I spent the next week alternating between my projects for the enclave and hunting expeditions with Barkatus. The activity satisfied something within me, forming a balance between creation and destruction, building and breaking, measured in equal parts.

My workshop transformed with each passing day. The constructs developed new behaviors, adapting to their current environment. Although most of them still spent their days playing, some started helping me with my current tasks. Scout spiders now patrolled the workshop perimeter without explicit commands. The quadrupedal units organized my materials by composition and utility. The propellered aerial constructs even began sending written messages for me around the settlement.

The water system neared completion. Kobold and goblin workers followed my designs with surprising precision, laying copper pipes through the volcanic stone. The first test of the main line succeeded beyond expectations, delivering hot spring water to the central marketplace.

"You've changed things here, my friend," Elder Fargill said as he watched water flow from the newly installed fountain. The kobold's eyes gleamed with the reflection of falling water. "This new water system of yours will bring us good trade."

I noticed he didn't mention how it would improve living conditions for the enclave's residents. It was obvious Fargill's concerns centered on profit and profit alone.

The full system will be operational within three days, I transmitted. Your investment will be repaid tenfold within a year.

He nodded with a smile, satisfied, then scurried away to spread word among the merchants.

I ran into Arctur near the eastern marketplace, his towering form easy to spot among the kobold merchants. He carried his red spear casually, its surface gleaming despite the dim volcanic light.

"Vardiel," he greeted me. "Word is you've been hunting in the Hellzone."

I have. The experience has been valuable.

He shifted his weight, scales catching the light. "I'd like to join you. It's been too long since I've had a proper fight."

I considered his request, mechanical systems whirring quietly as I processed the proposition. One tendril coiled and uncoiled behind me, a habit I'd developed when thinking deeply. Part of me still harbored resentment toward Arctur for concealing the truth about slavery in the enclave. Yet I questioned the authenticity of this emotion. Was it truly mine, or merely another fragment of Vardin's consciousness embedded within me?

You may join us. Meet me and Barkatus at the eastern gate tomorrow at dawn.

Relief washed over his reptilian features. "Thank you. Though I'm surprised that mercenary made it all the way here from the Academy." His tone shifted, growing colder. "I don't trust him."

Barkatus has proven himself trustworthy. He's an exceptional warrior.

"Being good at killing doesn't make someone good," Arctur replied, tapping his claws against his spear shaft. "I've known many skilled fighters with rotten cores."

A surge of irritation pulsed through my systems. My tendril snapped outward, startling a passing goblin who scurried away.

Do you consider yourself a good person, Arctur?

He straightened to his full seven-foot height, chest swelling with pride. "Yes. I am."

Yet you live in a community that practices human slavery. You've known about it your entire life and done nothing to stop it.

His yellow eyes narrowed. "And now you live here too, Vardiel."

The words struck with unexpected force. My mechanical systems faltered momentarily as I processed the simple truth of his statement. I had indeed chosen to remain here despite knowing what occurred beneath the surface of this society. Was my inaction any different from his?

A valid point, I finally transmitted.

"We all make compromises to survive," Arctur said, his voice softening. "Even you."

We stood in silence, surrounded by the bustle of the marketplace. A group of monster children ran past, chasing one of my scout spiders that had wandered from the workshop.

Dawn tomorrow, I finally transmitted. Bring extra water. The hunting grounds I've chosen are far from the springs.

Arctur nodded and turned to leave, but paused. "The children love your machines, you know. They tell stories about them now; how they have souls inside them." A rare smile crossed his reptilian features. "Perhaps there's more than one way to be good in this world."

I watched him disappear into the crowd, my mind still processing our exchange. The question of what defined goodness, and whether I possessed it, remained unanswered, cycling through my consciousness like an unsolvable equation.

I arrived at the eastern gate as dawn's light barely crested the volcanic ridge. Despite my early timing, both Arctur and Barkatus were already there, standing several paces apart. Their body language spoke volumes: Arctur's scales seemed to bristle while Barkatus's hand rested casually near his sword hilt. The tension between them hung in the air like volcanic ash.

Their conversation died immediately as I approached. Arctur acknowledged me with a curt nod, his expression carefully neutral. Barkatus, by contrast, flashed a predatory grin.

"Good morning, Widow," he said, using my nickname from the Academy despite my repeated objections. "Ready for some sport?"

I chose not to address the obvious friction between them. They'll need to resolve this themselves.

Let's move. We're burning daylight.

