Although Brandon had temporarily forgotten his original goal of convincing his siblings to help him with free bor, his skill in sculpting had deeply impressed them. Over the next few days, his brothers and sisters eagerly volunteered to help with the construction of his territory, in exchange for a few more sculptures.
However, help from his siblings alone was far from enough. Brandon needed someone who could lead the construction—someone who could manage the project and make it a reality. But such a person was beyond his current means to hire.
"I can't give up. There must be a way," Brandon thought to himself. Although his father treated his pns as a mere game, Brandon knew this was his only chance to gain more autonomy. If he didn't succeed now, he would have to wait until adulthood, which felt like a fate worse than death. His mind was made up.
…
One day, Brandon rushed into the Duke's study and presented his request. "I want to visit the old weapons warehouse and try to make a weapon for myself."
The Duke chuckled, shaking his head. "Little Brandon, a sword or dagger isn't just about the shape. There are many steps in the process."
"I want to try," Brandon insisted, his voice full of determination.
"Well, if you really want to, you can take a look," the Duke said with a smile, gncing at the model on his desk. "You can use anything you find in the old weapons warehouse."
…
On his way to the warehouse, Brandon was intercepted by his older sister, who tugged at his cheek. "You owe me a sculpture. Where is it?"
"Owe you?" Brandon blinked, confused.
His sister reminded him, "I agreed to help you with your territory, and you promised to make me a sculpture in return."
"But the territory hasn't even started yet?"
"I don’t care. You promised me a sculpture."
"Come on, sister, we need to be reasonable."
"I'm your sister, you should listen to me, right?"
"But I'm still your little brother. You should feel sorry for me."
"Are you going to do it or not?"
"I need materials, sister. You have to at least provide me with materials."
His sister scowled. "Fine, wait here, I'll get them for you."
…
Brandon looked at the dinner knife in his hand, helpless. Looking up at his sister, he asked, "Did you steal this? Aren't you afraid of getting punished?"
"Why are you worrying about that? Just hurry up and make it."
After a moment's hesitation, Brandon motioned for his sister to lean in closer. "Actually, it doesn’t need to be metal. Stone or wood would work too. It'll just require more magic."
"Why didn’t you say that earlier?" His sister snatched the knife from his hand. "Hold on, I’ll return this first."
A short while ter, his sister returned, carrying a stone the size of a human head, and tossed it at Brandon’s feet. "No cats this time."
"Got it." Brandon pced his hands on the stone, and with the sound of tiny stone fragments falling away, a statue began to take shape—an almost lifelike replica of his third sister.
Brandon proudly handed the sculpture to her, saying, "What do you think?"
His sister carefully examined the statue, then said, "Hold on, don’t go. I’ll get two more stones. Make me two more."
Brandon…
In this backward, wild world, finely crafted toys (or sculptures) were immensely attractive to children. Over the following days, Brandon worked tirelessly, using his magic to create sculptures for his siblings. Each day, he exhausted himself, pouring all his magic into his work, and each time, he was only allowed to leave once he'd completed the task.
Despite the grueling effort, there was a silver lining. Brandon, once considered a "fool," had transformed in the eyes of his siblings into a "good brother" in no time at all.
As his magic reserves were drained each day, Brandon began to experience the physical discomfort of overexertion, but he slowly began to adapt. The discomfort lessened with each passing day. Brandon decided to continue this routine, depleting his magic daily and seeing what results it would bring. Perhaps it was a good way to train.
