Dea Ex Machina

As unhinged as Kimberly was, the students had invented many activities

befitting that madness.

Labyrinth trail running was one of these. As the name implied, runners

competed to see who could dive into the labyrinth and get back fastest.

Reserved for experienced upperclassmen explorers, it had enough of a

following that there were official rankings for the run times. It was a perilous

discipline, testing knowledge of the labyrinth's construction, capacity for

maintaining velocity, and ability to handle any traps or monsters encountered

on the way.

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"Tch…!"

"Hng—!"

To pursue the mad old man, Oliver and Nanao faced a remarkably similar

ordeal. The labyrinth required caution—at times, a detailed survey before each

and every step. Yet, they were forced to bulldoze through it all, handling threats

with estimation and improvisation. Any mistake could result in loss of limbs.

"Clypeus!"

Oliver's spell created a temporary covering on the titles ahead, preventing the

pressure-trigger trap from activating as they passed. A year's experience was

only just enough for him to handle it in time. But despite all the time saved,

they were gaining no ground on Enrico—even though he had Pete under one

arm.

"Aieeee!"

"Kya-ha-ha-ha! There's more where that came from! Extruditor!"

If one party could stop a trap activating, the opposite was also true. The old

man's spell hit a vast swath of floor, and an array of spikes shot upward. Oliver

frowned. Too far to jump, and neither of them had brooms.

"We can do this, right, Nanao?"

"Verily!"

A moment later—with no break in stride—they moved to the walls on their

respective sides, running on surfaces nigh perpendicular to the floor.

"Oh, you've mastered Wall Walk? At your age?" Enrico cried, glancing back.

"Most impressive! But I'm not done yet! How's this? Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

This time, his spell hit the ceiling. As he passed, it cracked open, and

something massive fell into the passage—a sphere, so big it filled a good 80

percent of the space—rolling right toward them. The same ball golem that had

wreaked havoc on their class.

"Nanao, melt the floor!" Oliver barked.

There might be no room to run, but they'd already learned how to handle this

thing: Turn the floor up ahead into a quagmire. With their combined magic

output, they could pull that off in time.

But it was not to be. Heedless of Oliver's plan, the Azian girl had shot forward

toward the ball golem.

"Nanao?!"

"Duck, Oliver!"

He did as he was told, watching as Nanao caught the ball golem with both

arms. As she did, she dropped her center of gravity and slid under the golem,

then used that leverage to hurl it backward. The golem's bulk sailed over

Oliver's head.

Trapped under Enrico's arm, Pete gaped back at the spectacle.

"She…threw it?!"

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! Your friend is something else! Never seen anyone handle it

that way!"

Enrico's laughter echoed down the corridor. Oliver and Nanao resumed their

pursuit, his jaw hanging open, her rolling her shoulders.

"Hibiya-style yielding art: Sack Toss. That golem lacked the weight to flatten

me— Ow!"

Oliver had smacked her upside the head. "That was nuts!" he yelled. "There

had to be a better way!"

Nanao just grinned at him. "Certainly! But I'm positively bursting at the

seams!"

As they ran, Enrico's spell rearranged the blocks of the floor and walls,

forming a new golem that blocked the breadth of the passage. Faced with these

new impediments, Nanao did not slow down—indeed, she sped up. Not even

reaching for her blade, she struck the golem with her shoulder, knocking aside

the blocks mid-assembly, and speeding right on by. Oliver scrambled to keep

up, astonished.

"You tackled a golem to pieces?!" Enrico howled. "Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! You're

blowing my mind! How do you have such powerful mana circulation at your

age?!"

"…Ngh…!"

Oliver flinched, hands clenching up. Like the mad old man said, that maneuver

was only feasible because of Nanao's unique physicality. Same with the ball

golem toss. And there was no need for such feats of strength—Oliver could

easily think of smarter, less risky methods to handle those situations, and

Nanao was well aware of that.

Yet, she had chosen to go for broke. The reason—well, given her own words

just now and the gleam in her eyes, she was clearly just that worked up. Nanao

had spent a year studying at Kimberly, and her own magic was aching for an

outlet. For a chance to show off what she could do.

"Excellent! Let's kick it up a notch! Do try not to die, children!"

Enrico raised his white wand high, chanting. There was a beat—then a

powerful vibration struck them from below. The floor, walls, and ceiling—every

rock around was moving, shifting. The path itself was changing and expanding.

"Mm? The passage is writhing?" Nanao said, eyes wide.

It was like being inside the belly of a snake. As they both scrambled to avoid

getting caught up in the chaos, Oliver gritted his teeth, realizing what this was.

"A cave golem! The whole corridor…!"

In just over a minute, the transformation was complete. Before them lay a

massive tube of a corridor, some twenty yards in diameter—less a hall than a

tunnel.

The wall and ceiling were no longer distinguishable—and there was

movement all around. Like fresh sprouts at the advent of spring, the landscape

itself was deploying countless golems in traps, everywhere the eyes could see.

"…Ah—!"

