. Another pair of eyes couldn''t hurt." I shook my head. You''re not a combat class, Clarik. The village needs their only blacksmith here. "Look, I may not be a fighter, but I know these woods." He seemed torn, looking between me and his unfinished work. "You sure you''ll be alright alone?" I will be fine. This is what I was made for. The words felt strange as they formed in my mind. Was this truly what I was made for? Hunting monsters? No. Not hunting monsters. Protecting people. I was a protector, of that I was certain. "Well, if you''re sure..." He finally agreed. "At least let me help you transfer over." I nodded and began removing my shirt. The fabric caught slightly on the porcelain joints of my shoulders. Once it was off, I reached for the seam in my chest plate and pressed the hidden catch I''d built into it. The porcelain chest swung open like a cabinet door, revealing my true form inside: just a head, part of a torso, and a single arm. The red, ragged edges of my missing parts contrasted sharply with my pale, unblemished skin. I averted my gaze, suddenly self-conscious. Clarik didn''t flinch or show disgust as he helped me disconnect from the porcelain body''s mechanisms. He''d seen me before, of course, but I still felt exposed, vulnerable. I hated having others see my broken form. In my mind, I was hideous; just a mere fragment of something that should be whole. "There we go," Clarik said, carefully helping transfer me to the combat frame. Thank you. I flexed all my limbs, getting a feel for the combat body once more. It was half a foot shorter than the porcelain body, but much more durable and stronger. Each of my metal arms held a strength that the pretty ceramic limbs of my other form just could not match. I removed my porcelain mask, handing it to Clarik, before replacing it with the armored metal helmet that protected the vulnerable red flesh where my eyes had been. I looked over at the bronze mirror hanging on the wall and saw my reflection. Gone was the almost-human androgynous figure that I had worn for the last few weeks. In its place was the monster of old, the same one that had destroyed Qordos and chased off Gomka''s gang. A four-armed monstrosity that protected the humans who hated and feared it. I opened my status box and took a look at the change in my scores.
Name: No Eyes Level: 10 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath Strength: 18 Endurance: 19 Dexterity: 22 Intelligence: 24 Wisdom: 17 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly C, Analyze D, Depository D
Changing bodies had changed my statistics as well. My Strength, Endurance, and Dexterity scores had all gone up to reflect the stronger, more durable, and faster nature of my combat form. I dismissed the blue box, then went to the workbench to get my weapons. As my hands reached down to grasp my swords, spear and mace, Clarik spoke up. "Good hunting, No Eyes," he told me, which was usually what the villagers told the hunting party whenever they left for the woods. I suppose, at that moment, I was a Hunter. If not in class, then very much in spirit. I smiled and gave the blacksmith a nod, before moving my mechanical form outside. It was time to hunt. Chapter 35: Partner Chapter 35: Partner I walked through Weath''s dusty main street, my metal feet leaving deep imprints in the packed earth. The villagers paused in their daily tasks as I passed. Some flinched at my combat form which was so different from the porcelain figure they''d grown used to seeing. "Good hunting!" Old Willem called out from his usual spot outside the tavern. He raised his mug in salute. I nodded back. Thank you. "Stay safe out there," Sarah Goodmak said as I passed her store. Her words carried genuine concern, though she still kept a careful distance. More villagers joined in with well-wishes as I made my way east. Even Farmer Tull, who''d been one of my strongest critics, gave me a respectful nod from his fields. Word had spread quickly about the monster threat and my mission to deal with it. My four arms carried an arsenal: a deadly longsword in my right hand, a shorter curved cutlass in my left flesh hand, a spear in my upper right hand, and a heavy mace in my upper left. The weapons clinked softly against my metal frame as I walked. Children playing near the village edge stopped to watch me pass. Derek waved enthusiastically while the others hung back. I waved back with one of my upper arms, the gesture somewhat mechanical but friendly. "Are you going to fight the monster, No Eyes?" Derek called out. Yes. To keep the village safe. "Like you did with the raiders?" Just so. The boy beamed with pride, as if he''d personally vouched for my monster-hunting abilities. "Bring us back it''s head!" Shouted an excited little girl. I smiled at her enthusiasm. I''ll see what I can do. As I approached the eastern woods, more villagers called out "good hunting" or nodded in acknowledgment. Their acceptance felt strange yet warming. These were the same people who''d once feared and distrusted me. Now they looked to me for protection. I reached the tree line where the monster''s tracks had been found. Behind me, Weath carried on with its daily routines, the sounds of commerce and conversation drifting on the breeze. My metal frame gleamed in the morning sun, and to those who saw me, they saw a guardian standing between the village and whatever threat lurked within those woods. I heard footsteps pounding against dirt and turned to see Mallie racing toward me, her blonde hair bouncing with each step. She wore a leather vest that looked recently oiled, with a quiver strapped to her back and her prized bow in hand. A cloth bag hung from her shoulder, bulging with what appeared to be supplies. What are you doing here? I projected the thought to her. "Coming with you, of course!" She adjusted the strap of her bag. "Heard you were going monster hunting." Did Antos send you? "No." She shook her head. "But I want to help. I''m a combat class now, remember? Can''t get stronger just sitting in the village all day." This could be dangerous. "I''ve been going out with the Hunters already." She patted her bow. "I know these woods better than you do. Plus, how else am I supposed to gain experience points? Can''t level up without fighting." I considered her words. She had proven herself capable during our escape from Qordos, and her archery skills were exceptional. Still... Did you at least get permission. From your parents? "Yeah." She kicked at the dirt. "Ma wasn''t happy about it, but Pa said I could go. Said I needed to learn how to protect myself and others." I sighed internally, my mechanical body remaining still. Her logic was sound, and having a skilled archer as backup could prove useful. Plus, her knowledge of the local terrain would help track whatever was killing the deer. Very well. You can come. "Yes!" She bounced on her toes, grinning wide enough to show her gap-toothed smile. "This is going to be great! We''ll be like real adventurers, hunting monsters together!" If you say so. Together, the two of us entered the woods.
The forest grew thicker as we ventured deeper, branches interweaving above to block out most of the sunlight. My metal feet crunched against dead leaves and twigs while Mallie moved with practiced silence beside me. "Look here," she whispered, crouching near a broken sapling. "Something big passed through. See how the wood''s splintered? Whatever did this is heavy." I examined the damage. The young tree had been snapped clean through, its pale inner wood exposed. How recent? "Fresh sap''s still sticky." She touched the break carefully. "Day old, maybe less." We found more signs as we pressed on: deep gouges in tree bark, patches of disturbed earth, and most telling, the remains of deer. Not clean kills like hunters would make, but savage tears through flesh and bone. "These aren''t normal predator marks," Mallie said, studying a partially devoured carcass. "Too messy. Even wolves are cleaner than this." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Mallie proved invaluable as we tracked the creature. She noticed details I would have missed such as subtle changes in the undergrowth, displaced stones, broken spider webs indicating recent passage. Her experience with the hunting party showed in every observation. "The tracks are getting bigger," she noted as the day wore on. "Whatever it is, it''s growing. Probably from eating all these deer." The sun began to set, painting what little sky we could see through the canopy in deep orange. Mallie found us a defensible spot to camp - a small clearing backed by a steep rock face. "This way nothing can sneak up behind us," she explained, gathering dry wood for a fire. I stood watch while she worked, my four weapons ready. The forest had grown quiet; too quiet. Even the birds had gone silent. Mallie got the fire going quickly, the flames casting dancing shadows on the rock wall behind us. She pulled bread and dried meat from her pack, along with a water skin. "Want some?" she offered out of habit, then caught herself. "Oh right, sorry. Sometimes I forget you don''t eat." It''s fine. I positioned myself between her and the darker parts of the forest. Eat. Keep up your strength. She tore into the bread, chewing thoughtfully while staring into the flames. "You know what''s weird? I should be scared out here, hunting some unknown monster. But with you around, I''m not scared at all." Is that so? "Mm-hmm." She smiled as she swallowed her bite. "You''re scarier than anything we might find in these woods." I turned to look at her, and she grinned. "That''s a compliment," she added. "Means I know we''re safe." I stood watch during the night as my young partner slept. Dawn hadn''t even broken when Mallie stirred from her bedroll. She packed away her camping gear with practiced efficiency, moving in the pre-dawn darkness like she''d done this countless times before. "Early start means fresh tracks," she whispered, shouldering her pack. I nodded, standing guard while she worked. The fire had burned down to embers hours ago, leaving only the faintest glow. The forest remained eerily silent. We set off as the first hints of light filtered through the canopy. Mallie took point, her keen eyes picking up signs I would have missed. The creature''s trail led deeper into the ancient woods where the trees grew massive and gnarled. As we walked, I reached into my Depository and retrieved the elven arrowheads we''d collected from the archer at Qordos. The enchanted metal caught what little light penetrated the forest, gleaming with an inner radiance. Here, I said through Mind Speech, holding them out to Mallie. You should take these. She stopped tracking and turned, her eyes widening at the sight of the arrowheads. "But... those are enchanted. Shouldn''t you keep them?" I can''t break them down or use them effectively. Besides, you''re the one who killed the archer. By rights, they''re your spoils. Her freckled face lit up as she carefully took the arrowheads, examining their perfect edges and subtle magical markings. "These are amazing. I''ve never held enchanted weapons before." They''ll serve you better than they would me. "Thank you." She clutched them close to her chest. "I''ll put them on my arrows tonight when we make camp. Don''t want to rush the fletching in the dark." Two days passed the same way, with Mallie tracking the beast while I kept watch over her. She refilled her waterskin at a creek we passed, and she hunted whatever small game she could to resupply her food. I watched Mallie clean her hunting knife after gutting another squirrel. Her movements were precise, efficient. She was nothing like the scared little girl I''d first met at Qordos. She''d grown stronger these past days, more confident in her abilities. The tracks are different here, I noted, examining deep gouges in the earth. Each print was larger than my mechanical hand, with clear claw marks that tore through roots and stone. "They''re fresher too." Mallie wrapped the cleaned meat in leaves, tucking it into her pack. "Whatever made these passed through less than half a day ago." We pressed on through the ancient forest. The trees here were giants, their trunks wider than village houses. Their massive roots created natural barriers we had to navigate around. The stench hit us first, one of rotting meat and something else, something wrong that made Mallie cover her nose with a cloth. We found the bear''s remains scattered across a small clearing. Stay back, I warned, moving forward to examine the carnage. The bear had been massive, its black fur matted with dried blood. Its body was torn apart, ribcage split open, limbs scattered. What struck me most was the precision of the kills. These were not random savage attacks, but deliberate strikes to vital areas. "Look at the claw marks," Mallie whispered, pointing to deep gouges in the bear''s skull. Despite my warning, she''d crept closer to study the scene. "They''re bigger than before. The monster''s still growing." I picked up a section of the bear''s leg, noting how cleanly it had been severed. This wasn''t just strength. Whatever did this knew exactly where to strike. "Like it''s learning?" Mallie''s voice carried an edge of worry. "That''s not normal for monsters, is it?" No. I set the limb down. Most monsters are purely instinctual. This one''s different. "Like you''re different?" I turned to look at her. The question hung in the air between us. Perhaps, I finally answered. But that only makes it more dangerous. Mallie nodded, her hand unconsciously touching the enchanted arrows in her quiver. "We should keep moving. The sooner we find it, the better." She was right. With each kill, the creature grew stronger, smarter. The bear proved it wasn''t just hunting for food anymore; it was testing itself, improving its killing techniques. We followed the trail deeper into the woods. The monster''s path was clearer now, more purposeful. It no longer tried to hide its presence, leaving obvious signs of its passage. Everywhere there were signs: broken trees, scattered bones, deep claw marks in the earth. How are your supplies? I asked as we walked. "Good. Got enough dried meat for three more days, plenty of water." Mallie adjusted her pack straps. "Those squirrels were fat. Good eating." We should turn back if we don''t find it by then. "Won''t need three days." Mallie pointed to fresh tracks ahead. "We''re getting close. Really close."
