Demon Hand Shows Its Power

What was wrong with a flawed piece? It depended on the person. Many astonishing creations had been inspired by flawed work.

Sanderson looked at the hand models scattered across the floor. The first was a human hand, though it was rather poorly made. The second was much better, almost indistinguishable from a normal hand. Then came the third... the fourth...

Starting with that first hand, Little Dean had kept changing the design. Some had spikes, some had none; some had scales, others had bristles. They came in every strange shape imaginable.

Sanderson did not know what Little Dean had in mind, but the models covering the floor told him enough. Little Dean was taking his lessons seriously, even when the lesson was nothing more than playing with mud.

After Dean left the courtyard, Sanderson did not return to the cottage in the middle. Instead, he went behind the row of cottages, to a bamboo grove.

A gravestone stood in the little grove. It was almost as though the bamboo had been planted there to hide it.

There were no words on the gravestone. It looked like nothing more than a stone slab set into the earth.

"Mentor, I'm here. I've brought news that is... both hopeful and despairing." Sanderson's voice trembled as he spoke to the gravestone.

The gravestone did not respond. Only the faintest trace of a savage aura seeped from the area around it. It was like... yes, like the demon model Sanderson had conjured for Dean earlier, with that same hint of savagery.

He stayed there for who knew how long. By then, it was past midnight, and the sky's three moons occupied three different directions, as though they had deliberately left one free for the sun that would rise the next day.

Only then did Sanderson emerge from the bamboo grove. He seemed dazed, as though he had exhausted a great deal of mental energy.

Sanderson put it out of his mind, went straight to his room, and fell asleep the moment his head touched the bed.

Meanwhile, after returning to his "home," Dean opened the Magic Hand spellbook again and read it several more times. In the end, his eyes remained fixed on the Demon Hand.

Sanderson had not asked him to sculpt that hand from clay. He had wanted Dean to use his imagination.

Dean understood. Mentor Sanderson did not want his thinking confined to the spellbook. Every great spell had been created by someone; he could not limit himself to learning only what was written on its pages.

That was why Dean had made so many bizarre hands.

Of course, Dean thought the Demon Hand in the book was already powerful enough. There was no need to spoil it with needless additions or changes.

After a whole day of playing with mud and so long spent reading the spellbook, even a young man like Dean had run out of energy. He fell asleep soon after lying down.

Dean woke with the sunrise the next morning. His mind was already racing, and now that he was fully awake, he could not stop thinking.

"I... I know what to do!" Dean murmured, looking down. It seemed he had settled on the basic form of his Demon Hand.

"Is Mentor Sanderson here?" Dean had waited at home until he thought the hour was reasonable before coming to the courtyard and asking the magical servant.

"Mr. Dean, please come in. Master said this is your second home from now on, and you are my second master." The magical servant continued, "Greetings, Mr. Dean. I am Wooden Man, the magical servant. What can I do for you?"

Dean regarded the magical servant with interest. Mentor Sanderson must have learned everything publicly known about him. And with this arrangement for the servant, Sanderson had formally accepted him as a student.

After all, Wooden Man was a magical servant with intelligence no less than an ordinary person's. In all of Bru Magic Academy, only Mentor Sanderson could make one, and Wooden Man was the only one of his kind.

Of course, this was not the creation of life. It was Life Fusion, a way of granting a little intelligence to life that lacked it.

"I'd like to see Mentor Sanderson. Is he..." Dean looked at Wooden Man.

"Oh, my young master, Master is fast asleep right now. He seems to have worn himself out last night." Wooden Man winked at Dean, though the movement looked decidedly strange on a wooden face.

Dean was speechless. Yesterday, Wooden Man had seemed so proper, like a loyal guard.

He had spent the entire afternoon beside Dean and Mentor Sanderson, fetching whatever tools they needed and doing whatever they asked without complaint. He had barely spoken, either. Dean had thought him the perfect servant.

But today, with Mentor Sanderson absent and Dean now his only student, was this magical servant starting to show his true personality?

"Ahem. You damned block of wood, don't be a bad influence on my student. Ahem." Just as Wooden Man was about to say more, Sanderson came out leaning on his cane.

From Sanderson's tone, it was clear he was used to Wooden Man's behavior. Dean even wondered whether the servant had picked up those cheeky habits because Sanderson could not be bothered to rein him in.

"Ahem. Little Dean, come with me." Sanderson headed toward the magic laboratory cottage they had used yesterday, leaning on his cane.

Wooden Man bowed and obediently resumed sweeping the courtyard.

"I found something for you, something very precious. I want you to experience it with your whole being." Sanderson sat down and took out a box.

Dean nodded without quite understanding. Experience it? Experience what—the thing in the box? What was inside? Could it be empty, and Sanderson wanted him to work it out for himself?

Countless possibilities sprang to mind.

Then Sanderson opened the box. Inside was a crystal ball the size of a fist. What caught Dean's eye was the crack running all the way through it. He recognized it: a One-Time Memory Crystal worth five gold coins.

Five gold coins. Until yesterday, he had spent more than half a year trying to save just one. Was he really about to use a Memory Crystal worth five?

A One-Time Memory Crystal could only be used once, though that depended on what it recorded. The more powerful the subject, the more earth-shattering and terrifying the scene, the harder it was to preserve.

A crack already ran through this crystal from end to end. Whatever it contained had to be so terrifying that the crystal could barely withstand the images alone. It might not even survive one complete viewing.

Now that he understood how precious the Memory Crystal was, Dean drew a deep breath and nodded to Sanderson. He was ready.

"Memory Crystal, project!" That was the last thing Dean heard clearly.

In the blink of an eye, Dean found himself somewhere unfamiliar: a desolate land beneath a crimson sky. There was no sun and no moon.

There was only a hand, vast as a mountain!

(End of chapter)