Chapter 696: Speaking Golem [Bonus - ]

Chapter 696: Speaking Golem [Bonus Chapter]

"U-Um! Please... please mind the smell, your Ladyship!" Solenne stammered frantically, tucking her elbows against her ribs and attempting to use her fluttering tails to obscure the grease stains on her thighs. "I... I truly did not anticipate meeting the illustrious Lord of Blessed Land in the middle of a common plaza today... If I had known, I would have scrubbed down with lavender soap and worn my formal guild smock!"

Kara let out a low rich chuckle, it was a warm musical sound lacking any sort of mockery or disgust.

"Peace, Solenne," Kara smiled, waving a dismissive hand. "A workshop that smells like perfume is a workshop that produces nothing... An artisan who wears clean silk is an artisan who lets others do the work. The grease on your hands is proof of your labor, not a flaw."

She stepped forward, her violet eyes gleaming with quiet earnest curiosity.

"I didn’t come to inspect your wardrobe... I came to see your work so lead the way to your workshop."

Solenne’s breath hitched. Her golden eyes widened until they sparkled like polished amber.

’She... she really wants to see it?!’

"Y-Yes! Right away! This way, please!" Solenne gasped, practically tripping over her own boots as she spun around. "It’s... it’s just down the street! A short walk! Please follow me!"

Kara and Rika fell into step behind the silver-haired beastkin.

At first, Kara had assumed "down the street" meant one of the commercial boutique lanes flanking the edge of the grand plaza, perhaps a modest artisan alcove nestled beneath the second-tier sky-bridges where independent crafters leased shared storefronts.

However, as the minutes ticked by, the surrounding scenery began to dramatically shift.

They left the pristine polished gray cobblestones behind, turning into an arterial tunnel lined with heavy iron reinforcement ribs then they turned down a narrow sloping pedestrian ramp. then another.

Five minutes passed... Then ten... Then fifteen...

The grand marble skyscrapers and crystalline towers of Central City gradually receded into the upper canopy, replaced by the grim, towering silhouettes of heavy manufacturing warehouses, steam-venting foundry pipes, and the thick clanking of underground presses.

The air grew hot and distinctly metallic, carrying the sharp tang of sulfur and cheap machine grease.

Kara walked with her one hand resting casually in her tailored trouser pocket, her black bangs swaying as her violet eyes scanned the dilapidated brickwork of the lower district.

’How far away is this place...?’ Silas mused dryly from within Kara’s frame, watching the nine silver tails bobbing and weaving ahead of them like an oversized dust mop.

’Isn’t this woman aware of basic commercial logistics? If your workshop is located forty levels beneath the surface in the soot-choked underbelly of the city, standing in the upper-tier noble plaza with a wooden stick isn’t going to do a damn thing... What high-society Lord is going to hike half an hour through grease alleys just to inspect a prototype clockwork gear? It actively discourages ninety-nine percent of potential clientele from ever setting foot near her door!’

Any ordinary noble would have turned on their heel and left after the third alleyway.

Yet... Kara didn’t slow her pace.

Beneath the comical disorganization and the desperate signs, Silas’s instincts, honed through his encounters with people were tingling.

’There’s something special about her,’ Silas thought, his gaze lingering on the subtle flow of mana circulating through Solenne’s limbs.

Even as she hurried through the soot, the natural mana in the air didn’t simply pass through her... it subtly curved around her fingertips, instinctively aligning itself with the micro frequencies of the machinery bolted to the alley walls.

That wasn’t a learned skill from a common academy at all, That was a sign of potential.

’Blessed Land is expanding rapidly,’ Silas calculated, his thoughts turning toward the territory’s logistical future. ’With Aki’s Wonderland being operational, the influx of raw materials from the World Council concessions, and the new forge foundations Morwenna and Aeliana are procuring today... our crafting division is a bit understaffed. Thora handles the forge, but nobody in the Keep knows a thing about engineering or automated territory defense. If this fox beastkin’s craftsmanship actually has teeth... I don’t mind taking her into the household.’

A confident smirk touched Kara’s lips.

