I fitted another metal plate into place, the edges aligned tightly and with no gaps thanks to Assembly. The new chest cavity housed delicate machinery, a framework of gears and pulleys that would give me greater mobility than before. Each piece clicked together with perfect precision, guided by an innate knowledge I couldn't explain.

  Thin copper wiring threaded through the joints like artificial tendons, allowing for fluid movement. The three arms took shape, each skeletal yet elegant, each hand having three fingers articulated with miniature mechanisms that would let me grip weapons with inhuman strength. My new form would have no wasted bulk, no unnecessary weight. Every component served a purpose.

  My mind raced with improvements, seeing how each part could connect more efficiently. A slight adjustment to the shoulder socket here, a reinforced joint there. The knowledge flowed through me as naturally as breathing. This body would be faster, deadlier. The perfect counter to match Chanos' speed.

  The shed filled with the quiet sounds of metal joining to metal as I worked without pause. Time meant nothing since I had no need for rest or food. Only the changing light through the cracks of the walls marked the passing of days.

  A familiar blue box appeared in my vision:

  I opened up my status box to check my gains.

  Like with my previous level up, it seems that only my Intelligence and Wisdom scores gained any increases. Could it be because I had gained the experience through my use of Assembly instead of killing? I had forgotten to ask Harke about this earlier; I needed to make sure to do so the next time I saw him.

  I continued my work. Each hour spent crafting taught me more about the intricate dance of gears and springs, expanding my understanding of mechanical principles. Yet the knowledge felt less like learning and more like remembering. It was as if I had built countless machines in some forgotten past.

  I flexed one of the newly-completed arms, watching the fingers curl with smooth precision. The movements were silent, efficient. Perfect for what was to come.

  The door creaked open and Harke slipped inside, his arms laden with rusty armor plates. He set them down carefully, trying to minimize the noise.

  "These were in the d-d-discard pile behind the armory," Harke whispered. "No one will miss them."

  Thank you.

  I stored the pieces in my Depository while examining my status screen. Question. When leveling up. Through Assembly. Gain only. Points. In Intelligence and Wisdom. Normal?

  Harke settled onto an overturned crate, adjusting his robes. "Ah, that's because of how the System handles experience gains. Different classes gain experience in different ways. The combat classes level up through battle, while craftsmen gain levels through c-creating things."

  I have. No class.

  "Exactly. You're... unique. As a monster, you seem able to gain experience through multiple methods. C-combat experience typically gives fewer points but spreads them across all your s-stats. Crafting or studying tends to boost Intelligence and Wisdom specifically."

  I flexed my newly constructed arm, considering this. What's the difference. With. Intelligence and Wisdom?

  "Intelligence governs mundane creation: tools, weapons, machinery and the like. That's what you're using with Assembly." Harke gestured at my mechanical body. "Wisdom relates more to magical crafting, such as spells, enchantments, that sort of thing. That's what I use as a healer."

  So. Intelligence improves. Assembly?

  "P-perhaps. That will depend on whether this ability of yours is mundane or magical in nature. Y-you said you gained increases in both Intelligence and Wisdom, c-correct?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, I s-s-suppose your Assembly ability is both. It's known that high level Blacksmiths working with magical materials to create magical weaponry and armor gain increases in both Intelligence and Wisdom, so you are probably s-s-similar." He examined my handiwork with appreciation.

  Relief flooded through me at Harke's explanation. I had been worried about the massive gap between Chanos's and my statistics, but if I could gain levels through Assembly, the difference wouldn't matter as much.

  "How are the w-weapons coming along?" Harke asked.

  I reached into my Depository, pulling out an array of crude but lethal implements. Sharpened pieces of metal transformed into daggers, broken pipes fashioned into stabbing weapons, and makeshift shivs crafted from whatever scraps I could salvage. I laid them out on the floor between us. Although these weapons weren't finished yet, their future lethality was quite evident.

  Harke picked up one of the knives, testing its edge with his thumb. "These are... impressive. Especially considering what you had to work with." He examined the grip, wrapped in strips of leather I'd salvaged from a rotting boot. "The balance is good, too."

  Made from garbage. But sharp. Will kill.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Could you make larger weapons as well? Spears p-perhaps?" He set the knife down. "Something with reach might give the prisoners an advantage against the guards' swords."

