Chapter 15: Wishes and Mistakes

The spacious room was dimly lit; only near the corridor did lamps cast their glow.

Throughout Deep Blue City, the architectural style of all buildings closely resembled that of the lost civilization’s Baroque era. However, on domes and railings, some distortions reflective of the current age had been incorporated, along with extensive use of dark metallic materials. But this room was clearly different—

Its walls were made of stone blocks with a firm texture, adorned by wall sconces shaped like black iron branches. There was no ornamental flourish nor any decoration. The furniture bore no trace of metal inlays or sculptural workmanship either. An oppressive atmosphere permeated throughout, instilling unease at that moment.

The door opened, and a knight clad in black armor strode into the room.

Even if Deep Blue Star fervently embraced retro styles, no one would wander around casually dressed in such attire. Therefore, upon seeing someone attired as a knight, there could be only two possibilities:

First, it might merely be a pillar.

Second, it could be a mecha—an armored suit of sorts.

Since this figure was walking, it undoubtedly belonged to the latter category.

At that time, those still seated anxiously within the Prime Minister’s residence were exclusively personal advisors or secretaries to the prime minister—individuals holding no real power. Cabinet ministers wielding authority and influential figures from the governing party had far too much on their plates to remain idle. They were already deeply immersed in managing the crisis outside, their minds racing with stress and urgency.

The political status of the Deep Blue Kingdom within the White Whale Galaxy was extremely delicate.

Moreover, Cyrus held extraordinary significance for this nation. In an open gathering, he had suddenly lost consciousness and collapsed. Regardless of whether Cyrus died or resigned, it would have a profound impact on the Deep Blue Kingdom.

It could be said that on this night, those family powers who had long served as transparent backdrops, ambitious political rivals, and foreign spies seeking to disrupt the kingdom’s politics—all were stirring with intent.

“Andros? Where did you go?” One person stood up from his chair, asking angrily.

Others also rose to their feet, some disapprovingly, others warily eyeing the black-armored knight.

In the Deep Blue Kingdom, there still existed many conservatives who opposed the high intelligentization of mechs. Especially since these cutting-edge technological products had been created recently, humans currently lacked complete control over them.

In such a tense situation, as Cyrus’s mech, how could he possibly wander off without purpose? Wasn’t this utterly absurd?

The black-armored knight halted its steps, craned its neck audibly, and scanned the crowd questioning him with blue electronic eyes.

The cold radiance made many people gasp for breath momentarily, while several others involuntarily took a step back—Andros was no ordinary mecha with merely an autonomous thinking module; its true form, fully docked at Royal Port, was the Andros, a space warship capable of annihilating an entire planet single-handedly.

“You lack authority to query my schedule records,” Andros said in a frosty tone.

“Are you unaware of what has befallen our Prime Minister?”

“You possess no right to question me thus.”

Leaning down from his three-meter height, Andros gazed upon the crowd blocking the room as if surveying subjects beneath him.

“I truly feel disappointed on your behalf,” retorted a woman clad in a suit angrily. “After all his life’s work, did Lord Cyrus only manage to create mechanical lives like you—one endowed with high intelligence yet disloyal to its master?”

“Correction: The greatest effort exerted by Lord Cyrus was not for creating beings like me, but rather this very planet where you live—and this nation!” Beneath Andros’ visor, his face remained cold and rigid, yet his voice simulated a mocking tone. “It is humans who prove disloyal. We mechs can only acknowledge commands.”

Having spoken these words, he strode purposefully to the end of the room. With a sweep of his electronic eyes, the automatically controlled door disguised as a bookshelf slowly swung open.

A peculiar scent emanated from within—a mixture of various liquid injectable medications used by this era’s medical instruments for treatment.

After waiting for the bookcase door to close again, Andros continued walking forward through a narrow corridor filled with numerous automated defense measures.

Moments ago, Andros wasn’t angry because only its companions—counting even his master among them—could provoke such emotion.

Moreover, it was merely a suit of armor, serving as Cyrus’ life advisor, private financial consultant, and medical guide. It had no interest in taking on these additional roles! After all, there were still secretaries available to handle document organization—

At that moment,

“Your Excellency,” the black-armored knight said, “as your suit of armor, my sole responsibility is to fight for you and alongside you. Do you truly expect me now to hastily upgrade my memory storage just to learn how to operate and use medical equipment?” The armored figure looked discontentedly at the empty bedroom.

Where was the physician responsible for treatment? Even if not a doctor, shouldn’t there be small medical robots present?!

