A Mechanical Guardian

The moment the battery pack clicked into place, light flickered to life behind its optical sensors.

A familiar emerald glow settled in the robot dog's eyes, fixing directly on Bennett.

Whine.

Shaking its head and torso from side to side in a rhythmic shimmy, Pungsan dropped onto its front paws in a deep stretch. Bennett had never owned a dog in his life, but even he could tell the machine was acting cute, practically begging for affection.

"...Yeah. Good boy."

When Bennett extended a hand, Pungsan nudged its head into his palm of its own accord. Its body was forged entirely from cold metal, yet the brushed surface felt remarkably smooth beneath his fingers—oddly addictive to stroke.

"Whoa."

Drawn by curiosity, Bella reached out a hand. The moment Pungsan registered her presence, the light in its optical visor flared crimson—

Bennett flared his Psionic Energy without hesitation.

Feeling the sudden surge of overwhelming force, the mechanical beast recoiled, staggering backward on four metal limbs. Caught in visible confusion, its gaze darted frantically between Bennett and the girl before the crimson glare gradually melted back into a submissive green. Cautiously reading Bennett's expression, Pungsan crept toward Bella and lowered its snout to the floor in a deep bow.

Only then did Bennett let his harsh glare soften, dispersing the psionic power gathered around him.

"She is my sister."

Whine?

"My flesh and blood. If anything ever happens to me, you protect her to your dying breath."

"Bennett? Don't say things like that, not even as a joke."

Bella tried to brush it off casually, but dread flickered across her face—a fragile blend of terror and indignation at the mere thought of losing the only family she had left.

"...A ranger has to prepare for the worst-case scenario."

"Bennett!"

Bennett turned away from his sister and looked down at Pungsan. The machine cocked its head, completely baffled by the local tongue.

Realizing his mistake, Bennett spoke again. This time, awkward syllables of the Dungeon Language rolled off his tongue.

Bark!

Pungsan gave a crisp, mechanical nod of understanding.

"Was that... the Dungeon Language just now?" Bella asked, blinking.

"Yeah."

Since the cat was out of the bag, Bennett gave her a brief rundown of the situation: the robotic hound he had salvaged from the depths, and the mysterious elixir that had unlocked his ability to comprehend and speak the language of that otherworldly civilization.

"If it's a golem from the Dungeon world, does that make it a dog golem?"

"It might look playful right now, but believe it or not, this thing slaughtered seven—"

Realizing his slip, Bennett snapped his mouth shut, but the damage was done.

"It killed seven people?"

"...Yeah."

"Aren't you a little vicious for a puppy?" Bella murmured, studying the robot with wide eyes.

Guess I worried for nothing.

Frailed by illness though she had been, Bella had always possessed an underlying streak of stubborn grit. She simply had rarely found an occasion to show it.

"Now then, let's see what you can actually do."

Bella had shown keen interest at first, but lingering fatigue soon got the better of her. After ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stifling a yawn, she excused herself back into the house, leaving Bennett and Pungsan alone in the courtyard.

Impressive.

To put it simply, the machine's performance exceeded expectations.

Pungsan operated on distinctly different parameters depending on whether it was in non-combat or combat mode. In non-combat mode, it closely matched the walking pace of the person beside it, consuming negligible battery power. In combat mode, however, its agility spiked exponentially. Just as the product brochure had claimed, it vaulted over formidable obstacles with ease. If an obstruction proved insurmountable in a single leap, its sensors swept the surrounding environment, using crates and walls as stepping stones.

Though the firearm mounted on its chassis was broken, the platform possessed substantial mass and blinding speed, making it exceptionally deadly in close-quarters melee. Its sole drawback was the staggering rate at which combat mode drained the power cell.

Whether it stemmed from battery degradation or fundamental design limitations, the drain was harsh. Running combat routines with a forty-percent charge drained the unit below five percent in under ten minutes. The explosive kinetic output came at a steep thermodynamic cost.

"Power-saving mode."

Whimper...

Bennett retrieved the charging apparatus from his sub-space pouch. He had overlooked it during the chaos of salvage, but a small raised stud protruded from the upper casing. Pressing it produced a crisp snap.

Clack!

Folded solar panels fanned out across the flagstones, expanding into a broad surface array.

Though there was no display monitor, an automated voice prompt spoke clearly in the Dungeon Language. Bennett traced the cord extending from the charging base—a flexible, resilient black cable fundamentally unlike rigid dwarven wire. Recalling the recessed port on the back of the power cell, he plugged the connector firmly into place.

A fresh chime sounded as the battery began drinking in the sunlight. Bennett watched the cell recharge, his mind churning with calculated deliberation.

Should I hand it over?

His original intention had leaned toward selling it. Dwarves would lose their minds over an artifact like this, and since Balduin had promised him priority access to their new military prototypes, Bennett could have received a dwarven-customized marvel down the line. It would have yielded double the profit.

Yet the longer he observed Pungsan, the more convinced he became that this technology was beyond dwarven reverse engineering. On the surface, it appeared to be nothing more than articulated metal, but his instincts whispered the truth: the engineering slumbering within this frame operated on an echelon far surpassing conventional firearms.

