Chapter 776: Epilogue – The Boy

“It’s time to eat.”

A man entered the room as the heavy iron door swung open, speaking bluntly.

Inside the dark cell, in contrast to the bright light outside, the sudden rush of light through the open door made the prisoners cover their eyes in pain.

Except for one person – Puppet.

Despite the blinding light, Puppet forced his eyes open to study the man who entered.

‘Mid-forties, shabby clothes, nervy demeanor. Likely a laborer, or maybe a slave.’

From the man’s age, attire, and attitude, Puppet inferred that he was either the lowest-ranking worker in the Dark Sorcerer Family or a captured slave forced into labor.

And that made perfect sense, after all.

Supervising prisoners was a task usually entrusted to the lowest ranks of the family.

Whack!

Suddenly, Puppet felt an intense pain on the side of his head.

The man delivering the food had struck Puppet for daring to not lower his eyes in front of him.

The impact knocked Puppet to the ground, and the man spat down at him.

“Tsk! How dare you glare at me like that, you filthy brat!”

“It was just a nightmare,”

The old man intervened, approaching the man with caution.

“A nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“Nightmares are the first sign of weakness, both in the mind and body. So, are you sick?”

The man spoke with a sadistic tone, pretending as if he cared.

Puppet, still dizzy from the blow, reassessed the man.

Middle-aged, dressed in rags, nervy, sadistic voice, know-it-all tone. And, more importantly, the eye tattoo on his neck.

It seemed a slight correction was needed.

He wasn’t merely a slave but a low-ranking worker in the family, though with some level of expertise.

The eye-shaped tattoo on his neck proved it. It marked him as one of the guards assigned to oversee and manage the prisoners.

In Winter Kingdom, Dark Sorcerers would tattoo their ranks, roles, and merits to distinguish themselves, and the eye tattoo was only given to those acknowledged for their ability and trustworthiness as guards.

‘This is bad.’

Realizing where he was and what kind of Dark Sorcerer Family had captured him, Puppet came to a grim conclusion.

All Dark Sorcerer Families were involved in human trafficking, organ harvesting, emotional exploitation, forced labor, and even experimentation. Dangerous, yes, but some places were far worse.

One of the more terrible factions were the Dark Sorcerers of the Winter Kingdom, and this was one such place.

The brutal and closed-off nature of this vast, harsh land had given birth to equally brutal and isolated Dark Sorcerers.

The corrupt and incompetent royal family only made it worse.

“This bastard’s glaring at me again!”

The guard, whose only joy in life came from bullying those weaker than him, prepared to strike Puppet once more. The old man intervened.

“You know he’s been off since you brought him here. Likely due to the blow to his head.”

“Who gave you permission to touch him?!”

The guard grabbed the old man by the collar and shook him violently.

“You think just because I acknowledge your words, you can mock me?! Huh?!”

“N-No, not at all. I’m just trying to avoid damaging the merchandise, which would be bad for us both, right?”

The old man responded humbly, trying to calm him down.

Compared to his usual gruff demeanor, his tone could be considered outright groveling, but it was undeniably the right strategy.

In this place, everyone was but an object, and the irritable guard was the one managing those objects.

The slightest provocation could be dangerous. Conversations like this were the only way to avoid trouble.

“Ugh… Fine! But this is your last warning. Make sure to train him right. Got it?!”

The guard, roughing up the old man one last time, let him go with a warning. Damaging valuable resources wasn’t in his interest, either.

“Understood.”

“And report any problems immediately. Got it?!”

“Yes, understood.”

“Tch! Just eat your food.”

The old man bowed his head slightly, and the guard, feeling slightly appeased, left the prison after dropping off only the bowl and pot of food.

Creak… Thud!

The heavy iron door slammed shut behind the departing guard, leaving the cell once again shrouded in darkness.

“Are you okay, kid?”

The old man who had been negotiating with the guard addressed Puppet in his usual abrupt tone.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Then get up.”

“Yes.”

