Chapter 778: Epilogue - The Boy (4)
The mind is influenced by the body.
Though the nations to the east denied this, insisting that sheer willpower could accomplish anything, this claim was nothing but blatant nonsense.
Having conducted countless human experiments, Puppet was confident in this fact.
No matter how diligent and optimistic a person might be, if they were forcibly fattened, they grew sluggish and depressed. And even those with the most violent temperaments could be tamed with a bit of pain.
The human psyche was that malleable.
Much like water.
The body was the vessel that contained this water. When the shape of the vessel changed, so did the water. Sometimes, when the vessel developed holes, the water leaked out.
The human mind was that fragile.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump...
However, Puppet had never dreamed he would experience this firsthand.
His heartbeat pounded faster than before, and the first thought that flashed in his mind was "how?"
He could see why it might appear suspicious, but... a black magician?
The second thought was, “I made a mistake.”
Sometimes, a lie depended more on momentum than logic, and in this case, momentum was crucial.
If he answered even slightly too slowly, it would be as good as admitting the truth. Right now, Puppet’s silence was akin to acknowledging he was indeed a black magician.
“Damn it.”
Puppet inwardly clicked his tongue, trying to figure out why he had handled it so clumsily.
It was the boy’s body, after all.
Back when he was in the wooden puppet, he could respond calmly to most situations. But this unstable body of a boy had twisted the mind of Puppet, who had amassed centuries of experience.
“What do I do? How do I talk my way out of this?”
Just as Puppet agonized over this...
Tap.
The old man extended a steadying hand to calm him.
“I’m not interrogating you.”
“...”
“I don’t harbor resentment, or anything like it. It’s not as if a kid like you being a black magician is unheard of.”
Ah, right. Even young boys could be accepted as black magicians. Not only in this Land of Winter, but anywhere.
Puppet quickly adjusted his response to the situation.
“I don’t know any black magic.”
“Are you an apprentice, or something like that? You must know a lot, though, if you can tell I’m a good captive.”
Now that things had come to this, Puppet decided to satisfy a bit of his personal curiosity.
“How did you know that I’d noticed?”
“When you’ve done this long enough, you develop an eye for it. Besides, you looked at me with a little too much nerve.”
Puppet blinked. He hadn’t acted as convincingly as he’d thought.
“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is, you’re a lot sharper than expected. So, if a smart kid like you ran off with the others, you’d all stand a better chance at survival.”
Puppet looked at the children huddling together, their spirits lifting with renewed hope.
The old man met Puppet’s gaze.
“That doesn’t seem likely to me,” Puppet replied.
“Either way, if even one of you escapes, none of you will get away unscathed.”
Correct. If even a single child escaped, everyone else present would be treated as accomplices in the escape.
With a rule like that, managing them was easier.
One question naturally arose from this. And that question was...
“Why are you doing this?”
“Me?”
The old man, playing the “good captive,” asked back.
“Yes. If you only did as ordered, your safety would be guaranteed, wouldn’t it?”
“Haa... who knows? Maybe—”
“—I get the sense you’ve been doing this a long time,” Puppet cut him off, poking at a sensitive topic. He might get hit for it, but he was curious.
The old man’s stone-like expression briefly cracked, his gaze faltering. He’d apparently spent quite some time acting as the obedient captive, so why was he suddenly pulling a stunt that didn’t suit him?
Maybe he’d gone too far? Well, it didn’t matter. He was willing to take a hit if it meant getting his question answered.
“When you get old, you gain a certain talent.”
“...?”
“A sense of when you’re about to die, or when you might live a bit longer.”
“Do you feel like you’re about to die?”
“Yes.”
The old man admitted it readily.
Puppet frowned as he studied him, but he still couldn’t read the old man’s emotions or life force, so it was impossible to tell if he was lying or not.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe it, either. Even after losing my family, I did this work to stay alive... But now, before I die, I want to do at least one good thing. Just so I can tell the gods I did one decent deed when I get there.”
“Do you think that’ll erase your sins?”
Puppet sneered at the old man as he would his former test subjects.
People only looked to the gods when death was near.
“Who said anything about erasing sins? I just said I’d do a good thing once.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There’s a world of difference between doing at least one thing and doing nothing at all.”
The old man’s stance was unwavering, as if he were convincing himself.
“Ridiculous old man.”
Puppet scoffed at him inwardly as the old man spoke again.
“Anyway, take the kids and run. That’s an order, not a request.”
