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🕑 Added 2025-02-24 12:59:44 +0000 UTCEpilogue – Boy (4)
The mind is influenced by the body.
The countries in the East denied this fact and claimed that everything could be achieved with willpower alone, but that was clearly nonsense.
Having conducted countless human experiments, Puppet could assert this confidently.
No matter how diligent and positive a person was, forcing them to gain weight made them lazy and depressed.
And even the most aggressive individuals could be tamed through a little pain.
That’s how fluid the human mind was.
It resembled water.
The body was the vessel that held that water.
When the shape of the vessel changed, so did the shape of the water, and sometimes, when the vessel cracked, the water leaked out.
The human mind was such a fragile existence.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump...
However, Puppet never imagined that he would personally experience this.
His heart was beating faster than before, and the first thought that came to his mind was, ‘How?’
He understood that he might appear suspicious, but being accused of being a warlock was...
His second thought was, ‘I made a mistake.’
Sometimes, in lying, confidence was more important than logic, and especially in this case, confidence was key.
Even a slight delay in answering would be tantamount to admitting the truth, and right now, Puppet’s silence was practically an admission that he was a warlock.
‘Damn it.’
Puppet clicked his tongue inwardly, contemplating why he had responded so foolishly.
It was, of course, because of this boy’s body.
When he was inside a wooden puppet, he could handle most situations calmly, but this unstable boy’s body had twisted the mind Puppet had cultivated over centuries.
‘What should I do? How do I cover this up?’
While Puppet was lost in thought.
Clap.
The old man firmly raised his hand, calming Puppet down.
“I’m not here to interrogate you.”
“...”
“I don’t hold any grudge against you, nor do I have anything like that. Besides, it’s not unheard of for someone like you to be a warlock.”
Ah, that’s right. Even young boys could be accepted as warlocks. Not only in this Winter Country, but anywhere.
Puppet adapted to the situation and made up an excuse.
“I don’t know how to use black magic.”
“Are you an apprentice or something? Still, you must know a lot since you realized I’m the Good Prisoner, huh?”
Now that things had come to this, Puppet decided to satisfy his personal curiosity.
“How did you realize that I figured you out?”
“When you’ve done this for a long time, you develop an eye for things. Plus, the way you looked at me was rather impertinent.”
Puppet blinked. It seemed he hadn’t acted as well as he thought.
“Never mind. Don’t worry about it. The important thing is that you’re a smarter kid than I expected. If someone like you escapes with them, their chances of survival might slightly increase.”
Puppet looked at the others huddled together, burning with hope.
The old man looked at Puppet.
“I don’t think it’ll work out for me, though.”
“If even one person escapes, none of us will be safe.”
Correct. If even one person escaped, everyone present in the area would be held accountable for aiding the escape.
That kind of restriction made things easier to control.
This naturally raised one question. That question was...
“Why are you doing this?”
“Me?”
The old man, playing the role of the Good Prisoner, asked back.
“Yes. Isn’t your safety guaranteed as long as you follow orders?”
“Hoo... I wonder? Perhaps–”
“-It looks like you've been doing this for quite a long time.”
While the old man was speaking, Puppet interrupted, probing a sensitive spot.
There was a chance he might get hit for it, but his curiosity outweighed that risk.
He had been acting like the Good Prisoner for quite some time, so why was he suddenly doing something so out of character and reckless?
The old man’s face, usually as hard as stone, twitched, and his eyes flickered slightly, suggesting Puppet’s question had hit a nerve.
Had he made a mistake? Well, it didn’t matter. Even if he got hit a little, it was worth it to satisfy his curiosity.
“...When you get old, you gain a certain skill.”
“...?”
“You start to sense whether you're going to die soon or live a bit longer.”
“Do you think you’ll die soon?”
“Yes.”
The old man admitted it without hesitation.
Puppet frowned and scrutinized the old man, but since he couldn’t see emotions or life force, he couldn’t tell whether it was true or not.
