It was all for the Golden Nation.
It was all for His Majesty.
It was all... for that awkwardly beautiful smile the Ironblooded King forced himself to wear.

But how did it come to this?

A sword was strapped to his neck, and shackles bound his feet. The heavy iron ball hanging from the sword’s tip was a torment in itself. His arm, which held the ball, felt as if it would tear off, but he could not let go. If he did, the weight that tore at his arm would shift to his neck.
A sharp needle pricked his back. The body reacted before the pain could register. Even as he was on the verge of collapse, Demo took another step, avoiding the agony. The thorn, however, came a beat late and stabbed him again.
Demo, weighed down by the tools of pain and despair created solely to torment humans, walked barefoot across the land of the Golden Nation.

He heard curses. Stones flew. They cursed and charged at him, brandishing daggers, attacking with fury. The soldiers escorting him merely pretended to block them, observing from the sidelines. His wounds accumulated, and Demo was reduced to little more than a half-dead corpse.
The screams of pain lasted only a moment. After five hours, he could no longer distinguish between the pain and himself. Perhaps he had been born into pain.

He wanted peace. He wanted to escape all this pain. He would rather die and be free.
But Demo couldn’t even turn away from that thought.

Because he was the one who had brought the Golden Nation to this state.

They say money can’t buy happiness, but without money, happiness is impossible. To be happy, a certain amount of leisure is necessary. In the harsh realities of life, the only way to carve out that leisure is through money.
For the sake of a nation where everyone could be happy, Demo created gold. So that the entire nation could live in happiness.

That’s what he thought.
It made sense in his mind.

Demo, with his dimming eyes, looked around. The collapsed walls of the castle. Burning houses. The cries and screams echoed everywhere. Once, fields that had been trampled under the weight of gold were now being tilled by an old farmer wielding a worn hoe. But the poisoned earth, cursed by iron, had reached its end, offering no response no matter how lovingly it was tended.

The beggars in the streets were no better off than Demo. With their cracked throats, they held out empty bowls, begging for a scrap of mercy. The bowls were made of gold, but they couldn’t even promise a single meal. A grain of rice was worth more than a gold coin.
The woman, clutching her dead child’s body and wailing, wondered whether she loved her child as a son or as a source of food for a few more meals.

The poverty of gold. The most horrific thing in the history of the Golden Nation had happened. And the worst part was that no solution seemed to present itself.

There was no future. The past had been erased. After making a pact with the devil, he sold eternity for the brilliance of one moment.
The Golden Nation had become a hell made of gold.

And the one who created this hell… was alchemy, the very process that produced gold.
Had he never created alchemy, this tragedy might never have come to be. The horrific truth that his great discovery was the devil’s knowledge tormented even his heart.

Thud.
Something struck Demo’s temple. His head swam, but there was no pain. His body, drained of strength, had long since accepted the pain as part of its chronic existence.
Demo, with eyes unfocused, looked at the object that had struck him. It was small compared to its weight, but its dazzling golden shine inflated its value to an exaggerated degree.

It was gold. Unable to be named anything else, the golden coin rolled across the dirt, its light gleaming with an almost maddening brilliance.
A gaunt woman, her skin drawn tight over her bones, approached and screamed at him.

“It’s your fault...! If it weren’t for you!”

Was gold something so unnecessary? To that starving woman, it couldn’t even serve as a single meal; it was thrown like a stone. Even if thrown at someone else, it was of little use. A jagged rock would have been more painful.

Gold that could neither be eaten nor used. Once, his eyes had been blinded by its brilliance, but now, it was no different from garbage rotting in the ground.
So what had he been creating all this time? Had he not been making everyone wealthy but instead making everyone poor?

“Give it back! Give it back!”

The woman’s cries were empty resentments. Once something was done, no amount of shouting or crying could undo it.
But then…
A memory flashed through Demo’s mind like a lightning bolt.

‘Try giving it back with the gold you’ve created.’

The second trial of the Golden Mirror. The trial where he had created alchemy.
What was harder than creating something was returning it to its original state. The words of the king he so admired were deeply etched into his heart. The last vestiges of strength in his dying body surged. In his fading mind, Demo repeated what he had to do.

...Return it. Return the Golden Nation. For our King.

It should be simple. After all, he had done it once before.
Alchemy was created to return things to their original state.

But could he really undo it? Could he return this hell to the once-beautiful and prosperous Golden Nation? Could he return it to the land of craftsmen and technology that worked together under the rule of their great king?
Now, here he was, bound, suffering to the point of death.

Demo had little time left. He was dying. Even if he used every second, every ounce of strength, he could only create one thing.
So, if he could only create one thing, why not transmute ‘something’ that could return the nation to its original state?

Demo stopped walking and closed his eyes. Death was imminent, the time left was short. He knelt and formed a mental image.

