"We... serve the Master... and bow to the Machine God." The stammering voice, with a tone like a short circuit, caught him by surprise as he watched the automaton begin to move.
The broken eyes flickered as if trying to wake up, and the arms tried to grab something but malfunctioned because they were not aligned as they should be. Though in a broken state, the machine still worked, but it couldn't do anything—not even turn its head. It was desperate to complete its scripted tasks.
Hermaeus couldn't believe what he had done, whether by accident or because of his actions. Even if it was because of him, he had no idea what he'd done to make it happen. He knew that human magic couldn't connect with all those automatons, and their elemental destructive type couldn't possibly be related to them.
Veilans or humans are bestowed with elemental magic that not everyone can easily cast. Although all of them have the flow, some still find it difficult to manifest it into form. This problem is common and applies to all races in Eleftheria, which is why various magic schools were established according to their needs. The most well-known one is Academia Arcanum, located in the heart of the Empire.
Right now, Hermaeus saw this condition as a chance to directly learn how automatons worked, delving deeper into steam machines. Moreover, he wanted to unveil the mystery behind the electric current, as well as the brief vision of the buried colossal in the desert.
"So that was the Machine God," he mumbled as he recollected its features from the book. "Just like what they've stated. Dreadful craftsmanship. But does that vision hold any meaning for me?"
"Clean... clean... we have to clean... all the trash," the automaton said.
"Alright, let me fix you," Hermaeus gathered the essential components he needed for the experiment, eager to uncover the knowledge behind it.
After buying a large bag at the market, Hermaeus hurriedly returned and pulled the lever on the backside of the machine, shutting it down. The automaton was neither too large nor too small, about 19 inches tall with an 8-inch diameter. It was small enough to fit into a sack, though its head would still be visible.
Exiting without being noticed, Hermaeus tried to act normally so as not to arouse suspicion. He made his way through the crowded market and reached the intersection. He looked in various directions until he finally found what he sought: a rail in the middle of the road. All he had to do now was find the station.
Following the rail from the sidewalk, Hermaeus was growing tired of carrying the 15-pound machine with both hands. Pedestrians from all walks of life seemed absorbed in their own business, completely ignoring Hermaeus as he rushed to find that a train had already stopped at the station.
"Shit!" Hermaeus cursed, knowing he didn't have time. He exerted all his energy to push through several people, the swearing he received barely registering in his ears.
Not to mention, he had to climb the stairs leading to the center station, or he could break the rules and cross the road. He chose the second option. Some vehicles were forced to brake due to his careless actions, and even Hermaeus himself was nearly hit by a red vintage roadster with an open-top design.
"What an idiot!" The man stepped out of his car, half of his body hanging out of the side door. His face was bright red with anger, already at the boiling point. "You have a death wish or what?"
Hermaeus apologized with a hand gesture, climbed the front steps, and nearly slipped but managed to keep his balance. The corridor was fairly deserted until he reached the yard where the train was stopped. The locomotive, black with golden carvings, stood out, its large headlight framed with brass fittings that exuded a regal appearance.
"Oh no," a mutter escaped his lips as he noticed the conductor entering one of the carriages. "Wait, sir!"
The door was almost shut, but Hermaeus managed to slip inside, only to be confronted by a man in an elegant dark coat with silver buttons and epaulets. His mustache twitched as he adjusted his tilted cap, his expression one of clear irritation.
"What are you doing?" the conductor's tone was laden with anger. "The train is leaving soon! Back off!"
"Please, let me in," Hermaeus pleaded, blocking the door.
"Where's your ticket?"
Hermaeus' eyes widened, realizing he had forgotten something as crucial as this. Stammering, he said, "I... I was late and didn't have time to buy a ticket. But I have the coins here!"
"We don't accept illegal transactions!" The man exerted a strong push toward Hermaeus, sending him crashing to the floor. He was knocked out of the carriage, his luggage scattered, and the broken automaton exposed.
"All clear!" shouted the conductor as he slammed the door shut, and the locomotive, billowing thick smoke from its chimneys, surged forward, heading toward its destination.
While Hermaeus collected the scattered machine parts, trying to hide them as best he could, he knew it was impossible—he was the center of attention at that moment. Just then, someone approached him and offered help.
"That was rough," the man said, handing over one of the automaton's units. "You okay?"
When Hermaeus looked up, he saw a man with blond hair, modest clothes, a thin build, and a sophisticated high-collared blue outfit. His face appeared youthful, possibly the same age as Hermaeus, but his aura was different. With those well-designed clothes, he looked like he came from the academy.
"Yeah, thanks," Hermaeus accepted the object from him and placed it into the container. "But everything's under control now."
"Are you an officer of this automaton?" The question hit Hermaeus like a sword, exactly what he had feared the most. "Perhaps an official engineer? If not one of those, is it illegal to carry them alone?"
All automatons belonged to the government. Citizens might own one, but it would be a different type and model from the regular ones, which were very expensive. Hermaeus was cornered now, not expecting this random teenager to be so sharp. If he knew Hermaeus had "stolen" it and reported him, it would become a multi-layered problem.
"I've been trusted to repair this," Hermaeus responded, his voice trembling as he quickly searched for a plausible excuse. "By Clandestine Everon."
Young man's expression faltered instantly, and he fell silent for a moment as he considered his words. "Well, it must be important to the hospital, right?"
"You know, mind if I assist you with this for my research?" he added, surprising Hermaeus. "I'm a student from Prismatic Spire School, and I'm interested in all these machines. In exchange, I'll share some secret knowledge that citizens might be forbidden to know."
Wanting to break the tension, he continued, "Name's Cedric Lockwood. Are we cool with that?"