“Don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“I don’t really believe it myself either. Even after my family died, I kept doing this to stay alive... So now, before I die, I want to do at least one good deed. When I meet God, I want to be able to say that I did something good at least once.”
“Do you think that will absolve your sins?”
Puppet sneered at the old man, just as he had sneered at his past test subjects.
Humans only looked for God when they were nearing death.
“Who said anything about absolving sins? I just said I want to do one good thing.”
“Is there any real difference?”
“There’s a world of difference between having done something and having done nothing.”
The old man insisted firmly, as if trying to convince himself.
‘Ridiculous old man.’
Puppet ridiculed the old man inwardly, and then the old man spoke again.
“Anyway, you take the kids and escape. That’s not a request; it’s an order.”
“What if I refuse?”
“I’ll tell the guards that I did this because of you.”
“What?”
“I’ll say you look exactly like my dead grandson, and that stirred my conscience into doing this.”
“What kind of bullsh-”
Grab!
The old man grabbed Puppet by the collar and slightly lifted him off the ground.
Despite being an old man, his grip was surprisingly strong, making it difficult for Puppet to resist.
“Or, I can keep punching you until your jaw clicks like castanets. So what’s your choice? A false accusation? Castanets? Or escape? Pick whichever suits your taste.”
The old man clenched his fist, forcing Puppet to choose.
Even though Puppet couldn’t use the eyes of the warlock to see emotions, this time, he didn’t need them to know the old man was serious.
The tightly clenched fist was proof enough.
In the end, Puppet responded.
“The last one.”
“Smart choice.”
***
The old man, who had been the Good Prisoner and now wanted to play the role of a kind old man before his death, roughly released Puppet’s collar, and soon, evening arrived.
“No problems, right?!”
“None.”
“Good. Eat your damn food!”
The guard, showing no particular interest, kicked a pot of porridge with his foot and left, marking their last meal of the evening.
“You kids, eat this too.”
Not only the old man playing the nice prisoner but also the other old men, who had been silent like corpses, handed out porridge to the children.
The children all expressed their gratitude and finished their porridge cleanly, and Puppet did the same.
“Go.”
In the dark night illuminated only by the moonlight, the old man spoke after pressing his ear to the iron door to confirm that there were no signs of anyone nearby.
At the old man’s signal, the child who was a head taller than Puppet... Leboski, went into the tunnel first, followed by the other children one by one.
Though the process was slow because they had to go in one by one, there was no other option since the tunnel was so narrow.
Incidentally, Puppet voluntarily decided to be the last to go.
Unlike the other kids, who were eager to get out quickly, Puppet didn’t feel the same urgency.
As a result, he unintentionally ended up having a brief conversation with the old man playing the Good Prisoner role.
“You really don’t seem eager to leave.”
“Well…”
“Do you think escape is impossible?”
Puppet agreed silently.
Given the nature of this facility designed to imprison people, it was likely located in a remote area with little human activity, making it extremely difficult for the children to escape on their own.
“Still, escape. You said you wanted to see your family.”
The old man mentioned the lie Puppet had made up to fit in with the children.
“Ah, yes…”
“Who’s in your family?”
“Pardon?”
“Family. Who do you have?”
His tone had slightly changed. For reasons even he didn’t understand, Puppet answered.
“There’s my grandfather.”
“Ha, that’s amusing.”
“What is?”
“Something about it. What’s your name?”
“My grandfather’s?”
“No, yours. I kept calling you ‘kid’ because I didn’t know your name.”
A name. A name… Puppet hesitated. What was his real name, apart from Puppet?
It wasn’t a joke—he hadn’t heard it for hundreds of years, and he barely remembered it.
‘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 he was trying to recall the name lost in time, someone called Puppet.
As the man said, the child before Puppet had already gone.
Now it was Puppet’s turn.
Without having told the old man his name, Puppet prepared to crawl into the tunnel.
