Wizard: Building a Golem Legion From Zero

CLANG!

Swords clashed.

Sparks exploded in the pure white space. With every collision, a jolt of agonizing pain shot through Yak’s arm, making it feel as if it were about to snap.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The "mirror image" opposite him hadn’t just copied his moves and strength. When he prepared to launch a feint, exposing his left shoulder to bait his opponent, that other "Yak" assumed the exact same posture, revealing the identical opening.

Two identical traps were simultaneously laid out before them.

This was no longer a battle; it was an eerie duet. What he thought was exactly what the other intended to do. His predictions were the other’s predictions.

Cold sweat drenched the lining beneath his Knight armor.

"This thing... can read my mind," they both muttered in unison.

No, it was even more terrifying than that. As the minutes and seconds ticked by, their stamina drained in perfect sync. Even the locations of their wounds were eerily similar. If this continued, the only outcome would be both of them collapsing from exhaustion at the same time.

Mutual destruction?

No!

He couldn’t die here! Over five million people were waiting outside for him to open the door home!

A frantic, ruthless thought flashed like lightning through the darkness, striking both minds simultaneously: trade a defenseless opening for a guaranteed strike!

A life for a life!

This was the only way to break the stalemate!

"Hah!"

Two furious roars overlapped. Both Yaks abandoned all defense simultaneously and leaned forward. The broken broadswords in their hands turned into two blood-red afterimages tearing through space, aimed straight at each other’s hearts.

They shared the same resolve, the same madness. They were the incarnations of the deepest honor and thirst for battle in each other’s hearts, and at this moment, that desire was pushed to the absolute limit.

The blades tore through the air, letting out sharp shrieks. The stench of death washed over them.

A split second remained.

Just a tenth of a second before the two swords would simultaneously pierce their chests, the pupils of one Yak, burning with resolute fire, suddenly contracted. He forcefully twisted his waist and abdomen. His sword, which should have stabbed straight ahead, shifted upward by three centimeters at an angle almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

SCHLICK!

Blood sprayed wildly.

His left shoulder was cleanly skewered by the other sword, the tremendous force sending him staggering backward.

Agony!

But he was still alive.

And his sword had flawlessly pierced the heart of the "himself" opposite him.

The expression on that "Yak’s" face instantly froze, shifting from frantic resolve to utter shock. He looked down at the sword in his chest, then looked up at the "himself" who had survived at the cost of a severe injury. He seemed to want to say something, but in the end, it only turned into a sigh. His entire body began to break down into billions of scattering motes of light.

DING!

A grand voice echoed throughout Aincrad.

[Server-Wide Announcement: Congratulations to Player ’???’ for successfully clearing the 100th floor of Sword Art Online.]

[The logout function will be restored in five minutes.]

[This game will be permanently shut down in three days, real-world time. Wesren Heavy Industry extends its most sincere apologies for the distress caused to all players by this unexpected incident.]

The announcement echoed three times in the mind of every single player.

The Town of Origin, the major grinding zones, players’ private cabins... every corner of Aincrad’s 100-floor Floating City fell into dead silence. Time seemed to have been paused.

The next second.

"Sob... sob..."

A young girl hiding in the corner of a tavern, having already surrendered to despair, covered her face and let out irrepressible sobs.

This crying was like a stone tossed into a still lake.

"We... can leave?"

"We won? We really won?"

"AAAAHHHH!"

A boy burst into tears on the spot. "I can finally see my fiancée!"

Deafening cheers erupted from every corner of the Floating City, soaring into the sky like a volcano that had been building pressure for an entire month! Countless players threw away their weapons and wildly embraced whoever was next to them, be they friend or foe. They laughed, jumped, and cried, pouring out all their fear, despair, and anger in this single moment.

Finally, they could go home.

Inside the Red Jade Palace, Yak’s figure was enveloped by a soft pillar of light. He slowly ascended, rising all the way into the high heavens. From this angle, he could see the entirety of Aincrad’s 100-floor Floating City. At this moment, countless motes of light representing offline players scattered and rose from every floor like a grand rain of fireflies, scrambling to leave this world and fly back to reality.

𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Amidst this magnificent sight, the colossal, towering phantom of Allen Wesren slowly coalesced before him.