“What if I refuse?”
“I’ll tell the guards I pulled this stunt because of you.”
“What?”
“I’ll say I was overcome with remorse because you look just like my dead grandson.”
“What the hell—”
Grab!
The old man seized Puppet by the collar and lifted him slightly.
For an old man, his grip was surprisingly firm, making it hard to resist.
“Or I could keep punching you until your mouth clatters like castanets. What’ll it be? A false charge? Castanets? Or escape? Pick one, whatever suits you.”
The old man tightened his fist, forcing Puppet to make a choice.
Though Puppet couldn’t use the Eyes of the Black Magician to sense the old man’s emotions, this time he didn’t need to. He could feel the old man’s sincerity from his firm grip.
Puppet finally replied, “I’ll go with the last option.”
“Smart kid.”
...
After roughing up Puppet a bit, the “good captive” who wanted to play the role of a good old man before dying let him go. And soon, evening came.
“Nothing out of the ordinary?”
“No, nothing.”
“Good, now eat up!”
The guard, showing no particular suspicion, kicked a pot of porridge their way and left them to their final meal.
“Here, eat this.”
The “good captive” old man, as well as the other elderly captives who’d been silent as corpses, also handed out porridge to the children.
The children all expressed their gratitude and polished off the porridge. Puppet did the same.
“Go.”
In the darkness of night, lit only by moonlight, the old man pressed his ear against the iron door to confirm no one was around.
On his signal, a child a head taller than Puppet... Leboski, was the first to crawl into the tunnel, followed by the other children, one by one.
It was slow going, but the opening was so narrow there was no helping it.
Puppet volunteered to go last.
While the other children were eager to leave, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic.
As a result, he unintentionally had a brief conversation with the “good captive” old man.
“You don’t seem all that keen on leaving.”
“Well...”
“Do you think there’s no chance of escaping?”
Puppet silently agreed.
Considering the nature of a place meant to imprison people, it was highly likely this was a remote area, which made it incredibly hard for a group of children to escape.
“Still, you should go. Didn’t you say you had to see your family?”
The old man referenced the lie Puppet had spun to fit in with the other children.
“Oh, right...”
“Who’s in your family?”
“Pardon?”
“Family. Who do you have?”
The tone was different this time. For reasons even he couldn’t quite grasp, Puppet answered.
“I have a grandfather.”
“Huh, how amusing.”
“What is?”
“Just... that’s interesting. What’s your name?”
“Grandfather’s?”
“No, yours. I kept calling you ‘kid’ because I didn’t know your name.”
A name. A name...
Puppet hesitated. He couldn’t remember his real name, only “Puppet.”
‘What was my name? Not the alias Puppet, but my real name. The name my grandfather gave me...’
“Kid, it’s your turn now.”
While trying to recall the name buried in the sands of time, someone called Puppet over.
Just as they said, the child before him had entered the tunnel.
It was now Puppet’s turn.
Without ever telling the old man his name, Puppet moved to crawl through the opening.
“Leopold.”
As Puppet started crawling away, the old man spoke over his shoulder.
“Leopold Rasmussen. That’s my name.”
The good captive. No, Rasmussen had shared his name with Puppet.
Why?
Before Puppet could ask, the old man explained.
“You know, one person should know, right? Now go.”
Returning to his gruff tone, Puppet gave no response and simply entered the tunnel...
The prison receded as he slipped through the opening, stepping out into the pale light of the moon shining on the snow-covered earth outside.
“Over here, over here...!”
In the forest, painted with the ghostly glow of moonlight and scattered snow, the children who had hidden themselves called out to Puppet.
Puppet felt the chill of the snow underfoot as he walked over to them, and they immediately began debating where to go next.
...Or more accurately, they began wandering.
“Um, which way should we go?”
“Well, isn’t it better to follow the road?”
“It’s dangerous if we do that. How about...”
Their opinions clashed with no cohesion. It was to be expected.
Even after breaking out of a steel-clad prison, what awaited them outside was just a forest of snow and an expansive wasteland.
Rationally speaking, it would be nearly impossible for a group of children to make a successful escape here...
“We have to go this way.”
As Leboski, the leader among the children, clutched his head and tried to reconcile their opinions, Puppet tossed his words into the mix like a stone.
The noisy children fell silent, turning their gazes toward Puppet.
Their eyes filled with both curiosity and a touch of irritation.
Unperturbed, Puppet simply headed in the direction he’d pointed—to the deeper part of the forest.