Meanwhile, as most students headed toward the Fellowship for supper, four

first-years were still in a lounge. One of their number—Teresa Carste—jumped,

as if she'd just woken up.

"T-Teresa?" Rita Appleton said. They were seated side by side. "What's up?"

"…Nothing," Teresa replied, rubbing her eyes. "I may have briefly passed out.

From boredom."

Dean Travers spun around, white wand in hand. He'd been staring down a

tank of mud.

"Oh?! Well, sorry we're not providing you enough entertainment!"

"D-Dean, relax," Peter Cornish said, trying to keep the peace. "I don't think

she meant—"

"No, I did." Teresa was having none of that, though. "This is objectively

extremely dull. Why are we even here?"

Dean looked ready to burst a blood vessel, and Peter had to physically hold

him back.

"Now, now, Teresa, don't be like that," he said. "Both of us are really

struggling with spellology. Just hold out a bit longer till we get it."

"I already told you how. What are you even stuck on? This is elementary

hardening magic. You have soft mud, and you make it hard! That's all there is to

it."

"Rrgh…!"

Dean reeled backward, groaning. He was the one who couldn't pull this spell

off, which meant he was in no place to retort. Feeling sorry for him, Rita

clapped her hands, as if trying to clear the air.

"Let's take a deep breath. Teresa's right; we need to figure out what's got you

stuck. Dean, how are you picturing it?"

"Uh…like, all this goopy stuff goes bwaaam and then ka-chunk…"

"That means nothing," said Teresa. "Try using your big boy words."

"I'm not stupid!"

"Uh, Dean's more the intuitive type…"

Teresa wasn't actively trying to start things, but Dean always got riled up

anyway, and this kept them from getting anywhere. But just as Rita and Peter

were looking thoroughly defeated, someone else joined them.

"Ha-ha, love the energy. What's going on?"

They all turned and found a pair of second-years they'd met at the entrance

ceremony party.

"Mr. Greenwood, Ms. Aalto… H-hello!"

"Hee-hee, hello. We saw you struggling and came on over. Spell practice?"

Katie glanced at the wand in Dean's hand, then at the tank of mud.

"N-nah," he said, looking shifty—not wanting to admit he had a problem. "It's

nothing…"

"It's not nothing, Dean. Uh, we're struggling with hardening spells," Peter

said, well aware that Katie and Guy had already worked it out. He explained the

issue at hand.

"Mm-hmm. I getcha," said Guy. "Dean."

"Y-yeah?"

"Lighten up, man! I promise we ain't exactly star students, either."

He clapped Dean on the shoulder. Guy had a real knack for closing the gap like

that. Forcing people to relax.

"But what you just said did give me one idea: I think you're gettin' this mixed

up with freezing magic."

"…I am?"

"It's how you're picturing it. The way you put things, it sounds more like

you're trying to freeze the mud. I did the same thing, so…"

Dean blinked a few times, then looked at the tank. "Is that…wrong…?" he

muttered.

"Totally wrong. Freezing mud just gives you hard mud. But with hardening

magic, you've gotta make rocks. So you need to be picturing getting the water

out. Put that in your head and give it another shot."

Guy gave Dean a slap on the back. With that advice in mind, the younger boy

turned back to the tank. He spent a minute solidifying his mental image, then

waved his wand, chanting the spell. The mud in the tank rose up, leaving a pool

of water around it.

"Hey, you got it!" Guy said, grinning. "That was much better. See? You got

skills."

"I-it's still wrong!"

"Not at all. You did just what I said and got the water out."

Guy pointed at the tank, but Dean looked confused.

"You made dry earth from wet mud," Katie explained. "Next, you'll need to

figure out how to make that more like stone. In other words, you split the

concept into steps. Any time you're first studying a new kind of magic, this kind

of breakdown can really help."

"A friend of ours said, 'If you just take it one step at a time, you can learn any

spell in your textbook.' And that's really helped us keep up with the rest of the

class."

They looked proud—and the younger kids took that as a sign of their faith in

this friend.

Seeing Dean with his arms folded, thinking, Guy put his arm around the boy's

shoulder.

"Tell you what—hang with us for another fifteen minutes. Peter, you too. And

anyone else who's getting variable results. More advice from that friend: The

key to magic is knowing the result. If your concept is hazy, it'll come back to

haunt you."

He glanced at Rita and Teresa. There was a brief silence, then Rita raised her

hand.

"…Um…may I join in…?"

"Mm? Rita, really? You were having no trouble in class…"

"I—I totally was! It was awful! Cruddy rocks that made me wanna cry!"

"Urgh…"

The harsher Rita was on herself, the more it hurt Dean—who hadn't even

managed that much. Guy grinned and started walking them through it.

As Katie watched from a step back, the last first-year came over to her.

"Looks like Guy's got it covered… Are you all right, though, Ms. Carste?"

"…I was never stuck," Teresa said, a tad grumpy.

Katie's smile didn't waver for a second. "Oh, aren't you accomplished! Good

girl!"

