The helicopter blades slowed to a halt, and the sudden silence was replaced by the whistling wind atop the mountain. Lucas stepped onto the polished helipad, squinting slightly against the glare of the sun. The imperial castle loomed before him, a towering fortress carved into the very bones of the peak.

  There was no road up this high—only flight or a treacherous climb through snow and stone. Most would never make the attempt.

  A silver-haired butler in immaculate uniform approached and gave a short, respectful bow. “Welcome, Mr. Atican. Ms. Morningstar.”

  Lucas blinked. “Wait... what?” he muttered, turning just in time to see Katarina Morningstar step up beside him. “Holy shit!” He actually recoiled. “What are you doing here?”

  Katarina smiled wickedly and looped her arm through his. “Why wouldn’t I accompany my contractor to his meeting with an emperor?” the Princess of Hell said, her smirk almost glowing with mischief.

  Lucas narrowed his eyes. “Right... of course.”

  “If you would follow me,” the butler said, as if nothing unusual had occurred. He turned and began walking through the grand arched doorway.

  The halls of the imperial castle were nothing short of majestic—marble floors, towering columns, golden chandeliers, and more guards than Lucas could count. Along the corridor walls hung elaborate portraits, each one depicting the same man at various stages of his life, in war and ceremony alike.

  They entered a reception chamber draped in dark velvet and sunlit through stained glass. At the center sat a man who needed no introduction.

  Arthur Vulcan—the Emperor of the Empire, Sovereign of Flame, and the strongest mage alive—stood waiting beside a long table. His orange hair seemed to shimmer like fire under the sunlight, and his tanned skin bore the air of someone born to rule and forged in war.

  Lucas bowed. “I greet the Emperor.”

  Katarina didn’t bother. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

  The emperor dismissed the butler with a wave and turned to the two guests. “I’ll get straight to the point—we’re all busy people,” Arthur said. He placed a black steel case on the table and opened it with a hiss of pressurized air.

  Inside were two monster cores, each pulsating with molten energy. The emblem of a horned helmet glowed faintly on their surfaces.

  “I’ve read your reports. You’ve developed a method to create golems using monster lord cores,” Arthur said. “I want you to do the same with these.”

  Lucas’s eyes lingered on the cores, the energy in them unmistakable. “Vulcanions,” he said.

  Arthur nodded.

  Vulcanions were humanoid monsters—massive obsidian bodies, magma coursing beneath their skin like veins of fire, and volcanic vents on their shoulders and elbows from which they could erupt molten fury. They had once been considered natural disasters given form.

  “And what,” Katarina asked dryly, “does the strongest man on the continent need golems for? These things won’t make a difference against anything that actually threatens you.”

  Arthur folded his arms. “They’re not for me. They’re to act as judge, jury, and executioner.”

  Lucas and Katarina exchanged a look.

  Arthur continued, his tone steely. “The royal line is cursed. Blood spills every time succession becomes an option. Brothers slay brothers, cousins poison cousins. I’ve declared that anyone who uses such means to claim the throne will be disqualified—permanently. Even if no heirs remain, the throne will remain empty rather than be ruled by a murderer.”

  He gestured to the cores. “These golems will be the enforcers of that law—unbiased, incorruptible. They will determine who is worthy to rule by virtue, not blood.”

  “You want golems to be... judges?” Lucas asked.

  “Not just golems,” Arthur said. “I’ve studied your abilities. I know you can give them rational thought. Consciousness. A mind that can reason.”

  Katarina tilted her head. “This is a tall order for someone who hasn’t even seen his twentieth birthday,” she said. “What’s in it for him?”

  Arthur didn’t hesitate. “Name your price.”

  Lucas didn’t either. “Information about aura. And the forms of cultivational energy.”

  The emperor gave a small, approving smile. “That can be arranged. Shall we discuss the golem design and limitations?”

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  Lucas nodded. “Let’s.”

  And just like that, a pact was sealed—one that might decide the future of the empire.

  Perci had once been the greatest knight the world had ever known.

  Over a thousand years ago, the continent was fractured—seven kingdoms locked in endless war, betrayal festering in every corner like rot beneath gilded armor. Even Perci, revered and feared alike, was not spared. He was betrayed by those he called comrades. And it was that betrayal that led to his death.

  They had every reason to fear him.

  He was the only being to ever achieve ten aura circles, a feat thought impossible. With that power, he could stand alone against an entire army and still emerge victorious. His reign as the strongest spanned centuries—thanks, in no small part, to his elven blood and the long life it granted.

  But even legends must fall.

  When Perci was finally slain, the weight of betrayal clung to his soul. He returned from death not as a hero, but as a cursed death knight, stripped of reason and consumed by vengeance. For centuries, he rampaged mindlessly, rising again and again until his power coalesced into something monstrous. In time, he became a Monster Lord, a force of destruction so great he nearly wiped an entire sector off the map.

  By then, the world had changed.

