Within the Sixth Floor, in the central control chamber, nothing deviated from order.
The vast forge complex pulsed with muted industrial rhythm. Arcane conduits embedded in obsidian walls emitted a faint cobalt glow, flowing like veins through engineered stone. Suspended glyph-rings rotated slowly in the air, maintaining environmental equilibrium. Heat from the lower smelting chambers rose in controlled drafts through vented channels, never spilling beyond designated parameters.
Everything functioned.
Seth stood at the front of the forge platform.
Fresh from a bath, steam no longer clung to him but left a subtle sheen across his skin. He wore a simple white shirt, sleeves loosely fitted at the wrist. Black trousers fell clean and unwrinkled to light indoor footwear—silent, frictionless against the polished obsidian floor.
Across his eyes rested the familiar black blindfold.
Calm.
In one hand he held a transparent glass plate layered with sliced meat—precisely cut, evenly spaced. He lifted one piece between his fingers, placed it into his mouth, chewed slowly, swallowed.
Measured.
Unhurried.
His mind was elsewhere.
Beyond the reinforced barrier wall, suspended in a sealed containment chamber, lay the corpse of Vaelrix.
The Marquis unrestrained.
Even in death, the demon refused submission.
The body had been refined—externally. The last of the black ores had been integrated into structural binding layers. Molecular reinforcement. Surface compression. Magical lattice fusion. The fusion process had succeeded mechanically.
But not spiritually.
Seth lifted another slice of meat.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Black ore.
One of the rarest metals within the known world. Extraction required specific geological conditions—depth, pressure, and magical saturation over centuries. It was not merely rare because it was difficult to mine.
It was rare because it did not form easily.
Its properties were valued for military armament: high mana conductivity, extreme tensile durability, resistance to corrosion both magical and physical. Kingdoms bid fortunes for it. Noble houses secured it as heirloom material. Empires rationed it for elite battalions.
Supply was minimal.
Demand infinite.
Seth had used the last of his reserves refining the demon's frame.
And still
The corpse resisted.
Not physically.
Existentially.
The demon's remains housed residual authority. Fragmented but active. Even under preservation barrier, its structure rejected full subjugation. Internal energy flows remained autonomous. Dormant will lingered like embers beneath ash.
Seth frowned faintly.
"The corpse is still under preservation barrier to keep it intact."
He placed another slice of meat into his mouth.
"I can't extract the powers from it."
The barrier preserved cellular integrity and prevented decay—but it also stabilized internal energy patterns. Removing the barrier would accelerate decomposition. Leaving it intact prevented energy dismantling.
An equilibrium problem.
He turned slightly toward the containment display projection hovering above the forge platform. Layers of arcane schematics rotated slowly, mapping Vaelrix's internal energy nodes.
"I don't have the machine that could do that."
He swallowed.
His thoughts sharpened.
"I could use alchemist properties combined with my magic construct mechanisms…"
His fingers tapped once lightly against the glass plate.
"…develop a power-logic technology that interacts with matter and bypasses conventional physics constraints."
His tone remained conversational.
Clinical.
"If I build a matter-interaction engine capable of rewriting energetic ownership patterns, I could hold and extract the residual authority from the corpse."
Silence lingered in the chamber.
The rotating glyph rings hummed softly overhead.
"That's possible."
He picked another slice of meat.
"…but it would require lethal resources."
Not "expensive."
Lethal.
High-tier catalysts. Rare stabilizers. Possibly another divine fragment. Months of calibration. Continuous mental oversight. Sustained magical output. A risk of structural backlash if the demon's authority resisted extraction violently.
"Months of work."
Chew.
"Extensive mental load."
Swallow.
A faint exhale escaped him.
"The only thing I can do now is energy extraction."
Direct siphoning.
Crude.
Brute.
Effective—but wasteful.
"If I do that…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…it'll lose its flavor."
The word lingered in the air.
Flavor.
Not taste.
Potential.
Refinement.
Evolutionary capacity.