We found it the next afternoon. The creature crouched over its latest kills, muzzle buried in the bloody remains of what had been a wolfpack. Black fur matted with gore covered its massive frame, twice the size of any warhorse I''d seen. Its body stretched long and sinewy, supported by six powerful legs that ended in curved, dagger-like claws. Stay back, I warned Mallie through Mind Speech. Get up in that oak tree. Good sight lines. She moved silently away as I studied our quarry. The beast''s head was elongated, reminiscent of a jungle cat but with distinctly reptilian features. When it raised its head to tear another chunk of meat, I saw rows of pointed teeth designed for gripping and shredding. Yellow eyes with vertical slits scanned the area as it fed, suggesting keen predatory vision. I activated Analyze, focusing on the creature: The high level explained the intelligence we''d seen in its kills. This was no mindless beast; it had been systematically hunting larger and more dangerous prey to grow stronger. The Snapper Dragon suddenly went still, its serpentine eyes narrowing. It had sensed something. I gripped my weapons tighter, the mechanisms in my four arms whirring softly as I prepared for combat. Mallie was safely positioned in the oak''s branches, bow ready with an enchanted arrow nocked. I could hear her controlled breathing; she was nervous but focused. The monster''s head snapped toward me, yellow eyes locking onto my position. A low growl rumbled from its throat, deeper than any natural creature should produce. It rose from its kills, blood dripping from its jaws as it assessed this new potential prey. I stepped fully into view, letting it see my combat frame in all its threatening glory. Four arms bristling with weapons, reinforced plating gleaming dully in the afternoon light. The Snapper Dragon''s eyes tracked my movement, its muscles tensing as it prepared to strike. This would be nothing like fighting the dog-creatures in the wastelands. This monster had been honing itself, becoming more lethal with each kill. And now it had found worthy prey. At the moment, looking up at the massive beast, I didn''t feel like much of a hunter anymore. Chapter 36: Dragon Chapter 36: Dragon The Snapper Dragon''s muscles bunched, and then it exploded toward me with frightening speed. Its maw gaped wide, revealing rows of yellowed teeth designed to crush bone. The creature moved like liquid death, covering the distance between us in heartbeats. A whisper of air resounded within my ears, followed by a meaty thunk. An arrow sprouted from the beast''s thick neck, the enchanted arrowhead driving deep past fur and muscle. The Snapper Dragon''s charge faltered, its momentum carrying it forward a few more steps before it stopped completely. I stared in amazement at how deeply the arrow had penetrated. The monster''s hide should have been nearly impervious; I''d seen how thick its muscles were when examining its kills. Yet Mallie''s shot with the elven arrow had punched straight through. Whatever enchantments had been placed on those arrowheads, they were definitely powerful. The beast''s head snapped up, those predatory eyes scanning the trees for the source of this new threat. Its distraction gave me the opening I needed. I lunged forward, mechanical legs propelling me with precise force. My sword arm drove the blade toward the base of its throat. Despite putting my full strength behind the thrust, the steel only managed to sink a few inches into the creature''s dense musculature. It was like trying to stab through leather-wrapped stone. The beast''s roar shook the forest as it recoiled from my blade. I leaped back, my mechanical legs carrying me a safe distance before I thrust forward with my spear. The weapon''s point found purchase in its thick hide, drawing a fresh bellow of pain. The Snapper Dragon''s head darted forward, jaws snapping shut where I''d stood moments before. My combat frame''s enhanced reflexes let me weave between its strikes, each bite missing me by inches. The creature''s teeth clashed together with enough force to shear through steel. More arrows whistled through the air, each finding their mark with uncanny accuracy. The elven arrowheads punched deep into the monster''s body, drawing roars of agony. Blood matted its fur where Mallie''s shots struck home. Suddenly, the beast''s entire demeanor changed. Its serpentine body twisted away from me with fluid grace, completely ignoring my presence. My blades struck its flanks again and again, but it paid no attention to the wounds. Its yellow eyes had locked onto something else: Mallie''s position high up in the oak tree. I chased after it as it charged toward her perch, my weapons finding gaps in its scales and drawing blood, but nothing seemed to slow its advance. The monster''s six powerful legs carried it up the trunk, claws gouging deep furrows in the bark. Just as it neared her branch, Mallie loosed another arrow. The shot flew true, burying itself deep in one of those predatory eyes. The beast''s agonized roar shook leaves from the surrounding trees. It froze in place, half-way up the trunk, its remaining eye wild with pain and fury. Taking advantage of its stillness, Mallie displayed athleticism I''d never witnessed from her before. She launched herself from her perch, sailing through the air to land gracefully on a branch of a neighboring tree. The move left me stunned, as this was a side of the farmer''s daughter I hadn''t known existed. I seized my chance as the monster focused on Mallie''s new position. My mechanical legs propelled me upward, servos whining with the effort as I launched myself onto the Snapper Dragon''s broad back. My main sword plunged deep between its shoulder blades, the blade sinking almost to the hilt in its dense muscle. Blood welled up around the steel as I used the embedded weapon as an anchor point. My second sword flashed in rapid strikes, opening deep gashes along its flanks. Each cut drew fresh roars of pain and fury. The beast''s hide was tough, but my enhanced strength let me drive the blade through its thick fur and armored scales. The Snapper Dragon''s muscles bunched beneath me. Before I could react, it hurled itself backward off the tree trunk. The world spun as we plummeted toward the ground, the monster''s massive body twisting to land on its back. If I had stayed mounted, I would have been crushed between its bulk and the forest floor. I abandoned my grip on the longsword, pushing off from the beast''s thrashing form. My mechanical legs absorbed the impact as I landed several yards away, joints creaking from the sudden strain. The monster hit the ground with an earthshaking crash that sent dead leaves exploding outward. But it didn''t stay down. Its serpentine body rippled with frightening power as it flipped upright, six legs finding purchase in the disturbed soil. Muscles writhed beneath its blood-matted fur like living ropes as it oriented on my position. That single remaining eye fixed upon me, blazing with a hatred that seemed too intelligent for a mere beast. The yellow orb narrowed as the Snapper Dragon''s lips pulled back from its teeth in a snarl of pure malice. More arrows struck the Snapper Dragon''s hide, but these merely clattered off its thick scales and dense fur. I recognized the difference immediately; Mallie had exhausted the enchanted elven arrows I had given her and switched to standard ammunition. Her normal arrows, though deadly against human targets, might as well have been throwing twigs at the beast. I needed to keep its attention on me before it realized its attacker had lost her advantage. My combat frame''s legs propelled me forward as I transferred the spear to my main right hand. The weapon felt more natural there, my mechanical fingers adjusting their grip for maximum force. The monster''s roar shook my porcelain plates as it charged to meet my advance. Its massive head lunged forward, jaws spreading wide enough to swallow me whole. Time seemed to slow as my enhanced reflexes took over. I dropped into a slide, the beast''s teeth snapping shut above me with a sound like steel striking steel. As I passed beneath its belly, I drove the spear upward with every ounce of mechanical strength I possessed. The weapon found the softer flesh of its throat, sliding past scales and muscle. The shaft sank deep, blood spraying down onto my combat frame. The Snapper Dragon''s screech of agony pierced my ears. Its massive body reared up on its back legs, the sudden movement nearly yanking the spear from my grasp. I released the weapon and rolled away just as those huge front claws came crashing down. The impact shook the forest floor, and when I looked back, I saw those razor-sharp talons had sunk deep into the earth where I''d been moments before. I shifted my stance, keeping my mechanical legs balanced as I circled the wounded Snapper Dragon. Blood poured from where my spear remained lodged in its throat, but the beast showed no signs of slowing. Its remaining eye tracked my every move, that predatory gaze filled with cold intelligence. I transferred the mace from my upper left hand to my main right, mechanical fingers wrapping tightly around the grip. The weapon''s familiar weight offered me some comfort. The curved sword in my lower left arm stayed ready, while my other arms maintained defensive positions. The clearing had become eerily quiet, broken only by the soft thud of Mallie''s arrows bouncing harmlessly off the monster''s scales. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. We moved in a deadly dance, neither willing to commit to an attack. The dragon''s massive body flowed with serpentine grace despite its wounds, matching my careful steps as we circled. Its claws left deep furrows in the soil, and muscles rippled beneath its blood-matted fur with each movement. A particularly well-aimed arrow from Mallie whizzed past the beast''s remaining eye. The projectile missed by mere inches, causing the monster to blink reflexively. Its head snapped upward, a guttural snarl erupting from its throat as it glared at the girl perched in the trees. I seized the moment. My mechanical legs launched me forward, servos whining with the sudden acceleration. The mace swung in a devastating arc, connecting solidly with the beast''s snout. The impact rang through my frame like a bell, and I felt bone crack beneath the blow. The dragon''s head recoiled from the strike, but it recovered with frightening speed. Those massive jaws snapped forward, teeth gleaming as they sought my mechanical body. I was already in motion, my enhanced reflexes carrying me backward out of range. As I retreated, my curved sword lashed out. The blade caught the monster''s lip, opening a shallow gash that added fresh blood to its already gore-streaked face. The dragon''s body coiled like a spring, and I realized too late what was coming. Its muscled tail whipped toward me with devastating force. The impact felt like being struck by a battering ram, sending my mechanical frame flying across the clearing. My back slammed against a thick tree trunk, the collision rattling my internal components. Before I could recover, the beast''s massive weight crashed down on top of me. The sound of steel supports snapping filled my ears as my combat frame''s torso buckled under the crushing pressure. Sharp claws raked along my sides, tearing through the reinforced plating like it was paper. Sparks flew as metal screamed against metal. I tried to bring my curved sword to bear, but the angle was all wrong. My mechanical arms couldn''t generate enough leverage pinned against the tree. Panic rose in my mind as I felt more support structures giving way under the monster''s weight. The Snapper Dragon''s head darted forward, jaws spreading wide. I braced for the killing blow, but its teeth found my exposed left arm instead. Though I couldn''t feel pain through the invulnerable flesh, the sheer pressure of its bite was incredible. Those massive jaws could have sheared through steel plate like butter, yet my pale skin remained unmarked. The beast''s remaining eye widened in what looked like surprise. It bit down harder, muscles in its neck straining with effort, but my flesh refused to yield. I felt the tremendous force trying to crush my arm, which felt like being caught in a closing vault door. But no matter how hard it chomped, it couldn''t break through my skin. My combat frame was pinned, crushed between the monster''s bulk and the tree trunk. Most of my weapons were useless at this angle; all except for the mace still gripped in my right hand. But even if I could swing it, the blunt weapon would do little more than bruise the beast''s thick hide. I needed something deadlier. As the dragon focused on trying to tear through my invulnerable arm, I activated Assembly. The mace''s steel head began to glow, first dull red, then brightening to a fierce orange. The metal softened, becoming malleable under my will. I shaped it with practiced precision, transforming the rounded head into a wickedly sharp spike. The weapon radiated intense heat in my mechanical grip as I guided the molten steel into its new form. I forced the metal to cool rapidly, though the spike still glowed with residual heat. Steam rose from its surface as droplets of the monster''s blood sizzled against the superheated steel. With the dragon''s head so close, I had the perfect target. I drove the white-hot spike directly into its remaining eye. The heated metal parted flesh and bone with virtually no resistance, plunging deep into the socket. The beast''s eye burst in a spray of fluid that instantly vaporized against the spike''s scorching surface. The Snapper Dragon''s scream of agony shook the trees. It released my arm and hurled itself backward, massive body thrashing wildly. Its six legs clawed at the ground as it rolled across the forest floor, trying desperately to escape the searing pain. Steam rose from the empty socket where my improvised weapon had struck, the flesh around it charred and smoking. The monster''s tail lashed out blindly, its huge body twisting in mindless agony. Without sight to guide it, its movements became erratic and panicked. Blood and steam poured from its