“Leopold.”
The old man called out to Puppet as he was leaving.
“Leopold Rasmussen. That’s my name.”
The old man who had played the Good Prisoner role—no, Rasmussen—revealed his name to Puppet.
Why?
Before Puppet could ask, the old man gave him an answer.
“I figured at least one person should know. Now go.”
In his now-returned blunt tone, Puppet said nothing in response and crawled into the tunnel.
***
Rustle. Crunch. Rustle. Crackle-!
He emerged outside the prison into the pale blue moonlight.
“Over here, over here...!”
In the forest, tinged with a pale glow from the moonlight and the snow piled on the ground, the children hiding there called out to Puppet.
Feeling the cold of the snow beneath his bare feet, Puppet approached the children, who immediately began contemplating where to go next.
…More precisely, it was closer to wandering than actual planning.
“Uh, where should we go?”
“For now, isn’t it better to follow the road?”
“If we follow the road, it’ll be dangerous. Instead…”
Disorganized and conflicting opinions—this was an expected result.
Even if they managed to escape from the heavily guarded prison, all that awaited them outside was a forest, snow, and an expansive wasteland.
Logically speaking, it would be extremely difficult for a group of children to successfully escape in such an unknown place.
Logically speaking, that is.
“This way.”
While Leboski, who acted as the leader of the children, was racking his brain trying to mediate their differing opinions, Puppet suddenly threw out a statement like tossing a stone.
The noisy children immediately turned to Puppet, all looking at him with the same expression—What the heck?
Their eyes were filled with confusion and a hint of irritation.
Ignoring their stares, Puppet continued walking in the direction he had pointed—deeper into the forest.
“Hey… what are you-”
“-You don’t have to follow me. I already told you.”
Leaving the hesitant children behind, Puppet kept walking.
At this point, he felt he had done enough.
Perhaps something in Puppet’s indifferent attitude conveyed a sense of confidence, because the children, after exchanging glances, slowly got up and followed him.
Step. Step. Step.
Puppet ended up leading the group of children as they walked deeper into the forest.
***
Truthfully, Puppet had no particular reason for heading into the forest.
It was fundamentally similar to how a man born in the slums ends up living in the back alleys, or how a woman ends up working as a prostitute.
He had merely chosen based on his circumstances and environment because there weren’t many better alternatives.
Why, you ask?
It was because the black magic organization that had just held him captive was the Valeri Family.
The Valeri Family.
Though smaller in scale than the Chapskaya Family, the Kopskaya Family, or the Balishah Family, they were another black magic family running a similar business.
In other words, they kidnapped or bought people to extract emotions and life force, then processed or dismembered the corpses to sell the parts.
Puppet knew this better than anyone because he was the one who had proposed that business model.
With vast territory, a large population, weak administrative control, poor public security, and widespread poverty, everything aligned perfectly when Puppet suggested this idea to them.
Moreover, he didn’t just propose the model—he lent them funds, taught them the business system, and passed on his know-how.
In return, Puppet purchased the products they produced through his disciples and resold them in places like Landa and Galos, earning intermediary profits.
The point of this story is that Puppet knew the Valeri Family very well.
He hadn’t realized it while inside the prison, but once he stepped outside and observed the surroundings, memories started to surface.
Although it had been a few years, Puppet had visited this place before.
“Are you sure this is safe?”
After walking for a few minutes, Leboski, speaking on behalf of the children, asked Puppet.
He was questioning whether this deep forest, devoid of any signs of people, was really a viable escape route.
The answer was simple.
“I’m not sure.”
“What?”
Disappointed by Puppet’s unexpected response, Leboski stopped him. It was natural, considering they had trusted him and followed, only to receive such an irresponsible answer.
But, as mentioned earlier-
“-There’s no other option besides this direction.”
“What do you mean by that?!”
Leboski shouted, and Puppet, now annoyed, decided to explain.