’And if her potential ceiling is high enough... my system can easily strip away the mortal bottlenecks. Maybe three thousand UP, since I can’t see her stats from here, plus a bloodline purification, and I can elevate her from an alleyway mechanic into a legendary cosmic artificer.’

"Here we are!" Solenne’s breathless voice broke his train of thought. "We’ve arrived!"

They stopped before a sunken entryway carved into the foundation of a tenement building.

The door was forged from mismatched plates of scrap iron and petrified oak, fitted with an intricate custom brass tumbler lock that looked ten times more complex than the door itself.

Solenne reached into her collar, pulling out a multi-toothed brass key, and jammed it into the mechanism.

CLACK-CLACK-CHUNK!

With a heavy rattling groan, the reinforced door swung inward.

"Welcome to Solenne’s Workshop!" she announced, stepping aside and bowing with flustered formality. "P-Please, step inside!"

Kara and Rika stepped over the iron threshold.

The immediate atmosphere hit them like a warm heavy blanket.

The air was undeniably musky, thick with the rich scent of lubricating oil, pine rosin, soldering flux, and aged copper yet, despite the cramped quarters and the undeniable poverty of the establishment, it was remarkably surprisingly clean.

There were no mountains of garbage or rotting food wrappers.

Every single scrap of brass, iron, and mythril wire was sorted meticulously into labeled wooden bins lining the walls.

Workbenches of thick cedar were scarred with burn marks and saw-grooves, but the tools, calipers and runic chisels and magnifying loupes and miniature soldering irons, hung from magnetic leather strips in flawless order.

Blueprints and schematics covered the brick walls, held down by heavy iron bolts, depicting intricate mind-boggling assemblies of gears, internal combustion pistons, and complex mana-conduit circuits that bridged the gap between ancient magic and industrial science.

It was undeniably a workshop... A real breathing forge of creation.

Standing near the doorway, Solenne’s hands were trembling so hard she had to clasp them together behind her back to keep them still.

’This is it,’ her mind screamed in pure terror. ’This is my first real, paying customer in three months and she isn’t just a customer... she’s the Lord Of Blessed Land! I cannot fuck this up! If I blow this commission, the landlord will take my lathe tomorrow, and I’ll be sleeping on a drainage grate by dawn!’

She swallowed hard, her fox ears pinning flat against her silver hair in a desperate attempt to appear hospitable.

"U-Um! Lord Vespera! Lady Rika!" Solenne squeaked, forcing her voice into its highest most professional pitch. "Would... would you care for some refreshments? I don’t have fine wine, but... would some tea be acceptable? Or perhaps some cold well-water?"

Kara walked over to the central workbench, admiring a beautifully machined set of interlocking brass planetary gears resting on a velvet cloth.

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," Kara replied smoothly, her voice warm and entirely unbothered by the humble surroundings.

Beside her, Rika stepped forward, her green traveling cloak rustling as she sniffled the clean scent of wood rosin.

The fledgling phoenix tucked inside her collar poked its golden head out, chirping softly at a row of polished brass bolts.

"I want tea too!" Rika piped up brightly, her emerald eyes wide and curious as she bounced on her heels. "Sweet tea, please! With lots of sugar!"

"Right away! Two cups of sweet tea!" Solenne gasped.

She turned toward the shadowed corner of the workshop, near a small coal-fired potbelly stove, and clapped her calloused hands together twice.

CLAP! CLAP!

"Cogsworth! Front and center!" Solenne commanded.

SQUEEEEEAK-RATTLE!

From beneath a low wooden workbench in the shadows, a strange, metallic silhouette rolled smoothly into the lantern light.

Kara’s violet eyes narrowed, her brows arching in genuine, analytical intrigue.

It was a golem, but unlike any magical construct Silas had ever encountered... even the ones that Thora had made.

It wasn’t a towering lumbering humanoid of carved granite, nor was it an elegant high-cost porcelain doll powered by cores.

The automaton was roughly the size and shape of a common tin trash can, standing barely three feet tall, constructed from riveted plates of polished recycled copper and lightweight vulcanized iron.

Instead of legs, its entire lower chassis rested upon a single balanced rubberized wheel that hummed with a blue mana current, allowing it to glide across the uneven stone floor with astonishing whisper-quiet agility.

