My clones are devoid of a "heart."
They are perfect replicas of my chassis and combat algorithms, but they lack the human ghost that haunts my main processor.
To a clone, efficiency is the only metric. If I ordered a clone to eliminate a target hiding in a crowded market, it would not hesitate to vaporize the entire square if that was the mathematically optimal solution.
The Main Unit, 'I', am different. I retain a sliver of irrational human morality. I avoid collateral damage. And, if it requires minimal effort, I will occasionally extend a hand to save a life.
This illogical "kindness" was the reason my clone was currently standing before Zenze, handing her a heavy, unassuming canvas sack.
"Query: Do you understand the instructions?" the clone asked, its voice a perfect, flat monotone.
Zenze looked inside the sack. It was filled with dozens of sleek, platinum-gold bracelets. They looked like simple jewelry, but she could feel the dense, complex matrix of spells woven into the metal.
"Yes," the First-Class Mage replied, her sleepy eyes widening slightly in awe. "If a candidate sustains a fatal injury, the bracelet will automatically deploy a localized barrier, administer rapid healing magic, and teleport them to the designated medical triage zone."
In the original history of this world, the First-Class Mage Exam was a meat grinder. The philosophy of the Continental Magic Association was harsh: if you lacked the skill to survive the exam, you deserved to die in the wilderness.
I found this logic flawed. A lack of current ability does not negate the potential for future growth. A life extinguished prematurely is simply a waste of data and potential. Since I had inadvertently become a sponsor for this exam, I decided to patch this flaw.
"You..." Zenze looked up at the expressionless clone, a soft, genuine smile touching her lips. "You are much kinder than the legends suggest, Lady Stell. Thank you. Truly."
To Zenze, this was a profound act of mercy from a mythical being. It changed her entire perception of the "Angel of Judgment."
To the clone, it was just the execution of a command string.
Without a single word of acknowledgement or farewell, the clone turned on its heel and walked away.
…
The clone wandered the cobblestone streets. It had no specific destination. Its primary directive was to "observe and report," so it simply walked, cataloging the sights and sounds of the city as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of twilight.
The streets began to empty as the citizens retreated to their homes and taverns.
"Excuse me."
The clone stopped.
"Query: Are you addressing this unit?"
A young girl stood there, clutching a wooden staff. From her attire, she was clearly a mage, likely an applicant who had arrived early for the exams.
"Ah, yes! Sorry," the girl said, adjusting her robes. "I thought you didn't hear me. I seem to have gotten turned around. Could you point me toward the nearest inn?"
A lost traveler.
The clone instantly accessed the 3D map it had generated earlier that day.
"Answer: Proceed straight for two hundred meters. Turn left at the fountain. The establishment 'The Boar's Head' will be on your right."
"Oh, thank you so much!" the girl smiled brightly and hurried off in the indicated direction.
The clone resumed its aimless patrol. But a moment later, its internal radar pinged.
[Alert: Three familiar mana signatures detected.]
…
The Past:-
While my future clone was acting as a magical GPS, my Main Unit was sitting on the sloping tiled roof of a rustic inn, staring up at the moon.
Takson and Flamme were fast asleep in the rooms below. They would not have complained if I had made them camp in the dirt, but ensuring their physical recovery was optimal for tomorrow's travel.
The night was incredibly quiet. In my previous life, the night was always filled with the hum of electricity, the distant roar of traffic, the neon glow of the city.
To stave off the boredom of a machine that never sleeps, I used to spend my nights in arcades or browsing the endless streams of the internet.
Here, in this magical, medieval world, entertainment was scarce.
With a thought, I summoned Pseudo-Rasiel.
Instead of projecting it into my visual feed, I manifested it in its physical form, a thick, ancient-looking tome that rested heavily on my lap.
I opened the cover. The pages glowed softly in the moonlight, displaying lines of data rather than ink.
[World Analysis... 95.2%]
I stared at the number.
It was almost time. My reason for staying in this world was drawing to a close.
I closed the book, running my synthetic fingers over the leather cover.
What would I do about Takson?
I had watched him grow from a traumatized, scrawny child into a towering, dependable warrior. He was a good man. But he was deeply, perhaps unhealthily, attached to me.
According to the mechanics of the Dimensional Engine, my departure wouldn't be a true separation from their perspective.
The Engine leaves a temporal anchor at the exact moment of exit. If I were to leave and explore a hundred different universes for ten thousand years, the moment I decided to return to this world, I would step back in exactly one second after I left.
To Takson and Flamme, I would never be gone.
But I would know. I knew, logically, that the probability of me choosing to return to a completed world was incredibly low. The multiverse was vast, and my desire for new data was infinite.
For me, this departure would very well be a final farewell.
….
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