"You are the hero of this world." Allen’s voice was calm and authoritative, carrying a perfectly measured trace of approval. "Look, the world is shining for you."

Yak stared in awe. The thrill of surviving a near-death ordeal intertwined with his reverence for the Wizard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

"I hid your name," Allen continued, "because the temptation of ’immortality’ is enough to corrupt even the most steadfast hero. This is for your protection."

As soon as he spoke, a flawless humanoid figure gleaming with a dark-gold metallic luster emerged from the void, hovering quietly in front of Yak. Its appearance was seventy percent similar to Puppet Zero, Rhine. The streamlined body exuded both power and artistry; every joint and every inch of armor seemed like a supreme masterpiece.

"This is the clear reward I prepared for you—the Eternal Body," Allen said, his voice seemingly carrying Magic Power.

"Through Rune technology, many functions have been realized within it. It is enough to grant you combat prowess rivaling that of an Official Wizard, which means you will be invincible in Aiselan.

"Moreover, it is indestructible. If it doesn’t suffer any fatal attacks, it can operate smoothly for three thousand years. To a mortal, this is immortality."

Yak held his breath. He could feel the terrifying energy contained within that Golem body.

Allen continued, "You simply need to press your forehead against its forehead.

"Your soul, memories, and consciousness will be completely transferred into this brand-new vessel. You can obtain immortality and power right now, or you can choose to activate it when your physical body reaches the end of its lifespan.

"The choice is yours."

Yak stared fixedly at the flawless Golem.

Immortality. Power.

These were ultimate temptations no mortal could resist. With just a single thought, he could cast aside his scarred flesh and blood to become an immortal legend. His hand lifted uncontrollably, wanting to touch the cold metal. But the moment his fingertips were about to make contact, he stopped.

The gentle gaze of his wife and the faces of his comrades who had sacrificed themselves in the clearing battles surfaced in his mind. He wanted to feel his family’s embrace, to share a drink with his surviving comrades, and to use this real, vulnerable body to feel the sunlight of survival.

"I..." Yak’s voice was a bit hoarse. He withdrew his hand and bowed deeply to Allen’s phantom. "Thank you for your generosity, Lord Wesren. But I want to... go home first.

"I choose to use it later."

Allen’s phantom remained silent for a moment, seemingly scrutinizing his choice.

"As you wish," Allen said.

"I will secretly send this body to be sealed away at your estate. Whenever you need it, it will be on standby for you.

"Now, go home, hero."

Yak solemnly offered a Knight’s salute to Allen, then tapped [Log Out]. His figure transformed into motes of light and ascended, merging into that dazzling river of stars.

Allen withdrew his gaze. At this moment, millions of streams of light were retreating from the server in an orderly fashion, each calibrated by the [Soul-Body Synchronization Buffer Protocol].

[Commander.]

Jarvis’s voice rang out. [All data from the ’Personal Identity’ experiment has been collected. There were a total of 312 valid control samples. The probability of the victor being the ’original consciousness’ is... 49.7 percent. There is no statistical difference from random probability.]

[Many sets of experimental subjects exhibited decision-making discrepancies within a short three-minute duel, demonstrating that even identical clones will diverge over time.]

[The consciousnesses of the losers have now been destroyed according to the preset protocol.]

49.7 percent.

No different from a coin toss.

In other words—in the face of a perfect consciousness backup, the concept of an "original" fundamentally did not exist on a data level. There was nearly a fifty percent chance that the Yak who had just walked out alive was a "backup" created a mere thirty minutes ago. And the one he had killed with his own hands could very well be the "original" who had led the Blood Alliance Knight Order in bloody battles for the past four years.

But did that matter?

It didn’t.

Because no matter which one returned, he would embrace his wife, he would tear up, and he would firmly believe that he was "Yak."

His memories were intact, his personality was continuous, and his attachments were unbroken.

Then that was "him."

Allen closed his eyes.

He had already obtained the answer to "Personal Identity," and he knew how to determine who was the main body and who was the backup. It wasn’t a philosophical answer—it was an engineering one. As long as the chain of attachment remained unbroken and the self-referential structure was complete, the backup and the main body were functionally identical.

Then, for himself, there was only one conclusion—he didn’t need to agonize over "which one is the real me."

He only needed to ensure that no matter which version of himself woke up, they could seamlessly carry on the will of the previous version.