Chapter 775: Epilogue – The Boy

A world blurred, like it’s covered in fog. In that place, Puppet saw the children.

The children were as blurry as the world around them, their figures barely visible, like shadow puppets.

Because of that, it was hard to tell what expressions the children were making, but it wasn’t impossible to guess.

In fact, it was quite easy to guess.

Because…

‘You’re not our friend!’

‘You’re not even a person!’

‘You’re a monster…’

‘Yeah! Just a block of wood! Get out of here!’

They spoke as one, shouting at Puppet, pointing fingers, and throwing stones at him in disgust.

Through learning, Puppet came to know that the emotions they expressed were hostility, rejection, hatred, and contempt. Using that, he could easily infer the expressions on their faces.

It was because he had observed these negative emotions countless times.

‘How strange,’

Puppet muttered internally as he looked at the children who had thrown stones and hurled insults at him in the past.

Ironically, even back then, Puppet had muttered to himself that something was strange.

Not long before, those same children had played with him in the forest, leaping around. To suddenly call him a monster, a block of wood—it was bizarre, wasn’t it?

But this time, it wasn’t their changing attitudes that seemed strange.

It was strange why old memories were suddenly surfacing.

Memories that were so old and insignificant, he’d forgotten them long ago.

While thinking such trivial thoughts,

Thunk.

A slow-moving stone flew and hit Puppet in the chest.

The stone that hit his chest fell weakly to the ground and rolled away, and Puppet silently stared at it.

It didn’t particularly hurt.

Being a block of wood, he didn’t feel pain. However, the lack of physical pain and mental discomfort were two different things. In fact, not feeling pain made him feel even more unpleasant.

‘Hmm…’

Puppet emitted a low hum, just as he had in the past, as he looked back at the children who had thrown the stone.

Just like before, the children flinched and stepped back when their eyes met Puppet’s.

He knew what that meant too. They were afraid.

So bold and noisy just moments ago, and now they were frightened so easily—these humans.

They were like monkeys, but at that moment, Puppet recalled that he was even lower than those monkeys.

Because he had no kin, no real family, not even the blessing of a god.

It was laughable. Despite having an almost immortal lifespan, high intelligence, and ironclad patience, he was lesser than these easily frightened monkeys.

Confusion grew as past and present blurred together, and Puppet felt as if a thread had snapped as he began slowly raising his hand.

He intended to repeat exactly what he did in the past.

Like an eternally repeating ouroboros.

Just as Puppet was about to raise his hand to do what he had before,

“-Kid? Hey, kid!”

A voice broke in, accompanied by a touch that forced Puppet’s eyes open.

“Gasp!”

Startled by the voice, Puppet awoke with a loud gasp, feeling as though he had just been pulled from deep water.

His mind was muddled from the sudden awakening, when the unfamiliar voice spoke again.

“Are you alright, kid?”

The voice belonged to an old man, dirtied all over, who was staring at Puppet with concern. And it wasn’t just the old man staring.

The other old men and children trapped inside the dark, closed prison were also watching Puppet.

Puppet, his mind still foggy from sleep, looked at them and soon remembered who they were.

These were all people captured by the Dark Sorcerers, and in that moment, Puppet remembered why he was here.

After years of effort, everything fell apart when Oliver granted him his wish, almost too easily, before leaving. Not long after, Puppet was captured by the Dark Sorcerers and imprisoned here.

“Are you hurting anywhere?”

While he was sorting out his thoughts, the old man, who had been speaking to him since earlier, gruffly asked as he examined Puppet.

He was the longest-surviving prisoner here, a sort of senior inmate.

“I’m fine.”

Puppet respectfully replied to the old man, who was much younger than him.

Given his real age was beyond human comparison, but his current appearance was that of a boy, Puppet spoke in a formal manner.

Puppet had lived for centuries in many various roles, from beggar to laborer, merchant, actor, gang member, con artist, and even politician. He had learned how to adapt to his appearance and could perform the role with ease and without discomfort.

Judging by the old man’s reaction, it seemed he had answered correctly.

“You were sweating a lot.”

Puppet observed his own condition. His body, now that of a real boy.

His pulse was racing, breathing rapid, and all his muscles were tense, sweat drenching his entire body.

“It was just a bad dream.”

“Well, that’s a relief, then.”

The old man gave a curt nod, though it was true that it truly was fortunate Puppet wasn’t sick.

Emotions, corpses, and body parts—humans were valuable resources for Dark Sorcerers, in many ways. For that reason, they were meticulously managed.

A lapse in care could lead to rebellion or illness, which could result in mass deaths.

