"So that's how it is… no wonder it carries the blood of a Phantasmal Species."
In the depths of the cellar, the air was thick with the sticky stench of blood.
This was not the cellar where maid dolls were stored, nor was it the training ground for mercenaries. This place belonged solely to Rhodes.
His laboratory.
Naturally, it had nothing to do with any back-breaking mod from some old game, nor with anything calling itself a "Laboratory of Love." He had never touched such things.
Here, there was no pleasure to be found—only a hell that chilled the spine.
The walls were encased in high-strength alloy plates. The floor was solid steel. Harsh white lights flooded the underground chamber. Before Rhodes stood an experimental table four or five meters long.
Upon it lay a beast convulsing violently.
Or rather, a human who had become a beast.
A werewolf.
A species that existed only in human myth, revered by magi as a Phantasmal Species.
Yet this one was not pure. It was a degraded product, carrying only a trace of Phantasmal Species blood.
"With such a minuscule concentration, it still reaches this level…"
Rhodes carved through thick muscle, bullet-resistant hide, and claws capable of tearing steel apart. A flicker of shock crossed his face.
Not because the werewolf was especially powerful.
But because of what it could do in combat.
Even a single werewolf with such diluted blood could easily slaughter ordinary Fes-ranked magi, or even those at Pride. As for true alpha specimens with purer bloodlines, the comparison was laughable.
And creating one was absurdly cheap.
All it took was a strong young man, and a small amount of werewolf bodily fluid.
"A weapon of war straight out of a dream." Rhodes murmured. "The fact that these Phantasmal Species weren't completely exterminated makes sense now."
The silver scalpel in his hand flashed.
The werewolf's twitching neck was severed in one clean motion. A spray of blood burst forward—only to be stopped by a barrier of magic.
Behind the blood-red Shield, Rhodes' eyes gleamed with cold, merciless light.
"Looks like this harvest was worth the effort."
He clapped his hands once.
At the sharp sound, RyuZU appeared behind him, her form sudden and silent, dressed in a dark green gauze gown.
"Master."
She stepped before Rhodes, lifting the hem of her skirt slightly, pale slender legs exposed without hesitation.
Unfortunately, while Rhodes was undeniably twisted, he was neither a foot fetishist nor a leg fetishist.
His tastes lay elsewhere entirely.
"Go to the Clock Tower's black market," Rhodes said evenly. "Acquire some strong, young humans for me. Preferably violent criminals."
"As you command."
RyuZU inclined her head. Her weightless figure vanished instantly, departing through the use of Time Stop.
"Tch. Wasting precious magic so casually." Rhodes clicked his tongue.
His gaze returned to the corpse on the table, already cooling.
"Werewolf lycanthropy… what an intriguing bloodline."
◇◇◇
Soon after, within the Clock Tower's black market.
The so-called black market was housed inside a lavish manor. Nearly every magus knew of its existence. There was no secrecy to speak of.
There was no need for it.
The Twelve Lords themselves held stakes in this place. With aristocratic backing, the market flourished openly. What it sold were merely things that violated moral convention—from living humans to all manner of nonhuman races.
Almost anything could be purchased here.
Every item illegal by modern law.
RyuZU strolled through the manor, examining the wares as she searched for merchants dealing in human trafficking.
Other magi looked at her with naked desire at first, only for reason to quickly reassert itself.
Magi were creatures of logic. Even those obsessed with appearances were not ruled by lust alone. A girl radiating such powerful magical fluctuations was not someone a half-trained magus would dare provoke.
They could not discern RyuZU's true nature. Most assumed she was a human magus, perhaps even a descendant of a great family.
"Vile humans," RyuZU muttered, her voice sharp with contempt. "Aside from my master, every human in this world is filthy."
"I can't pretend I didn't hear that, doll."
A haughty voice rang out behind her.
A jet-black whip snapped across her path.
Blocking RyuZU was a girl of seventeen or eighteen, orange-red hair tied in a ponytail. Her delicate face carried an air of arrogant command.
"A mere doll dares look down on human magi?" the girl snapped. "Who is your master? It seems he needs to repair you properly."
The air trembled as she spoke.
Wind gathered—violent, turbulent, accelerating into a raging gale.
Inside the enclosed manor, the storm erupted out of nowhere, compressed into twelve arrows of wind that shot straight toward RyuZU.
"Hmph. A doll not even worthy of 'low bloodline' status dares mock magi?" the orange-haired girl sneered, not even looking at her opponent's supposed fate. "You're only fit to be scrapped."
Then—
The roaring wind arrows shattered instantly, collapsing as if the spell itself had been unraveled.
A low, oppressive voice sounded in front of her.
The girl shuddered.
"Oh? Are you questioning my work?"
The tone was calm.
The pressure was not.
The air thickened, growing heavy with each word, suffocating those nearby.
A boy stood there, fifteen or sixteen at most. His clear eyes burned with icy killing intent.
"Tell me your name," said the boy—Rhodes—his voice ringing through the manor. "Then—die."
"Buzz—"
As if answering his command, a pitch-black scythe slid out from beneath RyuZU's skirt. Firearms glowing with magical light floated into the air, muzzles dark and cold, fully primed.
At that moment—
The tension snapped taut, like a drawn blade.