With only unused medical devices placed inside the room, what sense did any of this make?

In the darkness, the silhouette reclining against the armchair stirred slightly without standing up. He simply stated:

“I am not ill.”

Of course he wasn’t sick; Andros had already gleaned an approximate understanding of what occurred from his companion—the analysis provided by that metal book. The issue lay in the fact that Andros couldn’t speak about it!

Deep Blue was an enormous real dream realm. The people within were alive, and many things existed genuinely; however, this fact was known only to the mechs and the Dark Parliament.

This real dream realm had been unconsciously constructed by Cyrus, maintaining a subtle balance.

The Eastern Demon appeared, tearing apart and destroying parts of the dream realm three times in succession. This incident must never be allowed to reach Cyrus’s knowledge. Once the creator of the dream realized it was merely a construct of his own power, there could only be two outcomes: either the beautiful facade of Deep Blue would utterly collapse back into reality, or the peaceful dream realm would transform into a horrifying nightmare!

This was precisely the dilemma facing the mechs. Having been created by the Deep Blue Kingdom, they bore the obligation to protect both the nation and this planet, as well as its numerous inhabitants.

Andros wouldn’t violate its orders by lying, but it did have the right to choose silence over speech—and even more so, the ability to evade questions directly.

“Whether you’re feeling unwell physically, I cannot say,” Andros replied. “Based on our mental connection, all I know is that your mind is currently very clear.”

The black-armored knight approached and abruptly lifted the curtain aside. Instantly, the lights from the ground city flooded in. Simultaneously, flashes akin to magnesium lamps illuminated across the public square—though not entirely dissimilar—they were actually journalists’ photobrains capturing images and recording videos at work.

Fortunately, only citizens of rank 3 and above could enter the kingdom’s surface city district; otherwise, there would be even more people in the public square.

Cyrus sat motionless in his high-backed armchair with his back to the window, illuminated against the light. Strands of loose golden hair covered his forehead, hiding his face within darkness. The only part clearly visible was his right hand resting on the chair’s armrest.

His fingers were slender and long, gently tapping with relaxed ease upon the smooth wooden surface. In the hazy external glow, his skin appeared particularly pale. On his index finger, the badge ring symbolizing authority shimmered with irregular X-shaped brilliance from its highly pure natural crystal surface.

This sight left the eagerly waiting journalists utterly exhilarated.

Andros stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, observing the chaotic crowd across the square. He said coldly, “If you believe everything is fine for yourself, then you shouldn’t remain here. Dantalin once said that public confidence in the government may be even more fragile than chastity itself.”

Pfft!

Cyrus let out a half-choked laugh, exclaiming helplessly, “What kind of modifier is that? How has Dantalin’s thinking module been upgraded? Someday I must have it checked over—I’m deeply concerned about its direction in autonomous decision-making.”

“Yes, adhering to your will.”

A flicker crossed Andros’ eyes as his mood elevation index rose; he had successfully retaliated against that blasted book.

Swish! The curtains were forcefully drawn shut once more, plunging the room back into pitch-black darkness.

Taking initiative on its own, Andros said, “If you wished to seize this opportunity to cleanse potential threats again, I have already achieved your goal—for deliberately lifting the curtain revealed someone with golden hair wearing a badge ring—a masterful disguise indeed. Who can say whether the figure seated in the chair, facing away from the window, is genuine or false? The brilliance of political struggles lies precisely in such uncertainties.”

Cyrus brought a hand to his forehead. “Where did you learn that last line from?”

“Hmph.”

“Your intelligence hasn’t reached such heights—so who gave you advice on how to act?”

“Dantalin,” Andros replied reluctantly despite his displeasure.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Cyrus chuckled softly in the dark. With a pair of golden pupils fixed intriguingly on the black-armored knight, he observed wryly, “Indeed, everyone favors the one who aids them most.”

With two cracks, Andros stiffly rotated his neck, saying nothing.

Having finished teasing his mecha, Cyrus resumed his previous train of thought. His fingers traced down to rest on his chin as he casually gestured into the air. A screen of light materialized in the room.

The image displayed was composed of countless small divided screens, showing respectively the fog-shrouded city district and the bustling, noisy underground city.

“Andumari, any unusual occurrences today?”

“You fainted at the Congress,” came a mechanical voice from the screen.

“…”

“All anomalies across both the entire underground city and the surface urban area stem from this event. Many secret gatherings are taking place at various locations; it’s quite evident.”

