That night, Duke Lucas turned the family treasury upside down and had its contents delivered overnight.
The Dead Core of the Flame Demon King.
It was only the size of a palm, yet it radiated a suffocating heat.
The air around it warped.
It was like a sealed sun.
Antinoia stared at the crystal, her throat bobbing with difficulty.
“Madman.”
“You’re a complete madman.”
To use something capable of burning an entire city to ash as an energy core.
Just to drive a pump.
“Stop talking.”
Bell slammed the crystal onto the table, the intense heat instantly searing a charred mark into the surface.
“There are thirty-six hours left.”
“Move.”
The laboratory turned completely into a battlefield.
There was no smoke.
Only the hum of mana overload and the frantic scratching of quills against parchment.
Antinoia had never seen Bell like this.
He was like a tireless machine.
No, he was more precise and more fanatical than any machine.
“Wrong!”
Bell snatched the blueprints from Antinoia’s hand and, without even a glance, tore them to shreds.
“The curvature of the pipes is too great.”
“The liquid magic silver will create turbulent flow at high speeds.”
“I want laminar flow!”
“Do you understand laminar flow?!”
He drew several parallel lines on the blackboard, the tip of his chalk nearly piercing through it.
“As smooth as silk, as flat as a mirror.”
“Any bit of resistance will lead to a drop in thermal efficiency.”
“If the thermal efficiency drops, Tia dies!”
Antinoia was stunned by the shouting.
She was the genius of the Royal Academy.
She was the authority on magic construction.
She was always the one calling others idiots.
But now.
In front of this man with bloodshot eyes and hair as messy as a bird's nest.
She felt like a primary school student who had just enrolled.
Terms she had never heard before.
Fluid Mechanics.
The Second Law of Thermodynamics.
Carnot cycle efficiency.
Every word was like a heavy hammer, ruthlessly smashing the magical worldview she had built over twenty years.
And on the ruins, a tower reaching for the heavens was being rebuilt.
“Change it!”
Bell slapped a new sketch onto her face.
“Triple the thickness of the return pipe.”
“Add a pressure relief valve.”
“Now!”
Antinoia gritted her teeth and grabbed her pen.
Change it.
She had to change it.
Though she didn't want to admit it.
That structure.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Time flew by frantically.
The sun rose and set.
No one spoke.
No one rested.
There wasn't even time to eat.
Bell’s left hand was adjusting a mana valve while his right hand held a piece of hard bread, mechanically stuffing it into his mouth.
He choked.
He grabbed half a cup of cold coffee left by someone else and downed it.
Antinoia was calculating the critical pressure values.
Halfway through, her pen ran out of ink.
Just as she was about to turn and grab another.
A hand reached out.
It handed her a new quill.
At the same time, a piece of sliced beef was stuffed into her mouth.
Antinoia froze for a second.
She chewed.
Swallowed.
And continued calculating.
The two of them were like two tightly meshed gears.
In this room filled with the smell of machine oil and the ozone scent of mana.
Operating at full speed.
There was no ambiguity.
No romance.
Only survival.
Only the miracle that had to be created.
In the workshop next door.
Balin’s roars could be heard every few hours.
“Damn this Mithril!”
“This stuff is harder than my own bones!”
“Bell, you bastard!”
“If this engraving tool breaks, you’re paying me back ten times over!”
Despite the cursing.
The sound of hammering never stopped.
Clang, clang, clang.
It was like a hurried drumbeat.
Beating against everyone's hearts.
In the quiet room on the other side.
Green light was already spilling out from the gap under the door.
Philan and Eleanor sat cross legged on the floor.
Between them, the crystal bottle floated.
The ball of light inside was no longer a blur of energy.
It began to take shape.
Like a curled-up infant.
Or a beating heart.
Every beat.
Triggered a tide in the surrounding mana.
Eleanor’s face was as pale as paper.
Her mana was nearly depleted.
But she didn't dare stop.
Even if she had to overdraw her life force.
She had to hold on.
This was her son's life.
And her future daughter in law's.
“Hold on.”
