Episode-823
Chapter : 1645
"Good," Lloyd said. He felt sick. He was building a counterfeit daughter. "Now, the story. You lost your memory. It was a magical accident. That's why you don't remember the name of your cat, or your favorite food, or anything about your life. You just know you love her. Got it?"
"Narrative accepted: Amnesia caused by magical trauma. Emotional directive: Love."
"And don't call me Master," Lloyd added sharply. "Call me Lloyd. Or Young Lord. Like she used to."
"Understood, Young Lord."
Lloyd looked at her. She looked like Jasmin. She sounded like Jasmin. But she was empty. It was a cruel trick.
"Let's go," Lloyd said. "Before I change my mind."
They left the estate. Ken drove the carriage. The ride to the slums was fast and silent. Lloyd sat opposite the Spirit, staring out the window, trying not to think about the morality of what he was doing.
They arrived at the cottage. It looked even worse than before. The windows were dark. The air around the house felt heavy, as if death was already sitting on the roof, waiting.
Lloyd stepped out. He helped Spirit Jasmin down. She moved with a fluid grace that the real Jasmin never had.
"Slouch a little," Lloyd whispered. "You're too graceful. Trip on something."
The Spirit immediately caught her foot on a root and stumbled, catching herself. It was a perfect, calculated stumble.
"Good," Lloyd muttered.
They walked to the door. The neighbor woman opened it. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jasmin.
"Jasmine!" the woman gasped. "You... you came! I thought…"
Lloyd interrupted, “She is not Jasmin. She is an actor, it is a special spirit that can take form of another person.”
The Lady was surprised and said sadly, “I see.”
Spirit Jasmin looked at the woman. She didn't recognize her, of course. But she followed her programming. She smiled the polite smile.
"Hello," she said softly.
The neighbor ushered them in. "She's in the back. She's... she's barely holding on."
They entered the bedroom. It smelled of sickness and stale air. A single candle burned on the bedside table. Mrs. Weaver lay in the bed, her breathing shallow and rattling. Her eyes were open, but they were milky and unfocused. She was blind.
Lloyd felt a wave of relief. If she was blind, the deception was easier.
"Mrs. Weaver?" Lloyd said softly. "I brought her. She's here."
The old woman's head turned on the pillow. Her hand clawed at the blanket. "Jasmin?"
Lloyd nudged the Spirit. "Go."
Spirit Jasmin walked to the bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress. She reached out and took the old woman's hand. Her skin was soft. Her grip was gentle.
"I'm here, Mama," the Spirit said, using the voice Lloyd had taught her.
Mrs. Weaver let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh. She gripped the Spirit's hand with surprising strength.
"You came," the mother whispered. tears leaking from her blind eyes. "I knew you would. I knew my girl wouldn't leave me."
"I would never leave you," the Spirit recited.
"Let me see you," Mrs. Weaver said. She reached up with her other hand, her trembling fingers searching the air.
Lloyd held his breath. This was the test.
The Spirit leaned forward. She allowed the old woman's fingers to touch her face. Mrs. Weaver traced the line of her jaw, her nose, her cheekbones. It was the same face. The same bone structure.
"You feel... different," Mrs. Weaver whispered. "Stronger. Harder."
Lloyd’s heart stopped.
"I've been training, Mama," the Spirit said, improvising based on Lloyd's script. "I had to get strong. To protect everyone."
Mrs. Weaver smiled. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking smile. "My strong girl. My brave girl."
She pulled the Spirit down and hugged her. The Spirit stiffened for a microsecond—a machine confused by the input—but then she relaxed. She wrapped her arms around the dying woman.
Lloyd watched from the shadows. He felt like an intruder. He felt like a criminal. But as he watched the peace settle over Mrs. Weaver’s face, he knew he would do it again. He would lie to god himself to give this woman this moment.
"I missed you," Mrs. Weaver whispered into the Spirit's shoulder.
"I missed you too," the Spirit said. It was a lie. But it was the truest thing she had ever said.
