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🕑 Added 2025-02-24 12:47:07 +0000 UTCEpilogue - Boy(2)
"Time for food."
As the thick iron door opened, a man entered and abruptly announced.
Unlike the dark, gloomy interior of the prison, the outside was bright, and the sudden influx of light from the opened door caused people to shield their eyes in pain.
Everyone except for Puppet.
Despite the brightness, Puppet forced his eyes open to observe the newcomer.
'Mid-40s, shabby clothing, irritable demeanor. Either a menial worker or a slave.'
Puppet deduced that the man was either a low-ranking menial worker within a warlock family or a captive slave based on his age, clothing, and demeanor.
Well, that made sense.
Managing captives was typically a job for the lowest ranks within the family.
Thump!
That's when it happened. Puppet's eyes flashed as a significant pain surged through his head.
The man who brought the food had struck Puppet on the head for not looking down.
The recoil from the blow and the impact on his head caused Puppet to fall gracefully, and the man spat out in response.
"Ptui! Damn brat, daring to glare like that!"
"He was having a nightmare."
An old man cautiously approached the man and interjected.
"A nightmare?"
"Yes."
"A nightmare is a precursor to mental and physical weakness. Are you ill?"
The man's voice oozed sadism as he pretended to be concerned.
Puppet, steadying his spinning head, took another look at the man.
Mid-40s, shabby clothing, irritable demeanor, sadistic voice, condescending tone. Most importantly, the eye tattoo on his neck.
It seemed some information needed to be updated.
Not a slave but a low-ranking menial worker with some expertise, evidenced by the eye-shaped tattoo on his neck, which was a mark of a supervisor recognized for ability and trustworthiness.
The warlocks in this land of winter distinguished themselves with tattoos that reflected rank, role, and achievements, and the eye tattoo was reserved for supervisors.
"I’m doomed."
Realizing roughly where he was and who had captured him, Puppet muttered to himself.
The warlock family was involved in all sorts of nefarious activities—human trafficking, organ trading, emotional exploitation, labor exploitation, human experimentation, pillaging, and smuggling. Dangerous indeed, but there were always worse places, and these wizards of the winter land were such an example.
The people of this harsh, oppressive land were rough and insular, and the warlocks born of this environment were even more so.
The ineffective royal family and a corrupt society also played their roles.
Hope had been scarce before, but now it was utterly obliterated.
"This damn brat dares to look again······!!"
The supervisor, finding joy only in trampling those weaker than himself, moved to abuse Puppet again. The old man stopped him.
"You knew he's been off since he arrived. He got hit on the head."
"Who do you think you are touching?!!"
The supervisor bellowed as he grabbed and shook the old man by the collar.
"Am I a joke to you for speaking up? Huh?!"
"That's not it······. It's just, you wouldn't want to damage the goods, right? That helps no one."
The old man humbled himself, quite a departure from his usually curt manner, but realistically, it was the correct approach.
Whatever the case, the people trapped here were merely 'objects,' while this irritable supervisor was the 'caretaker' of these objects.
Any slight provocation could be dangerous, and only this manner of dialogue could ensure communication.
"Urgh······. This is your last warning. Make sure he's trained properly. Got it?!"
The supervisor roughly released the old man's collar, warning him. It wasn't in his interest to have valuable resources damaged either.
"Understood."
"Report any issues immediately. Got it?!"
"I understand that too."
"Hmph! Just eat your food."
The guard seemed slightly appeased as the old man bowed his head and left the jail, snorting through his nose.
Creeeeak—Thud!
The thick iron door closed behind the guard, and the jail was plunged into darkness once again.
"Are you okay, kid?"
The old man, who had been pleading with the guard, called out to Puppet in a gruff tone.
"I'm fine."
"Then, get up."
"Yes."
As Puppet was rising, a hand suddenly reached out and forcibly pulled him to his feet.
Thump!