Because of this, the Dark Sorcerers were sure to check the condition of their captives at least once a day. They used the weakened ones first.

In other words, even in the lowest part of captivity, death came to the weakest first.

“Damn it…”

Some of the children quietly cursed at Puppet, seeing he was still well.

Even though they were as good as dead once captured by the Dark Sorcerers, they still wanted the weaker ones to die first, just to scrape out a little more time to live.

Puppet wasn’t surprised. He had seen such things countless times already. In fact, he was the one who had first devised the method of managing people captured for experimentation and materials.

For example, keeping children and the elderly together was one such method.

“Here, drink some water. If you don’t want to die.”

When older men and children were kept together, they’d support each other, helping preserve people in a fresher condition.

The children gained psychological security by depending on the elders, while some of the older men clung to life by protecting the children.

It was an act of survival, cunningly disguised as compassion.

It wasn’t much different from a biological instinct: being born, growing, pairing up, producing offspring, and dying.

Having witnessed many of these processes, Puppet knew the routine and, with a nod of thanks, took the bowl of water and drank.

“…Thanks.”

“So you can speak kindly, huh? I thought you were a bit slow.”

The old man referred to when Puppet had first arrived.

Back then, Puppet had been too preoccupied with inspecting his new human body to properly react to the others.

But now things were different, and he could respond more appropriately.

“I was out of it… Sorry.”

“Hold on to your senses. We’ll be out of here soon.”

The old man glanced toward the dark corner of the cell.

There, a few older men, with the help of some children, were digging at the ground with their bare hands.

They’d discovered a small crack in the wall, and the old men used their withered hands to scrape away the stone floor, slowly making a small hole they could squeeze through.

That hole was the reason the children held onto hope and endured each day without succumbing to fear.

However, Puppet knew that the hole itself was merely a tool to keep the captives fresher and wasn’t holding much hope for it.

He himself had come up with the idea for that kind of hole.

People with even a glimmer of hope were easier to store long-term than those who were completely trapped.

Hopeless captives quickly withered, but ironically, those with even a chance of escape would preserve their energy and emotions and remain relatively lively.

Sometimes they’d be even fresher than when originally captured.

It was a fact Puppet had learned and honed through centuries of experience.

Elders and children, men and women, families—the key was to place them with someone they could rely on for a reason to keep living.

And externally, they would be provided with subtle loopholes, just enough to plant hope that, if they tried hard enough, they might escape.

Paradoxically, this was the best method for the Dark Sorcerers to store people while keeping them in prime condition.

Puppet had taught this method to all of the Dark Sorcerers he sponsored, and they made extensive use of it.

There was no better way to keep humans fresh with so little effort.

So Puppet held no real hope for the hole, nor did he share his thoughts with anyone.

He doubted they’d believe him anyway, now that he was just a boy. And he knew saying such an inconvenient truth might only earn him a beating.

More than that, he simply didn’t care what happened to these humans around him.

Right now, what mattered more to Puppet than the fate of these strangers was what he would do next.

Clench…

Puppet opened and closed his hand repeatedly.

His hand, now made of flesh and blood, of bone and muscle, not wood or a corpse.

He could feel the muscles and bones vividly, but, disappointingly, it still lacked the sense of emotions and control he’d once had.

He had to admit it.

By becoming human, all those years of experience and expertise as a Dark Sorcerer had completely disappeared.

But that didn’t matter. After all, Dark Magic had only ever been a means to an end—the end being to become human. Now that he was human, it didn’t matter one way or the other.

Though, given the circumstances of being captured by Dark Sorcerers, having his old powers would have been useful.

Even with the knowledge in his head, with no power to use it, he was practically helpless, just a boy with no means of escape.

‘Should I make a deal?’

Puppet considered using the Dark Magic knowledge he held, the locations of hidden vaults, or valuable Dark Magic item recipes to negotiate, then shook his head.

With no power, offering useful information would only make him a target for exploitation, not negotiation.

Dark Sorcerers didn’t let go of useful humans. They’d just drain everything out of him.

More than that, though, Puppet found he didn’t have any desperate desire to keep living. It all felt too bothersome, too tiring.

Maybe because he’d spent centuries striving to become human, now that he had, he wasn’t all that interested in living life to the fullest.

All he wanted now was to take a quiet stroll through the park, visit the seaside, taste good food and drink, and sleep in a soft bed. But he didn’t feel the need to put too much effort into achieving that.

Rather, he thought it might be better just to take this time to slowly enjoy the present moment, savoring each second until death came for him.

It was as he was on the verge of giving up everything.

Creak!

The iron door, the single exit to the prison, swung open.