Hmm.

Reaching a decision, Bennett stood up.

"I'm heading over to Balduin's workshop for a bit," he called toward the house. "Leave the charger alone while it sits in the sun."

"Got it!" Bella's voice drifted from inside.

Storing Pungsan back inside his sub-space pouch, Bennett slipped out into the streets.

Balduin's reaction upon laying eyes on Pungsan was a sight Bennett had not witnessed in a very long time.

"Oh—!"

The dwarf practically scrambled over his workbench, circling the metallic hound with breathless reverence. It was the unvarnished obsession of a master artisan, reawakened in full force.

"D-Does it function?!"

"Fully operational."

Though the battery hovered near empty, simple locomotion and responsive posturing posed no issue. At Bennett's spoken command, Pungsan paced back and forth across the workshop floor at standard patrol velocity. Metal joints clicked with subdued mechanical whirs, but Balduin watched with undisguised ecstasy.

"When in the hells did you learn to speak the Dungeon Language?"

"It's a long story..."

As Bennett summarized the recent events, Balduin nodded slowly, his beard twitching.

"I heard rumors that such constructs existed," the dwarf rumbled. "Never thought I'd see a live one with my own eyes. Word has it some other faction managed to salvage a similar specimen recently."

"Don't tell me it's the Drake family."

"Can't say. The fellow who spilled the rumor didn't name names. Regardless!" Balduin snapped his head around, eyes blazing. "Mind if I take a closer look under the hood?"

"...Haven't you stared at it enough? What else is there to see?"

Without answering, Balduin reached into his leather apron and drew an unfamiliar contraption. It was an L-shaped mechanical tool driven by a hum of ambient mana, its tip spinning with a faint whine.

"Got to crack the shell open, lad."

"...Just make sure you don't break anything."

"Have some faith!"

Cackling with glee, Balduin approached the docile platform. After stroking the composite chassis to gauge its seams, he pressed the whirling tool against recessed fasteners. With a few deft adjustments, the robot dog's protective casing parted and lifted away.

"Great ancestors..."

A breath of awe escaped Balduin's lips, and Bennett found his own jaw slackening in silence.

Exposed beneath the armor was an incomprehensible labyrinth of micro-architecture: hair-thin metallic traces interwoven across dense emerald boards, populated by hundreds of fingernail-sized components soldered in immaculate alignment. Delicate diodes pulsed with rhythmic, microscopic flashes of light, exuding an eerie illusion of biological life.

The sheer precision of those pulsing lights radiated an uncanny perfection that no mortal hand could ever hope to forge. It felt alien—terrifying in its mathematical elegance.

Balduin seemed to feel the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠same chill. After leaning in close for a minute, the dwarf hesitated, lacking the nerve to probe any deeper, and carefully slotted the outer shell back into place.

"A terrifying piece of work. Truly terrifying. So, what's your plan, Bennett? You didn't haul this marvel to my shop just to make an old smith drool."

Bennett laid his cards on the table. He was torn between selling the construct or keeping it for personal deployment—and if he kept it, how best to utilize its capabilities. He wanted a master craftsman's perspective.

"If you want my honest opinion," Balduin grunted, "keep it and use it yourself."

"You think so?"

"Dwarves might be the finest smiths under the sun... but this is far beyond our reach. We couldn't duplicate this if we tried for a century."

Bennett nodded calmly. He had already suspected as much.

"You said it fired a weapon before, right? Killed four with gunfire, then tore three apart in melee? And on hard difficulty, meaning those targets were at least mana practitioners."

"That's right."

"Let's talk about the gun first. What this hound carried was what the Dungeon world calls a 'rifle.' What you sold to the guild before was a 'handgun'—a pistol. Rifles shoot larger rounds, pack far greater kinetic punch, and reach out to extreme ranges. Based on the barrel dimensions, it was probably chambered in five-point-five-six or seven-point-six-two millimeter."

Balduin explained how projectile length and caliber dictated naming conventions and destructive force before steering back to the hound itself.

"You're wondering how to mount weapons on it now, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"You probably thought about strapping a repeating crossbow to its back. But get this through your head: it will never acquire targets or fire on its own the way it did with the original rifle. A person will have to ride it or stand behind it to aim and pull the trigger."

"...Why?" Bennett frowned, his tone sharpening. He had watched the machine track and eliminate hostiles autonomously. Why would swapping the weapon require manual operation?

"Look here."

Balduin gestured toward the mangled firearm assembly. The barrel and ammo feed had been sheared away by spellfire, but Balduin wasn't pointing at the steel housing. His finger hovered over the module mounted behind the receiver: a cluster of fine, insulated wiring running into a scorched housing. Through a crack in the housing, a green board crowded with miniature components was clearly visible.

"What is that?" Bennett asked, squinting.

"The root of all our headaches," Balduin sighed. "See that square silver plate?"

Bennett nodded.

"In the Dungeon Language, they call that a CPU. That tiny slab of metal doesn't just pull the trigger—it calculates target coordinates, measures distance, and dictates the exact millisecond to fire."

"It can do that? How?"

