Chapter 20: A Nearly New Personal Robot for Boys

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The sun chased the night, and as it sank below the horizon, the lighthouse’s beacon lit up on schedule. Night fishing boats ventured confidently into the sea, while the homes of workers who left early and returned late gradually filled with the rising smoke of cooking fires. The bluish smoke blended into the gray-purple night sky, vanishing into the black canopy where stars resided. Children hurried home eagerly for dinner, leaving the streets empty once again—just another ordinary day in Stone Tower Town.

Lin Bo set down the winding crank. Above him, the Fresnel lens in the lamp room began to rotate slowly. The hum of the incandescent bulb’s electric current and the drone of the generator quietly relayed continuous reports to the mage about the filament’s condition and the consumption of whale oil.

He listened carefully for a while, confirmed that both bulb and generator were functioning well, and finally relaxed.

The long night was perfect for gaining knowledge. On nights like these, reading always left Lin Bo feeling a touch of solitude, reminding him of the days when Old Tim was still around.

But ever since he gained the ability to listen to all things, many new companions appeared—companions only he could hear.

If he were to tell others about his experiences, anyone in Stone Tower Town who learned that he could understand the language of wind and waves would undoubtedly sigh and say: “Another night watchman has gone mad.”

Work on dismantling the remnants of the Sword Guard robots continued.

This model was quite mature in design, with many structures made for easy disassembly. There was no need for chisels or electric saws to tear them apart violently—just a screwdriver and wrench to gently pry open layer by layer, like peeling an onion.

Lin Bo found that the similar damaged parts, being too obvious to assess, did not grant him repeated skill gains. Since he personally operated on the three Sword Guards’ fatal injuries, and the damaged areas were nearly identical, the proficiency gained from the last two was less than expected.

After dismantling all three remnants, his proficiency in surface-contact endoscopy reached 54.6, still 5.4 points short of leveling up. Seeing that it was already late into the night and he still had to reassemble the machines, Lin Bo decided not to find another scrap to practice on.

The internal parts of the Sword Guards were laid out on the floor. Referring to his books, he carefully labeled each key component’s function.

Many components had only simple schematic diagrams in the books, vastly different from the complex real objects. Most mechanics, faced with this, could only guess, then cautiously verify and accumulate experience.

Lin Bo’s approach was different—being a spellcaster, he bypassed scientific methods and directly communicated with the components using his ability to listen to all things, asking them to explain themselves.

The parts’ own voices carried authority: their specific roles, functions, whether they handled transmission, self-correction, data caching, or computation.

The traces of past motions—scratches, wear, aging—were the memories engraved in the components, their language and Lin Bo’s basis for deduction.

Not every part spoke; deep silence was not easily broken. One reason was his surface-contact endoscopy skill was still too low; another was that many parts were severely damaged—his own handiwork.

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Many spellcasters used similar methods to uncover secrets, especially those skilled in divination. They often communicated with the magical network, even deities, godlike entities, spirits, or demons, seeking answers to mysteries from various divine beings.

The fifth-ring divination spell “Legendary Insight” was one example. When named on an object, the spell would describe important rumors about it, including details and hidden truths.

But the common flaw of divination spells was that the information was often vague. Sometimes the prophecy was just a strange poem or cryptic aphorisms, whose exact meanings the caster had to interpret.

Lin Bo’s “listen to all things” ability, as a true name mage, yielded first-hand information. Without intermediaries, the data was clear and precise, aiding his judgment.

Once he categorized and recorded every component of the three Sword Guards and selected usable parts, he could attempt repairs.

Before starting, he needed to procure some parts that were too damaged to replace from his own stock.

[Beacon Guest]: I want to buy some components for the Model VII Mechanical Guard. Do you have a price list?

[Trash Picker]: Good morning! Another energetic day, huh? Did you get any rest? Not up all night dismantling machines again? (mischievous smile)

[Beacon Guest]: I thought you could tell my job from my nickname. I don’t sleep at night. Also, the teardown went smoothly. Congratulations on starting another lively day.

[Trash Picker]: Just working for the players out there. Ah, can’t help it—fame’s a burden; orders are booked through next month. Send me pictures of the parts you need first, and I’ll wipe my face and head to the warehouse to find them.

Lin Bo planned to assemble only one fully functional Sword Guard, piecing together scraps from the three remnants. In the end, he needed to replace only twenty-seven parts.

Given the rarity of the Sword Guard model, the parts naturally cost more than those for common troops, totaling eight disaster coins.

Besides replacing damaged parts, the most crucial task was the intelligent core. A professional was needed to rewrite the system and modify permissions; otherwise, once powered on, the Sword Guard would immediately jump up and attack Lin Bo to the death.

Rewriting the intelligent system was no trouble for [Trash Picker], who also gave Lin Bo several options for operating systems to install on the core.

[Beacon Guest]: What’s the difference between these operating systems?

[Trash Picker]: The operating system is the machine’s soul, varying by model with different biases—steward, servant, guard, lover, and so on. Depends on what you need.

[Beacon Guest]: Which OS is the cheapest?

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[Trash Picker]: (sweating) That would be just reinstalling the original system, turning it into a baby with no pre-installed features. It’s free.

[Beacon Guest]: I’ll take that one.

[Trash Picker]: (stingy) (disdainful)

[Beacon Guest]: (smiling)

With preparations complete, Lin Bo began the assembly: connecting internal parts, smoothing dents on the exterior, working from late night until dawn.

The lighthouse went dark.

In the third-floor mechanical room, the generator was silent; the winding mechanism had just a little spring left to release.

Amidst scattered mechanical parts stood a tall metal figure bathed in the sunlight filtering through the window. Its mottled silver-white paint emitted a milky glow.

Lin Bo, his hands sticky with machine oil, pressed the manual switch and heard the parts hum to life, like a winter forest awakened by early spring birdsong. Only then did he replace the inspection cover.

“Beep—system self-check initiated… self-check complete.”

The completed Sword Guard stood dazed in place. As [Trash Picker] had said, the freshly reinstalled system lacked any advanced pre-installed programs, possessing only basic functions: gathering surrounding information, comparing databases, and deep learning—like a baby constantly absorbing nutrients and growing.

One could only say the future held promise. For now, it was no different from a suit of full armor in the corridors of Hogwarts—an interesting decoration.

Lin Bo stepped back two paces to admire his handiwork. For ease of reference, he gave it a codename in his mind: Iron Guard One.

This was just a practice piece; activation alone was a major success. As for demanding more from this mechanical guard, Lin Bo had no such thoughts—for now.

Even if he wanted to chat with the robot for company, he’d first have to learn its system language to communicate. For now, Iron Guard One only knew how to repeat a few words—hardly a qualified language teacher.