“I’ll say this once, so listen carefully. That’s the outer area people don’t usually frequent.”
“But there’s a road…”
“There is. If you follow the road for a long time, you’ll eventually reach a village and even a port city. But before that, you’ll be caught by the warlocks.”
No matter how he calculated it, it was inevitable that the children’s escape would be discovered by tomorrow.
At the earliest, in the morning; at the latest, by evening.
Covering up for the missing children by pretending they were still under the blankets would only work once or twice.
Once the warlocks learned of the escape, they would chase after them by car, and it was clear that the children wouldn’t be able to outrun them on foot.
“If we keep running without stopping, maybe we could-”
“-Sure, we might make it. And if we meet kind people, they’ll give us food, a place to sleep, and hand us over to the warlocks when they arrive.”
“...Why?”
“Because they’re in cahoots.”
Puppet revealed the harsh truth about the world to the children.
Not the entire region, but the villages and port cities near the prison had allied themselves with the warlocks.
Puppet knew this because he had ordered it.
On rare occasions, a lucky escapee would manage to flee, and those villages and cities served as the final insurance to recapture them.
In such remote areas, escapees had no choice but to seek help from the locals, and by bribing those locals, the warlocks ensured they could always recapture their prey.
It was a perfectly logical system.
Thud.
The truth seemed to hit harder than expected, and some of the children collapsed onto the ground.
Was it that kid? The one who wanted to see his mother?
“Then, why this direction?”
Leboski barely managed to keep his composure and asked, still holding on to a shred of hope.
“It’s because there might be someone who can help us.”
The children looked at Puppet as if he were a liar, but he wasn’t lying.
The Winter Country was unstable in many ways, which led to a high number of warlocks.
But it wasn’t just warlocks who were abundant.
There were also bandits, rebels, and revolutionaries.
According to reports from Puppet’s disciple, who managed this area in his stead, those groups often hid in the surrounding forest, as it was sparsely populated.
There was more good news.
“Most of them don’t get along with the warlocks. They either compete for prey or have conflicting ideologies. That means they’re less likely to hand us back over to the warlocks. That’s why I chose this direction.”
The children stared at Puppet with blank expressions, as if they had just heard something absurd.
“How do you even know that?”
Leboski, still filled with fear and confusion, asked again.
Puppet’s answer was simple.
“What good will it do you to know?”
And with that, Puppet resumed walking.
Step. Step. Step.
The children kept walking until Puppet stopped.
However, Puppet rarely stopped, so whether they liked it or not, the children had to keep walking.
Barefoot on the rocky, snowy ground.
Their feet hurt more with each step, but none of them complained.
They knew this wasn’t a situation where whining would help, and even if they did, they knew Puppet would just keep going.
Step. Step. Step.
They continued walking silently, with Leboski occasionally asking Puppet cautious questions.
“So, um, will they really help us?”
“We’ll only know when we get there.”
“...”
Puppet answered vaguely, clearly uninterested, and Leboski fell silent.
The child who had shouted loudly in the prison was no longer there—after all, he was just a kid.
Still, it wasn’t entirely true that they needed to go there blindly.
It was true, but Puppet had a plan that gave them a fair chance of success.
He intended to persuade them by offering a few of his secret vaults.
Secret vaults.
Small portions of the wealth Puppet had amassed over hundreds of years, hidden as slush funds across the continent.
It wouldn’t be easy to persuade them, but there was a decent chance of success.
The bandits, rebels, and revolutionaries of the Winter Country were all notorious for being perpetually short on funds.
There was a high likelihood they would take a chance and search for the vaults, and afterward, Puppet could trade more vaults for help and freedom.
They were just as greedy as anyone else, but not as much as the warlocks.
‘Ten vaults... no, if it comes to it, I could even tell them about a hundred. I’ve got plenty of money anyway.’
It was a bothersome thought, but at this point, a clear path to survival had appeared—with a fairly high probability of success.