“Hey, what are you—”
“—You don’t have to follow me. I’ve already told you.”
Leaving the uncertain children behind, Puppet continued walking.
In his mind, he’d done more than enough.
But perhaps drawn by the confidence in his detached demeanor, the children eventually began to rise and follow.
Step. Step. Step.
And so, with Puppet leading them, the children walked.
Into the depths of the forest...
Puppet’s decision to head deeper into the woods wasn’t driven by any particular reason.
In essence, it was similar to how a man born in poverty would turn to back-alley life, or a woman might resort to working as a prostitute. It was just the choice that fit his circumstances, shaped by his environment and means.
And why?
The organization of black magicians that had captured Puppet was none other than the Valery Family.
The Valery Family.
Although smaller than the Chepskaya, Kopskaya, and Valishka Families, it was a black magic family engaged in similar operations.
That meant they bought or kidnapped people, extracted their emotions and life force, processed them into corpses, or dismantled them to sell piece by piece.
Puppet knew this business model intimately—it was his own creation.
Not only had he designed it, but he’d also provided funds and trained disciples who would purchase the products the family produced and sell them in places like Landa and Gallos, earning profits from the trade.
The point here was that Puppet knew the Valery Family well.
Inside the prison, he hadn’t been certain, but now, looking around at his surroundings outside, fragments of memories surfaced.
Though it had been several years, Puppet had once visited this place.
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
After walking through the dense forest for several minutes, Leboski, on behalf of the children, asked Puppet.
Was this secluded forest, devoid of human presence, really an escape route? The answer was simple.
“I’m not sure.”
“What?”
Leboski grabbed Puppet, stopping him in his tracks. He had trusted Puppet, but now received an irresponsible answer, so his reaction was natural.
However, as Puppet had already explained...
“This is our only choice.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Leboski shouted, but Puppet, growing tired of the conversation, explained further.
“I’ll only say this once, so listen carefully. This area is generally avoided by others.”
“But there’s a road...”
“Yes, if you keep walking down that road, you’ll eventually find a village and a port city. But before you reach them, you’ll get caught by the black magicians.”
At the earliest, by morning, the escape would be discovered; at the latest, by evening.
Covering the children with blankets to make it seem like they were still there would only work for a while.
Once the black magicians discovered their escape, they would pursue the children by car, and they’d be caught in no time.
“But... if we keep running without stopping—”
“—You might make it. Then, if you’re lucky, kind people will give you food and shelter and hand you over to the black magicians when they come.”
“...Why?”
“Because they’re in league with them.”
Puppet laid bare the cruel truth of the world to the child.
While it wasn’t the case for the entire region, the villages and port towns near the prison had an arrangement with the black magicians.
Puppet knew well, because he had ordered it so.
In rare cases, once in a blue moon, a “resource” would manage to escape, and these surrounding areas were the final insurance to capture such runaways.
It was a painfully obvious system.
Thud.
The harsh reality struck the children, some of whom collapsed to the ground.
One child... the one who often talked about missing his mother, sat down in shock.
“Then, why this way?”
Leboski managed to hold onto his composure as he asked. As their leader, he seemed to be trying to stay strong.
“There might be people here willing to help us.”
The children looked at Puppet as though he were a liar, but this time he wasn’t lying.
The Land of Winter was unstable in many ways, which meant that the black magicians were numerous here.
But it wasn’t only black magicians in this region.
There were bandits, rebels, and revolutionaries, too.
According to reports from Puppet’s disciple, who managed the area in his place, these types often hid in the surrounding forests. As anyone could see, it was a sparsely populated area.
There was even more good news.
“Most of them don’t get along with black magicians. They clash over resources, or their beliefs don’t align. So, they’re less likely to hand us back to the black magicians. That’s why we’re going this way.”
Hearing this, the children stared at Puppet in a daze, as if the story was too absurd to believe.
“How... how do you know all that?”
Leboski questioned once more, his expression a mix of fear and confusion.
Puppet’s answer was simple.
“Why do you need to know?”
Without waiting for a response, Puppet resumed his march.
...
Step. Step. Step.
The children kept walking, following Puppet’s lead, until he stopped.
But Puppet rarely halted, so they had no choice but to keep going.
Barefoot, on ground cold with stones and snow.
With each step, their feet ached, but none of them complained.
They knew this wasn’t the time to whine, and even if they did, Puppet would keep going without them.
Step. Step. Step.
