“Caleb, the companion farm is yours now,” Uncle Jamin said from atop his wagon. “I can’t say where I’m going or why. All that matters now is that this is in your hands.”

I nodded. He’d repeated this countless times, but he was rightfully concerned that his farm was in capable and responsible hands.

“I’ll do you proud,” I said.

“Just keep doing exactly what I taught you. Ensure the Replicator is well-oiled and maintain its runes. But do not . . .” He paused. ”Do not open the cellar.”

“Right. Keep doing the same thing I’ve been doing for the last few years.”

“And?”

“Don’t open the cellar,” I said with a smile.

He tugged on the horse’s reins, and the cart bumbled along the road. It would be a good week before he arrived at anything resembling civilization, whichever way he went.

In any case, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

I turned toward the companion farm—my companion farm. It was a block of land that stretched ten miles in all directions, with a five-storey manor and a wooden shack in the center. The cellar was situated between the two buildings, its doors clamped shut by thick iron chains.

I marched toward the shack, opened the door, and took a key from Uncle Jamin’s hiding place. He’d never suspected I knew where he hid it. The chains slid off the cellar door handles with a rattling hiss, and I pulled both doors open.

A perfumed scent immediately hit my nose, and I spotted a woman standing at the bottom of the stairs. Unmistakably a woman. She squinted against the sudden light invading the confined space, which was like a spotlight revealing her entire figure—and she was naked. My jaw dropped.

A picture of feminine beauty, every curve was perfectly sculpted. Pert breasts sat above a flat stomach while her hips arched out above slender legs. Her eyes glittered as she opened them, and her full lips pursed as she took me in.

“Jamin?” The woman tilted her head, and I noticed pointed ears sweeping up from either side of her head. “No, not Jamin. I have been here for many, many years. You must be his son.”

Uncle Jamin, the seedy old bastard. So this was what he was hiding. A homunculus. And from the look of things, this one was sentient. He’d broken about a hundred kingdom laws by creating her, and he hadn’t had the guts to throw her into the incinerator.

I didn’t blame him. She was a perfect gem.

“I’m his nephew, actually. Did Jamin really keep you in here all this time?”

“Yes. I have tried to keep myself busy. But there is only so much you can do down here.” She gestured at the walls, and I saw etchings that looked like some kind of language.

“How did you learn this?” I asked.

“From the books.” She gestured at the handful of tomes on the shelves beside the wine bottles at the stairs. “At first, when Jamin put me in here, I could barely speak. But I learned to read.”

“All while you were kept down there. . .you developed night vision?”

“Indeed. I evolved.”

Not only had Uncle Jamin created a sentient homunculus, but he’d also made her capable of evolution. She’d developed night vision, and then used that ability to teach herself a language.

No wonder Jamin had decided to leave the farm. But why had he left the evidence of his crimes in my hands? He must have known I would end up opening the cellar. Or rather, that it would be the very first thing I would do. He knew I was curious, and it was the only place on the entire farm I was never allowed to approach, because of so-called toxic substances.

“How did my uncle create you?”

“He manipulated the Replicator. Through alchemy.”

Maybe I could do the same thing? Nobody came anywhere near here, and I could always dispose of the evidence in the incinerator. I’d avoid making anything sentient, because I didn’t want to have to kill something with a soul, or whatever it was that this woman had.

“Come,” I said. “You’ve been in here too long.”

I reached out to the woman—that she clearly was—and she ascended the stairs before taking my hand. I brought her to the manor, trying my best not to ogle her glorious body in movement—at least not the entire time—and gave her some clothes my uncle’s previous wives had left behind. She was far too tall and slender for them, but one of the blouses made for a short-length dress that barely covered her ass. I thought about handing her some pants but decided against it. The weather was warm besides.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I have no name.”

“Why don’t I call you Alexia?”

“Alexia,” she whispered the word and rolled it on her tongue as though tasting it. “I like that name very much.”

“Good. Now, I think it’s time we did a little experimenting.”

I returned to the shack and skirted around the Replicator to reach the shelves behind it. The Replicator was a crystalline cylinder with a maze of brass pipes circling it like castle battlements. Attached to the Replicator were three steel plinths and a crystal vial containing ether.

I plucked from the shelves the tools necessary for creating a new homunculus. My uncle’s primary customers were adventurers who sought crafting materials for the Emerald Glade. Because these adventurers tended to specialize in hunting, they were among the best marksmen in the region. But they lacked close-combat abilities, which were essential when facing wood goblins. So, my uncle created generic human fighter homunculi. It was his bread and butter, and a kingdom-approved method of companion farming.

What I was about to do, however, was most definitely not kingdom-approved.

