"Do you want to realize your own value?"
The chamber's walls gleamed silver, steel plates etched with countless runes. Brilliant streams of mana pulsed through them, the low murmur of incantations echoing from every corner.
Rhodes stood at the very heart of the workshop. Before him stood twelve girls.
Each had snow-white hair, their faces identical as if stamped from the same mold. Their eyes, clear and empty, carried no spark of self.
Cold. Hollow. Devoid of emotion. They possessed no concept of "I." Nothing but tools, batteries for mana, or worse—playthings for magi's desires. Beyond that, their existence meant nothing.
But Rhodes was prying open the shackles Magecraft had clamped on their minds, forcing awake the flicker of self within their fragile souls, painting colour onto their pure-white blankness.
He was a Golem craftsman. To him, Golems came only in two kinds: perfect or flawed. They could have quirks, personalities even—but their loyalty had to be absolute.
And now, while these Homunculus girls' minds were still clean slates, he'd paint them with his own colors—stained with lustful, milky white.
Yet none of them responded. Their faces remained blank, untouched by even the faintest shift.
"Tch…" Rhodes clicked his tongue but said nothing more. He stepped forward and tugged the white sheet from one girl's shoulders.
The cloth fell away, revealing skin pale as porcelain and a body fragile to the point of collapse. As "mana generators," their lives had already been whittled away by endless drain. Their forms were frail, wasting away.
Disposable. After this Holy Grail War, they'd be worthless. Gordes would probably dispose of them en masse without a thought.
These girls' very existence symbolized the magus's corruption. Looking at them, Rhodes's eyes flashed with both pity and contempt.
Pity for these lives, born only to die. And contempt for Gordes—an arrogant fool who dared call himself a creator, yet debased the beings he'd made.
Stupidity, rot, and unforgivable pride only deepened Rhodes's killing intent.
"Tell me…" He rested his hand on the girl's shoulder, fragile as porcelain, his voice rasping. "Do you want a new life? Do you want to kill the trash who trampled you?"
"…"
Silence. Her eyes remained dull, her expression vacant.
Defective products—bodies built only to house Magic Circuits. Beyond that, useless. Rhodes sighed.
"…Troublesome. If you won't answer, I'll take that as consent." He glanced at RyuZU waiting behind him and gave a slight nod. "Begin. Convert these Homunculi into Automatons. Their Magic Circuits will serve as both pilot and mana core."
"My, how stingy of you—to wring out every last scrap of value." RyuZU covered her lips as she laughed, though her clear eyes shone with approval.
"It's not exploitation. It's salvation. I'm giving them reason to live." Rhodes's tone never wavered.
Behind him, the silver chamber loomed with a massive shadow—a giant form standing six meters tall, radiating suffocating pressure. Even a Heroic Spirit would hesitate before that steel glow.
It wasn't a Golem of this world. It was a relic from another—the true "Iron Golem," a fortress-breaking war machine.
Six meters tall, its entire frame forged of enchanted steel. Countless magic arrays drove its movements. Every punch could shatter stone. Layers of magical barriers shielded its shell—protection even the strongest Saber-class Servant would struggle to pierce.
And its weaponry? Beyond the massive greatsword on its back, it bristled with modern death.
Aircraft cannons. Semi-auto grenade launchers. Shoulder-mounted missiles. Heavy sniper rifles. Even Rhodes's newest magitek railgun.
All mounted on a single frame. Against this? Ordinary magi wouldn't stand a chance. Even against Heroic Spirits, a squad of twelve could fight evenly.
One squad could topple Romania itself. A nation-crushing army. And the command unit, the Iron Golem itself, carried one of Rhodes's greatest trophies—a tactical nuke small enough to fit inside its chest. Enough to turn Trifas into a second sun.
That was why Rhodes never feared the Yggdmillennia Clan's wrath. He held a weapon that guaranteed mutual annihilation.
It was almost religious. Almost fanatical. His mercenaries in the Middle East hadn't just learned to fight—they'd brought back the holy art of glorious self-destruction.
"…A pity. These Golems guzzle mana like mad. No ordinary core can fuel them. That's why I need these Homunculi."
He lifted one fragile girl onto the operating table, examining her snow-white body.
"And so—I grant you a new life.
"As my weapon. As my tool. But never again as disposable trash. Awaken… my loyal soldier."
For the first time, the Homunculus girl opened her delicate eyes—on her own.
"…Haa."
A sigh—part relief, part lament. Rhodes studied her fair features, guilt flickering across his face.
No longer the cold-hearted arcanist. No—he'd become something else. Something painfully human.