  I nodded, already calculating the materials needed. Long metal rods from bed frames could serve as shafts. The tips would need to be harder, maybe from those armor plates he'd brought. The construction would be simple enough, I'd just need more materials.

  Yes. Can make spears. Need more metal. Or wood. Longer pieces.

  "I'll see what I can find. The guards sometimes throw out broken weapon parts behind the armory. If I'm careful, I might be able to salvage some of those too."

  I finished attaching the last pieces of my new form as dawn's light crept through the shed's cracks. The body before me looked nothing like my previous creation; where that had been bulky and imposing, this was sleek and deadly. I'd sacrificed protection for mobility, using lighter metals and carefully carved wooden components to create something far more agile.

  Standing at just over five and a half feet tall, I tested each joint methodically. The two primary arms moved smoothly, the gears clicking softly as I flexed my fingers. Behind them, two thinner arms extended from my back, their movements quick and precise. These secondary limbs weren't meant for power; they were designed for swift strikes and deflection.

  My new legs took some adjustment. The multi-jointed design gave me a distinctly inhuman gait, with backward-facing knees that distributed my weight differently. Each step felt light, almost springy, as the complex system of pulleys and counterweights worked in concert.

  The helmet was my masterpiece: an asymmetrical creation cobbled together from various metal scraps and wooden plates. I'd left no eye holes, since I didn't need them, but incorporated a face guard that left my jaw exposed. If I needed to use my teeth again, I could. The rest of my vulnerable red flesh remained safely hidden behind layers of salvaged armor.

  I let my original hair remain uncovered, the long black strands cascading down my back like liquid shadow. It fell past my shoulders, a stark contrast against the dull metals and worn wood of my constructed form. The dark tresses flowed with an unsettling grace that made me appear more wraith than machine.

  Each time I shifted, the hair swayed, brushing against the gears and plates of my constructed spine. The sensation triggered fragments of memory, of something being placed atop my head, brushing against my hair. The object felt small but heavy, a symbol more than any form of armor. But like all my memories, it slipped away before I could grasp its meaning.

  My pale left arm, the only original limb I had left, looked almost delicate next to the mechanical appendages I'd crafted. Yet I knew its strength, knew the invulnerable flesh could withstand blows that would shatter steel. The exposed jaw with its sharp teeth completed the unsettling image of a creature caught between flesh and machine.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in a broken piece of mirror I'd salvaged. The contrast was striking: gleaming metal and weathered wood framework housing my mangled form, with that curtain of black silk softening the harsh lines of my artificial body. Even without eyes, I could see how the hair framed my exposed jaw, making me appear more like the person I might have once been rather than the monster I'd become.

  And yet… the color was wrong. I was certain of that. I remember my hair being… lighter? Shorter? I shook my head, banishing such thoughts away. I couldn't be distracted from the task at hand.

  I moved across the shed, testing my balance. Despite the mismatched materials (copper wiring here, iron plates there, wooden joints reinforced with steel bands) everything worked in perfect harmony. The body moved like water, each motion flowing naturally into the next.

  Three days, I thought, watching dust motes dance in the morning light. Three days until the southern caravan arrives.

  I flexed all four arms simultaneously, listening to the subtle whir of gears and pulleys. This form wasn't built for endurance or power; it was built for speed, for killing. Built to match Chanos blow for blow.

  My weapons reflected this. The quartet of weapons lay arranged on the earthen ground, awaiting my grasp: a pair of blades along with a matching set of lances.

  I lifted the longsword in my primary right hand, its weight perfectly balanced. Though crafted from scavenged metal, the blade held true: thin and precise, meant for piercing vital points. Not the sharpest edge, but the tip would find gaps in armor with lethal efficiency.

  My flesh hand gripped a shorter blade, its slight curve catching what little light filtered through the shed's walls. I'd designed this one for raw cutting power, the weight distributed to maximize each swing's force. Where the longsword would pierce, this would slash and tear.

  The secondary arms moved in perfect sync as I tested the spears. Each was longer than I was tall, with reinforced points that could punch through plate armor. The shafts were wrapped in strips of leather I'd salvaged from old boots, providing secure grips for my mechanical hands.

  Combat forms surfaced from the depths of my fractured mind. My body moved through ancient patterns. High guard with the long sword while the curved blade swept low. The spears worked in concert, one striking high while the other targeted the legs. Block, thrust, sweep, strike. Each movement flowed into the next with practiced grace.