ruined eyes as it writhed, those massive claws raking furrows in the earth while it tried to dislodge the spike still embedded in its skull. I took advantage of the dragon''s blindness to quickly assess the damage to my combat frame. The crushing impact had severely compromised several support structures in my torso. Using Assembly, I began to repair the worst of the damage. Metal groaned and sparked as I forced damaged plates back into alignment. Servos whined as I reconnected severed control linkages. The repairs weren''t perfect, but they would hold. The Snapper Dragon''s agonized thrashing had finally subsided. Its massive body lay sprawled across the forest floor, chest heaving as it drew ragged breaths. Steam still rose from its ruined eye socket, and blood matted its thick fur. The beast that had seemed so terrifyingly powerful moments ago now looked pitiful and broken. I approached cautiously, my mechanical legs carrying me closer to its vulnerable position. The monster''s only response was a deep, resonating groan that seemed to well up from deep in its chest. Its six legs twitched weakly, lacking the strength for any real resistance. My fingers wrapped around the shaft of the spear still lodged in its throat. With a sharp tug, I yanked the weapon free. Fresh blood welled up from the wound, but the dragon barely reacted beyond another weak moan. I positioned myself carefully beside its massive chest, watching the rise and fall of its breathing. Through its thick fur, I could see where its heart beat frantically beneath layers of muscle and bone. I adjusted my grip on the spear, angling the point downward. Using the enhanced strength of all four of my arms, I drove the spear deep into its chest. The weapon punched through fur, scale, and muscle before finding its mark. The dragon''s huge body convulsed as the spearhead pierced its heart. Its legs kicked out reflexively, claws raking uselessly at the air. A final, rattling breath escaped its throat before its massive form went completely still. "Yes! We did it!" Mallie''s triumphant shout rang out from her perch high in the oak tree. I looked up at her and gave the young Archer a nod. Yes. We did. I then turned my eyeless sight back to the still form of the monster I had just killed. Its massive black body was curled up like a dead insect, its six legs sticking up in the air. What had once been a fearsome, powerful creature was now made entirely harmless through the combined effort of Mallie and myself. I had done it. My duty. By slaying this monster, I had protected Weath. As did Mallie. We both lived up to our titles as Defenders of Weath. "Um, No Eyes?" I turned at Mallie''s hesitant voice. "Could you... maybe help me down somehow?" Looking up, I saw her white-knuckled grip on the thick oak branch, her legs dangling at least twenty feet above the forest floor. Her bow hung loosely from one shoulder, threatening to slip off. Can''t you climb down the same way you got up? I asked through Mind Speech. Her freckled face flushed red. "I... I kind of just jumped up here when the dragon charged at me. Wasn''t really thinking about how to get back down." The sound of wind chimes clinking together during a spring rain emerged from my throat. "Don''t laugh!" Mallie''s embarrassment turned to indignation. "This isn''t funny! I''m really stuck up here!" The fearless archer who helped slay a dragon. Afraid of heights? "I''m not afraid of heights!" she protested. "I just... prefer having solid ground under my feet. And maybe I got a little carried away with the jumping." Her voice grew smaller. "Please help?" My mechanical frame was still damaged from the fight, but the basic structures remained sound. I approached the oak tree, servos whining as I calculated the best path up. My four arms would make climbing easier, even with the compromised torso plating. Hold still, I instructed. I''m coming up. I scaled the trunk quickly, mechanical fingers finding purchase in the rough bark. When I reached her branch, I saw how tightly she was clinging to it, her face pressed against the wood. Put your arms around my neck, I directed. I''ll carry you down. She carefully shifted position, wrapping her arms around my porcelain-plated neck while keeping a death grip on the branch with her legs. "Don''t drop me," she whispered. I won''t. Mallie finally released the branch, and I secured her with two of my arms while using the others to control our descent. We reached the ground smoothly, though she kept her eyes squeezed shut the entire time. When her feet touched earth, she immediately collapsed onto her knees, pressing her palms against the dirt. "Oh thank the gods," she breathed. "Solid ground." Next time, I suggested, perhaps choose a lower branch. For tactical retreat. She shot me a glare. "You''re being mean again." I couldn''t help but laugh once more. Chapter 37: Return Chapter 37: Return The morning sun painted long shadows across Weath''s main road as Mallie and I made our way into the village. My combat frame creaked with each step, the damage from our battle evident in several torn plates and bent joints. Mallie walked beside me, her quiver now full of recovered enchanted arrows, tired but proud. I carried the Snapper Dragon''s massive head in two of my mechanical arms. Black blood had dried along its neck where I''d severed it, and its empty eye sockets stared blankly ahead. The sight drew gasps from the early risers who spotted us. That bloody dragon''s head had not been the only prize we had won after defeating the monster. My Depository was filled with the dragon''s parts, with the claws, bones, and hide taking up much of the magical inventory''s space. Both Mallie and I had also gained an increase in our levels. She had finally reached Level 6 while I managed to reach Level 11. I brought up my status box to check my gains.
Name: No Eyes Level: 11 Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER] Gender: N/A Age: 0 Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath Strength: 19 Endurance: 20 Dexterity: 23 Intelligence: 25 Wisdom: 18 Attributes: Ancestor Might, Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style, Weath Defense Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight D, Language Comprehension S, Assembly C, Analyze D, Depository D
Word spread quickly. By the time we reached the town hall, a crowd had gathered. Old Willem pushed through first, his weathered face breaking into a broad grin. "They''re back! And look what they brought!" I set the dragon''s head down on the hall steps. The villagers pressed closer, marvel and horror mixing on their faces as they took in its size. The head alone was larger than a wagon wheel. "Gods above," Farmer Tull whispered, reaching out to touch one of its massive fangs. "This thing was hunting in our woods?" Antos emerged from the hall, his white beard catching the morning light. "Well now, seems our defenders have been busy." He clapped his hands together. "Tell us everything!" Mallie launched into the tale, her voice growing stronger as she described our multi-day hunt. The crowd gasped when she mentioned the creature''s intelligence, how it had deliberately fought the more fierce creatures of the woods to grow stronger. When she reached the part about shooting its eye, several people cheered. "And then No Eyes fought it up close!" She gestured dramatically with her hands. "Four weapons against six legs, and the dragon couldn''t land a single blow!" That''s not exactly how it happened, I corrected through Mind Speech. As I recall. It had me pinned against a tree. At one point. "Well yes, but then you did that thing with the mace!" Mallie turned to the crowd. "No Eyes transformed the weapon right there, made it red hot and drove it straight into the dragon''s other eye!" More cheers erupted. I noticed even those who had once feared me were nodding in approval. "A Snapper Dragon," Antos mused, examining the head. "Haven''t seen one of these bastards in near thirty years. They''re usually solitary hunters that live deep in the Hellzone. Thank the gods for small favors." He straightened up and raised his voice. "Tonight, we celebrate! Our defenders have rid us of a deadly threat. Let no one say Weath cannot protect its own!" The crowd''s enthusiasm swelled. Sarah Goodmak promised to pay for fresh bread. Willem declared he''d break out his special ale reserves. Even Farmer Tull clapped me on my mechanical shoulder, though he quickly withdrew his hand when the cold metal registered. I stood quietly, watching the villagers'' excitement build. For the first time since arriving in Weath, I felt truly accepted, not as a mysterious mechanical being to be feared, but as a protector of their home. It felt good. The celebration''s cheerful mood shattered as Katherin and Moskin pushed through the crowd. Their faces were thunderous, and I wondered why. Mallie shrank behind me, though my mechanical frame provided little cover. "You!" Katherin jabbed a finger at me. "How dare you take my daughter into danger!" "Mother, I-" Mallie started. She had your permission, I said through Mind Speech, though my doubts crept in as Katherin''s face reddened further. "Permission? Permission!" She whirled on Mallie. "Tell the truth, girl. Did you lie to this... this thing about having our blessing?" Mallie stepped out from behind me, her shoulders slumped. "Yes. I knew you wouldn''t let me go if I asked." She lifted her chin. "But I helped! I shot the dragon''s eye out! I''m not just some child anymore-" "Not some child? You''re twelve years old!" Katherin rounded on me again. "And you! You should have known better! Or do monsters not care about putting children in danger?" I remained still, my mechanical frame creaking slightly as I absorbed her fury. She wasn''t entirely wrong. I should have verified her permission directly. But I had been in a hurry to leave, and to be frank, I hadn''t been in the mood to deal with her pointless hostility. "That''s enough." Moskin''s quiet voice cut through his wife''s tirade. "Mallie''s lies are her own doing." Katherin spun to face him, her face flushing darker. "Of course. Of course you''d defend it. You always do! Ever since this monster showed up, you''ve taken its side over mine!" "I''m taking the side of truth," Moskin said. "Our daughter lied. That''s not No Eyes'' fault." "Truth? Truth?" Katherin''s voice rose to a shriek. "The truth is you care more about this mechanical abomination than your own wife!" She turned and stormed away, shoving through the stunned crowd. Silence fell over the gathering. The dragon''s head, our triumph from moments ago, lay forgotten on the steps. Moskin stood rigid, his face tight with emotion. Antos cleared his throat. "Best go after her, Moskin." Moskin nodded once and followed his wife''s path through the dispersing villagers. "Well then," Antos raised his voice. "Let''s prepare for tonight''s celebration, shall we? There''s still a victory to honor!" The crowd thinned, their earlier excitement dampened by the family drama. A few villagers lingered to examine the dragon''s head, but the festive mood had evaporated like morning dew. "What do you plan to do with this beast''s head?" Antos gestured at our trophy. I shrugged. It belongs to the village. Antos''s weathered face softened, genuine emotion crossing his features. "That''s... that''s mighty generous of you, No Eyes. I''ll have it preserved and mounted right here on the town hall''s walls. A reminder for future generations about what our defenders are capable of." I nodded my helmeted head and turned toward Clarik''s smithy. The damage to my combat frame needed attention as several plates had buckled from the dragon''s strength. Also, both of my auxiliary arms weren''t responding correctly and would need to be tuned. "Can I come with you?" Mallie''s small voice piped up beside me. When I nodded, she fell into step with my uneven gait. We walked in silence for a while, the only sound the creaking of my damaged joints. Mallie kept glancing up at me, then looking away quickly. Finally, she couldn''t contain herself anymore. "Are you mad at me?" Her voice quavered. No. Not mad. I kept walking, my mechanical feet leaving deep impressions in the dirt road. Disappointed. That you lied to me. I thought we could trust each other. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Mallie stopped walking, and I turned my eyeless mask to face her. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I''m so sorry," she choked out. "I just wanted to help you! I knew my mother would never have let me go, so I thought¡­ I won''t ever lie to you again, I promise! Please forgive me?" The words tumbled out in a rush, her freckled face scrunched up with emotion. Already forgave you. I reached out with my flesh arm, one of the only parts of me that wasn''t made up of metal at the moment, and patted her head gently. A smile pulled at my sharp teeth. You should apologize to your parents, I told her. And accept whatever punishment they give you. With grace. Mallie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffling. "You''re right." She squared her small shoulders. "I''ll go now, before I lose my nerve." Mallie? My sharp teeth clicked as I spoke through Mind Speech. Despite the lie. You fought well. A true warrior owns up to their mistakes. A weak smile broke through her tears. She threw her arms around my damaged mechanical frame in a quick hug, then turned and ran toward home, her boots kicking up dust along the road. I watched her disappear around the corner, my smile lingering. For all her skill with a bow, for all her bravery facing down that dragon, she was still just a child. One who needed guidance as much as she needed adventure. The morning sun caught the tears still drying on her cheeks as she vanished from view, and I felt that strange warmth again, the one that had nothing to do with mechanical parts or my Assembly abilities. The feeling of watching someone young grow into something stronger. I turned the other way and headed down the road towards Clarik''s. I had been in my combat form for much too long. I couldn''t wait to return to my porcelain body; it was much more comfortable to wear with its more humanlike physique.