The hand roughly pushed Puppet against the wall, and a shout followed.
"What are you doing!"
The shout came from a boy, filthy and dirt-smudged, who seemed even more foul-tempered than he looked dirty.
He shoved Puppet's chest and pressed further.
"Are you mute?! What do you think you're doing?!"
Puppet looked up at the boy, feeling pain in his chest and back against the wall. The boy was taller by a head.
Imagine having to look up to a kid at this age.
Just as the boy was about to throw a punch, the old man grabbed his fist.
"Stop."
"But—"
"—Stop. We shouldn't fight among ourselves."
The boy seemed about to burst into flames inside but retreated when the old man responded firmly.
"I'll be watching you."
The boy glared at Puppet as he left, and once the situation calmed down, the old man glanced at Puppet and then addressed the other inmates.
"Everyone, come and eat."
At the word "meal," the frightened old men and children got up and lined up one by one in front of the pot, each picking up a bowl.
The old man, with practiced ease, opened the pot and ladled a generous serving of porridge into each bowl.
Plop!
Each time the porridge hit the bowl, a wet sound echoed, and the people returned to their spots, hunched over, eating their porridge. Puppet watched them quietly.
After a while.
"Here, take this."
The old man offered a bowl of porridge to Puppet, who hadn't lined up but was sitting quietly.
"…Thank you."
Puppet took the bowl and inspected it reflexively.
The porridge was decently filled with vegetables, rice, and pork fat.
Overall, it was well done. The method of keeping and managing people, that is.
Mixing children with old men, giving them just enough hope to hang on, ensuring they were well-fed—all these were signs of a well-maintained system capable of long-term management of people.
From this level of expertise, it seemed like an organization with extensive experience in human trafficking or a similar field.
'Chapskaya family? Kopskaya family? Or maybe Balishah?'
The most notable thing was the effective use of the "bad guard and good prisoner" tactic.
"Aren't you eating?"
Indeed, this old man was the good prisoner.
He woke Puppet up, bothered him with conversation, protected him from the guard, and even took care of his meal.
***
Bad Guard and Good Prisoner.
This too was one of the storage management techniques Puppet had originally devised for handling 'material' (people).
It wasn't remarkable. It was a primitive method similar to the "good cop, bad cop" technique.
The idea was to scare the prisoners with a fierce guard, encouraging solidarity among them, and then control and monitor them through a "good prisoner" who was secretly collaborating.
As mentioned earlier, it was a primitive and obvious method, but at the same time, it was the most effective.
Even the most suspicious and intelligent people needed someone to rely on when confined in such a closed space for a long time.
"Still, those who endure are either quickly drained of their emotions or dismantled and processed."
Of course, one might wonder, for instance, if there was someone willing to take on the role of the good prisoner? Aren't they all in the same predicament?
But, this too was quite evident with a little thought.
Cooperating was somewhat the way to survive longer.
It's not just talk. Puppet knew this through learning.
Even in a hopeless incarceration, there were always humans who just wanted to live, and most would cooperate if their safety was guaranteed.
Even granting the tiny right to distribute food served as a good incentive.
Mastering the technique and establishing a system was a bit cumbersome, but once the system was properly set up, it allowed for the effective management of prisoners with less labor.
The good prisoner would strive harder than anyone for survival and small privileges.
That's why this unnamed old man risked danger to protect Puppet and sat down to eat with him.
To increase his influence within the jail and win Puppet's favor.
"Are you deaf?"
When Puppet did not respond, the old man asked again.
Only then did Puppet shake his head and picked up his spoon.
"Ah, sorry. I will eat."
Puppet said and took a big spoonful of the porridge and put it in his mouth.
It was very warm and delicious... truly, not just an empty compliment.
How should he put it? It was touching on a small scale.
Despite having tasted numerous delicacies through Corpse dolls, all those foods combined seemed inferior to this single bowl of porridge.
Porridge that considered only the nutritional status of the prisoners.