As Puppet began to rise, following his own response, a hand reached out to force him to his feet.

Whack!

Puppet was shoved harshly against the wall as the boy who had grabbed him screamed out.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

The enraged voice belonged to a boy, caked in filth. Judging by his expression, it seemed his temperament was even filthier than his appearance.

As he pushed Puppet’s chest, he pressed on.

“What? Are you mute?! I’m asking you what are you up to!!”

Puppet, feeling the pain in his chest and back, looked up at the boy. He was a whole head taller than Puppet.

Who would have thought he’d find himself looking up at a kid at this age?

Just as the boy was about to raise a fist, annoyed by Puppet’s calm demeanor, the old man caught his punch.

“Enough.”

“But-”

“Enough. There’s no point in us fighting each other.”

The boy, fuming with rage, tried to argue, but the old man’s firm tone made him back down.

“I’m watching you.”

The boy glared at Puppet one last time before retreating. With the commotion over, the old man glanced at Puppet before addressing the others in the cell.

“Alright, let’s eat.”

At the mention of food, the old men and children who had been huddling fearfully rose and slowly lined up to receive their bowl of porridge.

The old man seemed well-practiced at this as he ladled the porridge from the pot, giving each person a large serving.

Squelch!

As the porridge was poured into each bowl, a wet sound echoed. The prisoners huddled back to their corners and silently spooned the porridge into their mouths.

Puppet silently watched them for a while.

“Here, take it.”

The old man handed a bowl of porridge to Puppet, who had not lined up but sat quietly.

“…Thank you.”

Puppet instinctively examined the porridge as he took it.

It was made of vegetables, rice, and pork fat—a substantial meal.

Overall, it was impressive. They clearly knew how to store and manage their prisoners well.

Mixing elders and children, giving just the right amount of hope, and even providing sufficient food. They had every method to ensure long-term control over their captives.

Judging by their proficiency, this was likely an organization experienced in human trafficking or a similar trade.

‘Chepskaya Family? Kopskaya? Or maybe Valishya?’

Among the most noteworthy was their ‘cruel guard and kind prisoner’ tactic.

“Not gonna eat?”

This old man was, of course, the kind prisoner.

The one who woke Puppet, defended him from the guard, fed him, and now sat beside him.

***

The cruel guard and kind prisoner technique.

This was a method Puppet himself initially invented for storing and managing people.

It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a primitive technique similar to ‘good cop, bad cop’.

The idea was to scare the prisoners into bonding, then control them through a prisoner you’ve already prepped as the ‘good guy’.

As basic as it may seem, it remained a highly effective method.

No matter how smart or cautious someone is, if trapped in a closed-off space for long enough, they’ll need something or someone to trust.

‘And the ones who refuse… they’re broken down or disassembled.’

You might wonder—why rely on prisoners to play the role of the ‘good guy’? Aren’t they in the same situation?

The answer is simple if you think about it.

Given the choice, most people will do anything to survive for just a bit longer.

It’s not just an empty statement. Puppet had seen it firsthand.

In a hopeless prison life, there were always those who, if promised safety, would cooperate as much as needed.

Even granting them a small privilege, like distributing food, served as an excellent bait.

Once someone mastered the system, it required little effort to manage the prisoners effectively.

After all, the ‘good prisoner’ would be working hard on your behalf just to cling to that little bit of security.

That’s why this old man was willing to risk his neck protecting Puppet. That’s why he was now sitting beside him, eating together.

To build his own reputation inside the prison and earn Puppet’s trust.

“Is there something wrong with your ears?”

Seeing Puppet’s silence, the old man repeated his question.

Finally, Puppet shook his head and picked up his spoon.

“Ah, my apologies. I’ll eat now.”

With that, Puppet scooped a large spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

It was warm… and delicious. No exaggeration, truly delicious.

It wasn’t just empty talk. He felt genuinely moved.

Oddly enough, despite all the gourmet food he’d tasted through his Zombie Puppet technique, it seemed like this simple porridge surpassed it all.