Chapter : 1646
The scene in the cottage was a tableau of tragedy and deception. Lloyd stood in the corner, his back pressed against the rough wood of the wall, trying to make himself invisible. He watched the performance he had directed, and every second of it felt like a razor blade sliding across his conscience.
Spirit Jasmin sat on the edge of the bed, her posture slightly slumped to mimic fatigue, just as Lloyd had instructed. She held Mrs. Weaver’s hand in both of hers. The Spirit’s face was arranged in a mask of concern—eyebrows pulled together, lips slightly parted. It was a perfect simulation of grief.
"Tell me," Mrs. Weaver wheezed, her voice barely a whisper. "Tell me about the palace. Tell me about the King."
The Spirit paused. She accessed the data Lloyd had fed her during the carriage ride.
"It is... big, Mama," the Spirit said softly. "The floors are made of marble. They shine like water. And the King... he is kind. He gave me a medal."
"A medal?" Mrs. Weaver’s face lit up. Even in the dim light, she looked younger, the pain of her illness momentarily forgotten. "For what?"
"For bravery," the Spirit said. "I... I saved someone. I stopped a bad thing from happening."
It wasn't a lie. The real Jasmin had saved a Sovereign. She had stopped a Devil King. But hearing the machine recite the deeds of the dead girl made Lloyd want to scream.
"I knew it," Mrs. Weaver said, squeezing the Spirit's hand. "I always knew you were special. You were never meant to just scrub floors. You were meant for glory."
She coughed, a wet, rattling sound that shook her frail body. The Spirit didn't flinch. She reached out and adjusted the blanket, pulling it up to the woman's chin.
"Rest, Mama," the Spirit said. "You need to save your strength."
"No," Mrs. Weaver gasped. "No time for rest. I have to... I have to tell you."
She pulled the Spirit closer.
"I was worried," the old woman confessed. "When you didn't come... when the letters stopped... I thought I had lost you. I thought the city had eaten you up."
"I'm sorry," the Spirit said. "I... I had an accident. I hit my head. I got confused."
"My poor baby," Mrs. Weaver crooned, stroking the Spirit's hair. "But you found your way back. You always find your way back."
Lloyd closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. The love radiating from the dying woman was so pure, so absolute, that it made the deception feel like a sacrilege. He was feeding a starving woman wax fruit.
"Lloyd," Mrs. Weaver called out, her voice stronger for a moment.
Lloyd stepped forward. "I'm here, Mrs. Weaver."
"Thank you," she said. She turned her blind eyes toward his voice. "Thank you for bringing her. Thank you for taking care of her. You... you are a good man. I always told her, the Young Lord is a good man."
Lloyd swallowed the bile in his throat. "I tried, Mrs. Weaver. I try."
"Promise me," she said. She let go of the Spirit's hand and reached out for him. Lloyd took her hand. It felt like holding a bird's skeleton.
"Promise me you'll watch over her," she said. "She's strong now, I can feel it. But she's still my little girl. She has a soft heart. Don't let the world break it."
Lloyd looked at the Spirit. The Spirit looked back at him with empty, brown eyes. Her heart wasn't soft. It was a diamond core powered by mana. It couldn't break because it didn't exist.
"I promise," Lloyd choked out. "I will protect her with my life. She will never be alone."
"Good," Mrs. Weaver sighed. She leaned back into the pillows. "Good."
She turned back to the Spirit. "Sing to me, Jasmin. Sing the song. The one about the river."
Lloyd froze. He hadn't programmed a song. He hadn't thought of that.
The Spirit sat motionless. "Query: Song regarding river. Data not found."
She didn't say it out loud, but Lloyd could feel the hesitation in the bond. She was stuck. The illusion was about to shatter.
Lloyd’s mind raced. He remembered the song. He had heard Jasmin humming it in the kitchen a hundred times. It was a simple folk lullaby.
He focused his will. He used the bond between Master and Spirit to project the memory of the melody directly into the Spirit’s mind.
Sing this, he commanded mentally. Hum it. Softly.
The Spirit paused. Her throat moved. And then, she began to hum.