It was a swift and silent attack. If I had come alone, I might have lost my life before realizing what had happened. But there’s a reason I brought Tirkanjaka with me. When it comes to protecting me from humans, there’s no one more reliable than her.

Azi is loyal, but his combat prowess against humans is lacking. The Regressor, meanwhile, excels at dealing with humans but wouldn’t bother to protect me.

From the shadow of Tir’s black parasol, darkness erupted. The attacker, cloaked in shadows, was slammed to the ground. I glanced over to see Tir’s small, pale fist clenched tightly.

As expected—reliable as ever. I really chose my allies well.

“Is it okay to use darkness in sunlight?” I asked casually.

“If it’s only a little, it’s no problem. Besides, we are in the shade,” she replied nonchalantly.

As Tir and I exchanged words, the voice of the attacker echoed from within the swirling shadows.

"A warning—for your own sake."

Despite being pinned to the ground, their voice carried no hint of fear or hesitation.

"If you value your life, turn around and leave. Forget what you’ve seen and erase what you’ve heard. Curiosity will be the death of you."

"Isn’t that an unreasonable demand?" I replied with a smirk. "How can anyone not be curious?"

The assailant’s body was shrouded in a thick robe, their face concealed behind a golden mask. Even their figure was obscured, but the hunch of their back betrayed them—it stood out, even beneath the heavy fabric.

A hunchback. I’d seen only one hunchback in the Heat Nation.

I approached slowly, placing a hand on their golden mask.

“For someone who was supposed to be dead, it’s impressive to see you here, alive and well.”

With a click, I released the latch and removed the mask, revealing the face beneath.

“Isn’t that right, Lord Locket?”

The Heat Breaker Overseer, Locket. I had seen him die at Hilde’s hands during the camp assault, yet here he was, alive—or something resembling life.

Unmasked, Locket spoke in a detached, emotionless voice.

"He has perished. It seems his life was never meant to be long."

"Thanks to that, we’ve confirmed something important—you’re a homunculus. And that means this place must indeed be the Golden Palace."

"Even knowing this, you approach the Golden Palace? Do you not fear for your life? Or rather..."

Locket raised his head slightly, glaring at me from where he lay bound.

"Do you not fear the desecration of your soul, the violation of your dignity, the ruination of your very existence?"

"Spare me the dramatics. I couldn’t care less about souls or dignity. The only thing I value is my life."

"How remarkable."

"Not as remarkable as how composed you are compared to the original," I quipped.

The exchange carried an odd sense of camaraderie, a strange normalcy in our dialogue. Could turning an unhinged human into a homunculus actually produce a more stable result?

I had expected to uncover similar insights eventually, but for this opportunity to present itself so conveniently—what luck. No need for explanations now.

"Hah… unbelievable…"

Even Tir, who rarely showed surprise despite her 1,200 years of life, was visibly shaken by the sight before us. A man who had died now stood before her—an undeniable impossibility.

"Do you mean to say," Tir began cautiously, "that the Golden Mirror… can create humans?"

It was a logical assumption and not far from the truth. But the Golden Mirror hadn’t reached that level of divinity. Shaking my head, I gestured toward Locket.

"They can’t create true humans. If they could, they wouldn’t need to mimic Locket, and the copies would share the same personality as the originals."

If the Golden Mirror could truly create humans, they would already be the King of Humans—or beyond that, a god. Even I, the King of Humans, cannot create humans without bearing children. True creation would elevate them to godhood.

But the Golden Mirror had not reached that divine realm. If they had, there’d be no need to collect humans.

"Still, they’ve achieved something close. They’ve perfected the human body—haven’t they, Locket?"

Locket shook his head.

"Perfect? No. Ideal. The bodies crafted by the Golden Mirror transcend the imperfections of humanity. If only the original had been intact, this body would be flawless."

"Interesting. A machine of flesh and blood, then. And I suppose the crops cursed by the Golden Mirror follow the same principle?"

"The crops are not cursed," Locket replied coldly. "In fact, the Golden Mirror’s creations are 'ideal.' They are crops of unparalleled alchemical refinement."

Alchemical refinement—the ability of materials to respond to alchemy. Natural plants and wood, with their irregular structures, generally lacked such refinement. But the crops of the Golden Mirror were something else entirely.

Perhaps this explained why those who consumed the crops resonated with the Golden Mirror.

"And it’s not just the body," Locket added. "If the Overseers understand even a fraction of the Golden Mirror’s great truth, their very essence—mental imagery and all—becomes theirs."

As Locket spoke, a localized explosion erupted across his body. Heat and light burst forth, momentarily weakening the dark restraints. A pair of steel wings shot out from the chaos, and before I could react, Locket launched himself skyward.

"The Overseer’s imagery is fundamentally rooted in the Golden Mirror. Even unique magic is merely a skill the Golden Mirror can replicate," he declared.

Locket’s Juggernaut, the Winged Drake, appeared before us in a form far more terrifying and powerful than before. Flames engulfed its entire form as it roared in our direction.

"I am the Guardian of the Golden Palace! Die here, regretting your intrusion!"

Tch. This fool. Acting like a real human now. If he were human, I’d have read his thoughts and stolen his unique magic by now.

But I couldn’t read its thoughts. I couldn’t steal its magic. No matter how you looked at it, this thing wasn’t… human.

[Enough.]

A voice resonated from somewhere. Locket froze mid-flight, halting his fiery charge.

"Golden Overseer…!"

