The Puppet Man hadn’t lied; the darkness emanating from his body was the most ancient and powerful force in the world, even across the myriad planes of existence.
That power was so overwhelming that it could overturn fundamental laws and disrupt the very order of the world.
It could transform order into destruction, turn black to white, and twist all that was beautiful and noble into ugliness and depravity.
It was a terrifying power that had drifted beyond the stars since time immemorial. Even the mere awareness of its existence could instantly drive a Legendary powerhouse into madness.
Even the gods, with their endless lifespans, high above all, reigning as lords of worlds and worshipped by countless mortals, had to bow their proud heads when faced with this power from beyond the stars.
This force had no name, but the Puppet Man and his companions called it—Chaos.
However, there existed another power in this world capable of resisting the Power of Chaos.
That was Holy Light.
Not the ordinary holy light revered by the Main God of the Church of Light.
But something older, something far less known.
The Holy Light of the God of Justice.
But the God of Justice had long since fallen.
So the Power of Chaos was invincible.
At least, until today, the Puppet Man had always believed so.
But now…
“Ahhhhh!”
The Puppet Man felt as if his very being was writhing in agony—pain not of the flesh, but deeper, searing straight from his soul.
Impossible!
He struggled desperately, yet could not escape the excruciating pain seared deep into his soul.
“Why do you have…” The Puppet Man gritted his teeth, fighting with all his might against the relentless torment within, a pain beyond words, clinging stubbornly to his very soul, invulnerable to any secret art.
“Why do you have the Holy Light of the God of Justice? The God of Justice, Camdo—he’s…he’s been dead for ages!!!”
At last, after enduring for several seconds, the Puppet Man managed to force open his mouth, his voice hoarse and nearly deranged as he questioned Green.
“You really are interesting.”
Green ignored the Puppet Man’s anguished questions, fully focused on appreciating the “masterpiece” before him.
It resembled the “Withered Lord” from his first life simulation, but the technique was more exquisite.
Yet compared to the source of contamination from beyond the stars encountered in his second life simulation, it seemed less pure, and thus much weaker.
“But it turns out, you’re actually a real puppet?”
Green reached out, ignoring the Puppet Man’s shrill screams and the pitch-black aura pouring from him, and touched his head directly.
“Your soul is still anchored to this body? No, not your soul.”
Through the Holy Light, Green, like a master dissector, sensed the true nature of this “Puppet Man” with perfect clarity.
“How shameless.”
A trace of disgust flickered in Green’s eyes.
“Attacking another’s self-perception, then seizing the moment of their mental collapse to gradually assimilate their soul, luring them to lose themselves and become a puppet on your strings?”
He now understood the truth behind the so-called “puppets”.
“Speak.”
Green’s gaze was deep and chilling as he stared at the Puppet Man. Although the soul burning inside this puppet was not the true mastermind, but the soul of some poor victim he had assimilated—
Through those faint, manipulating “strings”, Green could vaguely see the true body of the puppeteer in the distant Imperial Palace.
“What is it you and your companions want? Has His Majesty the Emperor also fallen under your control?”
Green did not resort to torture, not out of mercy, but because under the surging, pure Holy Light within him, interrogation was no longer necessary.
“Ahhh!”
The Puppet Man, wracked by endless torment, stubbornly glared at Theresa and let out a cold laugh: “Now I finally understand why the Magician has always wanted you dead. Her prophecy was spot on.”
“Princess Theresa, you are the only variable in this predestined fate. But… it’s useless. No matter how the characters struggle, they can only perform on the stage set for them.”
The Puppet Man’s gaze grew vacant, his body started to sway, and his voice lost all personal emotion. In that instant, it was as if the soul within had dissipated, leaving behind only a shell moving by predetermined rules.
“Trying to run?” Green smiled faintly.
Clang—
Drawing the somewhat worn but faintly glowing white longsword from his waist, Green narrowed his eyes. “Come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve unsheathed this sword since advancing.”
Divine Weapon: [The Forgotten Hero].
The Holy Light surging within Green erupted brilliantly the moment the sword was drawn.
In an instant, the dark Power of Chaos shrouding the Puppet Man’s body dissolved like flames doused by rain, leaving only a faint mist.
“I’ve found you.”
Guided by the divine weapon’s resonance, Green gently swung his longsword.
“Oh, right, Puppet Man, didn’t you just ask where this power of the God of Justice comes from?”
Green spoke in a flat, indifferent tone.
“The God of Justice is indeed dead. But justice itself—cannot be killed.”
With that, he calmly sheathed [The Forgotten Hero].
Swish, swish.
Green opened the Sheep Parchment again, carefully recording the events.
Deep within the Imperial Capital, in an unremarkable little room of the palace.
Bang!
A puppet shattered into pieces.
“Damn it, damn it!” A blurred shadow—clearly present, yet to others seemingly nonexistent—roared, “Magician, you almost got me killed!”
His voice echoed around the empty room.
“Good thing I ran as soon as things went south.”
The shadow patted a chest that didn’t exist in the material world, still shaken. “You said the mission was simple, that Theresa didn’t even have a single Legendary under her command? And what happened? Damn it, a Chosen One of the God of Justice showed up!”
“That surging Holy Light…”
The shadow’s voice trembled.