I sat in my porcelain form at the head table, my white mask reflecting the warm glow of lantern light. The hall buzzed with chatter and laughter, plates clinking and cups being refilled. The Snapper Dragon''s head loomed above us, newly mounted upon its place of honor on the wall. Whoever preserved it had placed glass eyes in the sockets, making the head look as menacing as it did in life. Mallie perched beside me in a clean dress, her usual energy somewhat subdued. She kept glancing at Moskin, who managed weak smiles between bites of roasted vegetables. The empty chair where Katherin should have been spoke volumes. Clarik''s fingers danced across his lute strings, the melody weaving through the celebratory noise. Who knew the burly blacksmith had such delicate skill? Willem and Martin joined in with pipes and drums, the impromptu band drawing couples to their feet to dance. "Try this pie, No Eyes!" Sarah Goodmak placed a steaming slice before me. I shook my head. I cannot eat. "Oh! Right, sorry." She blushed and quickly passed the plate to Mallie instead. The baker had outdone himself, as fresh bread and pastries covered every table. The innkeeper''s wife''s famous stew filled the air with rich aromas. Platters of food kept appearing as families brought their contributions, though I noticed most avoided our end of the table. Through my mask''s empty eyes, I watched the villagers celebrate. Their fear of me had transformed into something else: not quite acceptance, but no longer outright rejection. They still gave me a wide berth, but their smiles seemed genuine when our gazes met. "Papa says Mama just needs time," Mallie whispered, pushing her pie around the plate. "She''ll come around eventually." I remained silent. Some bridges couldn''t be mended with time alone. But tonight wasn''t for dwelling on such thoughts. The music swelled as Clarik launched into a livelier tune. His thick fingers moved with surprising grace across the strings, drawing more villagers to their feet. Even Mayor Antos joined the dancing, his casual dignity forgotten as he spun another farmer''s wife in circles. I sat perfectly still in my chair, my porcelain body reflecting the flickering torchlight. The festivities swirled around me, a reminder that while I could protect these people, I would never truly be one of them. Yet somehow, watching their joy, that fact didn''t seem to matter quite as much anymore. Sarah Goodmak stood at the edge of the dancers, her fingers tapping against her skirts in time with Clarik''s lute. Her eyes followed the whirling couples with such naked longing that something stirred in my fractured memories. Would you care to dance? I extended my porcelain hand toward her. Her eyes widened. "Me? But... can you?" Let us find out together. She placed her hand in mine, and the moment we stepped onto the floor, memories crashed over me like a wave. Grand ballrooms materialized in my mind''s eye, their marble floors gleaming beneath crystal chandeliers. Ladies in silk gowns twirled past gentlemen in velvet doublets while violins sang from a raised dais. The scene shifted. Armored figures danced in muddy fields, their plate mail catching firelight as they celebrated victories against creatures of nightmare. The details were hazy, but the movements remained crystal clear. My mechanical body moved with fluid grace as I led Sarah through the steps. The gears and joints that usually whirred and clicked seemed to flow like water. She gasped as I guided her through a perfect turn, her skirts swishing against my legs. "You dance beautifully!" she exclaimed. The villagers had stopped to watch, their faces a mix of wonder and delight. Old Willem''s pipe nearly fell from his slack jaw. Even Clarik''s fingers stumbled briefly on the lute strings before finding their rhythm again. When the song ended, others stepped forward. Mallie tugged at my sleeve, and I swept her into the next dance, her feet barely touching the ground as we spun. Her laughter rang pure and bright above the music. "Where did you learn to dance like this?" she asked. I wish I knew. More partners followed. Sarah''s mother, Emma. The innkeeper''s wife. Even Clarik handed his lute to another player and asked for a turn. I let him lead, though my movements felt less assured when following rather than leading. Still, he guided me competently through the steps, his weathered face split by an enormous grin. "Never thought I''d be dancing with a mechanical wonder," he chuckled. "But here we are." I laughed with him, my chime-like voice tinkling along with the music. The music had softened, and many villagers returned to their tables. Mallie sat beside me, her fingers tracing patterns on the wooden surface. Her usual cheerful demeanor had given way to something more contemplative. "I''ve made up my mind," she said. Her green eyes met my mask. "About the War Academy. I''m going." What changed? Through our mental link, I sensed the weight behind her decision. "The dragon." She glanced up at the mounted head. "And Qordos too. When we were fighting the slavers, I was so scared. My hands shook every time I drew my bow. But I kept shooting because I had to protect everyone." She squared her shoulders. "With the dragon, it was worse. I knew one mistake meant death. But again, I fought through the fear because our village needed protection." You showed great courage. "It wasn''t courage. Not really." She shook her head. "It was necessity. I realized something while we were tracking that monster. Our village is vulnerable. Raiders, slavers, monsters; they''ll all keep coming. And I want to be strong enough to stop them." Her fingers curled into fists. "At Qordos, I thought I never wanted to fight again. But that wasn''t true. What I really want is to make sure no one can ever threaten my home. And for that, I need proper training. The War Academy can give me that." Your mother will be happy, at least. She wanted you to go to the Academy. Did she not? "Yes." Mallie''s voice dropped lower. "But I''m not doing this for her. It''s what I need to do. What our village needs me to do." She turned to face me fully. "You''ve shown me that protecting others means making hard choices. Choosing this¡­ to leave Weath. It''s hard. I wish I could stay here forever, but if I want my home to be safe, then I have to go away. At least for a little while." I reached out and placed my porcelain hand over her small one. You''ve grown wise, little archer. "I learned from the best." A hint of her usual smile returned. The sound of a chair scraping against wood made us both turn. Mayor Antos straightened in his seat, his eyes surprisingly clear despite the empty cups littering the table before him. "Good choice, lass." He nodded at Mallie. "The Academy''s the only real path for those who want true strength." Thought you were sleeping off your drink, I projected, the thought tinged with amusement. "Takes more than a few cups to put me under." He tapped his temple. "And I never sleep through important conversations." Mallie leaned forward. "What do you mean about true strength?" "Ever notice how most folks hit a wall around Level 25?" Antos grabbed a fresh cup, filling it with water this time. "Oh, they can still gain levels, but it gets harder. Much harder. Like swimming through mud." I recalled Harke mentioning something similar during our conversations in Qordos. "But Academy graduates?" Antos continued. "They break right through that barrier. No one knows exactly why, but their training gives them something special. Knowledge, techniques, whatever it is; it works." "Is that why you recommended me?" Mallie''s eyes widened. "Part of it." He took a long drink. "The other part being your natural talent, of course." Mallie fidgeted with her sleeve. "What about the Hellzone? Under the Academy? Is it real?" "Oh, it''s real alright." Antos set down his cup. "Kaldos himself, the God of War, he built that place right over an underground Hellzone''s entrance. Smart, really. Where better to train warriors than in actual combat?" They send students into a Hellzone? The thought of Mallie facing the dangers I''d encountered made my mechanical fingers tighten against the table. "Not right away," Antos assured us, noting my reaction. "But eventually, yes. That''s where the real training happens. The Academy Hellzone, they call it. Reserved just for students." He leaned back, his chair creaking. "You know how many people have managed to hit Level 100? Thirty-seven. And every single one of them graduated from the War Academy." Mallie''s mouth fell open. "All of them?" "Every last one." Antos nodded. "That''s no coincidence, lass. Whatever they''re teaching in those halls, it works." The revelation settled over our table like a heavy blanket. Mallie sat straighter, her jaw set with determination. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, imagining herself among those legendary graduates. When will you leave. For the Academy? I projected the thought to Mallie as the celebration continued around us. The mounted dragon''s head cast long shadows across the hall, a reminder of our recent victory. She traced the rim of her empty plate. "The next coming entrance ceremony is in four months. After that, they won''t take on any new students for another four years." Four months. My porcelain fingers tapped against the wooden table. That should give you plenty of time to prepare. "And say goodbye." Her voice caught slightly. "I''ve never been away from home before. Not counting... well, Qordos." The music had died down, replaced by quiet conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. Clarik''s lute lay silent in his lap as he shared a drink with Willem. I will miss you when you''re gone. The thought flowed naturally between us. But I''ll be here, keeping Weath safe while you study. I promise to protect it doubly hard. In your absence. Mallie''s eyes glistened. She wiped at them quickly with her sleeve. "Thank you, No Eyes. For everything." She straightened her shoulders, managing a wobbly smile. "When I come back, I''ll be strong enough to protect you, too." The mental equivalent of laughter rippled through our connection. That would be nice. I could use a break now and then. "I mean it!" She punched my porcelain arm lightly. "Just you wait. I''ll become the strongest Archer the Academy has ever seen!" I don''t doubt it for a moment. I placed my hand on her shoulder, feeling the determined set of her muscles. You''ve already proven yourself braver than most. As we fell into a comfortable silence, I sat back and felt numb. Mallie was leaving. I would lose another friend. First Harke left me, now her. I tried not to feel sad; I wanted to be happy for her. This was, after all, a great opportunity. Yet, like Harke, she was one of the first friends I had made since I was reborn in this world. And now, she would be gone, for who knew how long. But as I sat there and looked across the town hall, at all the people whom I had met and befriended, I felt content. Clarik, Sarah; Willem and Derek; all of them were new people, new friends that I had made. This was life, was it not? We may lose people we grow to care for during our journey, yet we form deep bonds with others along the way. Not to replace our old friends, but to add to them. Though my memories might be broken, I knew that this was exactly how life was supposed to work. I couldn''t help but wonder whether my former self, the person I was before my monstrous rebirth, had any cherished companions who now existed only within my missing memories. The thought saddened me. The idea of forgetting Harke, of forgetting Mallie; it made my heart ache. I made a promise to myself at that very moment. I vowed to never, ever forget a friend. Even though we may be parted, I swore to always remember them. No matter where they are. It would make getting back together all the more special someday. Chapter 38: Why Chapter 38: Why The summer sun warmed my porcelain shell as I walked down Weath''s main street. Children no longer ran from my mere presence. They waved, often calling out "No Eyes!" with cheerful voices. Even Derek''s shy younger sister, Pippa, had taken to following me around the marketplace, pestering me with questions about my mechanical limbs. A month of peace had changed so much. The villagers who once feared me now nodded in greeting. Farmer Tull approached with a basket of fresh vegetables. "Morning." His face remained stern, but the hostility had faded from his voice. "Heading to the smithy?" I inclined my head. Good morning, Tull. Actually, I''m going to Mallie''s birthday celebration. "Ah, right. The girl''s turning thirteen." He shifted the basket. "Tell her congratulations from me." The walk to Mallie''s home brought more greetings, more friendly faces. The change still felt strange. Welcome, but strange. At the farmhouse, decorations hung from the porch rails. Children''s laughter spilled out through the open windows. Katherin opened the door before I could knock. "Welcome, No Eyes." Her smile was practiced, but polite. Definitely much better than her usual cold stares. "Please, come in." Inside, Mallie sat surrounded by her friends; there was Derek, a boy named Lial, and others near her age. Her face lit up when she saw me. "No Eyes! You came!" Of course. I would not miss this. I handed her a small wooden box I''d crafted. Inside lay a steel pendant, carefully shaped and polished. Happy birthday. She hugged me, uncaring that my porcelain frame was cold and hard. The other children crowded around to see the gift. Many let out "oohs" and "aahs" upon seeing the pendant that I had assembled. Katherin soon brought out a cake, decorated with candles. As everyone sang, I noticed her watching me. Her expression was complex, resignation mixed with something else. Perhaps she''d finally accepted that her daughter had befriended a monster. Or maybe she was just being diplomatic since Mallie would be leaving for the Academy soon. Either way, there was a fragile peace between us. One that I hoped would last, even after Mallie''s departure. The afternoon passed pleasantly. The children played games while the adults talked. I sat with Moskin, discussing the village''s defenses. He''d grown comfortable enough to joke around with me, though his wife still maintained her careful distance. "Three weeks until she leaves," Moskin said quietly, watching Mallie chase her friends through the yard. "The house will be so quiet." I would say that she would make you proud, I projected the thought gently. But something tells me. She already has. He nodded, eyes glistening. "That she has." The celebration continued as the sun began to set. I watched Mallie laugh with her friends, saw how even Katherin''s practiced politeness occasionally slipped into genuine warmth. This peaceful moment felt precious, a reminder of why I chose to stay and protect this village. Then a commotion resounded outside the house. The children''s shouts pulled me away from my thoughts. I followed Moskin as he exited the house and stormed into the yard, where Mallie and her friends clustered together. They each looked curious, pointing toward the village center. I focused my Mind Sight, which had just recently reached Rank C. I could now focus on distant objects and be able to see them with clarity. From what I could observe, a mass of armored figures were gathered outside the town hall. There were at least twenty of them, all in polished plate mail. Their weapons and armor gleamed even in the fading light. Each held the bearing of a professional soldier, and all bore an unknown standard upon their shields. "What do you see?" Moskin asked, squinting in the dimness. Armed men. Soldiers. Twenty, fully armored. Mallie gripped her bow, which she''d kept close even during her party. "How many?" Twenty. I shifted my mechanical frame, wondering if I needed to run to Clarik''s smithy in order to switch to my combat form. They''re gathering at the town hall. "Kingdom troops?" Moskin''s face tightened. "We haven''t seen royal soldiers here in years." I shook my head. Standard isn''t of this Kingdom''s royal family. I zoomed my mental sight closer to the shields to describe the crest. Their shields show a hawk with wings spread. One talon holds a knife. The other a ring. Moskin frowned. "That''s the Duke''s crest. But he rules all the way out in Further Vale. What''s his men doing here?" Derek tugged at my sleeve. "Are they here because of the raiders?" I don''t know. I scanned the gathering again. Their formations were disciplined, their equipment well-maintained. These weren''t mere border guards or local militia. Katherin emerged from the house, her practiced politeness forgotten as she pulled Mallie close. "Should we be worried?" I considered the soldiers'' stance. They were alert but not aggressive. They made no move to spread through the village or approach homes. They appear to be waiting. Not preparing for action. Still, I should investigate. I began to walk with Moskin towards the town hall, my porcelain frame''s gait clicking softly against the packed dirt road. Behind us, Mallie matched our pace, her bow slung across her back along with a quiver full of arrows. "You should stay with your mother," Moskin said without turning. "I''m not a child anymore." Mallie''s voice was firm. "The Academy wouldn''t have accepted me if I was." "Being accepted doesn''t make you grown." "No. But fighting alongside No Eyes against the Snapper Dragon did." She quickened her steps to walk beside her father. "And helping free the slaves at Qordos. And defending our home from raiders." Moskin''s shoulders tensed. I saw the conflict in his face, of pride warring with parental fear. Katherin''s earlier pained expression flashed through my mind. These parents were watching their daughter transform from a child into a warrior, and neither quite knew how to handle it. Let her come, I projected to both of them. She has proven herself capable. Katherin stood at the doorway of their home, arms crossed. The setting sun cast long shadows across her face, but I could see the resignation there. She nodded once, sharp and quick. "Stay close to your father and No Eyes," she called out. "And Mallie-" She paused, then added softly, "Be careful." "I will, Mother." Mallie''s voice gentled.
