The fire in the Westeros manor courtyard crackled low, casting flickering shadows over the battered remnants of Garen's knights—shattered swords, dented helms, and blood-streaked dirt marking the ground where Kayle Westeros had stood victorious. The air still carried the metallic tang of combat, a grim reminder of the clash hours ago. Kayle leaned against the manor's steps, the Enhanced Mechanical Arm glowing faintly on his forearm, its energy lines pulsing with a steady blue hum. His side throbbed where Garen's dagger had grazed him, the Bloodline Curse gnawing at his edges, but the thrill of breaking that scarred captain lingered—Garen's broadsword snapping under his grip, the crunch of armor as his fist drove into the man's chest, the wet snap of his jaw under that final uppercut. The memory fueled him, drowning out the pain.
Lilia sat beside him, her small frame curled against his uninjured side, her auburn hair catching the firelight. "Brother, you didn't have to let Jack go again," she murmured, her voice soft but steady. "He betrayed us twice. What if he comes back?" Her green eyes searched his, trust warring with worry.
Kayle ruffled her hair, his expression softening. "He won't," he said, voice firm. "I saw the fear in him—he's broken, Lilia. If he's smart, he's running far from here. If he's not…" He trailed off, flexing the mechanical arm, its gears clicking ominously. "I'll handle it."
Old Tom approached, his cane sinking into the dirt as he nodded approval. "Young Master, you've got a steel spine—sparing him took guts, but it sent a message. The others won't cross you now." He glanced at the servants—Jasper nursing his bruised arm, Martha sharpening her axe, Ryan tossing a rock idly—all watching Kayle with a mix of awe and loyalty. "Still, Garen's licking his wounds, and Ironfist'll hear of this soon. We've got to be ready."
"I know," Kayle replied, his gaze drifting to the hills where the mineral vein waited. Jack's second betrayal had been a close call—too close—and the Laytons were closing in. He needed more than fists and traps. The system chimed in his head, crisp and timely: "Host has accumulated 70 Evolution Points from prior tasks. Recommend immediate allocation for enhanced combat capability. Options available: Strength Enhancement, Agility Boost, Mechanical Upgrade." Kayle's lips twitched into a grin. After smashing Garen and rooting out Jack, he had points to burn—and he knew exactly where to spend them.
"Tom, get some rest," he said, standing despite the curse's protest. "Lilia, you too. I've got something to do." He flexed the mechanical arm, its glow flaring briefly. "This thing's kept us alive so far. Time to make it better."
Lilia frowned, crossing her arms. "Not alone, Brother. You always do this—shutting me out. I want to see." Her stubbornness drew a chuckle from him, warm and rare.
"Alright," he relented, nodding toward the manor. "Come on, then. But no touching—it's dangerous." Old Tom tipped his head, a faint smile tugging at his grizzled face, before hobbling off to rally the others. Kayle led Lilia inside, down the creaking stairs to the cellar where the archive books still lay scattered, their secrets half-unearthed.
He sank onto a crate, the mechanical arm resting on his knee as he summoned the system panel. Its translucent glow lit the damp space, options hovering before him: Strength Enhancement: 30 points. Agility Boost: 25 points. Mechanical Upgrade: 40 points. Lilia perched beside him, peering at the air where he stared, her curiosity palpable. "What's it saying now?" she asked, leaning closer.
"It's giving me choices," Kayle explained, his voice low with focus. "I've got points—rewards from beating Robert, Garen, handling Jack. I can make myself stronger, faster, or…" He tapped the mechanical arm, its hum deepening. "Upgrade this. That's what I'm picking."
"Why that one?" Lilia tilted her head, her hair falling into her eyes. "You're already so strong with it."
"Because it's more than strength," Kayle said, his mind flashing back to Garen's fight—the sword's steel bending under his grip, the armor caving with a sickening crunch, the captain's jaw shattering as his fist connected, blood spraying in a wide arc. "It's precision, speed—things I can't get from my body yet. The curse holds me back, but this doesn't." He selected Mechanical Upgrade, the system responding instantly: "Allocating 40 Evolution Points to Mechanical Upgrade. Upgrading Enhanced Mechanical Arm to Advanced Mechanical Arm. Process commencing."
A jolt shot up his arm, sharper than last time, and the blue glow flared blindingly bright. Lilia yelped, shielding her eyes as the arm whirred and clicked, its plates shifting and expanding. New gears slotted into place, a sleek gauntlet forming over his hand, energy lines weaving intricate patterns across the metal. The brace extended past his elbow now, hugging his forearm like a second skin, its hum a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the cellar floor. Kayle gritted his teeth as the sensation peaked, then subsided, leaving the arm heavier—stronger.
"Brother, it's… huge!" Lilia breathed, her awe cutting through the silence. "What does it do now?"
"Let's find out," Kayle said, standing with a grunt. The system chimed: "Upgrade complete. Advanced Mechanical Arm: Increased durability, 75% boost to striking force, 30% boost to reaction speed, minor energy projection capability." Energy projection? That was new. He scanned the cellar, spotting a rusted sword propped against the wall—a relic from the armory, its blade pitted and dull. "Stand back," he told Lilia, raising the arm.
He swung, aiming for the sword, and the gauntlet flared, a faint pulse of blue energy crackling from his fist. The blow landed with a deafening clang, the sword bending in half before snapping clean, its halves flying apart to embed in the stone walls with twin thuds. Dust rained down, and Kayle stared, his breath catching. The energy had sharpened the strike, cutting through steel like butter.
Lilia clapped, bouncing on her toes. "That was insane! Do it again!" She pointed to a stack of crates, her excitement infectious.
Kayle obliged, stepping forward and raising the arm again. He focused, feeling the energy build—a tingling heat in his palm—and swung. The gauntlet pulsed, a thin arc of blue light lancing out as his fist connected. The crates exploded in a shower of splinters, wood shattering into fragments that scattered across the cellar, some sizzling where the energy had scorched them. The force rocked him back a step, the stone floor cracking beneath his feet, and he laughed—a raw, triumphant sound that echoed off the walls.
"Brother, you're unstoppable!" Lilia cried, rushing to hug him, nearly knocking him over. "They'll never beat you now!"
Kayle steadied her, grinning fiercely. "Not if I've got anything to say about it." The system chimed: "Host combat potential increased. Remaining points: 30. Recommend further upgrades." He flexed the advanced arm, its weight a comfort, its power a promise. Garen's shattered jaw flashed in his mind again—the captain's sword breaking, his armor crumpling, his body flying back as blood sprayed. With this, Kayle could do more—hit harder, faster, tear through anything the Laytons threw at him.
"Let's get some sleep," he said, guiding Lilia upstairs. "Tomorrow, we start on those crystals. The Laytons want a fight? They'll get one they can't win." As they climbed, the arm's glow cast long shadows, a beacon of the strength he'd forge into a legend—one broken knight at a time.