The Sleeping Maid
Someone’s passion and effort were etched into the research records left behind by an engineer. They were clearly the key to recovering lost technologies. The mountain of documents, which described even the most minute principles without omission, had become the foundation aiding the reconstruction of Hemonigent in the present day, a thousand years later. His research, encompassing magical engineering, chemistry, metal shaping, artificial personalities, mana manipulation, and countless other fields too numerous to count, was an invaluable legacy whose worth could not be measured.
Neromeltia carefully gathered the aged papers, ensuring none were damaged even slightly, and stored them within her Dimensional Storage. She planned to select individuals to dedicate themselves to technological research, establish departments for each field, and entrust them with the work once full-scale development began. She left untouched the abandoned dolls, parts, and research facilities. It seemed better to let those who would take charge of the research use the place as it was rather than move things herself, avoiding unforeseen complications.
Until the Demon Lord Castle was rebuilt and this laboratory reopened, the researchers who received the documents could study the foundational knowledge and then inherit the entire facility. “It looks like there’s nothing else to take. Still, obtaining these research documents is an enormous gain, isn’t it?”
After finishing her survey of the surroundings, Lusteria dusted off her hands and spoke. Neromeltia quietly approached a corner of the laboratory. A white lab coat once worn by researchers hung on a rack, reduced to rags by the passage of time. Standing before the rack, which resembled a bare winter tree stripped of leaves, Neromeltia grasped one of its branches and pulled it downward. What had appeared to be an ordinary hanger was in fact a disguised lever. It activated with the sound of mana being channeled, and a hidden door, previously camouflaged as part of the wall, slid open.
“There are no completed dolls here. That means there must be something in the hidden room.”
As the hidden door opened, mana flowed into the room, illuminating it brightly. It was a circular chamber lined with countless books and notebooks. At the center, on a long desk, lay the remains of a skeleton slowly turning to dust. And leaning against the desk below, eyes closed in sleep, was a maid.
Her long emerald hair was thick with dust, yet its luster and sheen remained undiminished, radiating vitality. Her black-and-white maid uniform had decayed until it hung in tatters, the torn fabric revealing glimpses of smooth skin beneath. Even covered in ashen dust, her complexion retained a flawless, polished glow. The contrast between the decay around her and her own pristine form evoked the image of an angel’s statue discovered in an ancient ruin. Though clad in rags and blanketed in dust, her captivating figure could not be concealed; not a single flaw marred her.
“This… This person is…!!”
“Ronald Guttman gave away one of his creations only once in his entire life. And I was the one who received that gift.”
Neromeltia approached the woman leaning against the desk, her body covered in dust, and placed a hand upon her chest. The fabric of the blouse, already worn thin by age, crumbled at the slightest touch and fell away. Channeling her Luina through the contact, the Demon Lord’s energy flowed into the woman, traveling along her mana circuits until it reached the mana core at the center of her torso.
A change began to stir throughout the woman’s body. A faint light emanated from within, tracing the intricate patterns of the mana circuits engraved across her form. “The creation Ronald entrusted to me. His greatest masterpiece. My precious exclusive maid.”
“How could I forget…? She never once left Master’s side.”
Lusteria, who knew exactly who the woman was, felt her eyes well with tears—tears of pure joy. Soon the light faded. Neromeltia withdrew her hand. The woman stirred, slowly rising and opening her eyes. Bright, luminous blue irises. Within those beautiful eyes, which emitted a soft inner glow, complex mana circuits were etched. Even the slightest movement sent clouds of accumulated dust swirling into the air, threatening to obscure vision entirely. Yet the woman did not blink, nor did she cough or sneeze.
After confirming Neromeltia and Lusteria standing before her, the woman rose quietly. As she stood, the tattered remnants of her maid uniform disintegrated completely, falling to the floor in fragments and revealing her bare form. Even so, she showed no trace of embarrassment. With an expressionless face, she simply lowered her head in an old-fashioned greeting.
“Beatrice the Magic Doll. Master’s exclusive maid. I offer my greetings.”
“Is that Ronald beside you?”
Beatrice—the pinnacle of Ronald Guttman’s craft, the engineer and preeminent authority on Ego Dolls, whose every technique and aesthetic ideal had been poured into her creation—quietly turned her head to regard the skeleton on the desk. Then she looked back at Neromeltia and answered.
“Yes. Master ordered me to protect Father instead of herself, so I went to his side. But I failed to protect him.”
Neromeltia had already suspected Ronald’s death. It had been inevitable. Unlike the Demon Lord’s other retainers, Ronald had never formed a contract of servitude and thus possessed no eternal lifespan. Even at the time of Neromeltia’s previous death, he had already lived far beyond the average lifespan of an ordinary demonian—an old man who could have passed at any moment. A thousand years later, his death was the only possible outcome. Yet she had hoped he would not meet such an end. That was why she had sent her maid back to her creator’s side, praying the maid might protect her own father.
“Father ordered me, who had come to protect him, to save others instead. As nothing more than an Ego Doll, I could not disobey. After rescuing every refugee within reach, I returned to find he had already been attacked and was beyond saving.”
Neromeltia retrieved a handkerchief from her Dimensional Storage and gently wiped the dust from Beatrice’s face. As the ashen layer was removed, her radiant skin became even more vivid. While focused on cleaning her, Neromeltia asked quietly, “How did he meet his end?”
“He used all of his children to hold off the pursuing Humian soldiers until the very last. Once they were all destroyed… he ended as you see.”
Neromeltia took out a soft blanket and draped it over Beatrice, carefully covering her so that no one else would see her dust-covered form. Despite the tender gesture, Beatrice remained motionless, her expression unchanged. After wrapping the blanket around her, Neromeltia continued wiping Beatrice’s eyes and lips with the handkerchief until it was completely soiled with dust. Only then did she stop. She turned to Ronald’s remains and began gathering them.
The desiccated bones threatened to crumble into powder at the slightest touch. Many fragments had already turned to dust, losing their original shape. The white lab coat he had worn in life was equally decayed, its remnants mingling with the bone dust. Neromeltia produced an ornate purple urn from her Dimensional Storage and used Levitation to transfer the remains as gently as possible, ensuring nothing was lost. Not a single speck remained behind. Cradling the urn containing the ashes, she turned to leave the room.
“Lust. Beatrice may be disoriented. Take care of her and bring her out.”
“Yes, Master.”
Lusteria bowed respectfully, then approached Beatrice and began tenderly brushing the remaining dust from her hair. Moved by her master’s willingness to personally tend to her maid without hesitation, Lusteria felt a warmth in her chest. She was also deeply touched by Beatrice’s unchanging appearance after a thousand years, and though her eyes glistened, her lips curved into a bright smile.
As Lusteria began dusting Beatrice, Neromeltia paused at the doorway. Without turning around, she spoke one final line.
“…I am so proud of your father.”
With those words, Neromeltia left the room, never once looking back at Beatrice. The faint tremor in her quiet voice had not been a mere trick of the moment.