Takson led the way with the enthusiasm of a local tour guide, stopping at a modest establishment with the savory scent of roasted meat wafting from its door.
"This is it, Teacher! The Golden Hearth. Best stew in the city, or so I've heard!"
I glanced at the sign. My database immediately pulled up the relevant file.
[Establishment: The Golden Hearth. User Rating: 3.8/5. Specialties: Beef Stew, Honey Ale.]
"..."
I said nothing. I simply followed him inside.
Throughout the meal, Takson kept up a steady stream of chatter.
"Did you see that street performer earlier? The one juggling fireballs?"
"..."
"And that blacksmith shop on the corner? The weapons looked decent."
"..."
Eventually, the food arrived. Takson dug into his stew with gusto, but stopped halfway through, looking at me with a hopeful expression.
"So, Teacher? How was the walk? Did you enjoy seeing the city?"
I set down my cup of water, which I had not touched.
"Answer: It was acceptable."
"Eh? Just 'acceptable'? That's a little cold." Takson slumped, clearly disappointed that his tour hadn't elicited a stronger reaction.
"Explanation: It was redundant. I had already observed the entire route."
"Huh? When?!" Takson blinked, confused. "You were in the library the whole time I was exploring."
"Correction: I was physically in the library. My visual input, however, is not limited to my own chassis."
I stared directly at his left ear.
"Query: I have informed you previously that I am always aware of your status, have I not?"
"Yeah, but..."
"Addendum: The device I provided you transmits audio-visual data in real-time. What you see, I see. What you hear, I hear."
"Wait..."
Takson reached up, his fingers brushing the small, cold metal of the communication device in his ear.
"So... when I was walking around earlier..."
"Affirmative. I was observing the city through your perspective. Therefore, the physical walk was merely a repetition of data I had already acquired."
Understanding dawned on him.
Most people would find the idea of constant, unblinking surveillance terrifying. To have no privacy, to be watched every second of the day... it was the stuff of nightmares.
But Takson was not most people.
A wide, goofy grin spread across his face.
"So you really were watching me the whole time?"
"Affirmative."
"Heh. That's a relief."
He picked up his spoon again, his appetite suddenly redoubled. Knowing that his teacher, his guardian angel, was always looking over his shoulder, literally, made him feel invincible. The disappointment of the "redundant" walk vanished, replaced by the warm fuzzies of extreme attachment issues.
"Excuse me, here is the rest of your order."
A waiter placed a basket of bread on the table. He glanced at me, then at the empty plate in front of me, and then at Takson, who was devouring his second bowl of stew. The waiter opened his mouth as if to ask why the little girl wasn't eating, or perhaps why she was staring unblinkingly at the wall, but he thought better of it and scurried away.
I ignored him. My processors were already allocating resources for the night's work.
After Takson finished eating, following my strict "no talking while chewing" rule, I escorted him back to the inn.
Once he was safely in his room, I returned to Serie's sanctum.
The library was quiet, save for the rustling of pages. My clones were still there, a tireless army of scholars.
Target: Serie's Grimoire Collection.
Estimated time to completion: 0 hours, 45 minutes.
By tomorrow morning, every spell in this city would be mine.
I checked another background process.
[Rasiel: World Analysis... 79%]
It was getting closer.
What to do next? I wondered. Perhaps we will head further south.
I sat down in the center of the room, my eyes glowing in the dim light, and resumed my work.
….
Time is a flat circle for a machine, but for a human, it is a crucible of change.
Three years had passed since we left the Magic City.
We had traveled across the continent, clearing labyrinths, hunting monsters, and collecting magic.
Today, we were camped on a high plateau, the wind whipping through the grass.
Takson stood before me. He was eighteen now. He had grown even taller, his frame filling out with dense, powerful muscle. His face had lost its boyish roundness, replaced by the sharp, rugged lines of a man who had seen too much battle.
He leaned on his battle-axe, a serious expression on his face.