We departed through the obsidian archway, my war frame's mechanisms humming softly as we traversed the black sand dunes. The Central Hellzone stretched before us, a wasteland of midnight sands and twisted obsidian formations jutting from the ground like the bones of ancient beasts.

Strangely, the sky above us shone a brilliant, cheerful blue, an almost mockingly pleasant contrast to the desolation below. My sensors detected the usual sulfuric content in the air, yet the atmosphere seemed clearer than previous expeditions.

"There," Arctur pointed with his crimson spear toward a rippling in the sand about forty yards ahead. "Sand Dogs."

Six crustacean creatures burst from beneath the black granules, their segmented legs propelling them forward with surprising speed. Each stood three feet tall at the shoulder, with serrated pincers and multiple compound eyes that glittered like malevolent gems.

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Barkatus laughed, drawing his auric steel blade. "Finally, some action!"

The battle lasted mere moments. My tendrils impaled two of the creatures simultaneously, while Arctur's spear skewered another clean through. Barkatus moved with fluid grace, his blade severing limbs and carapaces with surgical precision. The Sand Dogs never stood a chance.

"Bah, low-level creatures," Barkatus snorted, wiping black ichor from his blade. "Barely worth the effort."

We continued deeper into the Hellzone, passing twisted columns of obsidian that reflected our distorted images. After our third encounter with similar crustacean monsters, Barkatus paused, leaning on his sword.

"Is it just me, or is everything in this damned Hellzone some kind of crab?"

Arctur nodded without breaking stride. "Yes. They are."

"You don't find that strange?" Barkatus pressed, quickening his pace to match the lizardman's long strides. "Back in the Academy Hellzone, everything was insects: beetles, centipedes, the occasional giant spider. And in the Windwood Hellzone to the west, it's all plants. Walking trees, carnivorous flowers, the like."

Arctur merely shrugged his massive shoulders. "Just another peculiarity of Hellzones. Each has its own... theme."

The Lodrik Hellzone is different, I transmitted, joining their conversation. It contains monsters of various forms; there are dogs, worms, even flying bats.

Barkatus's eyes lit up. "Now that sounds interesting! I appreciate variety in my killing. Might pay that Hellzone a visit someday."

You wouldn't enjoy it, I replied. The monsters there are significantly weaker than those in the Central or Academy Hellzones. Most barely reach level thirty, with only a few exceptions deeper in.

"Well, that's disappointing." Barkatus sighed dramatically, twirling his sword. "What's the point of fighting if there's no challenge? Sounds like a waste of time."

Ahead, the sand began to shift and bubble, signaling our next encounter. I extended my tendrils in preparation, mechanical systems humming to life.

Focus, I transmitted. Something larger approaches.

The ground beneath us trembled violently, black sand cascading in waves. My sensors detected massive subterranean movement seconds before a monstrous form erupted from the depths.

A colossal arthropod burst skyward, raining obsidian particles across the wasteland. Its segmented body stretched over a hundred feet, each section armored with overlapping plates of chitin. Six massive claws extended from its front segments, each ending in serrated pincers that could easily bisect a human.

Analyze, I commanded, focusing my sensors.

The information materialized in my vision:

Mega Anthroworm

Level 60

Level sixty Mega Anthroworm, I transmitted to my companions. Approach with caution.

"Now this is more like it!" Barkatus roared, brandishing his auric steel blade with manic glee.

The creature lunged forward, its multiple pincers slashing through the air with surprising speed for something so massive. Barkatus darted between the attacks, his blade striking at the joints where the claws connected to the body. Each hit sent chitin fragments flying, but the monster barely seemed to notice.

Arctur circled to the opposite side, his crimson spear held ready. With perfect form, he hurled the weapon toward the creature's head section. The spear pierced straight through one of its compound eyes, burying itself deep in whatever passed for a brain. With a gesture of his clawed hand, the spear wrenched itself free and returned to his grasp, trailing ichor. Despite the damage, the monster continued to move.

I deployed all nine tendrils, their dragon-head tips opening wide as I rushed the creature's flank. The auric steel maws bit deep into the monster's armored hide, creating spiderweb cracks across its plating. My pneumatic systems whined as I applied maximum pressure, denting and fracturing the chitin.

The Anthroworm roared, a sound like grinding stone, and suddenly submerged, moving through the black sand as effortlessly as a fish through water. The surface rippled as it circled around, then erupted again directly beneath Barkatus. The impact sent him flying twenty feet through the air before he crashed into an obsidian formation.

The creature then charged toward Arctur, who leapt aside with reptilian grace, narrowly avoiding being crushed. I intercepted its path, timing my jump perfectly to land atop its back. My tendrils latched onto the creature's plating, their dragon-mouthed tips biting deep into the chitin for purchase.