They walked in silence, and occasionally Leboski would cautiously ask Puppet a question.
“So, do you think they’ll help us?”
“We’ll see when we get there.”
“...”
Puppet, not wanting to be bothered, replied curtly, and Leboski fell silent.
The intimidating child from the prison was gone. Now, he was just a kid.
However, actually seeing was not necessary.
In fact, they might succeed.
Puppet intended to offer a few of his secret vaults in exchange for freedom and protection.
Secret vaults.
A portion of the wealth Puppet had amassed over centuries, hidden all over the continent.
Negotiations wouldn’t be easy, but he believed there was a fair chance.
The bandits, rebels, and revolutionaries in the Land of Winter were all known to be strapped for resources.
They’d likely be tempted to check out the vaults, and in return, he could negotiate freedom and security by revealing a few more locations.
These groups were greedy like everyone else, but perhaps not as ruthless as the black magicians.
“Ten... or if I have to, maybe even a hundred vaults would be fine. After all, I have plenty of money.”
As bothersome as it was, there was now a reasonable chance for survival.
And with that chance, Puppet found himself facing a question.
If he truly managed to secure his freedom and safety, what would he do next?
“Hm...”
For centuries, Puppet had been fixated on one goal. Now that he’d achieved it—though by another’s hand—he was at a loss.
At that moment, he felt his heart beating again.
He remembered his other goal: bringing his grandfather back to life.
In the midst of excruciating suffering and despair, and with the shock of achieving his main objective, he’d briefly forgotten... but he still had a purpose.
To create a new body for his grandfather, to craft a soul inscribed with his memories, and to bring him back to life.
As the determination returned, Puppet’s heart started to beat with renewed fervor.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Yet, the rhythm soon slowed, and a question began to gnaw at him.
Could he really accomplish it?
The issue wasn’t that he’d lost his black magic abilities. It was the lack of confidence that he could succeed.
Now that he had become human, was it even possible for him to revive his grandfather?
‘Well, who cares?’
Puppet muttered inwardly.
Even if the chances of success were slim, even if he failed, simply having a purpose was enough.
Becoming human was gratifying on its own, but having a reason to live made it all the better.
Even if that reason was a goal he might never achieve.
It felt like something was out of order, but that didn’t matter.
The important thing was that he now had a reason to keep going.
As he was firming up this resolve...
Crunch!
A footstep echoed among the snow-covered pine trees.
“Stop.”
At the sudden sound, the children instinctively began to panic, but a low, heavy voice cut through the air.
A group of armed men in mismatched uniforms approached, encircling them.
Judging by the atmosphere, they seemed more like revolutionaries or rebels than bandits.
...
It was a good start. It was easier to negotiate with revolutionaries than bandits.
They claimed to fight for a cause, so as long as they were compensated, they tended to honor their word.
“Who are you? Spies for the government?”
One of them pointed his gun, his voice menacing, and Leboski hurried to answer.
“N-no, we’re not spies!”
“Then who are you?”
“We... we escaped from... from the people who kidnapped us.”
Screech.
“Kidnappers? Human traffickers?”
“Uh... I’m not sure exactly. But please, help us.”
Click.
“What do you think?”
“We should probably take them in. We’re revolutionaries fighting for the people, after all...”
Click.
“A-are you going to help us?”
Creak...
“Yes, but you’ll have to follow orders!”
“Yes!”
Click.
“Alright, then—”
“—Damn it.”
As the revolutionary and Leboski spoke, with the children beginning to feel relieved, Puppet muttered under his breath.
With genuine contempt.
As the curse escaped his lips, a chill, even colder than the snow-covered ground, settled over them, and suddenly, the faint sound of gears echoed around them.
Click. Creak. Click...
Puppet recognized that sound immediately—it had once been his specialty.
Sensing something wrong, the children turned back to the so-called revolutionaries.
Grinning...
The men flashed disturbing smiles.
Click!
One of them opened his mouth like a nutcracker and fired a tranquilizer gun.
Thunk! Thunk!
The tranquilizers struck the children, who collapsed as if they had been felled by an invisible force.
Shhk!
Meanwhile, another man opened his chest like a set of double doors, tossing a large net over the children, ensnaring many at once.
“Ah... Ahhhh!!”
“Help—!”
“...!!”
The children screamed for help, dragged along helplessly, but received no answer.
They all ran to escape.
All except Puppet.
Leboski grabbed Puppet’s hand and pulled him along, shouting,
“Run!!”