Evelyn's POV
For the few days when my emotions had been in shambles, Arthur—my first mana puppet—had simply stopped moving. He stayed still in his rented room, frozen, waiting for me. It was fortunate that Alice, Adam, Jenny, and Alex were all on a break after our long escort mission; otherwise, they would have noticed something was wrong.
I realized then that I couldn't allow this to happen again. I couldn't risk breaking the illusion that Arthur was a living hero. To prevent that, I rewrote his core, giving him a false persona—something closer to being his own person. I'd heard of similar magics in other lands: golems in the north, homunculi in the south. Yet Arthur was not quite either. He was closer to the latter, but even more refined.
With his core stabilized, I took him to a secluded forest where I could experiment freely. There, I modified him further. His armor shifted from black steel to silver and gold, though I kept the bear motif intact. Most striking of all, I gave him wings—two vast feathered spans, each ten feet long, silver in color. They were not merely for flight; they could shield or slash, weapons as much as adornments.
As I wondered how best to test these improvements, Sarah's voice whispered in my mind: a battle was raging between our kingdom's knights and an orc army near the northern edge of the barren lands. Perfect. I directed Arthur toward the north, his wings unfurling. With a single powerful flap, he shot skyward, and with another, he soared like an arrow toward the battlefield.
When he arrived, I sent him diving straight into the heart of the orc horde. He struck the ground like a falling star, the impact throwing bodies into the air. Dust and blood exploded outward. Orcs screamed as Arthur's glowing greatsword carved a deadly arc, splitting shields and cleaving armor as if they were paper.
He fought like a tempest given form. Each beat of his wings sent shockwaves that broke bones and scattered the front lines. Bladed feathers cut down those who tried to flank him, while his sword struck like judgment itself—clean, merciless, unstoppable. Orcs that once roared with confidence now stumbled back, terror widening their eyes as they realized this was no ordinary warrior.
With his new modifications, Arthur now fought with the strength of a Stage Five cultivator. The orc commander bellowed orders to rally his troops, but fear was already spreading faster than discipline. Soldiers who had stood proud now quailed as Arthur advanced, step by step, a shining figure against their darkness.
On the other side, the knights surged with renewed courage. Their war cries grew louder, blades swung harder. The tide of battle turned, and it was all because one silver-and-gold warrior had descended from the skies like a god of war.
Watching through Arthur, I felt pride swell in my chest. He was everything a hero was supposed to be: a figure who inspired allies, terrified enemies, and stood unshakable in the chaos of battle.
Arthur, the hero, was becoming real.