All things are made up of small blocks. Whether gold, steel, or even grains of sand. The types of blocks are the same; it’s only how they are stacked that makes them different.
As they are stacked, one on top of the other, the world fills with various things. Though they seem different, upon closer inspection, they all start the same way.
That house, that land, that lonely tree, the stream running beneath it. Even the wild animal drinking from it.
Even humans, too.

What shape it would take, Demo did not know. But he knew this: it would forever roam the Golden Nation, returning this cursed land to its original state. He would make a beautiful nation once more and present it to his king.
As a servant of the king, as the Golden Mirror.

The mental image swelled like a monstrous force. The power to change all things now stretched toward its master, to grant the dying man’s final wish.

Unique Magic. Elixir.

When Demo came to his senses, he found himself in a small workshop.
Once, the King of the Golden Nation, Elric, had many disciples. She kept a space within the palace to care for them. In a room with a small workshop, the disciples honed their skills.
This was a room full of memories for the Golden Mirror. Above all, it was the room where he had once filled it with gold coins.

In the center, in front of the golden bell, sat a young man.
A slightly older version of the Golden Mirror than the one he had seen outside. He wore the same sword around his neck and the same shackles on his legs, just as he had in death. Given that this was a mental space, it seemed that even in death… he still considered himself a sinner.

"...Who are you?"

The Golden Mirror spoke slowly, without raising his head. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down in front of him.

"I'm just an ordinary thief. Came to steal some heirlooms. By the way, aren’t there any trials or tests here?"
"...There are none. I have no regrets."

Even as he spoke, the Golden Mirror continued to stare intently at the golden bell. It was a bell that had once been made from steel, transformed into gold. It symbolized his most radiant memory.
The first offering that had connected him with her, in their purest moments.

To say he had no regrets… that was quite a lie, wasn't it?

"Really? If you have no regrets, then there wouldn't be any lingering thoughts left, right? Why not let it out?"
"I misspoke. My regrets cannot be solved by anyone. Even if you bring a fake who looks like His Majesty, it wouldn't make a difference. The real king can never return."

Ah, he's speaking freely after all. Regrets are made to be expressed, so he couldn’t have kept them to himself.
It only took time, but once you reach this point, you'll understand everything. I quietly reflected on the mental image as I continued.

"Since you know he can't come back, why are you still guarding this palace? What reason is there to protect a palace without a master?"
"I must correct all my sins."

"Sins?"
"Yes. Sins. The sin of leading this glorious nation into chaos and creating the poverty of gold that made all people suffer."

The Golden Mirror spoke, as though in atonement.

"The Golden Nation was a paradise. Under the reign of the great King Elric, the finest artisans worked throughout the land, creating a powerful nation of steel. I am the one who dragged that vibrant, bright nation into the abyss. Had it not been for me, it would never have happened."
"By making gold?"
"...Yes. The value of gold lies not simply in its rarity. But I, without even understanding the simplest truth, began to create gold. Over and over again. It wasn’t enough with just my hands, so I even trained other alchemists."

Had it been only the Golden Mirror, perhaps the disaster would not have spread this far. But the Golden Mirror truly believed that gold would make the nation prosperous. So, he didn’t hesitate to share such precious knowledge with others.
Though it was modeled after King Elric, unlike the king’s personal authority confined to the individual, alchemy was a divine power. Gold spread uncontrollably.

The Golden Mirror, with his gaunt face, stared at the golden bell as he spoke.

"I am the great sinner who led the nation to ruin. To atone for this sin, I must remember the Golden Nation. I must create it. I must return it. Even if it’s just a record in a forgotten ledger."

So the Golden Mirror created a version of the Golden Nation within his reach. He recreated the Golden Nation as it had existed in his most brilliant moments.
The grand castle. The thriving cities. Even the fertile fields. Although the Golden Nation had disappeared into the annals of history, inside the Golden Palace, the Golden Nation would always remain. Even if it was a nation made by just one man, with all its flaws.
I see now. Golden Mirror, your wish was to recreate the Golden Nation. Fine, fine, but…

Hmm. Is that really all? Is that your best?
Before getting to the main point, I thought I'd ease into the conversation with some comforting words.

"It’s not your fault. No one knew that more gold would lead to more poverty."
"Stop with the insincere comfort. Not knowing is not a sin. I deserve to be resented."

Insincere comfort? What are you talking about? I may bluff, but I never speak with insincerity. I’m honest with myself.

"Do you think I’m saying empty words? No, not at all. I don’t resent you. In fact, I’m grateful."

I mean it. It’s much better than some fool who hesitated, lost their life in a meaningless way, and left only regrets.
Because you actually did something! You weren’t like that demon, who had their choice taken away and was left only with regret. You actually accomplished something with your own hands!

"Thanks to you making gold, humanity gained something new it can do!"