Comet's Production Line
Even for me, roaming this vast space in search of mechanical parts that might or might not exist was close to impossible.
Using the Hive for simultaneous exploration and collection still left the problem of verifying whether each piece was one of the components Comet had detected. That alone ate time. Sitting still in the meantime felt wrong, and moving at random was pure waste. Far smarter to let Comet personally inspect and select the goods, then have the Hive haul them back.
That line of thought led me to exploit Comet’s unique traits.
The boss of the Machine Tower of the Snow Country had built a factory—literally a tower—capable of mass-producing machines and swelling its ranks with sheer numbers. The coordination it displayed back then felt different from my skill Link. Every unit had been tethered to a single mainframe.
Comet possessed a power that seemed cut from the same cloth. She might not manage an entire tower yet, but crafting machines to serve as extra hands? That felt within reach.
I put the question to her. She simply nodded in calm agreement.
“I shall begin fabricating a robot optimized solely for reconnaissance.”
She moved straight into production. Pure curiosity stirred—how exactly did she assemble machinery? Piece by piece with her own hands? Or, true to fantasy, a flash of mana and a shrug?
Comet walked to a nearby heap of scrap and peeled off the white gloves she always wore.
Ziiing…
Light flooded hands that had looked almost human. Circuit-like tattoos raced across her skin like spreading roots. The mechanical nature she normally kept hidden stood out in sharp relief; I couldn’t help a quiet note of admiration. She rested her palm on the scrap and glanced at me, seeking permission to begin.
I understood at once and answered with a nod.
“Commencing.”
Tap.
The instant her fingers brushed the metal, ripples of light spread across the scrap like a droplet striking still water.
Saaaa…
The scrap disintegrated into fine sand. Unusual, yes, but nowhere near the flashy, futuristic spectacle I had half-expected. It simply happened in a single breath.
“Disassembly complete. Sorting materials… confirmed. Fabrication commencing.”
The real show started now.
At Comet’s gesture the powdered metal rose of its own accord and began to dance. The metallic sand floated around her like living asteroids orbiting a planet. Under her precise motions the grains recombined, taking on new shapes. Watching her conduct the process felt like witnessing a maestro lead an orchestra; a fresh kind of awe settled over me. It called to mind those old movies where some genius engineer assembled holograms with casual brilliance.
“Primary process complete.”
What emerged was a tiny ladybug. Or rather, a machine shaped like one. Only the broad outline mimicked the insect; everything else was pure robot.
She set the finished unit on her fingertip. Its carapace parted, revealing a small socket.
“Master, may I request a small quantity of magicite?”
Machines need fuel. The most basic common sense. Still, the request caught me off guard for a heartbeat. I had somehow assumed it wouldn’t be necessary.
Comet herself ran on a trickle of my mana plus ambient residual energy. That was the exception. Ordinary robots needed fuel or they stayed dead. Somewhere deep down I must have hoped her creations would be different. That was why something so obvious surprised me.
I admitted the careless hand-off and handed over the magicite without protest. Preferring something with affinity for the environment, I gave her not plain magicite but a power core ripped from one of the machines in the Machine Tower of the Snow Country.
It proved the right call. She accepted it as if pleased, disassembled it the same way, reshaped it into a suitable form, and began mass-producing the cores.
“Complete.”
She slotted the mysterious spherical power source—filled with endlessly spinning gears and rings—into the open carapace. The shell sealed itself so smoothly it was as if it had never opened.
Tiktiktik!
Power engaged. The little machine lifted off at once and zipped around the area, already about its business. After a brief circuit it latched onto some object and began flickering with a faint firefly glow.
Comet walked over, touched the object, disassembled it, retrieved the scout, and reinforced it with the new parts. This was no simple buff like Subjugator that merely raised stats. It was genuine sequential build-up—actual physical evolution of the body itself.
“Mass-production preparations are finished. Full autonomy is still beyond us, but I believe that is only a matter of time.”
“...Impressive.”
“You flatter me. Thank you!”
Comet accepted the sincere praise with a bright smile and a neat curtsy. On her shoulder the tiny robot waved its stubby legs in greeting. The whole scene was pure comedy.
I couldn’t put the feeling into neat words, yet one truth stood crystal clear.
Comet was broken in a completely different vector from Kallion or Haze.
Maybe using the dungeon boss itself as the offering had been the key. Gaining traits at the moment of creation was already satisfying, but watching this performance left me genuinely stunned—no empty compliments needed.
Whether Comet was a special case or whether compatibility simply produced different results, I lacked data for a firm answer. Still, this was a new discovery that could rapidly strengthen my forces. If sacrificing a dungeon boss guaranteed this level of performance every time a familiar was summoned, there was no reason not to do it.
Next goal is job level 35, I guess.
After the recent class change, leveling had slowed to a crawl. I had no idea when I would reach it. But the moment Comet’s case stopped being a hypothesis and became confirmed fact, focusing purely on leveling—skill grinding be damned—to mass-produce summons didn’t sound half bad.
In the end, the root of my power lay in overwhelming numbers and the diversity that came with them.
My current summons looked strong only because these were academy dungeons. Stabilized by the makers’ hands, yes—but the rewards had been cut down to match. Measuring strength in a place like this was pure folly.
I had already tasted what raw, untouched monsters felt like that day. I could not afford arrogance. Settling for this place would be a mistake.
