"If there's nothing else, then please leave my workshop."
Rhodes's tone was flat, but the will behind his words brooked no argument. Across from him, the golden-haired boy named Roche froze, clearly not expecting Rhodes to cast aside pretense so bluntly.
"But—"
"No buts. I've still got Golem research to conduct. If you're bored, go play with Avicebron." Rhodes's gaze on his so-called younger brother was calm, but the weariness in his expression spoke volumes. "And drop the act. Even if I were a fool, I could still see through your fake innocence to the cruelty underneath."
"Tch…" Roche curled his lip. The childish façade vanished instantly, replaced with cold clarity. He might've been only fourteen or fifteen, but he was already a competent magus.
From a young age, he'd fought and killed other magi over rare materials for Golem research. The number of magi and ordinary people who'd died by his hand was uncountable.
A boy like that could never be called "innocent." That mask was nothing but a tool, a disguise to secure advantage.
"Your golems aren't even in the same league as Avicebron's masterpieces. Just piles of scrap metal." Roche sneered, his voice brimming with pride.
"Oh? Scrap metal?" Rhodes's voice was quiet, but the restrained anger beneath was unmistakable.
For an archwizard who'd poured his life into Golems, such an insult was unforgivable.
"Of course, just scrap metal. Even if you piled them all together, they'd never match one of Teacher's rare creations." Roche spoke with certainty, his words filled with devotion to Avicebron and contempt for Rhodes.
Perhaps in his eyes, no modern magus could ever compare to the creator of the Kabbalah: The Foundation of Magecraft.
But Rhodes only chuckled dryly.
"In that case, why don't we test it? Your golems against mine. A proper match—how about it?"
"Oh? Now that's a good idea." Roche's arrogant smile widened. Without hesitation, he nodded. "This afternoon, then? I imagine you'll need time to tinker with your toys."
"Of course. In the castle courtyard, shall we?" Rhodes smiled slyly, stringing along his blood brother with practiced ease.
"Fine. Don't come crying when you lose, dear brother." Roche hopped out of the workshop, his original plan of pilfering a few of Rhodes's materials completely forgotten.
"Honestly… cruel enough to pass for a magus, but not nearly clever enough."
Rhodes smirked at the sound of the slamming door.
"Don't cry, huh? Otherwise, the entire Frain family will lose face."
◇◇◇
By afternoon, the sun had dimmed and the stifling heat was finally bearable. At the very heart of the Yggdmillennia Clan's castle, within the flower-strewn courtyard enclosed by layer after layer of walls…
A towering Golem stood proudly at the center. Built from earth, timber, stone, and centuries-old parchment, it was larger and more imposing than the usual constructs Avicebron produced.
Clearly, despite their agreement to use only "self-made golems," Roche had no intention of honoring the deal. He fully intended to lean on the strength of his Servant to "teach a lesson" to the brother who dared challenge him.
Around the courtyard, a dozen magi of the Yggdmillennia Clan watched closely. Even Darnic was among them, with Vlad III looming behind him in spirit form, observing with a predatory stare.
No one expected Rhodes to win. What they wanted was to see just how vast the gap was between a "modern magus" and an "ancient Heroic Spirit."
"So this is the golem you made, Roche?" Rhodes strolled into the courtyard with an easy grace, a mocking smile on his face. Calm, elegant, utterly unbothered.
"Hmph! Avicebron is my Servant. His golems are mine by extension!" Roche boasted shamelessly.
Rhodes didn't grow angry. Instead, he laughed softly.
"Then shall we begin the match?"
"And where's yours? I can't wait to watch it get torn to pieces!" Roche's face twisted as he jeered. "What's wrong? Don't even have the guts to bring your so-called masterpiece out in front of everyone? As a fellow member of the Frain family, I'm ashamed of you."
At that, not only Rhodes, but even Vlad behind Darnic let out a strange smile.
"Still looking for my golem? Isn't it right here?" Rhodes raised his hand casually, pointing toward the cloudless blue sky.
"What…" Gasps rippled through the courtyard. A heartbeat later, the pristine heavens twisted and shattered—revealing a colossal beast of steel.
A massive helicopter, over fifteen meters long, its spinning rotors howled with wind and power. For the first time, the magi were forced to confront the raw, overwhelming presence of modern weaponry.
Its silver-and-black frame shimmered with glowing runes, layer upon layer of protective wards swirling around it. Arcane Magic fueled spells like Third-Circle Illusion: Invisibility Sphere and Cantrip: Silent Portal, allowing it to slip unseen and unheard into patrol at will.
"Wh-What is that…?"
Even Roche, staring at the hive of rocket pods beneath the wings and the twin railguns fixed to the belly, couldn't stop himself from trembling.
For the first time, he understood—modern technology was terrifyingly strong.
"Tiger-class Attack Helicopter, designation PT-1. Dug it out of a military museum. Once upon a time, it was hailed by the German people as the future of warfare. Naturally, it carries with it a powerful recognition bonus." Rhodes smiled, his words edged with chilling menace. "Now then… let's begin."
"Wait—!" Roche tried to protest, but Rhodes ignored him.
One of the railguns lit with searing brilliance. Under magical magnetization, the rails gathered power, hurling a solid aluminum slug at Mach 12.
BZZZ—BOOOOM!!!
In an instant, the towering golem—and half the surrounding wall—were reduced to ash beneath the blinding pillar of light.