The Dragon’s Roar

What’s more, for the sake of heat dissipation, the casing of alchemical conduits must be as breathable and heat-resistant as possible, which, unfortunately, compromises their protective capabilities, leaving them incredibly vulnerable.

Hecate suddenly grinned at Iordera, a playful glint in her eye.

“But dearest, don’t you worry,” Hecate chirped, “you are an existence beyond specification, unlike all other alchemical constructs; you don’t utilize alchemical conduits.

“So there’s no need to fear that a mere pencil jab would spell your end… just try not to swallow it.”

Iordera instinctively, almost awkwardly, rubbed her hands together.

They both knew, implicitly, that Iordera’s nature as an automaton had been revealed as early as their second meeting, a truth unspoken but understood.

“Perhaps you should continue discussing the other alchemical constructs,” Iordera murmured, “like the one in Martin’s house.”

Destroying that combat puppet would render Martin’s half-year-long machinations utterly futile.

If both the puppet and Martin could be eliminated in one fell swoop, the entire incident would be resolved perfectly.

“Don’t be so impatient, let me explain properly,” Hecate said, settling back into her seat and gracefully tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“The higher the grade of an alchemical construct, the weaker its conduit’s defenses, as their operation demands even greater heat dissipation.”

“There’s a certain construct, over level ninety, whose conduits are utterly unprotected, solely to ensure adequate heat dissipation during operation. How truly pathetic.”

Hecate playfully stuck out her tongue.

“My apologies for straying,” she continued, “but Martin’s particular model, if I recall, is around level sixty, isn’t it?

“Hmm… that’s a bit unfortunate, given its rather low grade.

“The good news, however, is that its conduit’s defenses are at least weaker than other parts of its body.”

To Hecate, level sixty was indeed quite low—the kind that wouldn’t even yield experience points.

“So, you’ll need to find an opportunity to locate its conduits, breach the outer casing, and then toss in the graphite powder,” Hecate explained, shaking her head from side to side.

“After that, you’ll get to see fireworks! Quite simple, wouldn’t you say?”

“Thank you.”

Iordera lowered her head in thanks, then turned and departed.

“Tell me, Sterling,” Hecate called out loudly, stopping her, “will the lamb in your heart finally cease its bleating once June Fortress is saved?”

Iordera paused, but did not turn back.

“Hecate, you’ve made one mistake in your assumption,” she stated, “what resides within my heart is not a lamb, but a dragon.”

As she spoke, her small mouth parted, and a rush of high-pressure air once again escaped.

“It does not bleat; it roars.”

“And furthermore, my name is Iordera, Iordera.”

The white-haired loli departed, leaving only the grey-haired girl in the cell.

She lowered her head, bending her soiled index and middle fingers, then lightly traced patterns on the ground with her ring finger’s nail.

“‘Iordera,’ that’s how it’s spelled, isn’t it?”

After a moment of thought, she counted on her fingers.

“My birthday is September first; nine is ‘I’, one is ‘A’.”

This referred to their positions in the alphabet.

Her ring finger continued to move, erasing the ‘I’ and ‘a’ that represented her birthday.

‘order’

****

Iordera borrowed the pencil Sir Olcott had given her, shaved off a portion of the tip, ground it into powder, and carefully stored it.

Sir Olcott had intended to offer a few words of caution, but ultimately, they remained unspoken.

Under the cloak of the inky night, a diminutive figure moved slowly through the shadows, meticulously avoiding the moonlight, much like a phantom.

[Soul fluctuation detected, synchronization with core upgraded to Phase Two.

Partial unlock of the First Authority.]

[First Authority – Natural Order (50%): The next attack ignores 50% of the target’s armor and resistances. Cooldown: 3 natural days.

When the First Authority is active, armor and resistances may be treated as negative values.]

June Fortress was frigid that night; with every breath Iordera took, the high-pressure air formed a dense cloud of mist.