Her friendliness made Teresa uncomfortable, but she'd come over to ask a

question.

"…How did you know?"

"Mm?"

"…What they were stuck on. I couldn't begin to work it out."

This had been bothering her. She hadn't been trying to wind Dean up earlier.

She just…couldn't figure out what else to say.

Katie folded her arms, thinking about that one.

"Lots of reasons, but…I guess the biggest thing is to listen carefully. Look right

at them, consider their position and how they're feeling."

"…Even if you aren't interested in them?"

"You aren't?" Katie asked, blinking.

Teresa simply nodded. Katie winced a little. Too honest.

"I wouldn't be in a rush to dismiss him," Katie said gently. "You've only just

met. And you don't really know any of them yet, right?"

"..."

"I think it's fun being around different people and learning to understand one

another."

Katie shot her a grin. Teresa found this hard to believe, but…Katie clearly

wasn't lying or spouting platitudes. Confused, Teresa looked away…and saw

Dean practicing. He'd taken Guy's advice to heart and tried for the umpteenth

time—and Rita and Peter both burst into applause.

"Wow, you did it!"

"Awesome! Dean, you got it!"

"Hell yeahhhhhhhh!" He threw his hands up, roaring, then picked up the tank

with both hands and lugged it over to Teresa. There was a small rock spike at

the center of it, and he thrust it out in front of her. "See, Teresa! I did it!"

"…Uh, congratulations?"

"Mr. Greenwood showed me the trick! Next time, I'll get there first!"

"Ah. Good for you."

Her heart was clearly not in it. She had no idea why he was telling her all this.

Frustrated by her disinterest, Dean was about to say something else, but Peter

and Rita each grabbed an arm, dragging him away.

Katie watched this, laughing, then leaned in and whispered, "Looks like he's

interested in you."

"…He's loud, obnoxious, and cringey." Teresa sighed.

She meant every word, but…at the same time, she thought, Oh—I couldn't

figure out why he was always on my case, but…that would explain it.

To no one's surprise, Oliver and Nanao's pursuit of Enrico Forghieri had been

a very long haul.

"…Hah…hah…hah…!"

"Haaah…!"

Golems scuttling across the ground like spiders, bounding on powerful legs

like grasshoppers, or whizzing through the air on six high-speed wings. One new

type after another, like an exhibition of miniature golems. Oliver and Nanao had

been fending off these attacks while chasing the old man for a solid twenty

minutes, with no end in sight.

"Not even a chance to catch our flagging breaths!"

"You still good to go, Nanao?"

"Naturally! My limbs are still attached."

Her tone was bright and reassuring, but Oliver was not inclined to

underestimate the toll this was taking. Running out of stamina, sapping their

reserve of mana, a momentary lapse of focus—and they'd be dead. And all

three were diminishing by the second. How much longer could they last?

Oliver was running the math in the back of his mind. Then right in front of

him, without warning—the cave golem's wall burst inward.

" ?!"

The shards of wall were followed by hellacious fire. Oliver and Nanao drew up

short just outside the burn radius. A few seconds later, the fire died down, and

a man appeared, crushing carbonized blocks beneath his boots. Recognizing his

height and grim countenance, Oliver gasped.

"Mm? Oh, you two! Thought I heard a ruckus through this wall!"

Alvin Godfrey, Kimberly sixth-year, student body president, and more

commonly known as Purgatory. He caught sight of Oliver and Nanao, then

quickly took in the rest of their surroundings.

"This is Instructor Enrico's cave golem—what's going on?"

"He's got Pete, and we're in pursuit! No time for details…!"

"That's enough for me. Teacher pursuit? I've done my fair share of the same."

Without further word, Godfrey peered ahead, down the tunnel. He saw

Enrico's figure getting farther away and a whole gaggle of golems pouring out of

the walls, surrounding the three of them. Could they break free? Not at all sure,

Oliver raised his athame.

"Still, you're second-years, and this is clearly excessive. Allow me."

Godfrey stepped ahead of Oliver's aim, pointing his own athame dead ahead.

Every golem in that direction flinched.

"Ignis."

And all of them were vaporized by the ensuing inferno.

Flames belched forth, swallowing up golems, scorching traps, surging through

the cave itself like a dam bursting. Despite their lead, Enrico and Pete were not

quite out of range, and a gust of hot wind blasted their faces. Pete screamed.

"Aughhhhh?!"

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! That cannon must be Mr. Godfrey! A surprise

guest!"

Flames hot on his heels, the mad old man cackled as if this just gave him a

thrill. Watching him go, Godfrey said, "I'll burn you two a clear path. Run!"

He took his own advice, and they quickly gave chase. The president's broad

shoulders were a comfort, but Oliver was kicking himself.

"Sorry, sir," he said. "We turn down your invite, and now—"

"Ha-ha, cut the guilty act! I'm the student body president! It's my job to be

there for everyone who needs me."

Godfrey just laughed; he was clearly a man of his word. Oliver felt another

pang of guilt but at the same time wondered: How does he manage to stay so

put together in this madhouse?

