Golems or dolls—it made no difference. These were true works of art.
A deep cellar stretched before him. Dim candlelight revealed a space wrapped in raw stone, rows of artificial crystal coffins arranged with meticulous precision.
Sealed within the crystal were young girls, all around fifteen or sixteen. Each possessed flawless features. Not the sort of beauty that toppled kingdoms, but far beyond anything a human body could naturally achieve.
They were not human.
They were art—treasures refined by master craftsmen.
That was why they were perfect.
Porcelain skin without blemish. Proportions tuned to an ideal balance. Faces untouched by age. Even their bones and muscle fibers were optimized to draw out the absolute limits of human strength, enough to withstand any scale of war.
They were loyal maids.
They were killing machines.
Their Spirit Cores were saturated with combat knowledge. Even seasoned mercenaries fell short by comparison. Their bodies could tear through trained soldiers with ease. Close-quarters combat, capture, sniping, assassination—each executed with terrifying refinement.
And yet.
These girls were not powerful golems.
They were dolls made for pleasure. The lowest grade of all—Pleasure Golems.
Nothing more than toys to ease Rhodes' boredom.
That was all.
In the cellar of the workshop, Rhodes focused on a single rib laid out before him.
It was his own.
Freshly removed, still carrying a faint scent of blood.
This time, he was creating a true weapon of war—not another maid doll meant for cleaning floors. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, peeling away connective tissue. Fine incisions spread across the rib, threading through the few Magic Circuits it contained.
Few golem craftsmen used their own body parts.
Not because of pain—but because of attachment.
Golems were consumables. Every craftsman learned that lesson with their inheritance. The moment one grew attached to their creations, progress ended.
Only by destroying the old could one surpass it.
That creed was absolute.
But Rhodes was different.
He was first an Arcanist. A golem craftsman came second.
To him, value was everything. A rib, a heart—it was all negotiable.
Sweat beaded across his brow. Under the wash of Arcane Magic, the rib shone like polished jade. Crimson light pulsed across its surface.
Spell formulas. Magic arrays. Endless inscriptions interlocked and awakened the sparse Magic Circuits within, transforming the rib into a priceless mana core.
Rhodes exhaled softly and approached one of the crystal coffins.
Inside lay a young girl.
White hair framed her forehead. Her features were gentle, almost innocent. Yet her green eyes stared blankly, empty of emotion—pure and cold, like freshly cut jade.
She wore nothing.
No one would notice her flawless skin.
Those eyes alone sent a chill through the bones.
At her waist, two black scythes were bound through a mechanical harness. Complex inscriptions shimmered faintly along their blades, sharpness intertwined with Mystery.
Rhodes placed the rib against her chest.
The bone sank into her body, driving power through her rigid frame. Deep within, a sealed Spirit Core began to stir.
That core housed the soul of a girl who had died in a car accident.
Because of that death, her grasp of time had been unusually clear. That clarity was why Rhodes had chosen her.
The spell sealed within the rib was a ninth-ring Transmutation—Time Stop.
To obtain it, Rhodes had burned through nine "strings" he had accumulated over more than ten years. Auxiliary materials and enchanted reagents were consumed in absurd quantities.
If Kayneth hadn't stepped in as a convenient patron earlier, Rhodes might have needed to blow open the Bank of England's vault.
He had always lived like this.
Reckless. Unrestrained.
[Autonomous Doll—Ninth-Ring Spell Vessel No. 1. Creator template verified. Beginning base configuration.]
A rigid voice echoed.
The doll sat up slowly, expression still stiff.
"Configuration again. Tedious," Rhodes muttered. He discarded a flood of useless thoughts and spoke clearly. "Begin setup. Register me as highest authority. Your name is RyuZU. Reconstruct emotional parameters according to the template engraved in your Spirit Core."
[Acknowledged.]
The voice was still flat, but something new stirred within it.
RyuZU closed her emerald eyes and lay back into the crystal coffin, as though falling asleep.
A few seconds passed.
She rose again—this time pushing herself up with slender white arms, climbing out of the coffin with fluid motion.
"Ah…"
RyuZU yawned casually. The deliberately restrained settings meant there was no exaggerated movement, which left Rhodes faintly regretful.
Perhaps he should have adjusted that.
Still, following the original design had its own charm.
"What are you thinking about?"
Her light voice echoed through the cellar, sweeping away its gloom.
"Are you planning my future using your lower half? Having a master like you is truly unfortunate."
Rhodes stared at her in silence.