Philan’s voice was hoarse.
Her originally emerald green long hair now showed a hint of withered yellow.
It was a sign of excessive life force consumption.
“The final twelve hours.”
In the laboratory.
The final assembly began.
Bell was shirtless.
His lean muscles were covered in sweat and grease.
There were several burn marks from mana sparks.
But he felt no pain.
In his eyes, there was only this strange device before him.
A complex tangle of pipes.
Wrapping around that dark red Flame Demon Heart.
Connecting to a massive cooling pool.
It looked ugly and ferocious.
Like a skinned mechanical beast.
“Liquid magic silver.”
Bell held out his hand.
Antinoia immediately handed over a sealed metal canister.
It was heavy.
Bell took a deep breath.
He twisted the valve.
The silver liquid, like mercury, slowly flowed into the pipes.
“Sealing check.”
“Normal.”
“Cooling circulation system.”
“Normal.”
“Core temperature monitoring.”
“Normal.”
Antinoia called out the data one by one.
Her voice was trembling.
It was a physiological reaction to extreme tension.
This wasn't just a device.
This was a provocation to the gods.
“Ignition.”
Bell’s hand pressed onto the activation rune.
No incantations.
No need for prayers.
Mana input.
The Flame Demon Heart flared brightly.
Terrifying heat exploded along the pipes.
The liquid magic silver instantly boiled.
Its volume expanded.
Pressure surged.
“Voom—”
A low roar.
Like a slumbering behemoth awakening.
The silver fluid surged wildly through the pipes.
Rushing into the turbine.
Pushing the pistons.
The entire device began to vibrate.
“Hum— hum— hum—”
That was the sound of a heart beating.
Strong.
Powerful.
Relentless.
A visible stream of blue mana erupted from the output.
Pure.
Stable.
Without any impurities.
Without any fluctuations.
Antinoia looked at the gauge.
The needle was pinned firmly in the red limit zone.
Motionless.
“It worked...”
She murmured to herself.
Her legs gave way.
She collapsed onto the floor.
This wasn't magic.
This was the industrial aesthetic of violence.
This was the loudest slap Bell Lucas had ever delivered.
To this old, decaying magic world.
Bell did not cheer.
He watched the surging stream of mana.
The madness in his eyes gradually receded.
Replaced.
By endless tenderness.
“Tia.”
He reached out, gently stroking the hot pipe.
As if stroking the face of a lover.
“The heart is ready.”
“Next.”
“It’s time to bring you home.”
Just then.
Bang!
The door to the workshop next door was kicked open.
Balin rushed out.
In his hands, he held a steaming, humanoid Mithril skeleton.
His face was covered in black ash.
Half of his beard was singed.
But his smile looked worse than crying.
“Kid!”
“The thing you wanted!”
“I made it!”
Bell turned around.
He looked at the skeleton glowing with a cold silver light.
That was Tia’s new body.
The final piece of the puzzle.
He strode over.
Every step.
Felt like stepping on the throat of fate.
“Let’s begin.”
He handed the Soul Bottle to Antinoia.
His gaze was resolute.
“Inject.”
“The soul.”
Antinoia took the bottle.
Her hands were shaking.
But her eyes were firmer than ever.
She walked to the Mithril skeleton.
She aimed the mouth of the bottle at the pre-designed hollow in the skeleton's chest.
The output pipe of the mana pump.
Was also connected to the back of the skeleton.
Everything was ready.
Only this final step remained.
“Bell.”
Antinoia suddenly spoke.
“Once we start.”
“There is no turning back.”
“If we fail.”
“You will lose everything.”
Bell stood in the shadows.
He lit a cigarette.
The flame flickered.
Illuminating his stubble-covered face.
“Then let me.”
He blew out a ring of smoke.
He looked at the empty skeleton.
“Turn to ash with her.”
Antinoia took a deep breath.
She no longer hesitated.
She tipped it.
The ball of light in the bottle slowly slid down.
The moment it touched the Mithril.
Sizzle—
A blinding white light.
Swallowed the entire world.
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