Unaware of Oliver's thoughts, Godfrey was fully focused on the golems

ahead. Three multi-legged wrigglers, each the size of a warg, and a big trollsized golem with two massive arms. The distance and angle prevented him from

blasting away, so Oliver assumed he and Nanao would be handling the three

smaller foes. But he was soon proven wrong—Godfrey dove directly into the

center of the golems.

"Word of advice—don't fight like I do."

And with that, he kicked a small golem. Its leg broke like a twig, the tip of the

claw stabbing into the main body. The force of the blow sent the golem

crashing into a second small golem, then slammed both into the wall. Oliver

couldn't stop himself from letting out a small gasp. They were small, but easily a

hundred and fifty pounds each—yet Purgatory was treating them like pebbles.

Godfrey was already spinning, stomping the remaining small golem. By this

time, the troll-sized golem had its long forelimbs on the ground, charging in on

all fours. "Up the leg count" was a tried-and-true principle of large golems, a

reliable way to alleviate the inherent sluggishness of their bulk. And this thing

weighed enough to crush a man.

"Haaaaaaaaah!"

He dove in between the forelimbs, driving his heel into the exposed torso.

There was a sound of metal bending, and the golem was in the air, unable to

act. Its size and weight were its greatest weapons, and its design lacked

contingencies for fighting while airborne.

"Impetus!"

Before it could land again, Godfrey fired a spell after it, finishing it off. The

first kick alone had cracked the frame, and now a hurricane-force wind blasted

it to pieces. Watching the fragments rain down, Oliver's brow twitched. How

would he even begin to copy this?

"Don't stop! After him!"

Godfrey was running already. Oliver and Nanao came back to their senses and

matched his stride. But up ahead, the next change was already in progress. As

Enrico passed through, chunks of the tunnel slammed down—hefty metal

bulkheads, blocking all progress.

"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! They're fireproof! Three firewalls! They ought to give

even you some trouble, Mr. Godfrey!"

The old man's voice echoed from beyond the metal. Oliver gulped. The doors

were closing faster than they could run. And while they were breaking through

the walls, Pete would be hauled out of reach.

"Sorry, but you'd need five of those, Instructor Enrico."

But the young mage with him soon proved Oliver's fears baseless. Godfrey

raised his athame like he was up against easily breakable plywood.

"Calidi Ignis!"

Like a lance of concentrated fire, his spell cut through all three doors.

Melting metal, glowing red, holes punched at the base of the cave's firewalls,

big enough for several people to pass. As the trio ran toward them, Oliver could

no longer conceal his shock. These doors had clearly been designed specifically

to resist fire. But the mage named Alvin Godfrey had punched through them

with one double incantation—all three walls at once!

Not long after the firewalls, the rounded cave walls gave way to an ordinary

square passage, and there Godfrey turned on his heel.

"We've reached the end of the cave golem," he said. "You can handle the

rest. I wish you luck."

Oliver nodded once, then added, "I'll make it up to you."

The student body president raised a hand in response and was off back up the

cave. No sooner was he through the doors than there was a boom, and the area

shook. Once more, he'd likely punched his way through the golem walls.

As they resumed their chase, Nanao said, "Oliver, the way he fights…"

"It's something else. No point even comparing ourselves to him right now."

He shuddered. It was hardly his first time seeing someone who totally

outclassed him. But Salvadori and Rivermoore were first and foremost uncanny.

Godfrey wasn't; the spells and techniques he used were all easily understood.

They were just extraordinarily strong. So simple and overwhelming, there was

nothing you could do against them.

"Can't face him if we lose them now. Let's move!"

"Aye!"

They made haste, Oliver doing his best to push aside the thoughts Godfrey's

flames had seared into his mind. Best just to be glad he's on our side. For now.

As they proceeded down the passage, their surroundings shifted from

ancient-looking stones to seamless walls and ceilings with a sinister elasticity to

them. Oliver surmised that these must be some sort of magical alloy, but what

qualities it might possess were a mystery to him. Perhaps Pete's knowledge in

this field already surpassed his own.

"…What's that sound…?"

An unsettling noise, perhaps a vibration, echoed up from the corridor depths.

Low, but powerful, like the steady beat of a massive drum. Unable to fathom

what it might be, Oliver grew tense.

"You've made it! Mr. Godfrey may have provided an assist, but nonetheless—

well done!"

And as they emerged from the end of the strange passage into a cavernous

space, Enrico stood waiting for them, clapping. Pete was facedown on the

ground next to him. The crystal lamps provided little light, and the corners of

the room were shrouded in darkness. Resisting the urge to run to their friend's

side, Oliver and Nanao approached the mad old man, careful of their

surroundings.

"As promised, I shall allow you to join us. Have some candy and observe!"

He pulled two lollipops out of his pocket and tossed them over. Both took

them largely out of obligation and slipped them inside their robes. As Oliver got

closer, he could hear Pete hurling.

"Blarghhhhh!"

"Pete…!"