Sprouting from its rounded shoulders were a pair of absurdly long, multi-jointed mechanical arms forged from telescoping brass tubes, terminating in delicate five-fingered brass hands fitted with heat-resistant leather pads.

In the center of its domed copper head was a single circular glass optical sensor.

The little machine rolled to a halt three paces from Solenne, balancing effortlessly on its solitary wheel with a soft hiss.

Solenne pointed a finger toward the potbelly stove, addressing the machine with casual, practiced familiarity.

"Cogsworth, we have esteemed guests from the High Seat of Blessed Land! Prepare a pot of our finest dried berry tea, make sure to add three generous spoonfuls of cane sugar for the young lady, and bring the ceramic cups to the central table..."

BZZZZT!

Deep within the little golem’s copper chassis, a tiny internal gear mechanism engaged with a sharp click.

The glass lens of its single central eye flared with a vibrant glowing crimson light.

The optical iris dilated, focusing squarely on Kara and Rika.

Then, from a perforated brass speaker grill mounted beneath its eye, a crisp but unmistakably clear synthetic voice projected into the room.

"Understood, Mistress Solenne... Initiating hospitality protocol, boiling kettle now..."

With a swift, fluid pivot on its rubberized wheel, the trash-can-sized golem spun around with its long brass arms extending smoothly toward the copper kettle resting on the stove, beginning to stoke the coals with effortless precision as silence descended upon the workshop.

Kara stood completely frozen beside the workbench.

Her black bangs swayed as her jaw slacked open by a fraction of an inch with her violet eyes bulging in disbelief.

Within the illusionary disguise, Silas’s brain completely short-circuited.

’...WHAT?!’

Kara took a sharp staggering half-step backward, her hand instinctively pointing toward the rolling copper tin like she had just seen an ancient dragon materialize out of a teapot.

"Did... did that golem just TALK?!" Kara gasped, her melodious feminine voice cracking in shock. "It spoke! An actual sentence?"

Solenne paused, holding a wooden tray.

She looked at the black-haired Lord, then looked over at the little copper machine happily whistling while it measured dried tea leaves into a pot.

Her pointed silver ears twitched with a look of bewildered confusion spreading across her dirt-smudged face.

Her golden eyes blinked, totally lost as to why the legendary Lord of Blessed Land was currently staring at a twenty-credit scrap-golem as if it were a descending deity.

"Um... yes?" Solenne murmured hesitantly, scratching the back of her head with a stained knuckle. "Of course he spoke, Lady Vespera... I installed an vocal module that I programmed myselff in his chest three weeks ago so he wouldn’t burn the biscuits..."

She stared at Kara, her tails giving a slow uncertain flick.

"...Are... are you genuinely surprised by that?"

Silas stood frozen behind the porcelain mask of Kara, his thoughts spiraling into disbelief.

’Is that not surprising?!’ he screamed internally, his eyes fixed on the little one-wheeled trash-can golem currently measuring out dried berry leaves with the precision of an apothecary. ’Are you telling me this isn’t ground-breaking?!’

On Earth, and even here, golems were silent, blunt-force constructs.

They were lumbering piles of stone, clay, or enchanted metal that moved on basic pre-inscribed command loops.

If you wanted an automaton that could actually parse contextual orders, talk back, and hold a conversation, you had to do a lot of things for that.

’Perhaps it’s just a standard feature in Central City...?’ Silas reasoned for a fleeting second, trying to ground himself.

Maybe the metropolis had advanced far beyond the regular magical theories.

Before he could finish rationalizing, Solenne gave an airy dismissive shrug, her nine silver tails giving another casual fluttering twitch.

"I mean... for my own golems, it really isn’t hard to program them to speak," Solenne murmured, scratching her soot-stained cheek with the back of a wrench.

Her golden eyes narrowed in genuine puzzled frustration as she glanced toward Cogsworth.

"To be honest, it always boggles my mind why other inventors in the Upper Tier make such a fuss about it. They spend millions of credits on porcelain dolls that can barely grunt, yet all you really need is an acoustic harmonic plate and a linguistic feedback loop woven into the central core... It’s so simple! I honestly don’t understand why none of them can make their golems speak properly."