“A Chosen One, definitely Chosen One level power. I don’t know why he didn’t enter Chosen form, but… but…”
Here, the shadow paused, confused.
“But the God of Justice is already long dead, deader than dead. So how can there still be a Chosen One of his in this world?”
The so-called Chosen One was, in essence, an advanced form of a God’s favored.
As long as the deity lived, they enjoyed extraordinary status.
But the moment their deity fell, they too would perish.
“Whatever, with my setup, even if that guy is a real Chosen One, he can’t follow the soul string back to my true body!”
The shadow looked around, satisfied, at the room covered in ominous runes and emanating a dark, sinister aura.
“Unless he’s holding a divine weapon forged from the God of Justice’s very divinity.”
At this, the shadow laughed even harder.
A divine weapon.
Such things surpassed even Legendary Treasures, able to determine the fate of entire nations—the ultimate trump card of any country.
Of course, with that man’s strength, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had one or two extraordinary artifacts.
“But the God of Justice is dead. Even if he has some way to take Chosen form, there’s no way he has the God of Justice’s divine weapon.”
The shadow spoke with confidence.
“But I should still be cautious.” The shadow stopped smiling. “And, the appearance of a suspected Chosen One of the God of Justice by the Seventh Princess’s side must be reported to the Circus at once.”
Beep—
With that thought, the shadow pressed a communication crystal.
“Hey, Magician.” The shadow snarled rudely at the beautiful figure in the crystal, “You almost got me killed!”
Clatter, clatter.
Amid the noise, a stunningly beautiful, enchanting woman appeared in the crystal.
“What’s wrong? Did you complete your task? Has the elixir of immortality been produced?” asked the female Magician, seated in a gilded mansion.
“No… I failed.” The Puppeteer looked down, feeling guilty.
“What? You couldn’t handle a useless princess exiled with not even a single Legendary subordinate?” The Magician’s face was filled with disdain. “With skills like that, you think you deserve to be a full member of our Circus?”
“Your intel was wrong!” The Puppeteer retorted confidently, “Who said the princess didn’t have a Legendary? Not only does she have one—he’s even Chosen level!”
“Chosen?” The Magician’s face froze, her expression darkening.
“But in this world, since the fall of the God of Justice, the gods have scarcely descended. Other than the World Tree of the elves and the God of Light, the rest barely even deliver oracles.”
Puzzled, the Magician tapped her chin, her eyes full of charm.
“Hmph, let me tell you—the Chosen One’s source of divinity is the God of Justice, Camdo!”
The Puppeteer protested, feeling utterly aggrieved: “To face a monster like that and escape without spilling information is already outstanding.”
“God of Justice? Impossible!” If the Magician had managed to keep her composure before, at the words “God of Justice”, her expression changed instantly.
“Nothing’s impossible.” The Puppeteer rolled his eyes, then said, “Forget it, I need to meditate and recover my mana.”
Buzz.
He shut off the communication.
On the other end, the Magician took a long time to calm herself.
“Impossible, could my prophecy be wrong?”
Her lovely brows furrowed tightly, yet despite her twisted expression, the Magician’s charm was undiminished—if anything, she exuded an even greater, mysterious allure, entrancing those around her.
“Miss Magician, is something wrong?”
The Magician turned and saw the revelers all around her.
Under the dazzling light of crystal chandeliers, a man in splendid formal wear and a crown watched her from across the grand banquet.
The First Prince, Regent, and primary heir of the Empire.
“It’s nothing, Your Highness.” The Magician lifted a glass of fine wine, swirling it gently. “My little bird just brought me some new intelligence.”
“Oh? What is it?” The First Prince asked eagerly.
“Your half-sister, the exiled Seventh Princess Theresa, has just crushed the barbarian invaders and achieved great merit.”
Crack.
The First Prince squeezed his glass too hard, causing a fissure.
“Hmph, worthy of the so-called true heir of the Emperor’s violet eyes.” He set the glass down, face dark.
“No, Your Highness.”
The Magician’s voice was filled with seductive allure. “Eyes are just superstition. Is the succession of an empire of hundreds of millions really decided by something as ephemeral as eye color?”
“But Father always doted on the little sister.” The First Prince pursed his lips, frustration in his voice. “Whatever, I’ll have to think of something. Miss Magician, thank you for your timely report.”
“To serve the future ruler of the Empire is my honor… hmm?”
The Magician’s face suddenly froze.
“Miss Magician?” The First Prince looked at her in confusion.
“F-forgive me, Your Highness.” The Magician bowed her head, face not looking well. “There’s something I must attend to. Please excuse me.”
“Is your little bird in trouble?” The First Prince nodded. “Very well, Miss Magician, as you wish.”
The Magician excused herself with elegance.
“Damn.”
Her steps quickened.
“That power—was it a divine weapon?” Once outside the grand palace, the Magician gazed toward a nondescript corner deep within the mighty Imperial Palace.
“And it’s a divine weapon sourced from the God of Justice’s divinity?!”
She took a deep breath.
“No, we can’t lose the Puppeteer yet. For the sake of our great cause—”
Stomping her foot, the Magician began to chant a spell in a low voice.
Whoosh!
Her graceful figure vanished instantly.