We continued toward the town hall, where the armored soldiers maintained their disciplined formation. Their polished plate armor caught the last rays of sunlight, turning them into living statues of bronze and gold. My Mind Sight picked up details of their equipment, from the polished metal to the various decorative flares. Each piece was of very high quality, far beyond what local militias could afford. I watched as many of the villagers emerge from their homes one by one. Old Willem leaned against his doorframe, pipe forgotten in his hand as he studied the soldiers with narrowed eyes. Sarah Goodmak pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, whispering to her concerned mother. Even Farmer Tull stepped out from the tavern, his usual scowl deepening at the sight of so many armed men. I moved through the crowd towards where I saw Clarik and Willem standing, my boots crunching against the packed dirt. Willem puffed on his pipe, the smoke curling around his weathered face as I approached. What is happening? My Mind Speech reached them both. "Saw Marshes and his lot with them," Clarik said, scratching his beard. "They went into the hall with some fancy-dressed fellow. Silk clothes, rings on every finger. A nobleman if I ever saw one." Moskin stepped closer, his broad shoulders tense. "Any idea what they want?" "Not a clue." Clarik shook his head. "But twenty armed men isn''t exactly a social call, is it?" I studied the soldiers'' positioning through my Mind Sight. They''d formed a loose perimeter around the town hall, hands resting casually on sword hilts. Their stance definitely suggested training beyond basic militia drilling. The setting sun glinted off their armor, each piece marked with the Duke''s crest. Someone had spent considerable coin outfitting these men. The town hall doors crashed open. A young man in rich silks strode out, rings glinting on every finger. Marshes and his companions followed, their expressions grim. Mayor Antos brought up the rear, his face flushed with anger. I watched the nobleman pause before the large, gathered crowd. He raised his hand, and suddenly his voice boomed across the square. He was using some type of system ability to enhance his volume in order to reach every ear. "I am Kolin Redflight, third son of Duke Barson Redflight of Further Vale." His eyes swept over the villagers with obvious disdain. "I seek Mallie of Weath. Present yourself immediately." I shifted my porcelain form, ready to step forward, but Mallie moved before Moskin could catch her arm. "I''m Mallie." Her voice rang clear and steady. Kolin turned to Marshes, who gave a short nod. The noble''s lips curled into a smirk. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "So you''re the farm girl who somehow managed to finagle an invitation to the War Academy?" His amplified voice dripped with contempt. Mallie''s freckled face darkened. "Yes, I was invited." "Give it to me." Kolin extended his ringed hand. "A simple farmer has no need for such an invitation. I''ll put it to better use." "No." Mallie lifted her chin. "I''m an Archer, not a Farmer." I watched as Kolin''s face twisted with rage. "Do you know who you''re speaking to, girl?" "Yeah." Mallie''s voice carried across the square. "You''re the son of a duke who''s trying to steal my War Academy invitation." Gasps rippled through the crowd. I caught sight of Sarah Goodmak covering her mouth to hide a smile, while Old Willem''s shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. Others weren''t as subtle as their snickers echoed off the buildings. Kolin''s face flushed crimson. Before he could respond, Moskin stepped forward and bowed low. "My lord, I am Mallie''s father. I apologize for my daughter''s... directness. Please forgive her, she is young." His words were respectful, but I detected a hint of pride in his tone. "Then order her to hand over the invitation," Kolin snapped. "Now." Ludwig''s robes rustled as he emerged from the crowd, his weathered staff tapping against the packed earth. "An invitation to the War Academy is tantamount to an act by Kaldos himself, the God of War and Change. Such a thing can not be so easily given or taken away." "And who might you be, old man?" Kolin''s lip curled. "I am Ludwig, keeper of Weath''s temple." The priest''s voice remained steady. Kolin threw back his head and laughed. "A lowly village priest dares lecture me on divine matters?" "And a high-borne thief dares try to steal what another has earned through skill and merit?" Ludwig''s words cut through the evening air like a blade. Kolin''s face contorted with fury. "You dare-" He whirled toward his soldiers. "You! Run this insolent priest through!" The closest soldier drew his sword with practiced efficiency. The blade whistled through the air toward Ludwig''s unprotected chest. I moved without hesitation, my mechanical body crossing the distance in an instant. My left arm, composed of my original, invulnerable flesh, shot up to intercept the blow. The sword struck my pale skin with a metallic ring, then stopped dead. The soldier''s eyes widened as his blade failed to penetrate my flesh. The soldier staggered back, his sword arm trembling. Around us, steel rasped against leather as the rest of Kolin''s men drew their weapons. The evening light caught their blades, turning the town square into a forest of steel. Marshes stepped forward, both hands raised. "My lord, please. There''s no need for violence." "Stand down," Coyle called out to the soldiers. "This doesn''t have to end in blood." The first soldier backed away, his eyes fixed on my unmarked arm where his sword had struck. Kolin pushed through his men, stopping short when he saw me. His gaze traveled from my pale flesh to the porcelain plates visible beneath my right sleeve. "So this is the monster you mentioned in your report to the baron." Kolin''s eyes narrowed as he addressed Marshes. "The one protecting the village?" Marshes nodded, hands still raised. "Yes, my lord. No Eyes has defended Weath from raiders and monsters alike." A smile spread across Kolin''s face, but it didn''t reach his eyes. He turned to a robed figure standing among his retinue. "Analyze this creature, Themas. Tell me what we''re dealing with." The robed man stepped forward, raising his hand toward me. His eyes glowed briefly with a blue light. "It''s a Dirtborn, my lord. Level 11." Themas''s brow furrowed. "Strange... its statistical scores are unusually high for its level. And there are other anomalies in its status screen..." "How high?" Kolin''s eyes widened. "Higher than mine, my lord. And I''m Level 15." Whispers rippled through the gathered soldiers. I kept my position between Ludwig and the armed men, my mechanical body still and ready. I activated my own Analyze ability, the blue status screens appearing in my mind. Just as Themas had said, he was indeed Level 15, his Aeromancer class visible beneath his name. Kolin''s status screen confirmed him as a Level 10 Swordsman. The soldiers'' levels varied, with most being Level 8 or 9 Swordsmen. Three of them were Level 12''s and seemed to be the squad leaders. The odds weren''t good. First of all, I wasn''t in my combat body; I idly wondered if it would even matter if I had been. Taking the combat frame''s capabilities into account, facing twenty trained soldiers at once would still be difficult. Mallie was skilled with her bow, but at Level 6 she lacked much combat experience. Her arrows might take down one or two before they closed the distance. I glanced at Marshes and his companions. Their presence complicated things. They''d proven themselves friends to Weath, but they worked for Baron Holstoff, who answered to Duke Redflight. Would they stand with us against their employer''s son? Or would professional obligations force them to side with Kolin? Marshes caught my gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his hand hadn''t moved to his sword. Beside him, Coyle fidgeted with his sleeve while Janis''s fingers drummed against her bow. Jecker and Andrim looked equally torn. None of them had drawn weapons yet, but that could change in an instant. The tension in the square thickened as I calculated our chances. Twenty trained soldiers plus an Aeromancer against one porcelain-bodied monster and a young archer. The odds were poor, even if Marshes and his team joined us. Kolin''s eyes gleamed with calculation as he studied my mechanical form. "No Eyes, was it? How would you like to work for me instead? Your talents are wasted in this backwater village." I serve where I choose, my Mind Speech reached everyone in the square. And I choose to protect Weath. True nobility has a duty to those they rule. What you''re doing is simple selfishness. Laughter burst from Kolin''s throat, high and mocking. "How would a monster like you know anything about true nobility?" He turned his attention to Mallie, who stood firm despite her father''s protective grip on her shoulder. "Very well. Since you refuse to hand over the invitation peacefully, I challenge you to a duel." Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Kolin raised his magically amplified voice. "I wanted to resolve this without bloodshed, but your foolishness forces my hand. The War Academy values strength above all else. If you''re too weak to defend yourself and your property, you have no place among its students." "This isn''t fair!" Mayor Antos stepped forward, his face red with anger. "She''s just a-" The nearest soldier''s sword pommel cracked against Antos''s face. The mayor crumpled to the ground, blood streaming from his nose. Shouts of outrage erupted from the villagers. Old Willem cursed, Sarah screamed, and others surged forward with raised fists. The soldiers tightened their formation, weapons glinting in the dying light. "SILENCE!" Kolin''s enhanced voice boomed across the square. "I am of the human nobility! House Redflight was chosen by the gods themselves to rule! You will obey..." His hand swept across the crowd. "Or face immediate death." The threat hung in the evening air like poison. I watched the soldiers'' grip tighten on their weapons, saw the fear and anger warring in the villagers'' faces. Blood dripped from Antos''s unconscious form onto the packed earth. I stepped forward, my booted feet silent against the dirt. I will fight in Mallie''s stead. Kolin''s face twisted into a sneer. "You? A mindless monster dares challenge nobility?" The nobleman spat on the ground in front of me. "Stay out of this, beast. This is a matter between two prospective students of the War Academy." I am neither mindless nor a monster. But you... you are both a coward and a snake, hiding behind soldiers while threatening children. His face flushed crimson. "How dare you!" He turned to Marshes, jabbing a ringed finger at my mechanical form. "Get rid of this thing. Now!" Marshes didn''t move. His hand remained away from his sword hilt, his expression carefully neutral. "Did you not hear me?" Kolin''s voice cracked with rage. "I gave you an order!" "My lord," Marshes kept his tone even. "No Eyes has proven to be a valuable defender of-" "You work for Baron Holstoff," Kolin cut him off. "And the baron swears fealty to my father. Holstoff specifically told you to follow my commands, did he not?" Marshes''s jaw tightened. "He did, but-" "And I personally know Guildmaster Vorax in Remembrance." Kolin''s lips curled into a cruel smile. "One word from me, and you''ll be barred from every adventuring guild in every kingdom. You and your entire team. Is that what you want?" I watched the tension ripple through Marshes''s shoulders. Beside him, Coyle''s face had gone pale while Janis gripped her bow with white-knuckled fingers. Jecker and Andrim exchanged worried glances. Their livelihood hung by a thread. One word from this spoiled noble, and their careers would be over. "I accept your challenge." Mallie''s voice rang across the square. No. My Mind Speech carried a sharp edge. This is not your fight. "It is." She stepped forward, her bow held tight. "This is about my invitation. My future." "Mallie, don''t-" Moskin reached for her arm. A piercing scream cut through the tense atmosphere. Katherin pushed through the crowd, her face pale with terror. She stumbled