Extracting raw energy would leave only reinforced demon flesh. Useful for armor plating. But stripped of layered authority patterns—the true treasure embedded within Vaelrix's remains.
He swallowed.
"What a bummer."
The forge's low hum continued undisturbed.
Then—
A voice resonated softly through the chamber.
Neutral.
Precise.
Aid.
"Report: Adventurer incursion status update."
Seth did not turn.
Aid continued.
"Two adventurers confirmed deceased."
A projection shifted. Data streams aligned.
"One subject expired due to immolation and abdominal perforation."
Pause.
"The second subject expired due to blunt-force trauma. Cause: cranial and thoracic compression by falling slab on First Floor."
Seth's lips curved faintly.
"Hm."
He picked another slice of meat.
"I guess they didn't see that coming."
His tone was mild.
Observational.
Aid processed the remark without deviation.
"The remaining two subjects are critically injured but not yet deceased."
The projection shifted again. Biological vitals displayed in minimal waveform patterns.
"The female subject: skull fracture, severe cerebral trauma, spinal compromise. Currently unconscious. Probability of death within current trajectory: imminent."
Seth chewed slowly.
Swallowed.
"The male subject: multiple broken ribs, spinal cord dislocation. Unconscious. Respiratory function unstable but ongoing."
Silence returned for a brief moment.
Seth's posture did not change.
"Hmmm."
Aid's voice remained even.
"What are your orders?"
Seth lowered the now half-empty glass plate slightly.
"Take the dead ones to the lab."
His tone was calm.
"For materials distribution."
Organic recycling protocols would begin immediately. Bone density conversion. Tissue breakdown. Mana trace mapping. Nutrient allocation for lower-floor biomass structures. Nothing wasted.
He paused.
"The others…"
His head tilted slightly as he considered the projections.
"…give them treatment."
Aid did not respond immediately, awaiting completion.
"They'll be of use later on."
A faint smirk touched his lips as he placed another slice of meat into his mouth.
Potential assets.
Information sources.
Experimental candidates.
Or variables in future floor calibration.
Aid responded instantly.
"Affirmative."
In distant corridors, automated systems activated. Retrieval drones adjusted routes. Medical stabilization units prepared.
The control chamber returned to its quiet rhythm.
Seth finished chewing.
Swallowed.
Then he turned.
Slowly.
Facing the central computering platform.
Distance between him and the interface closed with silent steps.
The glyphs adjusted in response to proximity. Screens awakened. Data flowed.
The forge light reflected faintly against his blindfold.
He stood before the system.
Still.
Thinking.
And the chamber waited.
He reached the computing platform.
The chair was angled away from the interface panel. Seth placed the plate down beside the keyboard console, fingers brushing the glass surface only briefly before he rotated the chair and sat.
The seat hissed slightly as it adjusted to his weight.
"Water," Seth instructed calmly.
A service unit from the right wall compartment disengaged and moved. Its movements were fluid too precise to feel mechanical, too deliberate to feel alive. It retrieved a glass from a concealed cabinet and filled it from an internal purification system.
"Status report," Seth said. "Resource reserves. Current maximum storage levels."
A faint glow pulsed along the edge of the primary display panel.
Aid's voice filled the room — smooth, neutral, neither male nor female. Merely presence.
"Primary resources remain within projected maximum storage parameters. Metallic reserves are stable at eighty-seven percent. Refined alloys at seventy-four percent. Magical crystalline structures remain at full capacity."
Seth took another piece of meat and chewed thoughtfully.
"And workshop chamber?" he asked.
"Production continues as per original procedural blueprint."
The central display shifted, rendering schematic overlays — assembly arms in synchronized motion, construction bots welding, energy conduits feeding structured channels beneath the floor plating.
"Signal tower construction completed," Aid continued. "Deployment confirmed. Structure currently being mounted within close territorial proximity to House Andreas' outer domain."
Seth paused mid-chew.
"Distance?"
"Optimal signal range established. Within one hundred and forty-seven meters beyond registered border line."
