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🕑 Added 2025-02-24 12:39:13 +0000 UTCEpilogue - Boy (1)
A world as blurry as if shrouded in fog. In that place, Puppet saw the children.
The children were as indistinct as the world, barely visible like shadow puppets.
As a result, it was impossible to see the expressions on the children's faces, but that did not mean they couldn't be guessed.
In fact, it was easier to guess.
"Why aren't you our friend?"
"You're not a person!"
"You're a monster..."
"That's right! You're just a log! Go away!"
Grouped together, they yelled at Puppet, pointed fingers, and threw stones, condemning him.
Puppet had learned through experience that these emotions were hostility, rejection, disgust, and contempt, and could easily infer the expressions they were likely making.
It was thanks to countless observations of such negative emotions.
"How strange."
Puppet murmured to himself as he looked at the children who had thrown stones and hurled insults at him in the past.
Ironically, he had murmured the same thing to himself back then.
Surely, it was strange. Weren't these the same children who had played with him in the forest until recently, and now suddenly they were calling him a monster, a wooden log?
But now, the meaning was different.
It wasn't the children's change in attitude that was strange, but why memories of the past were suddenly surfacing.
Such old and trivial memories had long been forgotten.
Amidst such insignificant thoughts.
Thunk.
A slow-moving stone hit Puppet in the chest.
The stone that struck Puppet's chest rolled weakly on the ground, and Puppet silently watched it.
It wasn't particularly painful.
Being made of wood, he didn't feel pain as such. However, physical pain and mental discomfort were different matters. The lack of pain made it even more unpleasant.
"Hmm..."
Like in the past, Puppet murmured in a low voice as he looked at the children who had thrown the stone at him.
Just like before, the children flinched and stepped back when their eyes met Puppet's.
He knew what that meant. They were frightened.
Despite their bluster, they were easily scared. Such is the nature of humans.
Like monkeys, and at that moment, Puppet realized he was even less than those monkeys.
He had no kin, no real family, no divine blessings.
It was a ludicrous situation. Despite having a lifespan near immortality, high intelligence, and the patience of steel, he was inferior to these easily frightened, angry monkeys.
In a sense of déjà vu mixing past and present, confusion intensified, and Puppet felt as if a thread had snapped, slowly raising one hand.
Puppet intended to repeat the same actions he had taken in the past.
Like the eternally repeating Ouroboros.
Just as Puppet was about to do what he needed to do with his slowly raised hand.
"-Little one? Little one!"
A strange voice and touch forced Puppet's eyes open.
"Ah!"
Startled awake, Puppet gasped for air like someone who had just emerged from water.
Confused by the abrupt awakening, his head wasn't working properly, and then, the strange voice spoke again.
"Are you okay, little one?"
The owner of the voice was a dirty-looking old man who was looking at Puppet with concern. And it wasn't just the old man looking at Puppet.
Other old men and children trapped in this dark, closed prison were also looking at him.
Awakened from his sleep, Puppet tried to figure out who these people were with his foggy mind, and soon he was able to recall.
All of them were people captured by warlocks, and at that moment, Puppet remembered why he was there too.
After all his efforts over hundreds of years had gone to waste and he was about to give up, Oliver had casually granted his wish and left, and soon after, he was captured by a warlock and trapped here.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
While he was sorting his thoughts, the old man who had been talking to him examined Puppet with a blunt question.
He was something of a senior among those in the prison, having been there the longest.
"I'm fine."
Puppet spoke formally to the old man, who was infinitely younger than himself.
Although his actual age was beyond human comparison, his current appearance was that of a young boy, hence the formalities.
Having lived for hundreds of years in various guises ranging from a beggar, laborer, merchant, actor, gang member, con artist, to politician, Puppet had learned the appropriate social skills for his appearance and could act them out without any reluctance.
The old man persisted annoyingly.
"You were sweating a lot?"
Puppet observed his own body condition, now that of a real boy.
His pulse was fast, breathing rapid, muscles tense, and cold sweat covered his entire body.
"It's just a bad dream."
"Well, that's good then."
The old man responded bluntly, but indeed, it was fortunate that he wasn't physically ill.
For warlocks, humans were a valuable resource in many ways, including their emotions, corpses, and body parts, thus they were meticulously managed.
A lapse in attention could lead to a rebellion, or an illness could cause a mass death.