“Leave recovery to the Hive. You stay here and keep increasing the numbers.”
“Understood.”
I sent the ladybug machines off to scout, issued the order to Comet, and drew the shadow blade.
Creak, clang…
Scrap metal groaned from the far side. I swung without the slightest hesitation. Time slowed just enough for me to see the object flying straight at me.
Scrap. Twisted into a crude, jagged shape. The mana-edged shadow blade met its surface and sliced through with the clean sensation of cutting tofu, splitting it neatly in half.
I twisted mid-swing and knocked the pieces aside. They shot past Comet and me, embedding in the ground. She tapped the scrap, disassembled it for materials, while I switched the blade into gauntlets and charged.
Screee, creak!
The figure ahead was a suit of scrap armor. Metal plates had been stitched together like rags into a crude approximation of plate. The interior was hollow; iron scraping against iron produced a shriek that set the teeth on edge.
Clang!!
A mana-packed punch—lighter and faster than before, yet crushing on impact—shattered the scrap giant’s body.
Giiik…
Fully a third of its frame, including the struck section, tore free and flew away. The thing still rose unsteadily, as if to prove it remained intact.
No mechanical drive powered those movements. It looked more like something being puppeteered—closer to undead than machine.
The realization clicked. I finally knew what we were facing.
“Living Armor, huh.”
Living Armor. Literally “living armor.” Its true nature was a type of spirit that possessed objects.
As a spirit it counted as undead, yet the possession trait meant its personality and quirks varied wildly depending on the vessel. Armor worn by someone murdered tended toward savagery; carefully polished and cherished armor stayed relatively docile. In practice, unless the gear was exceptional, the difference boiled down to aggressive versus non-aggressive.
Normally Living Armor nested in proper armor or weapons. Apparently some also cobbled scrap into armor-shaped shells and used those as bodies. For all I knew, a real broken suit of armor lay buried under that pile of junk.
The real issue was that Living Armor had appeared here at all.
So that’s why the air felt so heavy.
Spirits thrived in places thick with negative energy. Without enough power they could barely maintain form, let alone fight. Meet the conditions and undead like this could spawn naturally.
Outside, maybe. This was a dungeon. Natural occurrence was off the table. The main monsters of this place were Living Armor and Living Weapons of the same breed.
The dungeon’s objective was to find and eliminate the source of the noise echoing through these halls. In other words, remove whatever was gathering enough yin energy for spirits to become Living Armor—or purge the yin energy itself so no more spirits could gather. That was the clear condition.
I charged the Living Armor as it staggered back to its feet.
Clang!!
I crossed both arms and slammed into it. The body lifted and toppled. While it struggled to regain balance I swung the gauntlets into staff form, then sharpened the tip into an axe-head at the moment of the downward strike.
Kraaash!!
Helmet to greaves, the entire suit split cleanly in half. The mana-charged blow detonated, sending a shockwave of wind racing outward.
Grrrk… clatter, ting…
The Living Armor’s body, barely holding shape, began to collapse. The frame toppled limply.
Clang!
I put everything into a kick that sent the now-inert scrap flying. That proved the finishing blow; the Living Armor crumbled completely into ordinary junk.
As countless stories had shown, Living Armor shrugged off ordinary attacks. Only the armor broke; the spirit simply reknit the pieces and rose again. My strikes, however, carried the effects of Torture and Sadism, letting me land pinpoint damage on a spirit that normally resisted physical force.
I had shattered the creature’s assumption that it was untouchable and dealt real harm. Unless something extraordinary happened, it would abandon the armor and flee.
Spirits were a type of undead, but first and foremost they were thoughts—souls. Perfect material for the right tool. I poured more mana into my hand, calling the one who fit this place better than anyone.
Snap!
“Keres.”
Hoyoyoyoyo!!!
From beneath my shadow a skeletal figure rose, blue eyes flaring. Brilliant flames erupted around her.
“Hunt.”
“Kakakat!”
At my command Keres’s flames began to writhe and move. The blue fire danced like bait cast to lure prey. In moments the air—already heavy—grew twice as oppressive, thick with spirits.
It lasted only a breath.
Whoooosh!!!
The flames that had flickered with measured rhythm suddenly exploded outward in every direction, devouring every spirit they touched.
Devoured the lingering thoughts of a gloomy vengeful spirit. Understanding of spiritual entities has increased.
Intelligence stat has risen by 1.
Skill Soul Predation absorbs the power of the spiritual entity.
Luck stat has risen by 1.
In an instant Keres’s flames consumed even the ambient energy, and her stats climbed. The alerts should have ended there. Instead her fire swelled further—not to burn the surroundings, but to consume her own body.
<Keres> has leveled up.
At the same moment a soft female voice—unlike any previous system tone—struck my ears.
Entity <Keres> overcomes racial limitations.
A branching point has appeared.
Chwarararak!!!
What manifested was a book nearly identical to the Book of Summoning, yet pure white—the exact opposite. The Book of Combination.
The worn cover flew open of its own accord. Pages flipped rapidly until one stopped dead. Text began to appear as if a copier had been activated.
1. Consume 5 of <Jang Sinwoo>’s available points to remove 1 Luck from <Keres>. → Acquire skill Brand of Chaos. Entity <Keres> becomes unable to evolve.
2. Leave Luck untouched. → New possibility blossoms. Entity <Bihos> is permanently erased.
...What?