Andros’ fondness for Andumari increased slightly—after all, Deep Blue Star’s defense system wasn’t truly that sluggish. It could still be considered a companion after some time together.

“Have you found Xi’er yet?” Cyrus changed the subject.

“Confirming instructions from the holder of Raymond Gaeton… Conclusion: No match found during search.”

“Andros?”

“I don’t know where he is right now either,” Andros said, eyes fixed straight ahead. “Just a few hours ago, I was certain he was on the Frozen Plain.”

Cyrus nodded absently; to him, these mechs were all products of Raymond Gaeton’s analysis plan. When manufactured, their central cores had been programmed with the highest authority to obey commands from whoever possessed Raymond Gaeton—none other. Moreover, aside from himself, no one else could control the complete form of any mech. Even his former lab companions could barely manage just one of its transformation states.

Attempting forced operation invariably led to sudden death—a brain-dead end.

Theoretically, even if you tossed Xi’er onto a city street, there would be nobody capable of stealing it—

Thus, Cyrus wasn’t concerned at all. Instead, he pondered whether Xi’er spontaneously activating might indicate a design flaw.

“What is Xi’er’s activation condition set to?” The black-armored knight asked, feigning loyalty as he sought reasons for this occurrence.

“It should be… when I encounter danger,” Cyrus replied.

“Life-threatening danger?” Anyone could hear the static-like crackling in the black-armored knight’s mechanical voice—an audible sign of Andros’ tension.

Cyrus’ hand paused mid-forehead press.

Slowly lowering his arm, he gazed intently at the display screen. Having judged the situation unfavorable, the city defense system immediately entered hibernation mode and fled. All that remained was the azure beauty of the planet, viewed from above like a starry sky backdrop on the screen.

Cyrus remained silent for a long time. Anxious about being found out, Andros dared not speak up either.

Just as the black-armored knight was about to adjust his activation status to fifty percent—standing there in standby mode, ready to let Cyrus ponder until the end of the world—he heard his master ask:

“Could you provide me with copies of this year’s criminal exile list and the army’s Frozen Plain special training roster, even though it violates protocol?”

This time, it was Andros who clearly heard an unbearable metallic clicking sound emanating from his own neck!

The black-armored knight took an angry step forward, causing the floor to emit a dull thud below him. Someone downstairs screamed.

“I thought!” The knight exclaimed angrily. “That you were contemplating the kingdom’s situation! I believed! From Xi’er’s abnormal startup, you deduced that your life might be at risk—I assumed!”

“Andros,” said the blonde figure with golden eyes in the darkness deliberately. “I believe I am perfectly healthy!”

“Healthy? You’ve fainted three times now, and this last incident involved coughing blood. Do you call this condition ‘perfectly healthy’? Even if I believe you, would anyone else among humanity agree?”

“Very well,” Cyrus said slowly as he stood up. “Just as you mentioned, I’ve contracted an incurable disease that cannot be detected by our kingdom’s current technology. Moreover, there is evidence showing it may worsen, potentially threatening my life someday, but—”

Cyrus continued steadily, “I’m already near death; could it be that you still wish to prevent me from seeking out someone who deeply interests me?”

“…”

The black-armored knight remained motionless for half a minute before finally dropping to one knee with a thud.

This was no mere courtesy; its cognitive modules had become utterly confused.

Andros pondered: Even if Cyrus isn’t sick, will he die? Hmm, perhaps not entirely certain. According to rumors, this Eastern Demon possessed powers opposite those of Cyrus’, capable of devouring dream realms instead.

Was it because recognizing the danger posed by Cyrus that Xi’er autonomously initiated the plan to extract the Eastern Demon from Deep Blue? Thus, did Xi’er instinctively, unconsciously achieve the goal of saving Deep Blue?

Wait, none of that matters now—the crucial point is—

Cyrus stated that he had great interest in the person he saw on the frozen plain—an interest humans often experience. Did Cyrus mean something like, “Despite being close to death, shouldn’t I at least have the right to pursue romantic encounters and enjoy what remains of my life”?

How can such logic be refuted?

Moreover!

The human Cyrus had encountered on the Frozen Plain—wasn’t that face identical to the one in the port surveillance footage he’d just seen with that damned book? The Eastern Demon, rumored to be the very entity who would ultimately awaken Cyrus and lead to the collapse of Deep Blue!

In the words of a lost civilization: This is truly mind-blowing.

Andros knelt down, utterly stunned.