The "All Things Recyclable" shop was dimly lit.
The old elf was wearing a pair of Runic glasses and holding a ruler, gesturing over a pile of dust-covered ancient parts on the counter.
"The alloy formula for these drive shafts has been lost. Even though their precision has degraded, lting them down will let extract a good amount of ’Thorium’."
The owner muttered to himself as he jotted notes in a black notebook, like a miser counting every last penny.
Allen sat on a high stool across from him, fiddling with a scrapped ancient core. His expression was calm, but inside, he was running through his repair list.
’Recast PX-0’s left arm, repair its armor, replace the Spider Slayer’s "battery"...’
"Four thousand two hundred Magic Stones in total." The owner took off his glasses and rubbed the slightly red corners of his eyes. "My friend, I’m already offering a premium. After all, aside from lting them down, these things are only good as collectibles."
"Forty-five hundred," Allen said without even looking up. "There are two complete ancient drive shafts in there. The model may be old, but the ’Constant Torque Runes’ inside are perfectly intact. You could turn around and sell them to that bunch of old scholars researching antiquities and at least double your money."
The owner froze for a mont, then shook his head with a wry smile. "Fine, forty-five hundred it is. Let’s just call it a friendly deal."
Allen left the shop with 4500 Magic Stones added to his account. That was all he could liquidate from this haul.
’If I hadn’t left in such a hurry and forgotten so of the ancient parts, I could’ve made even more.’
’I can’t sell those ancient weapons. They’re all useful pieces of hardware I should save for my own Golems.’
On the way back to the workshop, his ntor’s words echoed in Allen’s mind, and his pace slowed unconsciously.
"Absolute logic ans absolute assimilation."
The handwriting from that ancient notebook seed to materialize before his eyes once more.
He had always believed that the only path to industrializing the production of Control Cores was to eliminate all extraneous elents, building everything from pure logic and standardized commands.
This was the core philosophy behind his design and modification of Control Cores.
Although he hadn’t gone as far as the author of the notebook—who had abandoned installing souls into chanical Bodies altogether—he knew his current trajectory would eventually lead him down the sa road.
He had treated the Volcanic Fierce Ape’s soul like a block of code, deleting nearly all its mories and emotions and leaving only its combat instincts. These were all standard procedures.
However, using extensive programming to modify and enhance it was a hallmark of Allen’s Control Cores. It was also part of his experintation toward one day writing a Golem operating system from scratch.
Judging by the results, it had been a great success. PX-0’s battlefield adaptability far surpassed that of a conventional Golem.
But...
If the notes from that genius ancient Alchemist were true, and if his ntor’s words weren’t just fear-mongering, then his thods were tantamount to lighting a torch in the dark expanse of the universe, a torch visible to a very specific kind of predator.
His Golem Legion, his future life’s work, might one day no longer be his own. It could beco food for that cold world.
The entire logical frawork he had built with DSeek, modeled on an operating system from his past life, had turned out to be the most conspicuous bait for the behemoth known as the chanical Realm.
It was like painstakingly cultivating a vegetable garden, watering and fertilizing it every day, only to be told right before a huge harvest that your vegetables were too green and lush. Sooner or later, the boars on the next mountain would catch the scent and co root up your entire plot.
And you couldn’t even bla the boars. You could only bla your own vegetables for growing too well.
The injustice of it all was infuriating.
Back at the workshop, Allen snapped out of his reverie.
"DSeek, run a self-check."
DSeek replied, "Self-check complete. Logic library intact. No traces of external data intrusion detected."
"Good, you’re okay."
"Starting today, we’re changing the programming protocols for the Golems’ underlying core architecture."
Allen walked to his workbench and poured a glass of ice water. The alarm in his eyes slowly gave way to a cold severity. "We need to learn... to write ’garbage code’."
DSeek replied, "Instruction unclear. The definition of ’garbage code’ is ambiguous. Does it refer to redundant data?"
"No. It refers to ’humanity.’ To ’chaos.’"
Allen tapped his temple. "That ancient Alchemist died because he was too obsessed with perfection. Since the chanical Realm only archives ’perfect logic,’ we’ll make ’artificial idiots.’ We’ll add random variables to the core, preserve more of their humanity, and maybe even throw in so bad moods that change with the weather."
’If I do that,’ he thought, ’will all my future Golems be rebellious and full of attitude?’
’But as long as my code is a mountain of shit, not even a god would give it a second glance.’
This was Allen Wesren’s solution.
On the massive assembly platform, PX-0’s damaged fra stood silently, like a warrior resting after a hard-won victory.
Allen stroked the stump where the left arm had been severed, the warning from the ancient notebook echoing in his mind: "Beware the sound of turning gears."
’Logic... ultimate logic attracts observation.’
Allen muttered to himself.
The Ancient Golems had been taken over in an instant because their Control Cores were too "clean."
A pure underlying architecture, pure commands... to the vast will of the chanical Realm, they were like bare-tal servers with no firewalls.
"DSeek, let’s design a soul-perturbation variable. We’ll explore a new approach to modulating the Control Core."
DSeek replied, "Instruction received. Please define parater scope."
"Restore thirty percent of the ’fury’ emotion from the Volcanic Fierce Ape’s soul. We will no longer perform a complete wipe."
DSeek warned, "Warning: This action may result in the Golem exhibiting uncontrollable behavior in combat."
"Do it."
Allen scoffed.
’Uncontrollable? Uncontrollable is exactly what I want!’
’From now on, my Golems are going to have personality. They’re going to walk with a swagger.’
For the next three days, sparks flew inside the workshop.
After recasting PX-0’s arm, Allen went to work on its Control Core like a mad artist doing a remix.
The brand-new left arm was installed. With a low hum, PX-0’s large eye lit up once more.
This ti, its ghostly blue light seed to hold a hint of agitation.
"How do you feel, Xiong Da?"
"Energy... abundant. Want... to tear... sothing... apart."
PX-0’s synthetic voice was still cold, but now there was a distinct cadence to its words.
Allen nodded, satisfied.
’That’s more like it.’
’A guard dog needs a bit of a an streak. Now, there was no need to worry about assimilation by the chanical Realm.’
Having dealt with all that, Allen glanced at a calendar.
His sights were set far beyond the apprentice level.
"And now for a long prison sentence," Allen said with a self-deprecating smile. He took a row of advanced Spiritual Potions from his Space Ring—enough to bankrupt an ordinary apprentice—and turned toward the ditation room.
The workshop door rumbled shut.
Ti for seclusion and training.
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