We gathered in room 401, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windows. My companions had rushed over after hearing about the team duel challenge. Their faces showed varying degrees of concern and anger.

"Why didn't you just refuse?" Genta asked, her green skin flushed with frustration. "Academy rules state they can't challenge you twice. It's to prevent harassment through repeated challenges."

I... didn't know that.

"Of course you didn't," Copelan said, rolling his eyes. He adjusted his position in the wooden chair, leaning forward. "But it wouldn't matter anyway. Technically, Walters Nigh hasn't challenged you before, and he's part of the team duel. You can't refuse based on that rule."

Eyarna pushed her spectacles up her nose. "So Lyman planned this?"

"Obviously." Copelan's scowl deepened. "He deliberately included someone who hadn't challenged Widow before so the duel couldn't be refused." He looked around the room at our gathered group. "And the team matchup is clearly a trap. With the level differences between their team and yours, they'll likely try to eliminate your teammates quickly, then focus all three of them on you alone."

Annes slammed her fist on a desk. "We won't make it easy for them."

"That's exactly what they're counting on," Copelan said. "Your determination to fight back will just make you easier targets."

Loland's tail twitched. "So what would you have us do? Back down?"

"I'd have you think strategically rather than emotionally," Copelan replied. "Their levels are significantly higher. Barkatus alone is level 28 now."

Sven whistled. "How did he gain a level so fast?"

"House Dragon probably arranged special training for him while he recovered," Patter said.

"The point is," Copelan continued, "they've structured this challenge specifically to put Widow at a disadvantage. Three against one after they eliminate the lower-level teammates."

Then I should fight alone, I sent through Mind Speech.

"That's not smart," Yulios spoke up. "Big brother always told me not to fight more than one person at a time. He said if more than one guy comes after me, I should run."

"Usually, he'd be right," Copelan said. Then he smirked. "Thankfully in this case though, Widow has a secret weapon."

My children, I said, seeing where his thoughts lead.

"Exactly." Copelan leaned back in his seat, his smile widening. "Lyman hasn't accounted for your Ancestor Might attribute. With your mechanized infants increasing your stats so much, you're the equivalent of a warrior ten levels higher than you are now. You should easily be able to take the three of them down, even alone."

"I won't let you fight them by yourself," Annes said, crossing her arms. Her jaw set in that stubborn way I'd come to recognize.

Copelan pinched the bridge of his nose. "You need to think this through strategically, not emotionally."

"I can't do that. I'm not an egghead like you." Annes's face flushed red with frustration.

"Better to be an egghead than a brickhead," Copelan muttered, rolling his eyes.

Thank you for your concern, I sent before their argument could escalate. But I will be fine. Lyman and Walters are no match for me. Barkatus is who concerns me.

"Even with the stat difference?" Sven asked.

Yes. He proved himself a formidable opponent. I won't underestimate him again.

"Then you'll need to eliminate him quickly," Copelan said, leaning forward. "Take him out first, then deal with the other two."

I won't kill them, I sent firmly.

Copelan's expression hardened. "You might not have a choice. Even if you win this duel, Lyman will just keep coming after you again and again."

I won't kill anyone in cold blood if I don't have to. Never again. The memory of Kolin's death flashed through my mind, the way his blood had stained the grass red.

"Now you're being a brickhead too," Copelan sighed.

Yes, I agreed. I suppose I am.

Copelan's jaw clenched, but he held his tongue. The room fell silent as my companions exchanged worried glances.

I appreciate your concern, I sent. But I've faced worse odds.

"Have you though?" Genta asked, her orange freckles scrunching with her frown.

Yes. The memory of the Snapper Dragon flashed through my mind. Much worse.

"Still..." Eyarna twisted her hands in her lap.

I will be fine, I assured them. My combat chassis is fully upgraded, and with the Ancestor Might attribute, I'm more than capable of handling them.

"You better be," Loland declared, his copper scales gleaming as he lifted his chin. "Because if anything happens to you, I'll challenge that pompous noble myself."

I reached out and patted his head, my porcelain fingers ruffling his scales. "That won't be necessary."

Loland jerked away, his tail lashing. "Don't treat me like a child! I'm nobility too, you know."

"A very short noble," Annes muttered, earning a glare from the kobold.

"Speaking of children," Copelan cut in before Loland could retort, "you should create more constructs tonight. The more descendants you have, the stronger your attribute bonus will be."

I sighed, the sound emerging as a musical note through my lips. The basement is already overcrowded. Just yesterday, Rolly and Scout Spider 15 got into a fight over territory. And Scout Spider 2 keeps trying to build a house in the ceiling corners.

"They're getting personalities?" Patter asked, leaning forward with interest.

Unfortunately. I remembered how Rolly had somehow learned to pick locks. They're becoming quite... troublesome.

"But more power means better odds tomorrow," Copelan pressed.

