A Golem, an Automaton—either way, these were true artworks.
The cellar stretched deep and vast, its rocky walls bathed in the dim glow of candlelight. Arrayed in perfect order stood coffin after coffin, each carved from artificial crystal.
Inside each crystal coffin lay a maiden of about fifteen or sixteen, every one breathtakingly beautiful. Not beauties who could topple nations, perhaps—but without a doubt, a level of perfection beyond anything mortal flesh could produce.
Because they weren't human at all. They were artworks, treasures polished into existence by the hands of a master craftsman.
And because of that, they were flawless. Every inch of their pale, delicate skin, the elegant balance of bust and waist, their eternally youthful faces—perfect. Even their skeletal and muscular structures were engineered to the limit, allowing them to unleash the very peak of human strength in battle.
They were the most loyal of maids—and the deadliest of weapons. Their spirit cores, the vessels of thought, had been inscribed with endless knowledge of war. Compared to them, even the most hardened mercenary was laughably crude.
Their bodies gave them the power to crush entire armies. Grappling, assassination, sniping—whatever the task, they could execute it with absolute mastery.
And yet… these girls were not mighty Golems. They were mere Automatons of the lowest order—Pleasure Golems.
Their only role: to cure Rhodes' boredom. Nothing more.
At that moment, in the cellar beneath his workshop, Rhodes sat hunched over a single rib bone—his own. He'd just pulled it from his body, still faintly smeared with blood, and now he was carving it with meticulous care.
This time, he wasn't creating a house-cleaning maid Automaton. No—this time he intended to forge a true war machine. His nimble fingers stripped away the membranes, inscribing delicate grooves into the few Magic Circuits running through the bone.
Few Golem engineers dared to use their own body parts as material. Not because of the pain—but because of sentiment.
A Golem was a consumable. That was the very first warning every Golem engineer was taught. Grow attached to what you create, and your craft stagnates. To advance, you had to destroy your past works. Thus, no Golem engineer would ever use their own flesh to build one.
But Rhodes was different.
He was an Arcanist first, a Golem engineer second. If there was profit in it, he'd part with a rib—hell, even his heart.
Within minutes, sweat drenched his brow. Under his infusion of mana, the rib gleamed like flawless jade, crimson light glimmering across its surface.
Runes. Countless layered circles and runic chains activated the bone's Magic Circuits, transforming it into a priceless mana core.
Exhaling, Rhodes stepped to one of the crystal coffins. Inside lay a young girl.
She looked fifteen or sixteen, her delicate white hair spilling across her forehead. Her innocent face inspired an involuntary tenderness—until your gaze met her lifeless emerald eyes. They were void of all emotion, cold and pure as newly-cut glass jade.
Though her naked body was on display, her soulless stare made her beauty chilling rather than alluring.
At her waist, two black scythes were fused into her frame, intricate runes faintly glowing along their deadly edges.
Rhodes pressed the rib to her chest. The jade-white bone sank into her body, animating her stiff frame. The long-dormant spirit core within began to stir.
The core housed the soul of a girl who had died in a car accident. Because she'd died that way, her sense of "time" was unusually acute—precisely why Rhodes had chosen her.
The rib carried the spell Time Stop—a 9th-level Arcane spell. Rhodes had burned through nine Strings, the product of more than ten years of accumulation, to inscribe it. The auxiliary materials alone were astronomical. Honestly, if not for that idiot Kenneth's desperate cash advance, Rhodes might've been planning a Bank of England heist instead.
That was just who he was—reckless, unrestrained, utterly shameless.
[Autonomous Automaton—Ninth-Circle Spell Vessel No. 1. Creator template loaded. Commencing baseline configuration.]
The mechanical, monotone voice came from the girl as she slowly sat up, her expression still frozen.
"Configuration… what a hassle." Rhodes curled his lip, shoving aside stray thoughts like pervert,ice queen,wetting fetish, and the like. Then, solemnly, he declared: "Begin configuration. Record me as the sole authority-holder. Your name is RyuZU. Reconstruct your emotions based on the template I inscribed into your spirit core."
[Acknowledged…]
The words were still cold, but carried the faintest trace of feeling. Her green eyes closed, and she reclined back into the coffin as if falling asleep.
Moments later, she sat up again. This time, not stiffly by waist strength alone, but with slender, graceful hands pushing her upright as she climbed free of the crystal coffin.
"Mmhh—" The girl—RyuZU—let out a casual yawn. But thanks to Rhodes' "flat-chested" setting, there was no glorious display to enjoy, which earned a regretful sigh from him.
Should've gone with "loli with big tits." Then again, keeping it faithful to Clockwork Planet wasn't bad either…
"What are you thinking?"
RyuZU's light, melodic voice rang through the gloomy cellar, sweeping away the shadows.
"Or are you pondering my life with your lower half? Truly pathetic, having a master like you."
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