“Let’s go meet the real Lord of the Clock Fortress.”
Cozy in Lydia’s embrace, I headed towards the massive tank resting on an enormous steel hand.
Clunk. Clunk.
The sound of metal creaking matched Lydia’s footsteps, while the distance to the tank grew ever smaller.
Thanks to that, I got a better look.
It was clearly black but shimmered with a golden luster, a bizarre metal. The gigantic hand made from it conveyed an eerie sense of pressure.
It felt similar to when facing the World Tree’s illusion or standing before the Earth God’s heart.
Not the real body, just the hand illuminated, yet it hinted at being part of a god.
But no matter how magnificent, it was still a deceased deity. What’s important now isn’t that.
Above the hand, as if placed on air, floated a massive cylindrical tank.
Inside the tank was a mysterious green liquid, and within it floated a naked woman curled up.
From a distance, I couldn’t tell, but up close, she had an extraordinary appearance.
Her golden hair didn’t lose its shine even submerged in the green liquid, and her beauty was something you’d struggle to capture in a painting.
However, there was a strangely artificial vibe about her.
Exposed as she was, her form and face were stunning, yet no sense of lust arose, no matter how long I looked.
Rather, it felt like admiring a beautiful statue or architectural marvel.
That made sense; this was common knowledge due to my setting, and it was well-documented in the guild’s records.
The Lord of the Clock Fortress, Germain, was actually a homunculus.
At the war’s climax, shamans created chimeras to replace the dying in the fierce battles of the God Slaying War.
Among them, a miraculous entity emerged coincidentally, the perfect homunculus known as Germain.
As one of the three great achievements of alchemy, homunculi were undoubtedly remarkable.
An intelligence that surpassed mortality. Golden eyes that pierced the essence with a mere glance. And the ability to alchemize anything based on that understanding.
Even assembling all the great alchemists of the era wouldn’t put their work near Germain’s capabilities.
However, a homunculus alone could not end the God Slaying War.
No matter how Germain could alchemize the world, the war had been on the brink of physically destroying the earth.
Germain began calculating with her genius intellect. Did an end to this war exist? If it did, when would it come?
The result shockingly pointed to the extinction of sentient life.
One day, the war would end. But it meant a complete death, of both human and divine.
Shocked, Germain hastily summoned her fellow alchemists.
Likewise, she gathered mages and blacksmiths who had decided that the war must end and devised a single plan.
“Project Apocalypse.”
“Huh? Why are you suddenly bringing that up?”
“I was just thinking about what might’ve happened if it had succeeded.”
Shrugging, I slowly slipped from Lydia’s embrace and set my feet on the ground.
Project Apocalypse. Like its grand name, its content was equally extravagant.
Create an enormous weapon capable of bringing about the world’s end and forcibly end the war by threatening all gods and mortals with it.
To hear that now sounds insane, but the God Slaying War was exceedingly brutal, and a suitable way to end it was nowhere in sight.
Thus, many joined this ridiculous plan.
Mages who had lost their gods, blacksmiths tired of their weapons being used only for war, and alchemists led by Germain, striving to navigate the turmoil of war.
The three factions began sharing their hidden visions generously, focusing on creating stronger weapons.
Given the long war had grotesquely advanced technological levels, it likely wasn’t too difficult.
Countless weapons were manufactured and discarded, and through the flames of war, some people vanished one by one.
Yet, they did not give up. After gradual progress, they ultimately reached it—the weapon that could even kill a god.
A colossal mass of power created by consuming countless grand spells and near-omnipotent materials.
What remained was just one thing. The Smith God would swing his hammer to give form to the formless power.
Though somewhat rough due to its manufacturing lineage, the fundamentally gentle Smith God poured all his divine power into the swing of his hammer.
Having been made through countless hands, they hoped the result would take the shape of a giant hand.
…But a problem arose.
The moment the Smith God swung his hammer with all his might, the red-hot iron spat sparks all around, and a tremendous flow of force wiped out the surroundings.