forward and fell to her knees before Kolin, hands clasped in desperate supplication. "Please, my lord!" Her voice cracked. "She''s just a foolish child. I''ll make her give up the invitation, I swear it. Just please..." Kolin''s lip curled as he looked down at her. "I''ve grown tired of these peasant games." He kicked dust toward her prostrate form. "Your daughter and this... village have insulted my noble lineage. Such insults can only be washed away with blood." His eyes fixed on Mallie. "Her blood!" Angry shouts erupted from the crowd. Through my Mind Sight, I watched villagers disappearing into houses and sheds, emerging with farming tools turned to weapons. Old Willem gripped a woodcutter''s axe, his pipe forgotten. Sarah''s father hefted a pitchfork, while others brandished hoes and scythes. The soldiers shifted uneasily, their professional calm cracking as they counted the growing number of armed villagers. Even with their superior training and equipment, twenty men couldn''t hold back an entire village''s worth of desperate people. But these weren''t warriors. My Analyze ability showed their true natures: Farmers, Merchants, Craftsmen. Good people who''d never killed anything more dangerous than a wandering wolf. Against trained Swordsmen, most would be slaughtered. Katherin remained on her knees, shoulders shaking with sobs. Mallie stood straight-backed beside her fallen mother, green eyes burning with determination. Moskin''s hands clenched into fists, torn between protecting his wife and daughter. The evening air grew thick with tension as more villagers armed themselves. Steel gleamed against rusty iron, plate armor faced off against leather work clothes. One spark would ignite this powder keg, turning our peaceful square into a bloodbath. I watched Mallie kneel beside her mother, wrapping thin arms around the sobbing woman. My mechanical joints creaked as my hands clenched into fists. "It''s okay, Ma." Mallie''s voice carried across the square, steady and sure. "I''m not that little girl anymore. I''m an Archer now." She pulled back, meeting her mother''s tear-streaked face. "I helped take down those slavers in Qordos. Fought alongside No Eyes against that Snapper Dragon. This fancy boy with his rings and silk?" She shot a contemptuous glance at Kolin. "He''s nothing." Moskin appeared beside them, gently helping Katherin to her feet. The woman clutched at Mallie''s sleeve, her voice breaking. "Please... please win. You have to survive." As Moskin led his wife away, something ancient stirred in my fractured memory. This wasn''t right. This wasn''t how nobility should behave. My hands, both the pale flesh of my left and the delicate porcelain of my right, trembled with suppressed rage. Fragments of memory flickered through my mind: armies marching together, humans of all races and stations united against a greater threat. The Primordials. They were the true enemy, not each other. This petty infighting, this abuse of power; it was worse than foolish. It was dangerous. I watched Katherin''s retreating form, heard her quiet sobs. My fury built like molten steel in a forge. Humanity needed to stand together. That''s what the armies of the past had understood. That''s what these noble houses had forgotten in their pursuit of personal power. The mechanical gears in my arms whirred as my hands opened and closed. Every fiber of my being yearned for a weapon, to end this farce of justice. But violence would only feed the cycle of hatred between classes. This had to stop. Not just here, not just now, but everywhere. The world faced greater threats than petty noble pride. But before I could move, before I could speak or act or fight or do anything, I found a sword''s sharp tip aimed directly at my face. Marshes''s rapier was drawn, its polished steel catching the evening light. The practiced grace of his stance told me this wasn''t a bluff; he''d strike if I moved. So you chose a side after all, my Mind Speech carried more sadness than anger. "Stand down," he said quietly. "This will all be over soon." Around us, his team had drawn their weapons as well. Coyle''s hands blazed with magical flames as he faced the villagers. Janis''s bow, usually aimed at monsters and bandits, now covered Old Willem and his woodcutter''s axe. Jecker and Andrim spread out, their swords keeping the armed farmers at bay. I swept my Mind Sight across the square, watching hope drain from the villagers'' faces. These adventurers had lived beside us, shared our meals, defended our homes. Now they turned against us for a noble''s coin. Marshes could only nod, his expression rigid with professional detachment. The rapier didn''t waver as he held it level with my porcelain mask. His hand gripped the hilt so tight his knuckles showed white. "I''m sorry," he whispered, too low for others to hear. "But we have our orders." The square fell silent as former allies faced each other across drawn steel. Mallie''s bow lowered slightly, her young face twisted with betrayal as she stared at Janis. The woman wouldn''t meet her gaze. "Why?" her young voice asked. That one simple question would haunt me for the rest of my days. Behind me, I heard Moskin trying to calm the other villagers, telling them to lower their makeshift weapons. He understood what I saw: without the adventurers'' help, we stood no chance against Kolin''s trained soldiers. Kolin''s laughter cut through the tense atmosphere. "See? Even your precious defenders know their place." He gestured at Marshes with a ring-laden hand. "Now keep that thing contained while I teach this peasant girl some proper respect." Chapter 39: Duel Chapter 39: Duel The soldiers shoved our people back with their shields, clearing the ground before the town hall. My mechanical joints whirred softly as I tracked their movements through Mind Sight, watching them form a rough circle in order to create a makeshift arena for this farce of honor. Marshes kept his rapier trained on me, his stance perfect as always. The others maintained their positions as well. Janis stood loose with her bow, and Coyle''s magic caused his hands to glow. Jecker stood nearby with his sword drawn, and Andrim held his axe at the ready. These five had grown to know me over the weeks of their stay in Weath. They all knew what I was capable of. Yet still they chose to side with that pompous lordling. Through my Mind Sight, I caught movement at the edge of the square. Clarik emerged from his smithy, a long bundle wrapped in oiled cloth held carefully in his arms. It was my latest work, a longsword crafted to replace the one shattered in the Snapper Dragon''s hide. The steel had sung with perfection as I created it, each fold and temper exactly as it should be. I had finished Assembling the weapon just this morning. The blacksmith moved slowly through the crowd, keeping to the edges where shadows grew long in the evening light. He was surprisingly stealthy for such a large man. His eyes glanced towards me briefly and he nodded, understanding passing between us. Clarik hid himself well back from where Marshes and his team watched me, finding a position where they couldn''t see him. I kept my posture relaxed, giving no sign that I''d noticed anything. My mechanical body remained still, though inside I burned with the need to act. The sword would do Mallie no good as she was an archer, not a blade fighter. But having it close enough for me to take possession of; well, that might make a difference. I watched through Mind Sight as Kolin shed his fancy cloak, revealing an outfit that probably cost more than most of Weath''s yearly harvest combined. The mage, Themas, helped secure a shiny, polished cuirass around the nobleman''s chest. The armor''s faint blue glow spoke of protective enchantments on it, likely designed to deflect or absorb blows. My porcelain fingers tightened against my sides as one of Kolin''s men presented him with an estoc. The weapon''s blade stretched longer than Mallie was tall, the obviously enchanted steel gleaming in the fading daylight. Another magical item, because of course it was. The young noble couldn''t face a farm girl without having every advantage money could buy. Is this what passes for honor among those claiming nobility? The words emerged through my Mind Speech, reaching everyone in the square. Enchanted armor and weapons against a child? Kolin tested the estoc''s weight with practiced movements. "I need no advantages to best a commoner. These are merely the tools befitting my station." I watched Mallie''s small form through my Mind Sight, noting how her fingers gripped the bow with white-knuckled tension. A slight tremor ran through her shoulders, but she kept her chin high, green eyes fixed on her opponent. Kolin raised his estoc overhead, the enchanted blade reflecting brightly from the nearby torchlights. "Look at this pathetic excuse for a warrior." His lips curled into a sneer. "A dirty little farm girl who thinks she deserves to walk the halls of the War Academy. Your kind belongs in the fields, grubbing in the dirt." The crowd shifted, a low murmur of anger rippling through the villagers. Old Willem''s weathered face darkened with rage. Sarah Goodmak''s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Even Farmer Tull, who''d once feared me, now directed his hatred toward this noble brat. "At least I earned my place." Mallie''s voice rang clear across the square. "You''re nothing but a cowardly thief, hiding behind his father''s wealth." Kolin''s face predictably flushed red. "You dare speak to me that way? I am the son of Duke Redflight!" "And I''m the daughter of honest folk who taught me the meaning of honor." She nocked an arrow to her bow. "Something you clearly never learned." The noble''s face twisted with fury. "When I''m done with you, peasant, you''ll learn proper respect. Perhaps I''ll have my men teach your family some manners as well." That threat sent a wave of hatred through the crowd. I could feel it building like storm clouds, dark and dangerous. Pitchforks and scythes appeared in calloused hands. The soldiers shifted uneasily, their shields rising higher. Through my Mind Sight, I tracked every subtle movement. Marshes'' grip had tightened on his rapier, but there was hesitation in his stance now. Janis hadn''t drawn her bowstring fully taut. Even Coyle''s magical glow seemed to flicker with uncertainty. My mechanical body remained still, but my mind raced through calculations. Twenty soldiers. Five adventurers. One mage. And Kolin himself, all arrayed against a village of farmers and one broken monster. The numbers didn''t matter. If Kolin''s threats turned to action, I would tear through them all. But first, I had to watch this farce play out. Had to let Mallie face this challenge, because she''d chosen it. Even as every gear and spring in my frame screamed to intervene. "Begin when ready," Kolin''s mage called out, stepping back from the makeshift arena. I watched through Mind Sight as Kolin burst into motion, his estoc drawn back for a killing strike. His form was precise, each movement showing years of expensive training. But after facing Chanos''s lightning-fast axe and dodging the Snapper Dragon''s bone-crushing jaws, the noble''s attack looked pitiful in comparison. Mallie''s hands moved with practiced grace, drawing and releasing an arrow in one fluid motion. Blue light traced its path through the air, marking it as one of the enchanted arrows I''d recovered from Qordos. Kolin didn''t even try to dodge, clearly trusting his expensive magical protections to keep him safe. The arrow punched through his enchanted cuirass like it was made of paper. Steel plate crumpled and magical barriers shattered as the projectile buried itself deep in his shoulder. A high-pitched scream erupted from Kolin''s throat. The estoc clattered to the ground as his hands flew to the shaft protruding from his body. Blood seeped between his fingers, staining his fine clothing. "Impossible!" Themas shouted, his face pale. "That arrow! It has a Penetration-All enchantment! Only Level 40 Enchanters can create them!" "No filthy peasant should have such a weapon!" Kolin''s voice cracked with pain and outrage. Mallie shrugged, already nocking another glowing arrow. "Guess