"Could you hand me your core?" I asked at once, a stone through a quiet window—rude, but it got the echo I needed.

"You don't have clearance, sir." Her answer fell like cold rain, exactly as I'd expected.

"Then I'll cut to the bone. You've got a Soul Component, right? Slide that to me."

"You don't have clearance." The same iron door slammed and echoed down the hall.

"That's why I'm leaning on 'reason.' My time's sand slipping fast, so hear me out—"

Right—Constructs are reasonable, correct, and spotless. Gears mesh; numbers never dream.

Later ages gave us Terminators, Skynet, and Ultron—one author’s storms in a bottle. A Construct is only its maker’s shadow; it can't step past that lantern.

Shadow Demon Andor said it flat: machines don't err; they track like a compass.

"To save Raven, Gloria defied her maker’s intent." The words tasted like steel. "Her persona may be discarded, so I need the Soul Component to make her truly human."

Humans are different. Between man and machine stands free will like a wild river. Algorithms shuffle cards; people throw the deck and watch the wind.

We chase the crooked thought, find a spark in the bias, and call it a flash of insight. Machines tally; hearts wander.

The Soul Component grants a Construct that human spark, that creative ember that breathes.

"What's that to me?" Her voice was smooth glass, no fingerprints.

"Raven is the heir to the Truth Seekers Assembly."

"Correct." The reply clicked like a latch.

"If Gloria changes, or her persona gets erased, Raven will be heartbroken. Broken enough to give up."

The Construct in Liqibela’s shape thought for a beat, moonlight pooling in her eyes, then answered:

"…Correct."

I pressed, gentle as rain on a drum.

"If she gives up, the Assembly’s work goes to ash—that isn’t what you want to see."

"Correct." The word was a nod carved in stone.

"So give me the Soul Component."

"No." The refusal was a blade held flat.

"Why?"

"Because you don't have clearance." The rulebook weighed down every syllable.

"Which is why I’m persuading you." My patience burned low, a candle guttering. "I lack clearance, but I want a win for both sides, so I’m talking."

"I could kill you and take it, but you carry a key duty." The threat lay on the table like a sheathed knife.

I pointed at the surrounding arcane machines, their pipes breathing like sleeping beasts.

"This is the pocket realm that keeps the aberrant blade 'Holy to None' preserved." The name tasted of rust and prayer. "If these arcane engines break, a Construct repairs them—but if the Construct breaks?"

"A repair-Construct isn’t just steel. It takes time, oceans of specs, and latticed mana. That’s you, right? The most human-like Construct here."

"Correct." The admission hummed like a tuning fork.

"I’m on Raven’s side, same as you." My voice softened like dusk. "Liqibela surely told her how to summon 'Holy to None.' If the blade fails from poor upkeep, I don’t want that either, so give me the Component."

"Even if I must take it by force, I have to get it." The vow was cold iron.

"But you lack permission to take the Component." Her gaze was a locked vault.

"So listen—" I drew a breath, steady as a bowstring.

In a past life, I got on well with the Son of the Demon King of “Value,” my dear sister Kadula. She bears the Eye that sees the worth of all things, like scales hung in the sky.

Out of curiosity, she once appraised the Heretic Inquisition’s war trophies to the bone. Her finger tapped the ruined Construct in Liqibela’s likeness.

The Truth Seekers Assembly got something interesting, she said, then used it in the wrong soil.

This Construct was likely a test piece. Years of study bore no fruit. When the Inquisitors attacked, the build was excellent from heavy investment, so they repurposed it for maintenance in a hurry.

Arcane Engineers excel at arcane tech, a forge of lightning and runes. But they barely tread the ground of soul, persona, and spirit.

Logic circuits alone don’t make a Construct human. Even adding a Soul Component won’t finish the bridge by itself.

Without time layered like tree rings—without right and wrong piled like snow—a Construct stays a Construct.

At best, it’s a one-year-old child, and a brainwashed one at that. Kadula laughed like silver bells.

I thought: human-like yet not human. Rational like a ledger, without human feeling. Maybe that’s a hinge I can use.

"Can you make an exception?" I let warmth lead. "You have a Soul Component, so you must have a sliver of human thought. Can you bypass the clearance and give it to me?"

"Why?" Her head tilted, an owl in twilight.

"For a better future. For Raven’s smile. For the Truth Seekers Assembly’s sacrifice to hold value shared."

It was the optimal choice, a coin landing clean on its edge.

That line became the key that turned her lock.

She lowered her head and stood silent, like a lake holding back rain.

"All right." It sounded like a human’s helpless sigh, wind through reeds.

She undid her clothes. Beneath the white, unblemished skin, a cavity opened. From where a heart would beat, she took out a cylindrical arcane module. Yes—what I’d seen before. The Soul Component.