She had not dissipated heat for two or three days, and though she had mostly been in low-power mode, it was now time for the accumulated heat to fully manifest.

Advancing quietly beneath the shadows of the city walls, she drew ever closer to the Lord’s Mansion.

Not a single living soul stirred on the streets, only the Lord’s voice, booming from a phonograph.

“My dearest elders and fellow citizens of June Fortress,” the voice proclaimed, “tonight marks the final night of the outlaws’ arrogance; they are bound to unleash their last vestiges of madness.

“Yet, I implore you to believe that the night before dawn is always the darkest.

“In this most dire hour, we must stand firm and endure…”

Amidst Martin’s impassioned rhetoric, Iordera arrived at the entrance of the Lord’s Mansion.

‘Considering my current state, does this count as laying siege to the city?’ she wondered.

[10, 9, 8… 2, 1. Switch successful.]

Closing her eyes, Iordera sensed the energy fluctuations within, easily pinpointing Martin’s location.

He remained in that familiar room, having ventured nowhere else.

Crucially, the Level 52 Silverlight Swordsman was also absent.

He was not only gone from the adjacent room but from the entire Lord’s Mansion, likely dispatched to search for members of the two great families.

Iordera extended her hand, gripping the bricks of the wall, and silently climbed inside.

“Finally, this day has arrived, and so swiftly,” Martin mused, sitting in his room, gazing absently at the ancient sword hanging on the wall.

“Half a year has simply flown by.”

Since conceiving this audacious idea six months prior and meticulously executing each step, Martin had lost count of the sleepless nights he had endured.

But at last, he had persevered to this very moment.

Once night gave way to dawn, the patriarchs of the two great families, invited to the Lord’s Mansion, would perish at the hands of a rampaging combat puppet, all under the watchful eyes of the public.

He, meanwhile, would engage in a “fierce” battle with his trusted subordinates, only barely managing to defeat it.

Inevitably, he would sustain some injuries in the process.

‘A self-inflicted wound, yes, but entirely worth it.’

The noble titles of the two great families were already of the lowest rank, incapable of being inherited by their descendants.

Upon their demise, most of their household assets would be reclaimed by the Empire.

At that point, the people of June Fortress would have no other recourse, leaving him as their sole option.

Fortunately, for an entire half-year, no one had discerned his true intentions—save for that one young girl…

Martin found his thoughts wandering.

‘That girl was truly beautiful, and her skills were formidable. She was also the only one who saw through my plan.

‘Alas, she was too stubborn, like a simpleton, completely lacking in worldly wisdom.’

‘Otherwise, I would have brought her under my command long ago, and she wouldn’t have ended up exposed in the wilderness.

‘By now, she’s likely nothing more than a skeleton, stripped of her beauty.’

‘What a pity for that lovely little face.’

No sooner had Martin thought this than he sensed a movement behind him.

Turning around, he saw the beautiful face he had been reminiscing about, standing right in the center of the room.

She appeared exactly as she had during the day.

“Ah!”

Martin, the illustrious Lord of June Fortress, nearly suffered a heart attack from the shock.

“You, weren’t you dead?!”

“Indeed, I was dead, but I still had unfinished business,” Iordera replied, her voice chillingly cold, occasionally letting out wisps of air as she spoke.

“So, I climbed back from hell.”

Martin quickly regained his composure, then, after a moment’s thought, declared, “I understand. It seems I have indeed fallen into your hands this time.

“Very well, I accept your terms.”

Iordera remained silent, merely nodding slightly.

A flicker of triumph crossed Martin’s heart, and his mind settled completely, formulating a counter-strategy in an instant.

“Please, follow me,” he said, rising to his feet and pressing firmly on the ancient sword mounted on the wall.

A hidden door in the corner of the room slowly creaked open.

“I will take you to meet your friends.”

Inside, however, were not the alchemical artisans Martin assumed, but he was unaware that Iordera’s true objective was not her friends either.

It was the *thing* within!