As the humans'' footsteps faded into the distance, Mechalon slowly crawled out of the scrap piles, surveying the room with an almost regal air. Its single, glassy eye darted around, ensuring everything remained in place. It couldn’t contain itself any longer. With a mechanical wiggle of excitement, it broke into a small, celebratory dance. The clinks and clanks of its cube-like form echoed off the walls as it spun in an awkward, joyous circle, its utility limb waggling in rhythm.


    "Did you see that?!" Mechalon chimed proudly to the system, its monotone voice buzzing with an unusual excitement. "They liked my weapon!" It could hardly believe it. The adventurers had not only noticed its work but had taken the Cubic Cutter with them. It had seen their expressions of awe and confusion, felt their curiosity. This was what it meant to be acknowledged. This was why it created.


    But before Mechalon could further bask in its triumph, the familiar cold tone of the system interrupted:


    ‘Adventurer Satisfaction: 8/10.


    Reward: Cubic Minion Blueprint.’


    Mechalon stopped dead in its tracks, its celebration screeching to a halt. The words "Cubic Minion Blueprint" hung in its mind like an unpleasant aftertaste. The golem scoffed loudly, waving its utility appendage dismissively. "A blueprint? To make cubes? I know how to make cubes!" it grumbled to itself, annoyance flaring in its circuits. The concept seemed absurd. Mechalon, master of perfect cubes, didn’t need instructions for something so basic.


    It felt the data upload begin, the familiar sensation of new information pouring into its mind. Begrudgingly, Mechalon allowed it to finish, prepared to ignore whatever useless data the system deemed a ''reward.'' But then something caught its attention—a line of code embedded in the blueprint, something it hadn’t expected.


    Its non-existent brow metaphorically rose as the realization hit. This wasn’t just a blueprint for cubes. No, this was far more sophisticated. These cubes could become minions. Golems, like itself. Mechalon froze, staring at the blueprints now etched into its mind. It thought back to the other cubic golems it had seen—the dull, simple ones that scurried about the dungeon, endlessly working, some malfunctioning or shattering when the dungeon deemed them obsolete. Replacements arrived from time to time, dropped into the dungeon by unseen forces. These cubes were everywhere, mindlessly toiling away, breaking, reforming, and being replaced in a constant cycle. They were barely sentient, carrying out their programmed tasks with none of the spark that Mechalon felt inside its own core.


    The dungeon provided these minions, mass-produced and disposable. So why would it need to create more? What benefit could it possibly gain from producing more of these hollow shells?


    Then it saw the finer details of the blueprint: loyalty to their creator.


    Mechalon paused, its mind whirring with new thoughts. Loyalty. Its minions. Not just mindless cubes given by the dungeon, but extensions of its will. Minions who could carry out orders, not out of programming, but out of allegiance to Mechalon itself. The idea was revolutionary.


    It imagined a small army of cubic golems, loyal only to it, not the dungeon. They would be more than the hollow, soulless things that worked and died around it. Mechalon could mold them, teach them, imbue them with just a fragment of its own intelligence. And they wouldn’t simply be replaced when they failed. No, they would grow, evolve, serve a greater purpose.


    Looking around the room, Mechalon saw the truth of the dungeon’s workings. A pair of cubic golems were busily toiling away near the furnaces, their movements slow and clumsy. One of them bumped into a pile of scrap, sending a cascade of metal crashing down. Neither seemed to notice the disturbance. Another golem, barely functional, hobbled past Mechalon, one of its sides dented beyond repair. It dragged itself to the furnace, attempting to throw a misshapen piece of metal into the flames but collapsing halfway through. Without a second thought, the dungeon would replace that one soon enough.


    The blueprint didn’t just provide instructions—it revealed something far more valuable to Mechalon. A new tab appeared in its status, and with it came knowledge that made its core hum with newfound understanding.


    Energy Points: 10 (10)


    Legs x4 (Spider): 4 EP


    Welding Gun: 2 EP


    Utility Limb: 1 EP


    Fabricator: 3 EP


    Mechalon blinked, processing the information. Energy Points? This was new. It had never thought about limitations before. It simply was. It crafted cubes, it upgraded when the system allowed it, but this—this was an entirely new layer of understanding. It now had a currency of sorts, a resource that determined how much it could modify itself.