those Qordos slavers must have killed someone really important to get their hands on these." Her tone was casual, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands. "Their loss was my gain." Terror replaced the pain in Kolin''s eyes as he stared at the second enchanted arrow aimed at his chest. "Kill her!" he shrieked at his men. "Kill that peasant bitch!" The soldiers moved to obey, shields rising as they advanced. But that command broke something in the crowd. Hours of simmering resentment exploded into violence. Farming tools transformed into weapons as villagers surged forward with roars of rage. The sound of their fury filled the square like thunder. The chaos erupted around me as villagers clashed with soldiers. Through my Mind Sight, I tracked Kolin stumbling backward, clutching his wounded shoulder while barking orders. His men formed a protective circle around him, shields raised against the angry mob. Mallie''s arrows whistled through the air in rapid succession. Each shot found its mark with deadly precision despite the chaotic melee. Her accuracy wasn''t random, she was targeting soldiers who pressed too hard against our villagers, forcing them to fall back or risk an enchanted arrow through their armor. A group of farmers rushed at Marshes and his team with pitchforks and scythes. The adventurers turned to face this new threat, their attention briefly shifting away from me. In that split second, I caught the flash of movement through my Mind Sight. Clarik had emerged from the shadows, unwrapping the oiled cloth from my newly forged sword. The blade spun through the air as he tossed it. My mechanical arm shot out, catching it perfectly by the grip. The steel sang as it cut through the evening air, my body falling into stance without conscious thought. Marshes spun to face me, his rapier already moving in the elegant patterns of Court Style. But my limbs knew exactly how to respond, flowing through forms buried deep in my fractured memories. Each thrust he made, I parried. Every complex combination he attempted, I countered. Jecker flanked me, his shorter blade seeking gaps in my defense. But my body moved with practiced efficiency, my sword weaving patterns that kept both opponents at bay. This wasn''t the raw combat I''d used against Chanos or the Snapper Dragon. This was refined, tactical swordplay designed for battlefield conditions. As I deflected another of Marshes'' precise attacks while simultaneously stepping away from Jecker''s strike, the memory surfaced like a bubble breaking the water''s surface. I suddenly knew its name. Isparan Battlefield Fencing. This was a combat style developed to fight multiple opponents in the crush of war. My mechanical frame executed the movements perfectly, muscle memory transcending the loss of my original flesh. "What is this style? Who the hell are you?" Marshes grunted as I turned his thrust aside. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I had no answer for him. My focus remained on the deadly dance of our blades, my sword moving through forms that felt as natural as breathing once had. Thrust, parry, riposte; each movement flowing into the next with mechanical precision guided by ancient memory. The style was devastatingly effective against multiple opponents. Where Court Style emphasized one-on-one dueling, Isparan Battlefield Fencing had been created for the chaos of war. Every stance provided coverage against multiple angles of attack. Each strike could smoothly transition to defend against a secondary opponent. Through my Mind Sight, I tracked two of Kolin''s soldiers as they joined Marshes and Jecker''s assault. Their military training showed in how they moved to flank me, attempting to create openings in my defense. But something strange happened as they entered the fight. My movements became more fluid, more certain. The Isparan forms flowed together with an effortless grace that felt almost supernatural. Four blades struck at me from different angles. My sword wove between them all, deflecting strikes while my mechanical body pivoted and shifted. Each opponent''s attack created opportunities for the others, yet somehow this made the style even more effective. The more they coordinated their assault, the more precise my counters became. Jecker lunged forward, trying to slip past my guard while Marshes occupied my blade high. At the same time, both soldiers drove in from opposite sides. In that moment, everything aligned perfectly. My sword disengaged from Marshes and swept down in a circular arc that caught Jecker''s blade near the hilt. The force of my parry drove his weapon wide, leaving him exposed. My following thrust took him in the chest, punching through his leather armor. As Jecker fell, I continued the motion into a spinning slash that opened the nearest soldier''s throat. His blood sprayed across my porcelain plating as he collapsed. The remaining soldier hesitated for just a heartbeat, which was a fatal mistake. My blade whipped around in a horizontal cut that separated his head from his shoulders. I pivoted to face Marshes, who had fallen back into a perfect Court Style defensive stance. Our eyes met across the blood-stained ground between us. He knew what was coming. We both did. My thrust was simple and direct; no flourishes or complex movements. His parry was equally clean, but I had already begun the disengaging riposte. His eyes widened as my blade slipped past his guard and drove through his chest. "Who... taught you... this style?" Blood trickled from his lips as he stared at me. I held him upright, my sword still buried in his heart. Through my Mind Sight, I watched his life ebbing away. A sad smile crossed his weathered features. He gave me a small nod, a warrior''s final acknowledgment, before the light faded from his eyes. I had no time to grieve for this former friend. I still had many who were fighting for their very lives. I charged into the heart of the battle, my mechanical legs carrying me with inhuman speed. Bodies littered the ground, and my Mind Sight revealed faces I''d grown to know over these past months. Farmer Tull lay twisted on his side, those suspicious eyes now empty and lifeless. Martin and Tomas, who''d shared drinks with me just days ago, were sprawled amongst the fallen. Rage burned through my mechanical innards like molten steel. Two soldiers fell before my blade, their armor offering no protection against my precise strikes. But then two squad leaders stepped forward, their movements marking them as veterans. My Analyze ability confirmed they were both Level 12. These weren''t common soldiers. They moved with practiced coordination, one always defending while the other probed my defenses. When I attacked one, the other would counter. Their teamwork spoke of years fighting together, each anticipating the other''s moves. I tried shifting into more aggressive Isparan forms, but they adapted quickly. One feinted high while the other struck low. I caught the lower blade with mine, but the motion left me exposed. Steel crashed against my right arm, shattering the porcelain plating. Internal mechanisms sparked and ground together from the damage. My movements became sluggish, the damaged arm throwing off my balance. I fell back into defensive patterns, trying to protect my wounded side. The squad leaders pressed their advantage, their confidence growing with each exchange. Then an arrow punched through one soldier''s helmet visor. He dropped instantly, the enchanted projectile having found its mark with deadly accuracy. His partner''s discipline broke for just a moment as he glanced at his fallen comrade. That split second was all I needed. My blade thrust forward, sliding past his guard and into his throat. I looked up to find Mallie perched atop the town hall, her bow singing as she picked off soldiers with ruthless efficiency. She caught my gaze and smiled, that gap-toothed grin somehow unchanged despite the blood and death surrounding us. I felt my own face shift into what passed for a smile, grateful for her deadly precision. Suddenly, blue-white lightning crackled across my Mind Sight, a blinding flash that burned away all reason. The bolt struck Mallie in the chest, and time ground to a halt. In that single, eternal moment, I saw her smile fade, watched those bright green eyes go dim. Time quickly resumed, and I watched Mallie''s small form tumble from the roof like a broken doll. Something inside me shattered. The scream that erupted from my throat wasn''t human. It wasn''t even monster. It was something ancient and primal, a sound of pure anguish that ripped through the evening air. Glass exploded inward as every window in the square shattered. Soldiers and villagers alike collapsed, blood streaming from their ears as my grief manifested as a physical force. Through my Mind Sight, I saw Themas standing in the town center, magical energy still crackling around his raised hand. His face showed no remorse, just the satisfied look of a job well done. He''d killed a child. Murdered Mallie. My Mallie. The sword fell from my mechanical fingers. I didn''t need weapons anymore. Didn''t need skill or technique or remembered forms. All that remained was the burning need to tear him apart with my bare hands. My legs propelled me forward with crushing force, porcelain plates cracking from the strain. The rational part of my mind that might have planned an attack or considered strategy had burned away, replaced by bestial fury. Nothing existed except the distance between me and Themas, and the overwhelming desire to destroy him. The mage''s eyes widened as I charged. His hands moved through the motions of another spell, but I was beyond caring what magic he might unleash. Let him burn me, freeze me, tear me apart with wind. Nothing would stop me from reaching him. I barely registered the soldiers who tried to block my path. My mechanical body smashed through their shield wall like it was made of twigs. Armor crumpled under my grip as I threw men aside. Someone''s sword caught in my side, but I couldn''t feel it. Porcelain and steel shattered, falling off my loping form. I couldn''t feel anything except the rage burning through every gear and spring of my frame. Themas. He was all that mattered. The mage who''d murdered a child. Who''d extinguished that bright smile forever. My Mind Sight focused on him with vicious precision as I crashed through the last line of defenders. The air itself became a weapon as Themas'' spell slammed into me. My mechanical frame exploded, shards of porcelain and steel spraying outward like shrapnel. The soldiers around him screamed as fragments tore through their bodies, blinding some and killing others instantly. But their deaths meant nothing to me. My original form remained, the pale, invulnerable flesh that had crawled itself up from the earth. Half a torso, one arm, and a head were all I needed. I landed on him with inhuman speed, my sharp teeth finding purchase in the soft flesh of his face. My remaining hand dug deep into his shoulder, fingers piercing through muscle and sinew. The mage''s scream turned to a wet gurgle as I ripped away a chunk of his features, blood spraying across my eyeless face. He fell backward and I followed, my teeth seeking his throat. Each bite tore away more of him, my rage driving me to reduce him to nothing but meat and bone. The surviving soldiers hacked at my pale flesh with their swords, but the blades couldn''t penetrate my invulnerable skin. Others tried to drag me off their dying mage, but I was beyond their strength to move. My jaws snapped shut on his collarbone, crushing through it with savage force. His attempts to cast another spell ended in a choked scream as I bit down on his casting hand, severing fingers with my razor-sharp teeth. Blood filled my mouth, hot and copper-tasting, driving me into an even deeper frenzy. I didn''t stop until there was nothing recognizable left of the man who''d killed Mallie. My teeth had reduced him to torn flesh and splintered bone, his fine robes now soaked crimson with his own blood. The soldiers who''d tried to save him had backed away in horror, their weapons hanging useless at their sides as they watched a monster consume their mage.