"Undetected?"
"No abnormal magical surveillance detected in the immediate vicinity."
Seth swallowed.
"Continue."
"Secondary productions follow predefined protocols. No deviation."
He leaned back slightly in the chair, fingers resting lightly over the keyboard but not typing.
"And construction bots."
A fractional pause — Aid calculating.
"Additional production complete. Thirty-six new units integrated. Total active construction units now seventy-two."
The number lingered in the air.
Seventy-two.
Machines without fatigue. Without doubt. Without morale.
"All awaiting deployment!" Aid concluded.
He considered that.
Seventy-two units meant acceleration.
He lifted the water glass and took a measured sip.
Then Footsteps, Soft.
Deliberate.
The control room entrance slid open with a whisper of hydraulic alignment.
Agatha stepped through.
She was not wearing black.
She was not wearing violet.
She was not wearing anything remotely resembling battle attire.
Peach.
The dress fell elegantly from her shoulders, fitted at the waist before pleating outward from the hips. A slit ran along the left side, subtle yet deliberate, revealing movement without vulgarity. Around her neck rested layered fabric accessories threaded with delicate jewelry that caught the ambient lighting and refracted it into faint glimmers.
Her raven-black hair cascaded freely today, brushed smooth. A faint sheen, violet if one looked long enough.
She approached without hurry.
Without permission.
And without asking.
She stopped at the edge of the raised platform and rested her lower body against it casually, palms placed lightly on either side for balance.
She studied him.
"Who would have thought," she began softly, "you'd look this good today."
Seth did not turn immediately.
"What?"
"Something about you looks different today."
He took another piece of meat before answering.
"Do you find it surprising that I take my bath?"
Agatha tilted her head slightly, eyes amused.
"Surprised? Yes. For someone who's a workaholic."
Seth finally angled his face toward her voice.
"Are you messing with me," he asked evenly, "or is that a compliment?"
"What do you think?"
He stared at her — or rather, in her direction.
There was the faintest shift in her aura — playful.
"I still don't understand," Seth continued, "how you put on different outfits like a noble lady when you didn't carry any with you in here."
Agatha glanced down at herself as if noticing the dress for the first time.
"Ohh," she murmured lightly, fingers brushing along the pleated fabric. "You can tell?"
"Yes."
He reached for his water again.
"From the scent of different perfumes every day."
Agatha's lips curved.
"Even if Evelyn were to help make you dresses," Seth went on, voice analytical as always, "where do the materials come from?"
She lifted her right forefinger to her lips.
A gesture half playful. Half deliberate concealment.
"Oh," she said gently. "It's a secret."
Seth sighed faintly.
The forge room doors behind him remained closed, faint heat signatures detectable even without sight.
Agatha turned her gaze toward it.
"Done with your armor smithing?"
Seth resumed eating.
"Not yet."
A brief pause.
"The corpse is quite annoying and stubborn."
He chewed slowly before finishing.
"And it's giving me a headache."
Agatha's expression shifted — less playful now.
Her gaze lingered at the forge door.
"Not many would remain the same," she said softly, "after trying to bend the power of a demon."
Seth leaned back in the chair again.
"So you're saying I'm quite lucky."
Agatha looked at him directly.
"I'm saying you're abnormal."
"That's harsh." Seth said.
"No," she replied calmly. "It's true."
The room hummed.
Unbothered.
Agatha pushed off the platform and stepped closer.
"Did Karl tell you when he'll be leaving?"
Seth shook his head once.
"No. But he'll be sure to let me know."
Agatha reached down without asking and took a slice of meat from his plate.
Seth did not stop her.
She bit into it casually.
"One more thing."
She swallowed.
"We're scraping the bottom of the barrel."
Seth froze.
"What?"
Her expression did not change.
The mechanical hum in the room felt louder suddenly.
She didn't elaborate.
And then
Footsteps again.
Not soft this time, Measured.
Heavy enough to register intention.
The entrance door slid open once more.
And a familiar figure walked in.