  I spun, all four weapons moving in different arcs yet somehow working as one. The long sword led with a thrust, while the curved blade followed in its wake. The spears traced complex patterns in the air, striking at imaginary weak points. My new legs carried me through the forms with fluid precision, the backwards-facing knees allowing for explosive changes in direction.

  More sequences emerged from my past. A horizontal slash with the curved sword, followed by a spear thrust to the throat. Long sword point forward while the second spear swept the legs. High block transitioning into a low strike. Each combination felt natural, as if I'd performed them countless times before.

  The weapons moved faster and faster as muscle memory took over. Both swords whirled in complex patterns while the spears struck like serpents. My mechanical body responded perfectly, every gear and joint working in harmony. I was a blur of blades and points, dancing through forms that spoke of years of martial training.

  The movements came from somewhere deep within, from whoever I had been before. These weren't simple fighting techniques; they were the practiced forms of someone who had spent a lifetime mastering the art of war.

  I stopped my practice sequence, letting my weapons fall to neutral positions as Harke and Mallie entered. They'd slipped in so quietly I hadn't noticed them at first. Mallie's eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open in clear amazement at my display.

  "That was incredible!" She clapped her hands, then quickly covered her mouth when Harke shot her a warning look.

  I placed my weapons down carefully, then reached into a pile of straw near the corner. From beneath it, I pulled out my surprise: a bow I'd crafted specifically for her small frame. The weapon was a composite of metal and wood, with a string made from braided leather strips. Alongside it, I'd created two dozen arrows, their tips sharpened to deadly points.

  For you, I projected through Mind Speech.

  Mallie bounced on her toes as she took the bow, testing its draw with practiced hands. Her face lit up brighter than the morning sun.

  "Careful now," Harke whispered, though he was smiling too. "We don't want the guards hearing."

  Have more. I told them, moving to another pile of straw. Brushing it aside revealed my arsenal: crude but effective weapons laid out in neat rows. Short stabbing spears with hardened points. Daggers fashioned from broken tools. Metal shivs with cloth-wrapped handles.

  "How m-m-many?" Harke asked, examining one of the spears.

  Thirty-seven. More coming. Can't store. In Depository. Complete weapons. Only raw materials. Go in.

  "That's still impressive," Harke said. "You've been b-busy."

  Don't sleep. I reminded him. I work. Every moment.

  Mallie had already nocked an arrow, aiming at an imaginary target on the far wall. Her form was perfect, exactly as she'd described from her training.

  "This feels amazing," she whispered. "It's perfectly balanced."

  New body complete. Can focus on. Arming everyone. I projected to them both. By tomorrow night. Will have enough. Weapons for all. Prisoners.

  I demonstrated my increased production speed by grabbing a length of metal from my carefully organized pile. My mechanical hands worked in perfect synchronization, bending and twisting the material. Within moments, a crude but effective dagger blade took form.

  "That's incredible," Mallie whispered, still cradling her new bow. "You're so much faster now."

  Harke wrung his hands, his usual nervous energy more pronounced. "B-but what about the g-guards? They're always watching. And Ch-Chanos..."

  Two days, I projected firmly. Strike at dawn. Guards are fewer then. Most still. Asleep.

  "I can shoot them from the roofs!" Mallie's excitement bubbled through her whispered voice. "Just like in training. They taught us about elevation advantage and-"

  "Shhhh," Harke cautioned, though I noticed he didn't disagree with her tactical assessment.

  I moved to another pile of materials, my new legs carrying me with silent grace. Everyone must be. Ready. When break free. Chaos will follow. Prisoners must. Grab weapons. Fight. No hesitation.

  "The adults will fight," Mallie nodded firmly. "You should have heard them last night! Another poor man was beaten. They're ready."

  Harke's face paled at the memory. "B-but what if-"

  No more waiting, I cut him off. No more healing. Broken prisoners. No more watching. Children suffer.

  My mechanical hands continued crafting as I spoke, another spear taking shape.

  Dawn. Day after tomorrow. Tell everyone. Be ready.

  Mallie gripped her bow tighter, determination hardening her young features. Harke still looked uncertain, but I saw resolution beneath his anxiety. They both understood. This was happening.

  I turned back to my work, all four arms moving in concert as I shaped metal and wood into instruments of liberation. The time for planning was over. In two days, we would write our freedom in blood.