  The seven warring kingdoms were long gone, replaced by the unified Vulcan Empire. And when Perci at last regained his sentience, he found no joy in conquest, no hunger for power. Instead, he shed the limitations of his former body and took on a new, unbound form.

  That was when he met Lucas—a boy with no magical aptitude but an absurd amount of determination. A human who, in Perci’s eyes, was more suited to be a mage than anything else, thanks to his rare gift: the ability to see mana circuits. Unfortunately, he was born entirely incompatible with manipulating mana.

  Still, Perci saw potential.

  Mana control wasn’t a requirement for scripting magic circles or activating runes. It meant the boy could pursue the delicate art of golem crafting. And while Lucas lacked skill in other disciplines—blacksmithing, enchanting, even basic runic construction—he showed a rare talent in scripting complex magic circles.

  And an even rarer knack for attracting strange women.

  Lucas groaned as the elevator doors slid open. “I hate helicopters,” he muttered, stumbling into the room and collapsing into his chair.

  “How is that any different from the flying golem you use?” asked Katarina, the demon princess of Hell, her voice laced with genuine confusion.

  “I never said I liked flying in those either,” he shot back, rubbing his temples.

  Katarina lounged across the nearby couch like it belonged to her. “Why are you still here?” Lucas asked, eyeing her warily.

  “I have nothing better to do in this dimension,” she replied, as if haunting her reluctant contractor was the most natural thing in the world. “Might as well annoy you. Got any sweets?”

  Perci, ever the observer, made a quiet mental note.

  The boy was, without question, absurdly lucky.

  “Happy birthday!”

  The cheer rang out in unison as two cakes were brought into the room, each topped with flickering candles and decorated with delicate frosting roses. One cake was for the Rose of this world, now nineteen, her cheeks flushed with surprise and delight. The other was for her counterpart from another universe—Maverick-Rose—celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday with an amused smirk on her lips.

  The celebration buzzed with warmth and laughter. Balloons bobbed lazily near the ceiling, enchanted lights swirled in soft patterns above their heads, and music from a small arcane speaker played softly in the background. Classmates clustered around the younger Rose, offering gifts, jokes, and shared memories Lucas couldn’t relate to.

  He kept to the corner of the room, silently observing, a half-empty glass of sparkling juice in his hand. The joy in Rose’s eyes was enough for him. She deserved this moment—surrounded by friends, safe, smiling.

  Lucas, on the other hand, wasn’t built for this kind of environment. He didn’t recognize a single face here besides her family and Perci, who was floating somewhere near the ceiling, silently judging everyone’s cake-cutting technique. So, like clockwork, Lucas withdrew into the periphery.

  “You know,” came a familiar voice behind him, “it’s comforting to see that your awkwardness is a multiversal constant.”

  He turned to find Maverick-Rose approaching, wine glass in hand, a sly smile curving her lips. She looked almost regal in her darker attire—more poised, more confident—but the same fire danced in her eyes.

  “I don’t dislike social interactions,” Lucas said, accepting the glass she offered without taking a sip. “I just dislike people.”

  “That’s universal too,” she mused, swirling the red liquid in her glass before taking a sip. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  “I don’t like wine,” Lucas added flatly, handing the glass back.

  Maverick snorted. “And that, apparently, is consistent across dimensions as well.” She took the glass back without protest. “More for me, then.”

  For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, watching the younger Rose laugh as she tried to blow out both cakes at once, her friends cheering her on.

  “You know,” Maverick began, more quietly now, “your birthday passed without a single celebration. Not even a mention.”

  Lucas shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” she said sharply, narrowing her eyes.

  “It’s really not,” he replied, tone even. “Our birthdays aren’t far apart. It always seemed wasteful to celebrate them separately, so I just convinced Mom to skip mine. One party was enough.” He hesitated, then added, “She actually got upset this year—forgot it passed without realizing. Now that we’re not tight on money anymore, I think she regrets skipping it.”

  Maverick-Rose stared at him, a storm of unspoken words behind her eyes. Eventually, she sighed and took another sip of wine.

  “That’s such a you thing to say,” she muttered. “Always rationalizing your way out of being cared for.”

  “I’m just practical.”

  “No, you’re emotionally constipated,” she retorted. “And I mean that in the most affectionate way possible.”

  Lucas smirked faintly.

  Maverick turned to face him fully, her tone softening. “You might not think it matters, but it does. People need to be celebrated, even if they don't think they deserve it. So next year, I’m going to make sure everyone—and I mean everyone—knows when your birthday is.”

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “That sounds less like a promise and more like a threat.”

  “It’s both,” she said sweetly. “Consider yourself warned.”

  Lucas glanced back at the party. The younger Rose had managed to cut the cakes and were now trying to feed everyone while laughing uncontrollably. The sight made something settle in his chest—something warm and strangely peaceful.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  Maverick smiled without looking at him. “You’re welcome. Now go pretend to socialize. Or at least stand closer to the food table so you look less like a cursed painting in the corner.”

  Lucas sighed. “Fine.”

  And for once, he didn’t argue further.