"My name is Mary." The name settled like a candle’s first light.

"This helps you too." My tone was a blanket against cold. "If you stay here gathering experience long enough, maybe one day you’ll become truly human. But the loneliness would drive you mad."

Like Lady Light Jade, buried under the Hero Academy with the Aversion Overlord, both warden and prisoner. People ache to fly beyond the ridge, to see what waits past the mountain.

I took the Soul Component and let out a breath, a knot loosening. I could’ve cut it out by force, but avoiding damage to the arcane machines was a coin toss at best. Less trouble is better.

"Can you explain something?" she asked. "My system showed static. It resisted the rational choice with noisy interference. Now it’s gone. Is that what you sought? Isn’t it redundant value? I don’t understand. Logic error."

Not wanting to die, not wanting to vanish—so human a tremor.

But Mary had lost her “human soul,” lost the heart, and couldn’t grasp it anymore.

"The fragile, the soft—those are what humans have." I spoke slow, like laying stones in a stream. "In the hiss and error, people learn something new. That’s what a Construct can’t do."

Mary shook her head. The gesture was a fallen leaf. She didn’t understand.

Fine. If time permits, I’ll come back to check on her.

Time was tight. I waved and left at a quicker clip, boots tapping like rain.

I returned to where Liqibela and Nagash had been. Through the soul-sight, I saw Liqibela was gone.

"Farewells finished?" Nagash’s voice came from the Shadow like a chill draft.

The Shadow didn’t give me the alert for a new vassal.

"Finished."

"Not going to see the other students?"

"Calling me out this time already bothered me." Irritation pricked like thorns. "I said goodbye before I set out. Doing it twice is waste."

"Is that so." I shrugged, a leaf in a breeze.

"To grant the living a new reason to live when they’ve chosen death—" His words were a bell in a tomb. "It can be its own cruelty, my lord. Let them rest."

Sigh. I won’t ruin the mood. I do consider my subordinates’ feelings. Better no vassal than a listless one draining mana.

"Let them die with ideals, calling themselves pure." I flicked my hand, like dust off a sleeve. "Whatever. I respect heroes. I won’t toy with them just to amuse myself and anger both sides."

I waved it off and turned to leave.

Halfway out, I doubled back, sighed, and fussed with Liqibela’s headless corpse.

I dipped my fingers in blood and wrote power-granting script on her arms and legs, letters like coals.

"What are you doing!"

"Taking advantage of the warmth—kidding." I grinned, knife-sharp. "But Nagash, you didn’t think I’d miss the soul-preservation magic you used, did you?"

There are many ways to keep a living soul from slipping away—keeping the body active, binding the soul’s drift, and more. Without a Divine Healer on site, you preserve body and soul, then return to town to revive.

It’s all a hassle, though, thorns on every step.

Nagash has no flesh in the world. Casting magic is awkward, like painting with smoke. Even with his mastery, perfection here is hard.

As the boss, I should lend a hand.

Shadow coiled around the headless body, then squeezed and seared. At last it reshaped into a gray-white urn, quiet as ash.

Demonfolk magic, "Coffin of Rest."

Inside, the soul will keep its living state, sleep peacefully, and not be taken by the god of death.

I tossed the urn to Nagash. It arced like a pale moon.

"I’m giving you clearance to control the Shadow now. Take the urn back yourself."

"You’re…" His voice wavered like smoke.

"You said a few farewell lines. You asked Liqibela if she’d become a vassal. She refused, then asked for time to think. You feared I’d convert her, so you left a backstop, even if I noticed."

"I’m guessing that’s it?"

"You spied on us?"

"Didn’t need to. I guessed." Better to chat with my sister than eavesdrop. And I’ve watched enough rom-coms to know the rhythm.

"Could you trust me a bit more? You were in the shadows the whole time, weren’t you? Am I that kind of brutal Demon King?"

"…This time, thank you." His gratitude was a bow of winter grass.

"Don’t just thank me. Say what you think." I clicked my tongue, playful as a fox. "For your work’s efficiency, I’ll mind your feelings too. Honestly—so much trouble!"

Whatever I said, Nagash only cradled the urn and bowed to me.

Has the image of the capricious Demon King sunk too deep into their bones?

I scratched my head and thought we should hold a Savior Demon King Army officers’ meeting to sort out my image. Then I stepped out of the space that entombed the aberrant blade, "Holy to None."

I quickened my pace, broke into a run, chasing after Raven and Stini. Footfalls drummed like a battle hymn.

"Out of the way, we won!" I shouted at the oncoming Heretic Inquisitors as they raised their stances, voices like trumpets over steel.