The voice, belonging to the one he called the Golden Overseer, rang out calmly.

[Let them come. The Golden Mirror requires inspiration.]

"Ugh…!"

Reluctantly, Locket extinguished his flames. The Winged Drake lost its propulsion, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud. Landing gracefully, Locket glared at me.

"You… will regret not dying here."

An empty threat from a remnant of thought. How considerate, for a corpse.

I smirked, lightly patting Locket’s shoulder.
"I never regret anything. At least, not until I’m dead."

Locket glared at me once more before donning his golden mask again. Turning his back on us, he marched toward the depths of the palace.

We followed, the oppressive air growing thicker with each step.

I could feel it now—this was it. The Golden Mirror. The thoughts of a demon capable of creating all things.

 

The King of Gold, Yuria Elric, sovereign of boundless wealth and master of all knowledge and technology, struck her desk with a fan in visible frustration.

Despite her mastery over all arts and sciences, Elric was mired in an oppressive ennui. Born with the powers of a king, she could create anything—everything except the impossible. With the line between possible and impossible clearly visible, what was the point of any challenge? For a ruler who derived no joy from uncovering mysteries, the world was nothing more than a tedious, repetitive textbook.

Yet, there was one pursuit that still captured her interest: cultivating disciples.

Humans were creatures of chaos, unpredictable even to Elric, who understood all else. Though their technology lagged far behind hers, the crude sparks of imagination they carried could sometimes ignite true inspiration. Like other Elrics before her, Yuria Elric took on countless disciples, hoping to foster those sparks.

Lately, however, even this had begun to lose its luster.

The decline began with a trivial assignment she had devised as a test for her students.

“Fill this room with a single coin.”

Publicly, it was heralded as a trial of wit and resourcefulness, but the truth was less noble.

Elric herself could easily fill the room with a single coin—starting with one as seed capital, she could multiply its value endlessly.

A sword of unparalleled sharpness and durability would fetch a price many times greater than an ordinary blade. An alloy crafted with the perfect ratio of certain metals could be sold as a "legendary material."

For Elric, even the most trivial application of her skills could achieve the task.

But that wasn’t the point. She wanted her students to strain their feeble minds, to attempt every conceivable method of maximizing that single coin.

One day, however, someone presented an unexpected answer.

"I’ve filled the room with the light of a candle. After all, the brilliance of gold pales in comparison to true light. Surely only light can fill this space."

It was a clever ruse, juvenile but novel amidst the sea of failures, and Elric praised the student for their ingenuity. Though it wasn’t what she had sought, it offered inspiration nonetheless.

The problem came afterward.

"Torchlight!"
"Incense smoke!"
"Aromas!"

Soon, everyone began offering the same answer, as though it were the definitive solution.

Even an original idea loses its charm when repeated. When it’s nothing but a shortcut, it becomes grating. Irritated, Elric devised a second test.

"Now turn what you’ve used to fill the room back into gold."

The students, who had smugly relied on borrowed ideas, were left speechless, clutching their heads in despair.

This wasn’t a lesson in hidden wisdom. It was simply Elric being spiteful. She wanted to teach a lesson to those who dared to use cheap tricks in front of the King of Steel.

Her strategy worked. Gradually, the number of students attempting to exploit shortcuts dwindled.

Then one day, a young disciple arrived late, carrying a small bell.

"A bell! I have filled the room with its sound!"

As always, Elric issued her follow-up challenge:

"Turn it into gold."

"W-what? Into gold?"

The disciple’s flustered expression revealed everything. Elric clicked her tongue in disdain.

Some artisans, she thought, could craft and purchase materials but lacked the skills to sell them. Without the aptitude for commerce, such craftsmen were destined for lives of toil, dying penniless in obscurity.

"Are you saying you can’t?" Elric asked, her voice dripping with scorn.

"I… I am terribly sorry, but I can’t think of a way. Please, teach me, Your Majesty…"

Her anger surged.

Many had brought candles and incense before. She had mocked their shortcuts, demanding they turn transient flames and smoke back into gold. Those who had mindlessly followed the ideas of others often left in disgrace.

But this was different. The bell, unlike ephemeral light or fragrance, retained its value. The disciple had crafted a bell of exceptional quality—a resonant, clear tone that seemed to echo deep within the soul. If sold, it would easily recoup the cost of the gold coin used to create it.

Yet, he couldn’t even manage that?

Her face twisted with fury as she barked,
"You have the nerve to turn gold into base iron and yet don’t know how to turn iron back into gold? How dare you aspire to be my disciple? Begone! Do not return until you’ve made it gold again!"

The disciple, pale with terror, stumbled backward and fled. Elric sat back in her chair with a scowl, clicking her tongue in annoyance.

The bell itself was fine—its sound was beautiful.

But to Elric, endowed with the Power of Understanding, it was trivial. The moment she grasped its craftsmanship, it became an easy feat to replicate.

No skill could ever truly impress Elric. If so, at least her disciples should have the gall and wit to surprise her, like the first student who had brought the candle.

"If only I hadn’t praised him back then," she muttered bitterly, summoning the next visitor.

Days passed.

Elric continued tending to her disciples, receiving visitors from distant lands. Gradually, the memory of the young man with the bell faded into obscurity.

Then, on the fourth day—

"I’ve done it! Eternal Elric, Your Majesty! I have accomplished what you commanded!"

The disciple stood before her once more. His face radiated triumph as he presented his work.

Before her lay a resplendent golden bell, gleaming with an otherworldly brilliance.