I drew my sword-spear and channeled mana into the weapon. The blade glowed blue-white as Mana Shell formed around it, hardening and extending the cutting edge. With a calculated thrust, I drove the weapon downward into a crack my tendrils had created in the monster's armor.

The Mana Shell allowed the tip to pierce deep into the beast. Satisfied at the depth of the thrust, I detonated the stored mana in its inner chamber, converting the stored energy into explosive force. The blast propelled the lead ball through the sword-lance's barrel, which shot deep into the creature's body, penetrating what must have been a vital organ. The Anthroworm convulsed violently, then abruptly ceased its forward momentum.

We converged on the now-stationary beast, systematically dismantling it with blade, spear, and tendril. Barkatus, injured but determined, hacked at its head section while Arctur methodically pierced each segment. My tendrils tore away plates of armor, exposing the soft flesh beneath.

When the creature finally stopped twitching, Arctur lowered his spear.

"Three levels," he announced, satisfaction evident in his voice. "I'm now level thirty-three."

Barkatus wiped ichor from his face. "Only got one. Still, level fifty-eight isn't bad."

I checked my status page and found no change. Still level seventy-seven. The higher my level climbed, the more difficult advancement became.

We need to go deeper into the Hellzone, I transmitted. The monsters here are becoming insufficient for my progression.

Barkatus nodded, wiping Anthroworm ichor from his blade. "Agreed. These beasts are becoming predictable. And predictable means boring."

"The center of the Hellzone holds stronger creatures," Arctur said, his crimson spear returning to his hand with a wet sound. "Three days' journey, perhaps four. The terrain becomes more treacherous: glass fields and acid pools."

We set out across the black sand, leaving the Anthroworm's massive corpse behind us. The landscape gradually changed as we progressed, obsidian formations growing more frequent and elaborate, some towering thirty feet high. The sand beneath our feet hardened, becoming a glassy crust that cracked with each step.

Approximately forty minutes into our trek, my sensors detected movement on the horizon. I paused, adjusting my Mind Sight ability to focus on the distant figures.

Wait, I transmitted to my companions.

"What is it?" Barkatus asked, squinting into the distance. "More worms?"

I concentrated, extending my perception range. A caravan materialized in my vision. It was made up of approximately forty monsters, predominantly orcs and goblins, moving in our direction. Three massive oxen dragged heavy carts behind them, their hooves crushing the obsidian surface with each labored step.

At first, I assumed they were traders returning to the enclave with supplies. But as I focused more intently on the carts, my systems identified their contents with disturbing clarity.

Not supplies. Not food or medicine or materials.

Cages. Cages filled with humans. Men, women, and children. Their faces registered in my vision: gaunt, terrified, broken. Some bore fresh wounds, others the vacant stare of despair. A small girl clutched a tattered doll through the bars, her eyes wide with incomprehension.

"What do you see?" Barkatus asked, hand on his sword hilt.

Slavers, I transmitted, the word carrying more emotional weight than I intended. One of Morrg's raiding parties returning with captives from human villages.

Barkatus's expression remained neutral. He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling with practiced indifference. "Not our concern. Best to avoid them; they'll have questions about a human traveling with you."

"I actually agree," Arctur said, his scaled face unreadable. "Elder Morrg's men are not known for their patience or understanding. They'll see him as potential merchandise."

I stood motionless, processing their words. Logically, they were correct. Intervention served no strategic purpose. These humans were strangers, their fate inconsequential to my objectives.

Yet something burned within me, a sensation I recognized not as my own, but as an echo of Vardin's memories. The part of me that once belonged to the human king rebelled against this injustice.

I want to take a closer look, I transmitted finally.

"What?" Arctur's tail lashed the sand in agitation. "Why would you-"

Just to observe. Nothing more.

Arctur and Barkatus exchanged glances; it was the first moment of unspoken agreement I'd witnessed between them.

"Your funeral," Barkatus said with another shrug. "But if they try to cage me, I'm killing every last one of them."

Arctur remained silent, his disapproval evident in his rigid posture, but he followed nonetheless as I changed course toward the caravan.

With each step closer to the slave train, the burning sensation intensified. I recognized it as foreign, an emotional response stemming from Vardin's lingering influence rather than my own developing consciousness. Yet knowing its origin did nothing to diminish its power.

I moved across the black glass terrain toward the caravan and its cargo of human souls, my war frame's hydraulics humming with tension, my tendrils coiled tight as they slithered forwards.

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