Surviving were only the immortal Smith God and Germain, who bore no conventional biological form.
Out from the myriad of sentient deaths emerged a metal hand that had never existed in the world.
Crushing the Smith God’s heart from within.
Thus, feeding on the blood of countless beings, the newest god molded his form from the corpse of the Smith God.
It became the God of Mechanical Devices.
“I wonder what thoughts Germain had when she faced the God of Mechanical Devices, just born, looking up at her covered in blood. …And how she felt putting the now insane Germain into the tank under the curse of the God of Madness. Doesn’t that pique your curiosity?”
“Jonah.”
“Yeah?”
“That sounds like something a psycho killer would say.”
“That’s too far, Lady Lydia! Isn’t it reasonable to be curious about that?!”
I playfully slapped Lydia’s exposed midriff, raising my greatsword towards the tank.
Unlike the previous golems, this one was completely unguarded and had no means of self-resistance, so this should conclude our business on the Third Floor.
“Farewell, you were an ordinary person from an era long gone…!”
I swung the greatsword while spouting whatever nonsense came to mind.
Whoosh… Clang!
The greatsword crashed into the tank with a loud noise. The thick blade pierced through the slender Germain’s chest.
Gush!
Green liquid spilled from the destroyed tank. Golden blood dripped down in glistening droplets.
Regrettable as it was, the labyrinth was a grave. Germain met her end consumed by madness, an ancient person from a long time ago.
There were no other choices.
Germain’s body, twitching reflexively, came to a complete stop and began to sag.
As I closed my eyes to pray for her soul’s rest:
“Jonah!”
Lydia’s urgent voice pulled me back. I opened my eyes.
There lay the shattered remnants of the tank, Germain’s corpse, and partly translucent metal hand, pierced by my greatsword.
The left hand of the God of Mechanical Devices, born from piercing the Smith God’s heart, pointed straight at me.
“Huh?”
In that moment, I couldn’t grasp the situation.
Why is it called Pangrave? Because the labyrinth is the grave of the gods. And graves are the places where the dead are buried.
The gods chose their own deaths, resting in the deepest part of the labyrinth, a conceptual place unreachable by just walking.
The reflections of the gods in the labyrinth derive from the true, illuminated corpses lying in the depths.
And the fixed nature of time and space created by the Goddess of Love allowed the labyrinth to become a resource-gathering and growth ground for mortals.
Therefore, while one might sense a god’s presence from that hand, any divine power or will shouldn’t remain.
Even the Earth Goddess left only her memories and will like a message, not doing anything directly with her heart.
Right. This shouldn’t exist, nor can it.
…Then, what in the world is that gigantic metal finger pointing directly at me?
As I froze in confusion, Lydia dragged my body back behind her.
The God of Mechanical Devices’ hand that was pointing at me shot forward at high speed.
All of Lydia’s flailing swords, including her own body, passed straight through and aimed directly at my forehead. And then.
Bam!
My vision turned completely white, and an incomprehensible tinnitus began ringing in my ears.
Creeeak. Creak. Chiiick!
Gears turned, steam burst forth, and everything continued in a semi-permanent world powered by precise magic and specially forged metals.
A bizarre realm where only parts and additional parts made from those parts existed.
Longing for perfection more than anyone, yet impossibly unreachable perfection echoed with a rusted voice.
– Has the time come?
I wanted to say something, but my mouth wouldn’t move. Even if it could, I wouldn’t speak.
This wasn’t my space. It had a different master, who hadn’t permitted me to speak.
I instinctively understood this fact.
– I have failed. What about you?
– Just leaving this hand for your future.
– Tools are meant to assist. May there be blessings upon your future.
The voice faded, retreating further back. An incomprehensible content.
But one thing: my hazy senses grew sharper, as the vanishing white scenery revealed the form of the labyrinth.
And the moment I fully regained my senses:
“My hand…?”
My hand was tinted silver.
What is this? Give my hand back!