One eye firmly on the mad old man, Oliver moved to his friend, rubbing his

back. His condition was no surprise. Enrico had been whisking him along at

speeds even faster than Oliver and Nanao could manage, over some very rough

terrain. Arguably, their pursuit had made it worse, but he'd just have to make

up for that later.

"This is no time for a relaxing vomit, Mr. Reston! If you pursue the path of

sorcery, now is a time for drinking in everything your eyes can see."

Enrico flashed his pearly whites. As he did, multiple crystal lamps lit up,

illuminating the space behind him. And what lay within it was so big Oliver

immediately braced for combat.

"Observe! It is not yet complete, but this will be my masterpiece: the Dea Ex

Machina!"

Countless tubes sprouting from the wall held in place a silent giant.

Bigger than a giant. Before even estimating any measurements, from where

they stood it was impossible to see the totality of it. Oliver eyeballed it as at

least fifty feet across and easily a hundred and fifty feet tall. Clearly impossible

to categorize by the three standard golem sizes. He could tell it was humanoid

in shape, and incomplete, lacking anything from the waist down. That meant

the completed version would be at least twice as tall.

The torso was slimmer than the shoulders would suggest, yet there was a

swelling at the breast, making it clear this was feminine in form. The facial

features could be described as even and slightly infantile; the eyes looked ready

to open. From the shoulders down, it was sheathed in resplendent dress-like

armor, and—though it boggled the mind—the distinctive luster suggested the

surface was entirely coated in adamant. The arms secured against the walls on

each side were long and graceful, detailed even to the slender fingertips. Yet,

those beautifully crafted hands could easily crush a man to death. Like an

innocent child tearing the legs off an insect.

"…A giant humanoid golem…?" Oliver asked, staring up at it.

Enrico turned toward him. "You have questions? Ask away, Mr. Horn. You

have earned the right to do so." He encouraged his pupil to speak.

This man's assignments were punishing, but he delighted in his students'

initiative—for better or for worse, he was a teacher. Picking his words carefully,

Oliver took advantage of that.

"…'The first dream of all, the first to be discarded.' In magical architecture,

I've heard that's giant humanoid golems."

"Indeed it is."

"No matter how you construct them, they're impractical. First, how are you

obtaining the incredible reserves of mana needed to move that bulk? Second,

even if you do, what use is something so inefficient?"

"Precisely," Enrico said, thoroughly satisfied with the questions. He turned to

face the golem behind him. "There are multiple problems here, and they're all

woven together. Let me go through them one at a time. Mr. Reston, as a

prerequisite—why is it golems have not replaced trolls or goblins in the field of

manual labor?"

Realizing that question was for him, Pete forced his limp frame upright. Oliver

almost reached out to help but thought better of it. His friend's eyes had plenty

of light in them.

"…Versatility, ease of management, autonomy, and cost of creation. They

have plenty of issues compared to demi-humans, but the single greatest one

has to be—they aren't fuel-efficient," Pete answered. "A golem runs on five

times the mana a troll of the same mass requires. And since they aren't alive,

golems cannot generate their own mana. The upshot is that even accounting for

problems specific to the living—food, waste, and dwellings—running golems is

simply far more expensive than hiring demis."

"Right you are! A single kobold is a work of art created by nature, both in

flesh and spirit. No mechanical reproduction of mana systems can hope to

match the operational efficiency of even the lowest magical creature."

Oliver nodded. The magical industrial revolution had changed many things,

but from a cost performance perspective, golems remained an inferior form of

labor. Or rather—like Enrico said, living creatures were just that good. No mage

had yet managed to construct a machine that even came close.

"And that is but half the reason the maximum realized golem size has

remained constant. The supply of magic particles has thinned compared to days

of yore, leaving even behemoths unable to live outside of very specific regions.

If even the living face such restrictions, a golem of that size would struggle to

wiggle a finger. In other words, oversized golems cannot even manage to be of

any practical use until their mana efficiency matches that of a behemoth."

His rundown of seemingly insurmountable problems complete, the old man

turned toward his students.

"So I found a new approach. Do you know the etymology of golem, Mr.

Reston?"

Another pop quiz. The questions were all for Pete—clearly, the old man

expected a lot from him. The bespectacled boy appreciated that fact and

mobilized his wealth of knowledge in response.

"'A vessel for the soul made by god.' I've heard it originally applied to all living

things, including humans… And following that practice, mages began

constructing golems of their own."

Enrico's grin grew noticeably more sinister.

"Precisely. According to the original meaning, golems and living things are one

and the same! In that sense, our own bodies are but living golems. Ones

carrying the freight we call a soul." He then asked: "…Do you see where I'm

going yet? After all—you three took my liquid golem apart."

At that, an idea entered Oliver's mind, unbidden. That strange sound echoing

in his ears since they entered the approach passage. Like the rhythmic beating

of a very large drum. But in light of what he'd just heard, it was more likely—

"…You mean…it's alive?"

He leaned back, peering at the face high above. Certain now he was hearing

the golem's heartbeat.