Who would’ve thought such simple prison gruel could taste so good.

‘Is it because it’s my own tongue?’

Puppet tried to hold back the shiver running down his spine as he speculated on why it tasted so good.

In the past, he had conducted research to feel sensations through his Zombie Puppet, but those were only indirect experiences.

Previously, he had been too occupied examining his body to savor the newfound sensation; now that he had the time, he could appreciate it.

How strange it was to be this moved.

Spending thousands of Randa a night at a 6-star hotel, and yet… here he was, in this dreary prison, more emotionally affected than ever.

Puppet had forgotten his original intent to just play along with the old man and continued shoveling the porridge into his mouth as if in a trance.

The hot porridge slid down his throat and filled his stomach.

Gurgle.

Only then did Puppet realize how truly starving he had been.

‘Hmm, I suppose hunger is a novel sensation for me.’

Puppet couldn’t help but reflect on just how inconvenient a living, human body could be. Yet, despite the discomfort, he relished the newfound sensations.

The satisfaction of being full, the sense of contentment blooming inside.

Scrape- Scrape-

Puppet scraped up the remaining bits of porridge from the bowl and, feeling a little disappointed with the small portion, sighed.

Thunk.

That’s when the old man dumped a large spoonful of porridge into Puppet’s bowl.

When Puppet looked up at him, the old man gruffly muttered.

“Eat up.”

“Thank you.”

Puppet didn’t hesitate and happily devoured the extra portion.

This, too, was likely part of the old man’s strategy to win favor inside the prison, but Puppet saw no reason to refuse.

“If you’re that hungry, you should’ve just eaten sooner.”

“I apologize. I was a bit preoccupied.”

“Oh really?”

The old man eyed Puppet suspiciously as he gave a vague reply.

A sudden sense of unease washed over Puppet, and he stopped eating, looking back at the old man.

“For someone ‘preoccupied,’ you sure seem calm. Most kids that get dragged here spend all their time crying.”

The old man was questioning him now. Clearly, Puppet had made a mistake.

He had gotten so lost in enjoying his newly ‘living’ body that he hadn’t blended in, standing out even more with his calm demeanor. He should have been pretending to be scared like everyone else.

However, trying to fake fear now would be suspicious. It was better to play dumb rather than offer a weak excuse.

“I was disoriented.”

The old man observed Puppet quietly, studying him.

Puppet had endured countless scrutinies before, but this time felt different.

In the past, he’d always been operating through his Zombie Puppets, ensuring his safety. He could rely on his strength if anything went wrong.

Now, though, he felt nervous.

In this form, he was just a boy. And worse, one who could not use Dark Magic.

For the first time, Puppet realized just how vulnerable he was in this state.

Compared to the others in the prison, Puppet’s manners made him stand out as someone who had been properly educated. His speech and behavior were too refined for someone his age.

He had tried to be cautious, yet he hadn’t done a very good job of it.

Looking back at the old man, Puppet wondered what he was thinking.

If the man was slow-witted, he might just assume Puppet was a bit different. If he was sharp, he might suspect Puppet came from a wealthy family.

“What’s your name?”

Sure enough, the old man asked for Puppet’s name. In the Winter Kingdom, names could signal someone’s noble background.

If Puppet claimed to be from a noble family, the Dark Sorcerers might try to ransom him off.

Puppet pondered whether that would work in his favor or not.

He had no family to pay a ransom, but he did know the location of several hidden treasure vaults.

Maybe he could buy his way to freedom by directing them to the vault? But doing so seemed cumbersome. Alternatively, staying silent would probably lead to suffering.

Just as Puppet weighed his options internally…

“If you don’t want to say, that’s fine.”

The old man stood up, not waiting for Puppet’s reply.

It seemed like he was going to let the matter stew for a while, to let Puppet cook in his curiosity, but a few days later, it was clear that wasn’t his plan at all.

“It’s almost done! The roots of the weeds have broken through! The tunnel is nearly complete!!”

After all, they had been digging a tunnel to escape this whole time.