Chapter 12: Puppet Fall

The moment Claudia yanked the reins with all her might, the entire world spun out of control.

The horse’s hooves slid wildly on the ice, letting out sharp, piercing whinnies loud enough to wake everyone on the street. She had to resolve this quickly.

If only she had pierced that girl’s throat with an ice spike right then and there—clean, decisive, no loose ends—but dwelling on it now was pointless.

Fortunately, she had used magic beforehand to freeze the rain-soaked ground into a massive mirror. Galloping recklessly across the ice and making sharp turns could only end one way.

She dismounted from the panicked horse, straightened her coat to keep her appearance presentable, and pulled a black cloth from her chest to mask half her face.

Claudia took a deep breath, feeling the flow of mana within her body. The frigid air seeped from her fingertips, condensing into fine ice crystals in the air around her.

The old horse crashed into the wall, kicking up a cloud of dust. Thrown like that, even if the girl wasn’t dead, there was no way she was still conscious, right?

But Claudia wasn’t willing to take risks. After all, this could very well be the last job of her life, and the more critical the moment, the more likely something would go wrong—that was the lesson she’d learned over years in the underground world.

“I don’t care whether you live or die,” Claudia called out, raising her voice. “Just hand over the corpse, and we’re done. But if you still want to resist—”

She raised her right hand, and a blue-white glow of mana blazed in her palm. The moisture in the air condensed instantly, and three sharp ice spikes formed before her, each as thick as an arm, covered in a frosty sheen with tips gleaming like polished metal.

“Then there’s no more room for negotiation.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she flicked her fingers, and the ice spikes shot through the air with a piercing shriek, like three arrows loosed from a bow, plunging into the depths of the dust cloud.

The air tore apart, leaving three white trails in their wake, followed by the dull thud of impact—like striking wood. But there was no scream, no response at all.

Claudia waited three seconds, then reined in her mana and walked straight toward the dissipating dust. Her steps were light, nearly silent on the ice.

Five steps, four steps, three—and then, the world suddenly blazed bright.

A searing orange-red light burst from within the smoke, a burning flame arrow, its shaft forged from pure fire element, trailing a scorching tail of flame. Claudia’s pupils contracted sharply. Instinct screamed at her to dodge, but the flame arrow was too fast.

Boom!

The flame arrow slammed squarely into her left shoulder.

The explosive fire detonated instantly. Claudia staggered back two steps, her coat burned through with a charred black hole, wisps of smoke still rising from the edges.

The sickening stench of burning flesh hit her—that was the smell of her own meat cooking. Agony lanced through her like red-hot steel needles, stabbing into every nerve ending.

She clenched her jaw so hard it ached, refusing to let herself scream, because showing even a hint of weakness at a moment like this—even a flicker of fear toward pain—would shatter her on the spot.

A figure stirred within the smoke, and Troy emerged slowly from the haze. She looked even worse than Claudia had imagined. Half her body was stained with blood, her face pale as a corpse in a morgue.

But her right hand remained steadily raised, an unstable flame flickering in her palm. That fire guttered and dimmed like a candle about to go out, yet it never truly vanished—even under such severe injury, Troy still maintained her mana flow, still ready to loose another flame arrow at any moment.

What was even more unsettling was her expression. Completely blank, like a statue, as if pain were merely words written on a page to her, not something her body could actually feel.

Her eyes were hollow and calm, as if she hadn’t just been thrown from a horse, as if she weren’t burning her own life to cast magic.

“I have the same words for you.”

Troy’s voice was hoarse but steady. The flame in her right palm began to gather, slowly condensing into a new flame arrow.

But this time, the arrow formed noticeably slower, and the flame was less stable than before, like the last desperate struggle of a dying person.

Claudia could see it clearly. In Troy’s current state, whether the next flame arrow could even hit its mark was questionable.

This was pure stubbornness—willpower holding up a body that should have already fallen, something far more terrifying than magic driving her forward.

Claudia took a step back, and Troy took a step forward, like some bizarre dance on a stage woven from moonlight and firelight.

Claudia pressed her left hand against the wound on her shoulder, letting pale gold mana flow into the injury, barely managing to suppress the searing burn.

Her mana churned chaotically within her. That attack hadn’t just wounded her flesh—the fire element had invaded her magic circuit, like something scalding coursing through her veins.

But she could still fight. And that girl across from her, that girl of only sixteen or seventeen—how in the world was she still able to gather mana and stand against her under such injuries?

Was it drugs? Some kind of enhancement magic? Or was she not even human?

No matter what, at least in this contest of endurance, she refused to give up. She absolutely could not give up.

If she could just hold on a little longer, the other side would fall first. She would.

Time slipped by in silence. One second, two seconds, three… and then Troy suddenly smiled.

That smile was eerie and serene, carrying a hint of transcendence, as if she had already foreseen everything.