A few seconds later, Pete caught up, the color draining from his visage.

Enrico flung out his arms in delight.

"A living golem!" he cried. "The concept itself has existed in theoretical terms,

but there were several technical barriers preventing the development. Thus, it

falls to me to complete the first of them!

"As you say, this is a golem made from the flesh of living things! The exterior

may be coated in magical metals, but the interior is all flesh and blood!

Harvested from many different creatures, cultivated, grown, and connected!

"Naturally, this is not the accomplishment of magical architecture alone. I was

forced to cross-pollinate with magical biology and any number of other

disciplines, obtaining the assistance of top-class researchers in each of those

fields. Delightfully, I work at Kimberly, the one place in the world where that

can be easily done."

Oliver was well aware the faculty here were all at the top of their fields, and

their research was backed by top-of-the-line facilities and very generous

budgets. But more than that—research done at Kimberly was largely free from

outside interference.

In Oliver's mind, that was more terrifying than delightful, but it did mean a

wide range of valuable information was concentrated here.

"…Clearly, a result that will go down in history," Oliver said, aiming for the

minimal level of enthusiasm. "But if the goal is to make giant golems practical,

then you're still only at square one. You've attempted to solve the need for

massive mana generation by creating a massive living creature—and this

method alone has clear limits. Even if you manage to create a magic medium

with a capacity far greater than any that currently exist, the moment you

surpass a certain size, the whole thing breaks down. If it was a first-rate mage's

flesh, maybe, but just being alive will hardly be enough to overcome that limit.

If the solution were that simple, it would've long since been solved." He paused.

"And if that wasn't bad enough, these days behemoths can only function in

singularly mana-rich environments. Even if you've matched their mana

efficiency, the same limitation applies to this living golem. And if it can only

operate under those limited conditions, it hardly qualifies as practical."

Rather than try to flatter the man, Oliver chose to list the obvious defects. He

was sure that would please Enrico more than anything—and indeed, the mad

old man was nodding happily.

"Absolutely. Thus, I required one more unorthodox step."

Here, his gaze turned to the silent girl by Oliver's side.

"Ms. Hibiya! What are the standard mana mediums used to propel golems?"

"I know not."

Nanao's blunt answer fell like cut bamboo, and the mad old man's shoulders

slumped.

"…I am aware this field has little hold on your attention, but it is part of the

standard mage education. Do try to remember, Ms. Hibiya."

"Mm, very well."

Nanao put on her best listening face. Recovering, Enrico turned to Pete, who

answered for her.

"Jade, opal, and amethyst. Each imbued with mana."

"Thank you, Mr. Reston. Those are the three typically used. And none of those

can function as the heart of a giant golem. Amethyst is the most expensive and

can store the most mana, but even it has insufficient capacity. If I attempted to

make a power source with it, the fuel tank would be several times larger than

the golem itself." Enrico continued with: "So what I needed was a new tank. A

veritable revolution in energy storage efficiency. Everyone with me so far?"

He raised his white wand high.

"Just as Mr. Horn suggested, simply preparing a bionic vessel solves nothing.

It must be combined with something else. Patentibus."

The spell set the walls around them into motion. Cracks appeared at regular

intervals, sets of double doors sliding open. Behind these: cages. Iron bars

containing eyes aglow with terror. All humanlike creatures, primarily kobolds

and goblins.

"…D-demis…?" Pete gasped. "So many of them—"

The three students couldn't take their eyes off the sight. Soon the rustling of

clothes and sounds of breathing gave way to screams.

"Help!"

"Please, let us out of here!"

They swung toward the voices and realized—it wasn't all demis. There were a

few humans here, too. Treated just like the demis, clad in rags, desperately

clinging to the bars and pleading for help.

" "

Nanao shifted her weight forward, ready to run toward them—but before she

could, a powerful shock coursed through her.

"Gah—!"

"Nanao?!"

She was down, smoke pouring from her mouth. Oliver ran to her, furiously

trying to process all this. Enrico had chanted no spell, and Nanao had been well

outside the range of spatial magic. No signs of any golems or familiars, either.

But she'd been hit hard enough to knock her down. And he had no idea how.

"Oh, deary me, Ms. Hibiya. I only permitted you to observe. I won't allow one

iota of interference with my laboratory. Worse…" Enrico's tone grew

reproachful. "…The instant you saw this, you moved to save them, did you

not?"

Cradling Nanao's body, Oliver gulped at the intensity in the instructor's voice.

"That was hardly prudent. Unbefitting of a mage. The pursuit of sorcery lies

outside the bounds of morality. I cannot abide the frivolous inclusion of such

secular concerns. And you are not even a civil rights activist, are you? Do not

disrupt a man's research on mere impulse."

But with the scolding complete, the smile returned to his lips.

"I knew a mage once! A real treasure. Not bound by sorcery, knew nothing of

ethics. A witch who proclaimed that her feelings alone mattered, and she

allowed nothing to sway them."

Oliver's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. That description could be only

one person. This old man, too, saw his mother in Nanao. Just as he did.