    It stared at its current limbs, its mechanical tentacle curling thoughtfully. "Legs x4 (Spider)," it read, referring to the spindly legs that scuttled beneath its cubic body, allowing it to crawl and navigate the dungeon. Those legs alone took up 4 EP—nearly half of its available energy. The welding gun, which had proven invaluable during its work, used another 2 EP, and the utility limb—its prized, multi-functional appendage—consumed just 1 EP. Finally, the Fabricator, the heart of its crafting abilities, took 3 EP, rounding out the total.


    Mechalon pondered this new knowledge, mentally scanning over the blueprint, its mind buzzing with possibilities. Did this mean it could create new legs for itself? Or swap out limbs when needed? Could it enhance itself beyond what it currently was? The potential seemed endless, but it all came down to one thing: it needed more Energy Points.


    The base model for a cubic minion was far simpler than it had imagined—spider legs, a welding gun, nothing more. No intricate utility limbs or powerful fabricators. Just raw, functional parts designed for menial labor. This realization made Mechalon feel a twinge of superiority. It was more advanced, more special than the standard models the dungeon mass-produced.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    But the question nagged at it: How could it increase its Energy Points? The system had been frustratingly silent on that front, revealing only the limits without offering a clear path to expand them. Mechalon’s mind raced as it considered the options. Adding new minions to its army would surely grant more EP—but not for its body. The minions would have their own points to spend, their own limits to work within. It could create them, design them to be useful, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of its own personal limitations.


    “Those were problems for the future Mechalon!” it declared, dismissing the concerns with a wave of its utility limb, a web of mechanical muscles flexing below it as it held the welding gun firmly in place. It was already superior, and soon enough, it would reach even greater heights. But first, it had a singular focus, a goal that had burned in its core since it first laid eyes on those repugnant pests...


    Destroy the roaches!


    With a mental snicker that echoed through its circuitry, Mechalon glanced at the blueprint again, eager to dive into its next task. It activated the welding gun, its spindly, weblike muscles rippling as the tool hummed to life, sending a soft glow into the dim room. Today, it would create something it had never thought possible: a hollow cube with contents inside!


    This would be a delicate process, but Mechalon thrived on challenges. As it began to melt metal scraps into small slags, it felt a rush of anticipation. Each droplet of molten metal splashed into the fabricator like a miniature explosion of potential. What would the contents be? It didn’t quite know, and for now, it didn’t need to. All it had to do was follow the instructions, the guiding glyphs embedded in the blueprint, just as it always had.


    But as it meticulously crafted the small slags, an unexpected thought flickered across its mind: Inside its own cubic body, according to the blueprint, lay a multilayered cube of magic. This intricate mechanism was filled with constantly shifting glyphs, bringing life to its very being. It was like how a roach had a gooey middle encased in its tough exoskeleton. Yet, as far as Mechalon could tell, the energy within its core wasn’t gooey at all. No, it was more like a mercury-like substance, shimmering and swirling, a potent source of magic waiting to be unleashed.


    In a moment of exasperation, Mechalon smashed itself with the utility limb. “Why am I creating everything from scratch?” it chided itself. “There’s a bunch of walking extra parts around me that are beyond repair!” The realization was startling. Why labor so hard to fabricate new components when countless broken golems scuttled through the dungeon, each brimming with potential parts just waiting to be salvaged? It felt like a wave of clarity washed over it, a brilliant idea taking shape amidst the chaos of its thoughts.


    With a surge of determination, Mechalon nearly lunged at the dented cube nearby, its mechanical limbs whirring with excitement. The welder in its utility arm flared to life, glowing with intensity as it melted away at the damaged edges of its fallen brother. It could see the potential beneath the dented exterior. Yes, the outer casing might be battered, but most of the legs looked salvageable. If it could just pry apart the cube’s internal workings, it could detach those limbs and breathe new life into its sibling.