I came to my senses slowly, like waking from a nightmare. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, and my pale flesh was coated in gore. Antos knelt before me, his nose crushed and bleeding, but his eyes held no fear. Only deep sadness. "Are you alright?" His voice was tight, controlled. I managed a nod, though I wasn''t sure if it was true. My mind felt fractured, pieces of memory floating just out of reach. Then they crashed back into place with devastating clarity. Lightning. Bright and terrible. Mallie''s small body arcing through the air. The sound of her hitting the ground. The silence that followed. A sob tried to tear its way out of my throat, but I choked it back. My cursed voice had already caused enough pain today. I forced myself to look around with Mind Sight, to face what I''d done. The street outside the town hall had become a graveyard. Bodies lay scattered across blood-stained dirt, not just of soldiers, but villagers, too. People I knew. People who''d finally begun to trust me. Derek clutched his sister Pippa as they knelt beside their father''s corpse. Their shoulders shook with silent sobs, too exhausted to even cry out anymore. Emma Goodmak rocked back and forth, cradling Sarah''s lifeless body against her chest. Her daughter''s kind face, which had smiled at me just this morning, was now forever still. Old Willem stood among a cluster of fallen young men, tears streaming down his weathered face. "Why?" he kept asking, his voice breaking. "Why do I survive when these boys died? What kind of cruel joke is this?" Near the hall steps, Clarik''s massive frame trembled. He gripped a bloody hammer in white-knuckled hands, standing over Janis''s broken form. The woman who''d brought him bread, who''d flirted with him so openly, had become an enemy that he had been forced to take down. The sound of familiar weeping reached my ears. Through Mind Sight, I watched Katherin nearby as she cradled Mallie''s body. Her fingers were trembling as she brushed the blonde hair from her daughter''s still face. The sound of her grief plunged deep into me, somehow bypassing my invincible skin. Next to them lay the prone form of Moskin, his body riddled with wounds. His final, desperate act had been to defend his wife and child. His calloused farmer''s hands were still gripping his broken pitchfork, a weapon he refused to yield even in death. My teeth ground together, the sharp edges clicking against each other. This wasn''t just murder. It was slaughter. These were farmers, craftsmen, simple folk who''d never raised a hand in violence until today. Antos. My Mind Speech reached out to the mayor. Where is Kolin Redflight? Tears carved paths through the blood on his face. "Ran. Him and what''s left of his men. Headed west on the trade road. Probably running to Millbrook to get reinforcements." How long? "About an hour, I''d say." His voice cracked. "Just... just left them all here. Left us to bury our dead. Didn''t even bother to collect their own. Bastards." Perfect. The trail would still be fresh. Clarik. I projected my thoughts to the blacksmith. I need your help. The big man''s head snapped up at the sound of my mental voice. Life returned to his hollow eyes. He acknowledged me with a sharp nod, then hurried towards his smithy. Minutes later, I stood housed within my combat frame, four arms of gleaming steel each gripping a different weapon. The familiar weight of the mechanical body settled around me, internal clockwork systems integrating smoothly with my flesh. "No Eyes." Katherin''s trembling voice stopped me as I turned to leave. I looked back to see her still kneeling beside Mallie, but her tear-streaked face had transformed into something harder than stone. "Kill them all." Her words dripped with venom. "Every last one of those whoresons. Make them suffer." I nodded once, then strode toward the western road. The hunt was on. Chapter 40: Slaughter Chapter 40: Slaughter I ran without tiring, my mechanical legs eating up the distance. The western road stretched before me, a dusty ribbon cutting through farmland and scattered trees. Every few hundred feet, fresh signs confirmed I was on their trail. Blood droplets stained the dirt. Not much, but enough to track. Boot prints told their story: some men limped, others stumbled. The spacing between steps showed their exhaustion. They weren''t moving like trained soldiers anymore, but like beaten dogs slinking away from a fight. My four arms kept perfect rhythm as I moved, each weapon ready. The familiar weight of steel in my hands only fueled my rage. In my right hands, I gripped a longsword and short spear. My left hands held a mace and dagger. Each weapon felt like an extension of my fury. Through Mind Sight, I spotted more evidence of their retreat. Discarded pieces of armor too heavy to carry. A bloody bandage caught in a thornbush. An empty water skin trampled into the mud. They weren''t even trying to hide their trail. My mechanical joints whirred smoothly as I increased my pace. The sound reminded me of working in Clarik''s smithy, of peaceful days crafting tools instead of weapons. But those days were gone now, shattered like Mallie''s small body when that lightning struck her down. My teeth ground together, sharp edges clicking as my jaw clenched. They thought they could murder innocents and simply walk away. They believed their noble blood would protect them from the consequences of their actions. That their duke''s name would shield them from justice. They were wrong. I spotted fresh prints in a muddy patch, mere minutes old. The gap was closing. Soon, very soon, I would catch them. And then I would show them exactly what kind of monster they had created.
Through Mind Sight, I counted twelve shapes huddled around a hastily made camp. Most of the soldiers showed signs of various injuries; some couldn''t even walk without aid from their fellows. Kolin''s form stood out, his noble bearing visible even through his pain and exhaustion. My gaze shifted to another familiar figure, that of Coyle. The sight of him twisted something inside my mechanical frame. He''d spent days studying my work in the smithy, asking endless questions about Assembly. Now here he sat with his Mallie''s killers, having abandoned his sister to die in Weath''s streets. The scholar had chosen his own skin over loyalty, over justice. Their camp sprawled beneath a copse of oak trees, bedrolls scattered without thought to defense or watches. Weapons lay carelessly propped against trunks or discarded in the grass. Such arrogance. They truly believed their status protected them, that no one would dare pursue the duke''s son and his men. I moved forward with deliberate steps, my mechanical legs crushing twigs and leaves. Let them hear me coming. Let fear build in their hearts as death approached. The weapons in my four hands caught the bright silver moonlight, steel promising steel''s work. "Someone''s coming!" One of the soldiers scrambled to his feet, grabbing for a sword. Kolin''s head snapped up, his face going pale as he recognized my mechanical form. "No... impossible. You can''t have followed us this far." Why not? My Mind Speech carried to all of them, cold and precise. Did you think distance would save you? That your father''s name would protect you after what you did? Coyle shrank back against a tree, hands trembling. "No Eyes, please... we had no choice. The duke-" THERE IS ALWAYS. A CHOICE. I advanced steadily, spreading my arms wide to display each weapon. You chose to threaten children. You chose to murder innocents. And now you''ve chosen to die. The soldiers fumbled for their weapons, forming a ragged circle around Kolin. Their exhaustion showed in shaking hands and unsteady stances. They''d fled hard and fast, spending their strength on speed rather than rest. I could have struck from the shadows. Could have picked them off one by one as they slept. But that wasn''t what I wanted. I needed them to see me coming. Needed them to understand exactly why they would die. My mechanical body moved with fluid grace, each step measured and inevitable. Slivers of moonlight gleamed off the eyeless features of my misshapen helmet, reflecting in their fear-widened eyes. "Please," Kolin''s voice cracked. "My father will pay whatever you want. Name your price." My price? I stopped just outside their circle of steel. You already paid it. In innocent blood. In Mallie''s death. My four arms raised their weapons. And now I''m here give you that which you have purchased. The first soldier charged, blade held high with more courage than sense. His sword clanged uselessly against my armored chest, the impact barely registering through my mechanical frame. Without pause, I drove my spear forward. The steel tip punched through his eye and out the back of his skull. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings. "You dare?" Kolin''s voice rose to a shrill pitch. "You''re nothing but a monster! A thing! And that peasant girl? She was nothing! Less than nothing!" If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I yanked my spear free, letting the corpse fall. The remaining soldiers backed away, their weapons shaking. One by one, I cut them down. A sword through the throat. A mace crushing ribs. A spear finding gaps in armor. Each death was quick, efficient. No waste, no flourish. Just the inevitable march of steel through flesh. "My father will have your head for this!" Kolin continued his tirade, spittle flying from his lips. "He''ll burn that miserable village to the ground! Every death will be on your hands!" His words meant nothing. They were just noise, like wind through dead branches. I stepped over the bodies of his men, my mechanical legs moving with fluid precision. Blood darkened the grass beneath my feet. Coyle pressed himself against the oak tree, hands raised. "Please... please No Eyes. They threatened my guild status. My livelihood. What choice did I have?" I met his gaze with my eyeless helm. This man who''d sat in Clarik''s smithy, who''d broken bread with us, who''d called Mallie his ''little sister.'' My sword thrust clean through his chest, pinning him to the tree. His final breath escaped in a wet gurgle. The moonlight cast long shadows as I methodically eliminated Kolin''s remaining guards. Each death brought me closer to the young noble, who stumbled backward with every step I took. His fine clothes were stained with mud and sweat, his carefully styled hair now a disheveled mess. "Wait!" His voice cracked as I advanced. "Let''s be reasonable about this. You clearly cared for that peasant girl-" Her name was Mallie. My Mind Speech cut through his words like a blade. "Yes, yes, Mallie." He licked his lips, eyes darting between my blood-covered weapons. "Think about her family. I could help them, you know. Make them minor nobles. Give them lands, titles, wealth beyond their imagining." I tilted my helmeted head, studying him. This pathetic creature, this third son of a duke, trying to bargain with promises he could never keep. He thought me a fool. I had knowledge of human hierarchy. I knew exactly how little power he truly wielded. "They''d never want for anything again," he continued, desperation creeping into his voice. "I have the authority-" You have nothing. I moved closer, letting him see the fresh blood dripping from my weapons. You''re not even the spare heir. Just a useless extra son, totally disposable, desperate to prove himself worthy at the War Academy. His face contorted with rage. "How dare you! I am-" Nothing. I cut him off again. You killed an innocent girl because you couldn''t stand the thought of a farmer''s daughter having what you couldn''t earn on your own merit. "She was nothing!" He spat the words, his facade of negotiation crumbling. "A peasant! Dirt! And you''re just a monster, a thing that should have stayed in its Hellzone where it belonged!" I stood not two feet away from the trembling form of the nobleman whose actions had caused misery to so many I cared about. It was because of this sad, pathetic little fool that Mallie had been taken away from me. One of my first friends, dead because of this insect. Pure, unbridled fury consumed me. You are right, I told him. I am a monster. I raised the sword in my right hand, placing its sharp, bloody edge upon his shoulder. He flinched heavily upon the contact. Let me show you exactly what that word means.
I kept him alive throughout the night. My Assembly ability proved extremely useful for more than just building mechanical bodies and weapons. Small, precise tools could inflict tremendous pain without causing fatal damage. The human body was a complex machine, after all. One that I was now learning to dismantle piece by piece. "Please..." Kolin''s voice had grown hoarse from screaming. "Just kill me." Not yet. I adjusted the metal clamps holding him in place. Kathrin wanted you to suffer. I promised her you would. But even as I worked, a very large part of me recoiled at what I was doing. These hands that had once crafted gifts for the villagers, that had helped build their tools and repair their homes, now created instruments of torment. I remembered Mallie''s smile, her infectious laugh, her unwavering acceptance of what I was. She would have been disgusted by this. "I''m sorry," he whimpered. "Gods, I''m so sorry." I know you are. But you being sorry doesn''t bring her back. I extended a thin metal probe, letting it hover over his raw, exposed flesh. Being sorry doesn''t erase what you did. The nobleman''s screams echoed through the forest again. I kept working, methodical and precise, just as I had been when crafting in Clarik''s smithy. But this was different. This wasn''t creation; it was destruction. The complete opposite of what I had done before. With each cut, each burn, each carefully measured dose of pain, I felt myself becoming more and more of the monster he had named me. "Monster," he gasped between sobs. "You''re a monster." Yes. I paused, studying my handiwork. But you made me this way. You took something pure and good from this world. You killed innocence itself. I knew this was wrong. So awfully wrong. I wanted so badly to stop. Somewhere in my fractured memories, I remembered believing in justice, not whatever this was. But those memories belonged to someone else, someone buried in the past who hadn''t watched Mallie''s lifeless body hit the ground. Someone who hadn''t heard Kathrin''s anguished demands for retribution. Through the long hours of darkness, I continued my grim work. Each time Kolin began to lose consciousness, I used my knowledge to bring him back. Each time he begged for death, I denied him. I told myself I was fulfilling a promise, carrying out the will of a grieving mother. But in truth, I was losing myself to the darkness that had always lurked beneath my mechanical surface. Dawn crept over the horizon, painting the forest in pale light. I stared at my hands, both mechanical and pale flesh, covered in noble blood. The rage that had consumed me through the night had finally ebbed away, leaving only hollow emptiness. Kolin''s mutilated form slumped against the tree where I had secured him. His chest no longer rose and fell. I had finally granted him the mercy of death, though far too late to call it anything but torture. The shame hit me like a physical blow. What had I done? I had spent hours systematically destroying another human being, prolonging his suffering for my own dark satisfaction. This wasn''t justice for Mallie, this was pure, simple sadism. I had become exactly what the villagers had initially feared: a monster that reveled in causing pain. My mechanical fingers trembled as I looked at the implements I had crafted. Precise tools designed for a single horrific purpose. Each one a perversion of the Assembly ability I had used to help others. The same hands that had crafted toys for Derek, repaired tools for Clarik, built defenses for the village. I had used them to inflict unimaginable torment. Mallie''s face flashed in my mind. Not her final moments, but her bright smile when she''d visit me in the smithy. Her unfailing belief that I was more than just a monster. I had betrayed everything she saw in me. She would have been disgusted by what I had become in her name. Ludwig''s words echoed in my fractured memories: that perhaps I was cursed as divine punishment for past sins. Looking at the grotesque scene before me, at what I was capable of, how could I argue? Only a truly monstrous being could have done this. Maybe this was exactly what I deserved; to be trapped in this broken form, to remember just enough of being human to understand how far I had fallen. I am a monster. Not because of my mechanical body or my eyeless face, but because of the darkness I had unleashed. The capacity for calculated cruelty that dwelled within me. I had proved every fear, every accusation against me true. Forgive me Mallie.