‘Is it because of my tongue?’
Puppet suppressed the thrill running up his spine as he pondered why it tasted so good.
No matter how much he thought, it seemed like it was because he was truly tasting with his own tongue, not a Corpse doll.
Though a Corpse doll could feel sensations through research, it was merely an indirect experience using a corpse.
Until now, he hadn't taken the time to savor this mysterious sensation because he was busy examining his body, but now that he had the chance, he could feel it.
Well, it's something to see after living so long.
To feel more touched in this gloomy jail than in a 6-star hotel room costing millions of Landa a day.
Puppet, forgetting that he was just humoring the old man, continued to shove the porridge into his mouth.
The hot porridge traveled down his esophagus and into his stomach,
Gurgle.
Only then did Puppet realize how hungry he had been.
‘After all, hunger is a foreign sensation to me.’
While realizing how uncomfortable a living human's body could be, Puppet greedily savored the pleasant sensation that came from this discomfort.
The sense of fullness and satisfaction that came from having a full stomach.
Swoosh-! Swoosh-!
Puppet scraped up every last drop of porridge with his spoon and was about to feel disappointed by the slightly insufficient amount.
Plop.
The old man across from him scooped a large spoonful of his porridge into Puppet's bowl.
When Puppet looked up, the old man gruffly said,
"Eat."
"Thank you."
Puppet did not refuse and willingly ate the porridge.
This action was also one of the tactics to dominate the goodwill inside the jail, and knowing this, Puppet did not bother to refuse.
"If you were that hungry, you should have taken care of yourself earlier."
"I'm sorry, I've been out of it."
"Really?"
The old man queried Puppet, who offered a vague response, feeling a sharp suspicion.
Puppet paused eating his porridge and looked at the old man.
"Out of it, you say? You seemed quite composed for someone who's out of it. Usually, the kids dragged here just cry."
The interrogating old man clearly caught Puppet's mistake. Too engrossed in the fact of being human, Puppet had failed to blend in with the other children and had inadvertently drawn attention.
He should have pretended to be scared and acted normal. Now, feigning fear as an excuse would seem strange, so he decided to drop the subject. An awkward excuse could be just as suspicious.
"I was distracted."
The old man looked at Puppet silently, as if observing him. Puppet had been subjected to such scrutiny countless times, but this time the feeling was different.
In the past, using Corpse dolls for operations ensured safety, and he was confident in his ability to overpower any situation with strength, so he wasn't very nervous.
Now, however, he was just a boy, and a boy who couldn't use black magic at that.
This realization made Puppet acutely aware of his vulnerabilities.
Compared to the other kids who were nose-deep in their bowls, Puppet showed signs of having been well-mannered, and his speech and behavior were too mature for his apparent age.
Despite his efforts to blend in, he hadn't maintained it well. Puppet looked at the old man, wondering what he might be thinking.
If the old man wasn't sharp, he might just think Puppet was a bit different, but if he was astute, he might guess that Puppet came from a wealthy household.
"What's your name?"
As expected. The old man asked for Puppet's name.
In this land of winter, one's name could reveal their nobility.
If he were from a wealthy family, this information would likely be reported, and the warlock family might demand a ransom, trying to cash in.
Puppet pondered whether that would be a good or bad situation for him. Puppet had no family to pay his ransom, but he could reveal the locations of a few secret vaults where money was hidden.
Could he safely get released by feigning knowledge of the vaults? It was possible, but the process seemed tedious. Yet, playing dumb seemed like it would be painful.
Either way was problematic, and while he was considering this...
"Well, if you don't want to say, don't."
The old man didn't wait for Puppet's reply and just stood up from his seat. Puppet thought the old man might be biding his time, but after several days, it became clear that wasn't the case.
"Roots. The roots of weeds have come up! The dog hole is almost through!!"
The commotion was because they had managed to dig a hole to escape from the prison.