"Teacher," he said. "I have a request."
"Query: State it."
"I want you to increase the difficulty of the Virtual Combat Arena."
"..."
I looked at him. "Query: The current difficulty is set to 'Ultra-Hard'. You wish to exceed this?"
"Yes. Lately... I don't feel the tension anymore. The enemies are strong, but I know their patterns. I know I can win. And if I know I can win, I'm not growing."
His eyes were burning with that familiar determination.
I didn't need to ask if he was sure. I knew he was.
In my internal database, there was a file labeled [Takson Observation Record]. It contained unedited, high-definition footage of every second of his life for the past seven years. I had watched him sleep, eat, train, and fight. I knew his muscle density, his reaction times, and his mana capacity better than he knew them himself.
I didn't respond immediately. My optical sensors swept over Takson's body, logging every micro-change in his muscle mass and posture. It was a daily ritual, ensuring I had a perfect record of his growth.
"Request accepted."
Two black cables slithered out from beneath the hem of my dress, piercing the earth between us.
This time, there was no need to scan the terrain or calculate geometry.
Having absorbed the entirety of Serie's library, my magical database had expanded exponentially. I no longer needed to merely copy spells; I could engineer them. I had integrated magical theory into my own systems, upgrading my Pseudo-Endo armaments into True Endo constructs.
An invisible ripple expanded from my position, covering a two-kilometer radius in the blink of an eye.
"Preparation complete."
"Uh, huh?"
Takson looked around. The scenery hadn't changed, same grass, same sky. But his warrior's instinct told him the atmosphere had shifted. The air felt heavier, charged with static. He knew he was inside the Virtual Combat Arena.
"Alright," he said, rolling his neck. "Where's the monster? Bring it on."
Usually, at this point, I would open a portal and leave, while a simulated demon or beast materialized to challenge him.
But today, I didn't move.
Instead, I raised my arms and began to stretch, rotating my shoulders with a very human, casual motion.
Takson froze. His heart skipped a beat. A truly terrifying realization dawned on him.
He remembered the fight in the labyrinth three years ago. He remembered how difficult it had been to fight a crude, mindless copy of me.
"Wait... Teacher?" his voice trembled. "You don't mean...?"
I had already calculated his reaction. "Affirmative," I stated. "You requested 'pressure.' This is the most efficient method to provide it."
"But... you're my teacher!" Takson took a step back, holding his hands up defensively. "I can't fight you! I couldn't possibly raise a hand against…"
"Addendum: You will use your full strength."
"Teacher, please…"
His face twisted in a mixture of fear and reluctance. Whether it was genuine respect or simply a survival instinct screaming at him to run, he looked ready to flee.
"Cowardice is inefficient."
I didn't give him a choice.
I vanished.
To his eyes, I simply ceased to exist in one spot and appeared in his personal space. I was well within his guard.
My fist, small enough that he could wrap his entire hand around it, buried itself in his solar plexus.
THUD.
It wasn't a flashy move. It was a simple, perfectly executed body blow.
"Guh… ah!"
Pain, sharper and more intense than any blade or claw he had ever faced, exploded in his gut. It radiated outward, shocking his nervous system and turning his legs to jelly.
He crumpled, curling into a ball on the grass.
"Blergh…!"
He retched violently, his brain flooded with signals of nausea and agony. Because of the arena's safety protocols, he didn't actually vomit, but the sensation was real enough.
He gasped for air, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
One punch, he thought, his mind reeling. Just one punch.
But as the initial shock faded, a realization hit him.
I'm still conscious.
The pain was excruciating, yes. But if the real Stell had hit him with actual intent, his spine would have been pulverized. He would be dead, or permanently crippled.
This isn't her, he realized, looking up at the impassive figure standing over him. It's a recording. A 'Combat Image.'
It was a simulation of Stell, scaled down to a level where survival was technically possible, if highly unlikely.
"Looks like I'm in for a rough time."
….
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