True. I conceded his point with a nod. I'll build a few more tonight. But we'll need to find somewhere else to keep them soon. The storage room can't hold many more.

"We could move some to the tunnels," Sven suggested.

No, I sent firmly. Too dangerous. The Cave Stalkers would tear them apart.

"Then we'll figure something else out later," Copelan said. "For now, just focus on creating as many as you can before the duel."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I strode into the southern arena, my four mechanical arms gleaming in the morning light. The modifications I'd made overnight had improved the chassis's response time significantly, each movement felt fluid, precise. With thirty-two constructs now boosting my Ancestor Might attribute, raw power thrummed through my frame.

Genta and Eyarna walked on my left, while Copelan and Annes flanked my right. The rest of my friends trailed behind us. Their presence steadied me, though I wished they weren't here to witness what was coming.

Lyman, Barkatus, and Walters stood waiting, surrounded by their House Dragon compatriots. But what made my metaphorical heart stutter was Professor Shawe's presence, his thin lips curved in a predatory smile. Two unfamiliar instructors stood beside him instead of Casper or Harmony.

"Ah, the mechanical monstrosity arrives," Shawe's voice dripped with false warmth. "As today's officiating judge, I must inform you that your current form violates duel regulations."

Copelan stepped forward, his face flushed. "Where's Professor Casper?"

"Judging another duel, I'm afraid." Shawe's smile widened. "Now, Widow, you will need to use your standard humanoid form for this match."

Lyman's answering grin told me everything; they'd orchestrated this perfectly. Without Casper or Harmony present, Shawe had complete control.

"That's not fair," Genta protested. "The combat chassis was allowed in previous duels!"

"I am the judge today," Shawe said softly, dangerous. "And I say it's not allowed. Use your regular body, or forfeit and face expulsion. Your choice."

My mechanical fingers clenched. The trap was elegant in its simplicity. In my humanoid form, I'd be at a severe disadvantage against three opponents, especially someone of Barkatus's level. But expulsion would mean losing access to the Academy's resources, and more importantly, leaving my friends vulnerable to House Dragon's retribution.

I understand, I sent, my mental voice carefully neutral. I will comply.

Shawe's smile showed too many teeth. "Excellent. You have ten minutes to change and return. Don't keep us waiting."

I turned toward the exit, my friends falling in around me.

"This is wrong," Annes hissed. "They planned it all."

Yes, I agreed. They did.

I hurried back to my dorm room, my friends trailing behind me. The combat chassis opened up smoothly as I transferred into my humanoid frame. The familiar sensation of the more delicate mechanical parts settling into place did nothing to calm my growing anger.

I pulled on my Academy uniform, the fabric settling over my pale skin and exposed mechanical components. I owned no armor for this form and since it was a duel I was not allowed to borrow Academy equipment. But as I fastened the last button, I checked my status page:

Name: Widow

Level: 25

Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER]

Gender: N/A

Age: 1

Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath, Dragon Slayer, Fugitive

Strength: 62

Endurance: 60

Dexterity: 67

Intelligence: 73

Wisdom: 65

Attributes: Ancestor Might (Descendants: 32), Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense, Enchantment

Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight C, Language Comprehension S, Assembly B, Analyze C, Depository C, Mana Manipulation D, Blade Skill E, Brace E

The numbers made me pause. Even without the combat chassis, my physical capabilities far exceeded what they'd been during my first duel with Lyman.

"Will you be alright?" Copelan's voice carried genuine concern. "Without your combat frame-"

I will be fine, I sent, cutting him off. More than fine.

"But Barkatus is level twenty-eight," he persisted.

I turned to face him, my mechanical hand adjusting my porcelain mask. Watch closely, Copelan. Today I will show them all why it was foolish to keep pushing me.

"What do you mean?"

I mean that after today, House Dragon will understand exactly what they're dealing with. I strode toward the door. They think forcing me into this form makes me vulnerable. They're wrong. And I'm going to demonstrate that error to the entire school.

Genta grinned, falling into step beside me. "Now that's what I like to hear."

Good, I sent. Because I want witnesses. I want everyone to see what happens when they try to stack the odds against me.

We walked back toward the arena, my steps measured and precise. Each movement reminded me of how much stronger I'd become, how my thirty-two mechanical children had amplified my capabilities far beyond what anyone suspected. Today, I would show them all exactly what I was capable of.

I walked into the arena, my polished school uniform a stark contrast to the battle-ready gear my opponents wore. The stands had filled beyond capacity, with students packed shoulder to shoulder, their excited chatter echoing off the stone walls. This was more than just another duel; it was entertainment. Today's duel was the first team match in years and everyone wanted to be a witness to it.

My fingers wrapped around Kolin's estoc, the familiar weight of it settling into my mechanical hand. Lyman's face twisted when he saw the weapon, his brother's prized blade now in the hands of his killer. Good. Let him be unsettled.