"You remind me of her. Not physically—rather the nature of your soul,"

Enrico said. "And for that reason alone—just this once—I will spare you further

penalty."

Nanao was out like a light and heard none of this—but Enrico had already

turned his attention back to his machine goddess.

"There may be a few humans mixed into the kindling I've prepared, but no

need to concern yourselves! They are all criminals. Let's get back on track, shall

we?" Enrico pivoted. "What is a superior fuel? To ordinary folk, it might be dry

wood, carefully fired charcoal, or perhaps clean oil. But nothing from that

approach would power a giant golem. The energy to volume ratio is far too

limited. Conversely—what about us mages? It varies by the individual, but our

energy per volume is far better than any conventional fuel. Just look at Mr.

Godfrey's output! In the upper echelons of sorcery, energy is not remotely

constrained by physical volume."

That, Oliver understood. Like the mad old man said, Godfrey and mages of his

ilk had incredible mana output. And the source of that was all too clear.

"So where is this vast energy stored? In the etheric body. Every living creature

is composed of three components—the flesh, the etheric body, and the soul.

Your mana reserves are in the ether. An immaterial accumulation of potential

magic. Since it is intangible, it is not bound by your physical volume at all! By

comparison, the reserve stored in the womb is but a trifle—however, reserves

in the flesh are more readily and easily available. Making conscious use of the

mana in your ether requires a high level of both talent and training. This is why

Godfrey and I appear to have so much more mana capacity that any of you.

"Yet, at the same time, etheric body maintenance is heavily dependent on the

physical flesh. Ghosts become such hollow beings because they have lost the

framework of their bodies. It's like being flung naked into a blizzard. If they do

not find shelter somewhere, they cannot continue to exist."

Though not as demanding as the soul, handling etheric bodies on their own

was a tall order. This was why the magic world's research on the subject had

remained stagnant for so long. What Enrico had said so far was all common

knowledge, but as he neared the meat of his speech, he grew visibly more

excited.

"Once again, all magical creatures—not just mages—have a vast reserve of

mana stored in their etheric bodies. I trust my explanation has allowed you to

grasp that concept."

Oliver said nothing, but Pete nodded. Enrico shot him a pleased grin.

"Excellent," he said. "Then let's make use of them."

He snapped his fingers. And with that—the cages became a grisly sight. Every

wall opened, and massive gears appeared, grinding through the prisoners

within. Oliver's eyes went wide, and all the blood drained from Pete's face.

"First, let us rid ourselves of these fleshly obstacles. We only have need of the

etheric bodies," said Enrico. "The key here is to provide as much fear and pain

as possible before they die. We'll be using them to fuel a giant golem, so ideally,

we want their ether infused with resentment. We want them lingering, not

passing on the moment you turn your back."

He seemed quite proud of all this. Meanwhile, the prisoners were being

ground alive, and not one of the resulting bodies was recognizable. Soon, they

were entirely replaced with hazy things, possessed of no clear outline. Realizing

these were ghosts, Pete shivered.

"Etheric bodies with no flesh are fragile things. No matter how great the

energy within, they have paltry few means to convert that to tangible

phenomena. That is why resentful spirits congregate. Doing so makes them

larger, stronger—with this many, they're easily visible to the naked eye," he

continued. "Once they have gathered a sufficient number, they'll next seek out

a body. That which they have lost. The warmth of flesh and blood, that which

they yearn for beyond all measure."

The ghosts were pouring between the bars of the cage out into the space

where they stood. Oliver raised his athame, on guard, but the ghosts' attention

was all on the living golem. They flocked toward the Dea Ex Machina, as if that

was where they had always belonged.

"Fortunately, the perfect body is available! The extra-large golem I prepared

for them. They have no choice! They're sucked right in."

Once all the ghosts were inside the golem, the half-finished bulk began to

vibrate. Realizing what must be happening, Oliver shuddered.

"Kya-ha-ha!" Enrico cackled. "They're in conflict! Large though the vessel may

be, there are too many souls! Strife is unavoidable."

The spirits battled for dominion over their container, but the struggle peaked

in seconds, and the golem's shaking soon subsided. Enrico nodded, pleased.

"No need for concern, naturally. They are creatures of resentment. With that

emotion infusing their very beings, they naturally converge and merge, swirling

together into one massive malediction! You've studied these in curse class, yes?

A maelstrom is this, grown out of control!" he explained. "That said, we can't

see the movement of the soul. There is next to no way to directly observe souls!

Such a pity. Research on them lags far behind work on the flesh or the ether."

The old man shrugged. Before him, the golem had gone still once more.

"Thanks to a shared resentment, all etheric bodies have fused. Preparations

are complete. Injecting mana."

At his word, massive tubes extended from the walls, connecting to the Dea Ex

Machina's frame. Vast quantities of mana poured in, received and stored by the

fused etheric bodies of the dead prisoners.

"What do you think, children? This is my masterpiece."