It caught Claudia completely off guard, sending a chill creeping up her chest. And what shocked her even more was that this girl, who looked like she could stand until the next century, suddenly had the flame in her palm die out.

Then, Troy’s body crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing limply to the ground, unconscious—finally entering the state she should have entered long ago.

“What the hell…” Claudia muttered aloud without meaning to.

This feeling was too bizarre. Like the final ten seconds of a match, both fighters gasping for air, ready for the last clash—and then the opponent suddenly surrenders.

No, that still didn’t capture what she was feeling. It was more like the girl was mocking her, saying: see, you won. But so what?

Before she could even figure out what was happening, a heavy blow struck the back of her neck.

In that instant, Claudia felt her body no longer belong to her. She went limp, collapsing helplessly, consciousness slipping away from her body. She struggled desperately but couldn’t slow the process at all.

She had never experienced such profound darkness in her entire life. 

She seemed to float among twinkling stars, and then the stars faded one by one until everything sank into blackness. 

She couldn’t see her own body, couldn’t feel anything at all.

“Once upon a time, there was a gentle, lovely girl who was always treated as a servant by her stepmother and two stepsisters. She worked from morning till night, always covered in soot, and everyone called her poor Cinderella.”

“One day, the king held a grand ball for the prince and invited all the young women in the kingdom. But the stepmother deliberately piled mountain upon mountain of chores on Cinderella, leaving her heartbroken.”

“Just then, a fairy appeared. She waved her wand, and a few mice turned into capable coachmen, a pumpkin into a magnificent carriage, and a beautiful gown and a pair of glass slippers appeared before Cinderella. Overjoyed, she hurried to the palace. Before she left, the fairy warned her: the magic only lasts until midnight. When the clock strikes, everything will return to how it was.”

“At the ball, the prince was captivated by her at first sight and asked her to dance. As midnight approached, Cinderella had to flee in a hurry, and in her panic, one of her glass slippers slipped off and was left on the steps.”

“The prince couldn’t stop thinking about her. He immediately sent his ministers across the kingdom with that glass slipper, searching for the girl who could wear it. Despite the stepmother and stepsisters’ attempts to interfere, even trying to claim the shoe for themselves, the prince ultimately found Cinderella.”

“The prince solemnly proposed to her, and Cinderella accepted. From then on, they lived happily ever after.”

Perl’s voice gently echoed through the bedroom.

She sat at the bedside of Troy, holding the storybook that had been read countless times.

This story had always been Troy’s favorite. Even now that she was sixteen, about to turn seventeen in a few days, whenever Perl read the tale of Cinderella by her bedside, no matter the situation, she would fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.

She loved this story—the simple, beautiful, hopeful tale of how a single pair of magic crystal shoes could transform a life completely.

Perl closed the book and said softly, “…And that’s the end of Cinderella’s story.”

Troy’s breathing had already become steady and slow.

Perl had given her a mild sedative, because her condition, which had been mostly healed, had flared up again. She would wake abruptly in the middle of the night without reason, just like when she was a child.

A week had passed since Troy brought Helmut’s body back to the estate.

Through further dissection and research on the corpse, Perl confirmed the existence of the plague and submitted the appropriate reports to the government and the royal court.

But no response or policy had come down, even though she had pointed out that the decreasing rat population in the city was a sign of death’s decree. Any creature that died from this virus would rot and decompose at an alarming rate, ultimately turning into nothing. As for the incubation period of the plague, there was still no definitive answer.

And then there was Troy. She still showed no signs of infection. Unless initial symptoms appeared, Perl had no method to test for the plague with absolute certainty.

The calm before the storm was unusually long, but that didn’t mean the storm wouldn’t come. Perl was certain of that.

The regent’s witch hunt movement continued. New gallows were erected on the streets every day. Captured mages and non-humans spent the last days of their lives in dungeons, awaiting nothing but fire and death.

Claudia, the mage who had once been active in the black market, had also vanished from the city. But people could tell the black market seemed to have received some prior intelligence. They began hoarding food supplies and frequently bribing guards at various checkpoints to ensure they always had open channels for both supplies and sales.

The story seemed to have reached its lowest point. There was nothing worth mentioning now. All anyone could do was wait.

Wait for the moment everything turned around. It could swing for the better—but it could just as easily swing for the worse.

And Troy—she had already been reported by Isabel.

However, given her injuries and Perl’s noble status, the security department approved her to receive medical treatment outside custody. Once she recovered sufficiently, the court would naturally summon her for trial.

Perl stood up and turned off the kerosene lamp by the bedside.

Darkness spread through the room, with only the faint moonlight filtering through the window, casting vague shadows on the floor.

She returned to her own room, slipped under the covers, and drifted into sleep.

But in her dreams, something was stirring, like a beast sleeping beneath the sea, finally about to open its eyes.