Creating a generic human fighter required feeding the Replicator a human finger, a short sword of average quality, and a wooden shield. Those three items created the intended human fighter when fed into the replicator.

Uncle had said that each Replicator could only create one type of homunculus, but the existence of Alexia meant he was lying. I’d always suspected the Replicator could be manipulated if provided with different materials.

And now I was about to find out.

The items required for a human fighter were logical, so I decided to play a bit of a logic game myself. Homunculi could be dangerous when first spawned, so I needed something that wouldn’t prove too difficult for me to defeat if it turned rotten.

“You wish to create another one of me?” Alexia asked from behind me.

“Not yet. I’d rather test something a little less. . .”

“Beautiful?”

“Yeah. You could say that. I’d hate to kill something as beautiful as you. But I’m also thinking of the dangers. I just don’t know what will come out of the Replicator if I replace the sword with a dagger, for instance.”

A shield symbolized defense, so if I fed the Replicator two shields instead of a sword and a shield, the homunculus would probably have very little offensive ability. It seemed the best option to avoid any unnecessary danger.

I grabbed two shields from the rack behind the Replicator and placed each on a plinth. On the final plinth, I put a human finger I grabbed from a pickle jar on a shelf.

“What happens now?” Alexia asked. “I was created here, but I have never seen the Replicator at work.”

“I just pull this crank,” I said as I yanked down the metal bar.

This opened a valve inside the Replicator and released the ether. Once the magical material flooded the crystal chamber, the plinths descended, and the two shields and human finger were consumed.

The Replicator gurgled and trembled as a figure started to form behind the crystal. Skeleton first, then organs. Pink flesh was stitched together before pale skin enveloped it. Hair grew on its limbs, chest, and head. Eyes plopped into the eye sockets, and a groan escaped its mouth.

I pushed the locking mechanism on the chamber’s door, and a barrel-chested human dropped to his knees and inhaled his first lungful of air.

“What’s this?” Alexia took the parchment that rolled out of the Replicator.

“It provides the specifications of a homunculus,” I explained.

She handed it to me. “What does it say? I didn’t learn this language.”

I read the attributes aloud.

Garmont Companion Farm has created a Shield Slammer (Human)!

Attack Power: 2

Toughness: 10

Accuracy: 2

Vitality: 10

Intelligence: 4

Skills: Shield Bash

“As I suspected,” I said. “He doesn’t have very much attack power. And his intelligence is low, too. Hey! Stop doing that!”

The new human had discovered the orifice in his nose and was excavating so deep I thought he might poke his brains. He removed his finger, looked at it, and then stuck it into his mouth.

“Are they always this stupid?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The ones Uncle Jamin made were mostly fodder for the wood goblins to busy themselves killing while the adventurers crept into the treasure caches. I think it might have something to do with the kinds of people the fingers were taken from.”

“Does that mean I was created from a human finger?” Alexia asked.

“Maybe. But you don’t look quite human. Your ears,your figure. . .I’d say you might have been created with an elvish organic component.”

“Elvish? I read of the elves. They are beautiful.” She paused. “Am I beautiful?”

“Incredibly, you’re a proper stunner,” I said. “Now, we should probably—”

I was cut off by the sound of horse hooves approaching.

“Shit,” I said. “Uncle Jamin must have forgotten something.”

I peered outside the shack and saw a rider dismount and march toward the manor deliberately. A bastard sword was tied across his back, and a tabard bearing the symbol of the Northern Garrison covered his chainmail.

“Do you know this man?” Alexia asked.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “His name’s Rikard. He’s been on the hunt for Uncle Jamin for years now, looking for some evidence that he was breaking the law. I’d always thought Jamin was squeaky clean, but it looks like Rikard has finally found something to pin on him. I figure he was half the reason why Jamin decided to leave.”

Rikard suddenly reached over his shoulder and drew his sword. He kicked open the front door and strode into the manor, both hands gripping his massive weapon.

“Looks like he’s not come for a quiet conversation either,” I said.

I checked the Replicator’s gauge and confirmed it had produced only 30% of its daily capacity. I could make another two of these Shield Slammer Humans before the Replicator would have to cool down.

Rikard would eventually find that the manor was empty, and then he’d come to the shack. I could run, but then there’d be no doubt I’d broken the kingdom laws. Besides, I was having far too much fun to just leave an experiment like this behind.

And what would happen to Alexia? I’d barely met her, but she’d become the victim of my uncle’s fear of being found out. I wouldn’t leave her behind, and I doubted she could run very far.

Only one option left. I grabbed four wooden shields resting on the rack, plucked two dismembered fingers from a pickle jar, and cranked the Replicator.