As he spoke, the living golem's arms moved—a clear, conscious action. Most

of it was bound in place, but the arms had broken free and reaching out. Their

grudge against him not forgotten—the arms were clearly trying to grab the mad

old man.

"As you can see—it moves. I'll admit, the core mana efficiency is no higher

than a behemoth's. The key difference here is how the mana is used—

specifically, I can take the reserves meant for prolonging life and burn them on

short-term acts. This is merely a tool made from flesh. It need only move when I

will it and otherwise slumbers in a state just functional enough to maintain

itself. Rather like hibernating. In that state, the energy loss is far smaller than

the behemoth could ever achieve. Organs like the digestive system and the

brain go through energy like crazy, but my creation never had either!"

He was clearly thrilled to show it off. A living golem, fueled by the energy of a

curse, a prime example of how the worst kinds of inventions are the simplest.

Faced with this desecration of the sanctity of life, Oliver couldn't keep his voice

from shaking.

"…What…?"

"Mm?"

"…What is it even for?! Countless lives destroyed to make a giant toy move,

but to what end?!"

He was unable to hide his disgust. And that made Enrico's voice turn utterly

lifeless.

"You know how many lives are lost each year in the war against Gnostics?" he

asked.

They'd never heard his tone this still.

"Many. So very many. Precious talents, the loss of which is truly a waste.

What they could have accomplished if they had simply managed to survive…"

His eyes were elsewhere, reminding Oliver—this man, too, had served on the

front lines of the Gnostic hunt.

"The greatest losses occur when the heretics' prayers bear fruit and call tír

gods down upon our world. When that happens, we have no choice but to

deem all sacrifice a necessity, throwing mages on the problem like yesterday's

bathwater. During my time in action, I saw three such incidents. And the

helplessness and grief will never leave me."

He broke off, turning back toward the three students. He had never looked so

grim.

"Lives must never be wasted. You agree with that, I'm sure."

These words, from the lips of a man who'd just ground innumerable people to

death. The irony was unbearable. Yet, it allowed Oliver a fleeting glimpse of his

intent. Of what had led the mage named Enrico Forghieri to this nightmarish

invention.

"…So you use the lives of demis and criminals first…?" Oliver asked, seeking

confirmation.

In the old man's madness, this slaughter had not been a waste. He would

likely speak with pride, insisting that he had made effective use of the resource

of finite lives. Feeling no trace of guilt—like a proper mage.

"Judging lives of lower value expendable is, of course, entirely correct. But in

this case, you're not quite there yet," Enrico said. "The lives I wish to make use

of—are those of the Gnostics themselves."

A grin of the utmost malevolence spread across his face. Oliver felt a chill run

down his spine.

"Each time we process a Gnostic incident, we arrest countless believers. The

demis and humans imprisoned here were but a few of those. To prevent further

calamity and stop the spread of their faith, it is customary to quickly incinerate

them—but in that, can they truly be said to have paid for their crimes?" Enrico

answered his own question. "Hardly. That end is not remotely befitting the

atrocities they have inflicted upon the world. We should and can make better

use of them. Force them to fight their own gods!"

He spoke of weapons of war, fueled by the lives of those who caused it. This

was the core concept of the machine goddess. Never doubting the

revolutionary nature of his work, Enrico's voice rose higher and higher.

"To that end, I created this golem! What could be more magnificent?! With

this in play, even the life of a lowly kobold becomes a valuable fuel source,

serving the battle against the tír! The lives of Gnostics used to foil their eldritch

gods! It's perfect! The ultimate in green energyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

His cry echoed through the chamber. All the while, the Dea Ex Machina

struggled to reach him. Commanded by the curse within, the machine goddess

was desperate to crush the old man who stood before it.

"Oh, that's quite enough. I just wanted to prove you could move.

Nutrientibus."

A single spell drained it of all mana, and the giant went still. Silence filled the

hall. Oliver and Pete had nothing left to say. Enrico spun toward them.

"Well, Mr. Reston? Did that prove stimulating?"

"…Uh… Ah…"

"Moved beyond speech! Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Faced with sights beyond mortal ken, humans cannot find words. Pete hailed

from an ordinary home, and this observation had been his most extreme

experience yet. Oliver quietly put his arms around the boy, trying to settle him

down. And the old man took that as a sign.

"Very well! Let's call that enough for today. Take the two of them back to

your dorms, Mr. Horn. The golem will not bother you on your way home. And

Ms. Hibiya will likely wake soon."

"..."

He had no intention of lingering longer. He took Pete's hand, hefted Nanao

under one arm, and left the workshop behind. The old man's voice rang against

his back as he departed.

"Your overprotectiveness means nothing! Mr. Reston has already seen it all.

The rest is his fight—whether that leads to acceptance or rejection."

Oliver clenched his teeth. He turned to Pete at his side. What he saw were

eyes glistening with tears, unable to process the reality of what he'd seen.

"…Let's go, Pete," he managed. The least he could do.

Shaken emotions would settle in time. Human hearts were made that way.

But once it did, how would Pete Reston have changed? That fear preyed on

Oliver's mind