"Your teammates?" Shawe's voice carried across the arena, dripping with false concern. "Surely you don't intend to face these three accomplished warriors alone?"

I turned to face the crowd, my porcelain mask gleaming in the morning sun. I will fight alone, my mental voice projected clearly enough for all to hear.

The arena erupted. Gasps and shouts of disbelief rippled through the audience. Then someone started cheering, the sound spreading like wildfire until half the crowd roared their approval. The other half booed and jeered, but their voices only added to the chaos.

Shawe threw his head back and laughed, the sound sharp and cruel. "Very well! If the monster wishes to handicap itself further, who am I to argue?"

Lyman's grin stretched wide across his face as he drew his sword. Walters cracked his knuckles, already gathering mana for his spells. But it was Barkatus's reaction that interested me most; he simply raised an eyebrow, studying me with newfound intensity. He, at least, seemed to understand that my choice might not be the act of desperation it appeared to be.

I stepped into position, my movements precise and controlled. Let them think me weakened. Let them believe me vulnerable. Soon enough, they would learn just how much stronger I'd become.

The arena floor cleared quickly, my friends joining the packed crowd in the stands. House Dragon's supporters retreated as well, leaving me alone with my three opponents.

Lyman's enchanted plate armor gleamed as he hefted his broadsword, the metal catching the morning light. Beside him, Walters adjusted his flowing blue robes, the enchanted threads woven through the fabric pulsing with stored mana. His staff thrummed with power as he raised it.

Barkatus stood slightly ahead of them both, his own enchanted plate just as impressive as Lyman's. His longsword looked newly forged, probably another gift from House Dragon. When he smiled at me, I pulled back my lips to show him my jagged teeth. Let him see what he faced.

"Begin!" Shawe's voice cracked through the air.

Barkatus launched forward, his boots kicking up sand. I matched his charge, but my enhanced speed from thirty-two mechanical children turned my movement into a blur. His eyes widened as I closed the distance far faster than he expected, his step faltering for just a fraction of a second.

That hesitation was all I needed. I swung Kolin's estoc in a precise arc, the edge-less blade connecting solidly with Barkatus's temple. The impact sent his armored form flying through the air like a discarded doll. He rolled across the sand, his metal armor scraping and clanging until he slammed into the far wall with a resounding crash.

He didn't get up.

Lyman's jaw dropped as he stared at Barkatus's crumpled form. Walters's face had gone pale, his staff trembling slightly in his grip. Neither had expected their strongest fighter to fall so quickly.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by complete silence. No one could quite believe what they'd just witnessed.

I turned my blank porcelain mask toward my remaining opponents and raised my blade into a ready position.

"Shit!" Walters's curse cut through the arena's stunned silence. His staff whipped up, blue robes swirling as mana gathered at its tip. A gout of flame erupted, the heat distorting the air as it rushed toward me.

I charged straight through his spell. My pale flesh didn't even register the temperature, a benefit of being what I am. The fire parted around my form like water, leaving only wisps of smoke in my wake.

Walters's eyes widened in horror as I emerged from his flames unscathed. My knee drove up into his stomach with precision, enhanced strength making the impact devastating even through his protective robes. Air whooshed from his lungs as he doubled over, his staff clattering to the ground. He crumpled at my feet, gasping desperately for breath.

A string of curses announced Lyman's charge. His boots kicked up sand as he rushed forward, broadsword sweeping in a deadly arc. The attack might have been impressive against a normal opponent. But with my enhanced capabilities, it seemed almost sluggish.

I raised my left hand casually, catching the blade between my pale fingers. The sharp, enchanted edge couldn't penetrate my invulnerable flesh. With a sharp yank, I tore the weapon from his grip and tossed it aside. It clattered across the arena floor, far out of reach.

Lyman's face contorted with fury as he stood before me, disarmed and vulnerable. I didn't give him time to react. My foot lashed out, connecting solidly with his chest plate. The metal dented inward with a satisfying crunch as the force of my kick sent him flying. He slammed into the arena wall and slid down to his knees, blood spattering from his mouth as he coughed violently.

In the stands, my friends' cheers cut through the shocked silence. Genta's voice rang out clearly, joined quickly by Annes, Copelan, and the others. The rest of the crowd remained frozen, struggling to process what they'd just witnessed.

I turned my blank porcelain mask toward the judges' platform where Shawe stood rigid with fury. His lips worked silently as he searched for some way to deny my victory. Minutes stretched by uncomfortably as the crowd grew restless. Shouts began to ring out, demanding he make his ruling.

Finally, Shawe's shoulders slumped in defeat. He raised his hand, voice tight with suppressed rage as he declared me the winner. The crowd erupted in deafening cheers that echoed off the arena walls.

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