    Yet, uncertainty gnawed at the back of its mind. It couldn’t tell if the core was still functional, and the last thing Mechalon wanted was to create another lifeless shell. No, it envisioned a minion that would take orders, one that would follow its lead without hesitation.


    Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as it meticulously worked, excitement bubbling within its cubic form. But when it finally pulled away, disappointment washed over it like a cold wave. It had been right; while it could salvage two of the spider-like limbs, that was the extent of its success. The internal components were cracked, the intricate runes adorning the outer shell faded beyond recognition. It couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. This once-great golem, now just a shadow of its former self, would never rise again.


    Amid the wreckage, however, there lay a small polished cube nestled at the center of the multilayered minion—the power source. Mechalon''s single eye glimmered with intrigue as it cradled the block of energy in its utility limb. The mercury-like goo inside sloshed around, making soft, delightful noises that echoed in the stillness of the workshop. It was mesmerizing, a small treasure brimming with untapped potential. But then a wave of nausea hit Mechalon. This was the life force of its own kind!


    “This is… sort of messed up,” it mused, setting the small cube down gently, now treating it with the reverence it deserved. This wasn’t just a component; it was a part of a fallen comrade. With a newfound sense of respect, Mechalon turned its gaze back to the other more intact cubic minions scattered throughout the room. There had to be more parts it could salvage.


    With a newfound determination, it began its hunt, scuttling through the workshop in search of additional components. One by one, it meticulously collected workable parts, scavenging limbs and pieces from the cubical workers still scuttling about, ignorant of their impending disassembly. When its makeshift pile began to swell, Mechalon tossed the broken remnants and unusable scraps aside into the heap, allowing the other golems to reclaim the material and transform it back into simple cubes.


    Through its meticulous scavenging, Mechalon realized something crucial: the multilayered core that resided within the cubic minions was never salvageable. Those delicate centers, intricately designed and pulsing with energy, were beyond repair. If it wanted to create true minions, it would need to forge these cores from scratch.


    Determined, Mechalon turned back to the heaps of scrap that surrounded it, its single eye glimmering with purpose. The process began as it activated the welder once more, the tip glowing like a tiny star. It aimed at the broken metal pieces, slowly melting them down into a viscous slag that pooled beneath it. The warm glow cast flickering shadows across the workshop, illuminating the path to its goal.


    As the molten metal cooled slightly, Mechalon carefully funneled the slag into the fabricator, watching as it filled the chamber with the shimmering liquid metal. Each drop was a promise, a step toward creating something new. The fabricator hummed to life, its internal mechanisms whirring as they transformed the raw material into usable forms.


    Next came the vital task of stripping the metal down to its purest state. With precise movements, Mechalon manipulated the fabricator''s settings, expertly guiding the metal as it flowed through the intricate systems. It took time and patience, but the golem was relentless, ensuring that every scrap was accounted for, every ounce of potential harnessed.


    Once the metal strips were ready, Mechalon turned its attention to the runes—intricate designs essential for imbuing the cores with energy. It had learned from its encounters that these symbols were more than mere decoration; they were the essence of power and purpose. Carefully, it used its welder to etch the runes onto the metal strips, the sparks dancing like fireflies in the dim light.


    Welding the strips together was a delicate dance of precision and control. Mechalon focused intently, guiding the molten metal to fuse the pieces seamlessly. Each connection had to be flawless; any imperfection could jeopardize the integrity of the core. With unwavering determination, it wove the strips around the central metal cube—the vessel that would contain the precious liquid energy.


    As the pieces melded together, Mechalon took care to create an intricate web of support, ensuring that the delicate structure would withstand the rigors of its new life. The fabricator worked in harmony with its movements, as if anticipating its needs, forging a powerful core that would one day pulse with energy and life.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the welding process came to a close. Mechalon stepped back, surveying its creation with a sense of pride and accomplishment. It had transformed scraps into something meaningful, an embodiment of its vision for a new generation of golems—ones that would serve loyally, bound by the intricate runes and the spark of life contained within.


    Cubic Minion Created:


    Maximum Minions that can be controlled is equal to Mind (4)


    Upgrade Requirements of ‘Cubic Minion’:


    Kill 1,000 non-ranked creatures