"I've brought the person, you all handle the rest."
[Cocolia] carried the motionless giant robot on her shoulder—the one with a transparent hole in its chest—as lightly as if she were carrying a toy model, and walked into Natasha's clinic, which served as the temporary command post.
She set Svarog down on the floor with a "thud," kicking up a small cloud of dust, then gracefully stepped aside, revealing Clara, who had been following closely behind, her eyes red like a little rabbit's, her whole body curled into a ball.
Everyone: "..."
The air suddenly went quiet.
Stelle, March 7th, Dan Heng, Seele, Natasha, and even [Jing Yuan] and Seele, who had just finished their sparring session and walked over, all turned their gazes simultaneously to the "presumably broken" robot and the trembling little girl.
Stelle opened her mouth, but in the end, only managed to choke out: "...You actually went and 'persuaded' it, huh."
March 7th covered her face: "This level of persuasion... you must have typed 'broken' instead of 'persuade', right!"
Dan Heng silently inspected the penetrating wound on Svarog's chest, which still had ice crystals along its edges, and calmly evaluated: "Large trauma area, core energy circuit interrupted, multiple joint deformations. This definitely falls under the category of 'physical persuasion'."
Seele, seeing how frightened Clara was, couldn't help but glare at [Cocolia]: "Couldn't you have... been a little gentler?"
[Cocolia] spread her hands, looking innocent: "I was very gentle, I didn't even use my full strength. Who knew it was so... hmm, a classic model, not very durable."
She even lightly tapped Svarog's dangling arm with her toe, causing a faint metallic sound.
Clara shuddered at the sound, and tears began to well up in her eyes again.
"Can it be fixed?"
Stella looked at the only person nearby who might possess this kind of high-tech repair capability—[Little Herta], who was sitting on the shoulder of the galatron (in standby mode), swinging her short little legs.
[Little Herta] jumped down, walked around Svarog once, and rested her chin on her small hand, like a picky collector evaluating a damaged antique.
"The structural design is quite interesting. To be able to achieve this with technology from seven hundred years ago... hmm, it can be fixed."
Her tone shifted, and her small face showed obvious disdain.
"However, there are no materials. This guy doesn't use those 'automaton scrap parts' that litter the Lower District. The precision, energy conductivity, and alloy composition—if they're even slightly off, it won't work."
She pointed to the large hole in Svarog's chest.
"See that? The core buffer layer and the secondary energy matrix are completely melted. If you cobble it together with trash materials, even if you fix it, it'll just be a retarded robot that only knows how to spin in circles or fire lasers randomly."
She paused, looked at Clara, who was being comforted by March 7th but still couldn't help sneaking glances over here, and added in the flat tone of someone giving an academic report:
"Moreover, its current state won't last long. The chest trauma is causing continuous short-circuiting in the main circuits, and residual energy is dissipating rapidly. At this rate, in three hours at most, the short-circuit effect will spread to the deep memory storage module. By then..."
[Little Herta] shrugged.
"Forget about recognizing you, it might even completely forget that its name is Svarog and that it is a robot; its memory chip will likely be cleaner than a formatted hard drive."
"Wuu—!"
Upon hearing this, Clara's small body shuddered violently, and the tears she had just stopped instantly filled her eyes, rolling down in large drops, while she let out whimpers like a small animal.
She broke free from March 7th's embrace, stumbled over to [Little Herta], looked up with her tear-stained face, and said with a desperate, sobbing voice, clinging to a final hope: "Big sister! Please, save Mr. Svarog! I... I know where there might be suitable parts! In..."
"Tsk."
[Little Herta] felt a bit uncomfortable being looked at by those light-colored eyes filled with tears and pleading, and she awkwardly turned her head away, but her tone still tried to maintain indifference and helplessness:
"...Three hours. That is the longest time I can buy it with the portable maintenance equipment I have. If you find replacement parts that meet the standards within three hours, it can still be saved. After three hours..."
She didn't finish, but the meaning was clear.
"I, I understand! Thank you, big sister!"
Clara wiped her tears vigorously, her eyes becoming exceptionally determined, and she turned and dashed out the door, her small figure carrying a sense of resolve.
"Stop!"
[Cocolia] was quick-handed, grabbing Clara by the back of her collar and lifting her back like a kitten, looking suspiciously in the direction she had just run.
"That's the direction of Rivet Town. You're going there to find parts?"
That is a dangerous area severely eroded by the Rift, where monsters roam.
Clara nodded pitifully in mid-air, her voice still sobbing: "Before... Clara once snuck into a very hidden old warehouse over there, and inside there were some... parts that looked very special..."
"Nonsense! Don't you know how dangerous that place is now?"
Seele immediately stepped forward, her scythe already in hand.
"I'll go with you!"
"No need—!"
A familiar, elongated voice with an exaggerated dramatic flair suddenly cut in.
The clinic's door curtain was lifted, and Sampo Koski walked in with a brisk pace, wearing his signature smile that seemed to suggest he was plotting something at every moment.
"Oh my, my dear family, friends, and distinguished guests!"
Sampo performed an exaggerated bow, like a stage actor, with such a wide range of motion that he nearly swept the medical cart next to him.
"Isn't it a coincidence? Fate is just so marvelous! Just a moment ago, your most loyal, most reliable, and best-informed brother Sampo—that's me—happened—note the word 'happened'—to acquire, through some insignificant little channels, a batch of high-quality, clearly sourced, and specification-wise... hmm, seemingly perfect parts for repairing certain 'large classical mechanical artworks'!"
He straightened up, spread his hands, his smile so bright it could almost blind people, his gaze sweeping pointedly over the "corpse-lying" Svarog on the ground, then glancing at the stunned crowd and the bewildered Clara, who had stopped crying.
"Tell me, isn't that a coincidence? Isn't it just like a stove in winter, a sweet spring in the desert, a compass when you're lost—arriving exactly when needed?"
He rubbed his hands together, his eyes filled with the expectation of "hurry up and ask me how much it costs," as well as a hint of smugness, "I know you really need it, and I also know that I know you really need it."
Stella's eye twitched, and she whispered to March 7th: "How come I feel... like he prepared the script in advance, just waiting for this scene to play out?"
March 7th muttered: "I suspect he even calculated the 'persuasion' (physical) process... This profiteer, isn't his business scope a bit too wide?"
Seele glared at Sampo unceremoniously: "Sampo! Where did you 'get' these parts from again? And this time, how much do you plan to 'help' us?"
Sampo immediately put on a wounded expression: "Big Sister Seele, your words really break my heart! Am I, Sampo, the kind of person who would take advantage of someone in trouble? I am helping those in urgent need, providing coal in snowy weather! As for the price, it's negotiable, absolutely fair, no cheating! Of course, if you are really tight on money, you can also use some... hmm, 'future cooperation opportunities' or 'valuable intelligence' to pay for it!"
He looked at Svarog on the ground, who was in urgent need of rescue, and then at Clara, whose eyes were reignited with hope, his smile growing even brighter, as if he had already seen countless possibilities for a "win-win" situation.
[Little Herta] raised an eyebrow, noncommittal about the "coincidence" Sampo brought, and just calmly asked: "Do you have the parts specification list and the material inspection report?"
"Yes! Of course I do! Professional service, one-stop solution!"
Sampo, like a magician, pulled a data pad from his chest, handing it over eagerly, as if what he was peddling wasn't potentially life-saving parts, but some high-end luxury item.
The atmosphere in the clinic instantly shifted from sorrow and anxiety to a strange, busy state filled with absurdity and a faint helplessness.
It seems that the time-limited mission to save the tin old father will have to involve trading blows with this elusive profiteer first.