"Think of it as the commander's brain. An artificial brain. Does that make sense?"

"...Roughly, yeah."

Balduin smiled knowingly. "Right. But a brain can't do shit without a body. The wiring, the servos, the mechanical linkages—that's what they call 'hardware.' Without hardware, the brain has no limbs to carry out its will."

Bennett rubbed his chin, piecing the puzzle together. "So this weapon wasn't just a barrel spitting metal."

"Exactly. It had sensors measuring where the enemy was, how fast they were sprinting, and where the bullet needed to intersect their path. The unseen calculations governing all of that—that's what they call 'software.'"

"Software?"

The alien term made Bennett tilt his head. Balduin blew out a long puff of air.

"Think about your own body. Your brain decides to strike, and your arms and legs move, right? But if the nerve pathways are severed, the limbs stay dead. Software is the invisible command structure that translates thought into physical motion." Balduin tapped the burnt housing. "Right now, this weapon's brain and its nervous system are completely annihilated."

"Both the chip and the hardware?"

"Aye. The processor is fried, and the firing hardware is smashed to scrap. Worse yet, we have no way of rewriting the software. Arrows fly entirely differently from high-velocity bullets; you'd need fresh calculations. But that code is written in an obscure machine script that even the greatest scholars in the Dwarf Kingdom can't decipher."

"Even if one understands the Dungeon Language?"

"It's a completely different language within the language, lad. Which means mounting a repeating crossbow won't give you auto-targeting or automated fire."

Bennett finally saw the full picture. "So a human has to manually aim the crossbow."

"Aye."

Which meant that if Pungsan carried a repeating crossbow into battle, Bennett himself would have to man the trigger. No one else in his party ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠possessed the mastery required to wield his rapid-fire crossbows effectively. The dream of having an autonomous fire-support turret vanished into thin air.

Wait...

A different tactical layout formed in his mind.

"Let's mount the repeating crossbow anyway."

"...Did you hear a word I just said?" Balduin frowned.

"I heard you loud and clear. Mount the crossbow. A person can operate it manually, right?"

"What are you scheming?"

"I'm leaving it by Bella's side."

Balduin paused, then slowly nodded as realization dawned. "A contingency in case trouble finds your sister?"

"Yeah. If worst comes to worst, Bella can mount Pungsan and flee to a designated safehouse until I return."

"And if backed into a corner, she can fire the repeating crossbow to defend herself."

"Exactly."

"Then I'll need to fabricate a custom saddle behind the weapon mount," Balduin mused, stroking his braided beard. "The crossbow will need a locked forward gimbal to give her an arc of fire without compromising her balance on the mount."

Every time Bennett plunged into the dungeon depths, an underlying anxiety gnawed at him regarding Bella's safety. Though their identities remained hidden from the ruling houses for now, even a veteran ranger could not account for every shadow. Preparing for catastrophe was infinitely better than drowning in regret. They already had hidden escape routes prepared, but adding an armored, all-terrain mechanical mount expanded their survival options tenfold.

Besides, even if the robot dog couldn't speak, having an obedient companion around the house might stave off Bella's loneliness while she recovered.

"Does Bella even know how to loose a repeating crossbow?" Balduin asked.

"She knows the basics."

"Hah, fair enough. You'll drill her properly, I'm sure." Balduin grabbed a long brass ruler and specialized calipers, measuring Pungsan's chassis dimensions. "I take it you don't want the Dwarf Kingdom catching wind of this beast?"

"Preferably not."

"Take it back with you for now. I'll hammer out the mount and saddle in secret; can't risk those intelligence spooks kicking my door down unannounced. Next time you bring it by, I'll patch up the gouges on its plating while I'm at it."

He tapped the scorched abrasions marring Pungsan's carbon-fiber flanks.

"You can repair the armor?"

"It'll just be an external patch job, but aye. I've got my hands on a newly developed alloy from the kingdom. It won't match the original composition, but it's leagues ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠better than raw, exposed circuitry."

A warmth of gratitude washed over Bennett. He extended a hand. "I appreciate this, Balduin."

"If you appreciate it, leave some coin on the counter!"

Bennett smoothly pulled his hand back and slipped it into his pocket with a dry smirk.

On his trek back to the safehouse, Bennett's steps slowed to a halt.

Near the alleyway intersection where he had previously met Violet, an unfamiliar presence registered against his senses.

Resting his palm casually near the concealed hilt at his hip, Bennett projected a flat, lethal voice into the gloom.

"Who's there?"

"...Are you Master Bennett?"

A man emerged cautiously from the shadow of the brick overhang, holding both hands high in the air to signal submission.

"You."

Bennett didn't know the man's name, but the face was instantly recognizable: the very scout who had guided him through the back alleys to Violet's parlor on the night she tried to seduce him into an alliance.

"What do you want?"

"Lady Violet sent me to bring you to her," the man replied, keeping his voice subdued. "She has a new proposal for you. She said that if I mentioned it was a job similar to the last one, with identical compensation, you would understand."

Bennett weighed the words in cold silence for a brief beat, then gave a curt nod.

"Lead the way."

"Yes, sir. Right this way."