Because of this, the warlocks checked the condition of their captives at least once a day, and used those who were sick or weakened first. This meant that even in this lowest place, death came in order of weakness.
"Damn it..."
As if to prove this, some children spat low curses at Puppet for looking unscathed.
Although being captured by the warlocks meant their end was nearly the same, they still wished for weaker individuals to survive just a little longer.
It was not surprising; Puppet had seen this scene countless times.
After all, he was the one who originally devised the method of managing humans captured for experiments and as materials.
For example, the method of keeping children and the elderly together.
"Drink some water if you don't want to die."
Keeping the elderly and children together like this allowed for mutual care and kept everyone fresher.
The children found psychological stability by relying on the elderly, and some of the elderly, in turn, maintained their sanity longer by protecting and looking after the children.
An act according to the survival instincts of the species, disguised as compassion.
Humans are not much different from other creatures that are born, eat, grow, find mates, reproduce, and ultimately die. Having seen all these processes, Puppet knew what was customary and gratefully took and drank from the water bowl.
"Thank you."
"You can even say something so admirable? I thought you were lacking somewhere."
The old man referenced the time when Puppet first arrived.
At that time, Puppet was too preoccupied examining his human body to properly respond to those around him. But now, he could respond more appropriately.
"I was out of it... I'm sorry."
"Hold onto that mind of yours. You'll be able to leave soon."
The man looked towards a dark corner of the prison. There, some of the elderly, with the help of children, were digging into the floor with their bare hands.
Through a small gap they had found while trapped here, the elderly could use their worn-out hands to chip away the stone floor and dig into the dirt underneath, creating an escape hole.
It was also the reason the children could endure each day without succumbing to despair. However, Puppet didn't have much hope for this escape hole, knowing it was another method to keep the captives fresher for longer.
After all, it was he who had thought of this storage method. People with even a hint of hope were easier to keep for long periods than those completely sealed off with no chance of escape.
People without hope quickly deteriorated both in vigor and emotion, reducing their quality, but ironically, those with a glimpse of hope to escape maintained their energy and emotions, sometimes even appearing fresher than when they were captured.
Over centuries, Puppet had discovered this fact and refined it. He mixed children with the elderly, men with women, families together, giving them a reason to live and subtly created minor loopholes that, if exploited well, could offer the hope of escape.
Paradoxically, this hope was the best preservation method for the warlocks. Puppet had shared this method with all the warlocks he supported, and they actively used it as a simple way to keep humans fresh without much effort.
Therefore, Puppet held no real hope for the escape hole, nor did he speak of this fact. Doubting whether he, now just a boy, would be believed, and knowing that voicing such an uncomfortable truth would only bring him beatings, he saw no point in discussing it.
After all, he had no interest in the fate of the humans around him. What mattered most to Puppet now was what he would do going forward.
Puppet clenched and unclenched his hand repeatedly. His hand, made not of wood or corpse, but of flesh and blood, bones alive with sensation, yet regrettably, the feeling of manipulating emotions still eluded him.
He had to admit it now. By becoming human, he had lost all the qualities of a warlock accumulated over hundreds of years.
It wasn't a loss; to Puppet, black magic was never the goal but merely a means to become human. Now that he was human, having or not having it didn't matter much.
However, it was slightly regrettable given the situational disadvantage of being captured by a warlock. Having the knowledge in his head but no power to use it, he was practically just a powerless boy with no means of escape.
"Should I bargain?"
Puppet considered trading his knowledge of black magic, the locations of secret vaults, and the methods for creating precious black magic items, but he soon shook his head.
In his powerless state, revealing valuable information would make him not a bargaining chip but an exploitation target. warlocks weren't the kind to release useful humans; they would only think of sucking them dry. Besides, he didn't desperately want to live.
Perhaps it was too bothersome and tiring? Having strived for centuries to become human, once he achieved it, the zeal to live fiercely wasn't there.
He might have wished to stroll through parks, explore beaches, taste delicious foods and drinks, and sleep in a comfy bed, but he didn't feel the need to exert that much effort.
Instead, it seemed better to just enjoy the moment and wait for death to come. Just as he was about to give up everything.
Clang!
The iron door, the only entry to the prison, opened.
Comments
Deejay
Thank you for translating this amazing story.