This, however, led to another concern.
If they truly found someone to make a deal with, and if they secured freedom and safety, what would he do afterward?
‘Hmm...’
Having spent hundreds of years pursuing a single goal, Puppet now found himself at a loss.
He couldn’t figure out what to do next.
‘Is that normal?’
After all, his goal of centuries had been achieved, albeit by someone else’s hands.
At that moment, Puppet became aware of his heart beating again.
It was because he remembered another goal—his grandfather’s resurrection.
He had momentarily forgotten about it due to immense pain, despair, and the sudden achievement of his primary goal, but he still had something to strive for.
To create a body for his grandfather and forge a soul with his memories, bringing him back to life.
With that thought, the motivation that had vanished began to return, and Puppet’s heart started beating with a new purpose.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
However, the sound of that heartbeat gradually grew quieter.
He began to question whether he could truly accomplish it.
The problem wasn’t that he had lost his knowledge of black magic—it was that he lacked the confidence to succeed in the first place.
Even though Puppet had become human, it was ultimately due to Oliver’s whims.
Puppet had no power of his own to make things happen.
Could someone like him really bring his grandfather back to life?
‘So what?’
Puppet muttered inwardly.
Even if the odds of success were low, even if he ended up failing, just having a goal felt like enough.
Being human was already enough, but it was even better to have something to live for, even if it was a goal with a high chance of failure.
It felt as if something was out of order, but that wasn’t particularly important.
What mattered was that he now had a reason to live.
Just as he was resolving himself to this new purpose—
Crunch!
A sound came from between the snow-covered coniferous trees.
“Stop.”
As the children began to panic at the sudden noise, a heavy, low voice resonated through the air.
Armed individuals dressed in a mix of military uniforms and civilian clothing approached, surrounding them.
Judging by their demeanor, they seemed more like revolutionaries or rebels than bandits.
It was a good start—revolutionaries were preferable to bandits when it came to negotiating.
At the very least, since they operated under a cause, they generally kept their promises as long as they were compensated accordingly.
“Who are you? Government spies?”
As they aimed their guns and asked threateningly, Leboski hastily answered.
“N-No! We’re not spies!”
“Then what?”
“We... we escaped. From the people who kidnapped us…”
Creak.
“Kidnappers? Human traffickers?”
“Uh... I’m not really sure. P-Please help us.”
Clank.
“What should we do?”
“Still, isn’t it right to take them with us? We’re revolutionaries fighting for the people…”
Click.
“Ah, so you’ll help us?”
Screech.
“Yes, but you have to behave and listen well!”
“Yes!”
Clatter.
“Alright, then—”
“—Damn it.”
Just as the revolutionaries and Leboski were talking and the children were beginning to feel relieved, Puppet murmured quietly.
With complete sincerity.
That sincerity spread, and an icy silence colder than the snow on the ground filled the air.
Squeak. Creak. Clank…
The faint sound of gears turning became clearly audible.
Puppet knew better than anyone what that sound was—it used to be his specialty.
Sensing that something was wrong, the children turned back to the so-called revolutionaries.
Sssmirk…
They wore unsettling smiles.
Click!
One of them opened his mouth like a nutcracker and fired a tranquilizer dart.
Pfft! Pfft!
The children hit by the hunting tranquilizer dart collapsed as if fainting.
Whoosh!
Meanwhile, another armed figure opened his chest wide like a door and threw a large net, capturing many of the children.
“Ah… Aaah!!”
“Help—!”
“...!!”
The children caught in the net were dragged away, screaming for help, but no one came to their aid.
“AAAAAHHHH!!!”
“Ahh! Aaahh! Aaaahhh!!!”
“Mom?! Mom—!”
Everyone was screaming and running away.
Everyone except Puppet, who stood frozen in fear.
Leboski, noticing Puppet’s hesitation, grabbed his hand and forcefully pulled him along.
“Run!!”
