Chapter 37: The Puppeteer’s Game

The air in Thalos Mansion was thick with the stench of blood and ash, a grim testament to the chaos I’d set in motion. Varnholt’s mercenaries had torn through the place like a storm, leaving shattered chandeliers and blood-smeared marble floors in their wake—a perfect stage for my next act. I stood in the doorway of Thalos’s ruined study, my white mask—its curved smile and sharp eye slits glinting in the dim torchlight—hiding the smirk that stretched across my face. Baron Thalos, trembling and broken before me, was exactly where I needed him to be.


I stepped forward, my movements precise, and gripped Thalos by the arm, pulling him to his feet with a firm tug. His legs wobbled, his face pale as the moonlight streaming through the broken windows, shock etched into every line of his sweat-soaked features. He was a mess, but that was the point—I needed him desperate, reliant on me to survive.


“Move,” I said, my voice cold and clipped, a command that left no room for argument. “We’re leaving before more mercenaries show up to finish the job.” My tone was practical, not comforting, but it carried the weight of someone in control—someone Thalos could cling to in his panic.


Thalos managed a shaky nod, his breathing uneven, ragged gasps that spoke of a man teetering on the edge. He had no choice but to follow me, and I’d ensured that. A master doesn’t give his tools free will—they exist to serve a purpose, and Thalos’s purpose was to dance to my tune.


The mansion was a battlefield, a canvas painted with the results of my careful planning. Bodies of guards and mercenaries lay sprawled across the corridors, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing, the scent of blood so thick it clung to my cloak. We moved swiftly, my black cloak billowing behind me like a shadow given form, my wild black hair a chaotic halo beneath my hood. Thalos flinched at every fallen guard we passed, his hands twitching as if he wanted to mourn them. I ignored his weakness, my focus sharp as a blade. Sentimentality is for the weak, and I am anything but weak.


“Keep up,” I said, my voice flat, my grip on his arm steady but not gentle. “Unless you’d rather stay here and die with your guards.” It wasn’t a threat—just a statement of fact, delivered with the cold precision of someone who knows exactly how to bend a man to his will.


We slipped through a side entrance, the heavy oak door creaking as I pushed it open with a firm shove, and stepped into the city streets of Thalosridge. The night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the mansion’s carnage, but it did little to calm Thalos’s trembling. His silk robes, once a deep green symbol of his status, were now stained with soot and blood, clinging to his hunched form like a shroud. I released his arm, letting him stumble beside me, my presence a silent command to follow.


“Where… are we going?” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, his brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his dark eyes darting to me with a flicker of desperation.


I glanced at him, my mask’s eye slits glinting with a calculated calm. “I know a place,” I said, my tone matter-of-fact, devoid of warmth. “An inn where we can lie low. You’ll rest there, and then we’ll deal with Faelmont.” I paused, letting the implication sink in, then added, “He’s the one who betrayed you, isn’t he? I can help you make him pay—if you’re useful.”


Thalos’s eyes widened slightly, a spark of hope flickering in their depths, though fear still lingered. I could see his mind struggling to keep up, grasping at the lifeline I’d thrown him. His world had crumbled, and I’d made sure I was the only one left to pull him from the wreckage. It’s a simple tactic: break them down, isolate them, then offer a path forward—one that leads straight to your control. Thalosridge is my chessboard, and I’ve already planned ten moves ahead.


We moved through the narrow, cobblestone streets, the city’s underbelly alive with the whispers of thieves and the clink of stolen coins. Thalos kept his head down, his hands stuffed into the folds of his ruined robes, as if he could hide from the world’s judgment. I walked beside him, my cloak billowing gently, my posture calm and controlled, a shadow guiding its prey. My mind buzzed with the satisfaction of a plan unfolding perfectly—every piece falling into place, every variable accounted for. Thalosridge is my domain, and I am its master.


--------
We reached a small, discreet inn at the edge of the city, a ramshackle building with a sagging roof and a sign that read “The Rusty Tankard” in peeling paint. It was the kind of place where questions were as rare as honest men, which suited my needs perfectly. I pushed open the door and stepped inside, Thalos trailing behind me like a lost dog. The innkeeper, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek and a perpetual scowl, barely glanced at us as I tossed a handful of coins onto the counter. They clinked against the wood, a satisfying sound that made his scowl twitch into something resembling a smirk.


“Two rooms,” I said, my voice firm, cutting through the stale air of the inn.


The innkeeper grunted, his meaty hands rummaging beneath the counter for the keys. “You’re a weird kid,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he handed them over. “What’s with the mask? You some kinda theater brat?”


I tilted my head, the curved smile of my mask catching the dim light of the inn’s lone lantern. “Theater brat?” I echoed, my voice laced with dry amusement. “I’m more of a… director, let’s say. I make people play their parts—whether they like it or not.” I chuckled softly, a sound that was more calculated than warm, then added, “Care to join the cast? I could use a grumpy old man for comic relief.”


The innkeeper blinked, caught off guard by my response, his scowl deepening as he tried to decide if I was joking or threatening him. I let the silence stretch, my mask’s eye slits glinting with mischief, before I waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, old man,” I said, my tone light but edged with a subtle warning. “I’m just here to rest, not to rewrite your life story—though I could, if I wanted to.”


Thalos shifted beside me, his trembling hands clutching the edge of his robes, his dark eyes darting between me and the innkeeper. “Can we… just get to the rooms?” he muttered, his voice tight with exhaustion.


I turned to him, my mask tilting slightly, my tone clinical rather than comforting. “You’ll rest soon enough,” I said, my voice steady, detached. “You’ll need your strength if you’re going to be of any use to me.” I took the keys from the innkeeper, my movements precise, and gestured toward the stairs. “Follow me.”


We climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor, the inn’s walls groaning with every step, as if protesting our presence. Thalos’s breathing was still uneven, his brown hair matted with sweat, his dark eyes searching my masked face for some sign of what came next. I offered none—my role was to lead, not to coddle. He’d follow because he had no other choice, and that was exactly how I wanted it.


“Rest here,” I said, handing him one of the keys, my voice flat, a statement rather than a suggestion. “Tomorrow, we’ll plan how to deal with Faelmont. He’s your enemy, and I can help you destroy him—if you do as I say.”


Thalos hesitated, his fingers closing around the key, a flicker of hope crossing his features. “You… you’ll really help me?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperation.


I nodded once, my mask’s eye slits glinting with a cold, calculated resolve. “I’ll help you,” I said, my tone devoid of warmth, a simple statement of fact. “Faelmont’s betrayal has cost you everything. I can make him pay—but only if you follow my lead. Don’t waste my time, Baron.” Inside, I smirked, the thrill of control coursing through me. He’s already bending to my will, clinging to the hope I’ve dangled before him. Thalosridge is my stage, and I’m directing its greatest tragedy.Thalos swallowed hard, then nodded, his shoulders slumping as he accepted the key. “I… I’ll do as you say,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.


“Good,” I said, my voice sharp, a quiet command. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.” Without another word, Thalos disappeared into his room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him.


I entered my own room and shut the door, leaning against the wall as a cold smirk stretched across my lips. The room was small, the bed lumpy, the air stale, but I didn’t care. I was in my element, my mind buzzing with the thrill of a plan executed flawlessly. I laughed softly, the sound low and chilling, filling the cramped space like a storm.


Everything was unfolding as I’d envisioned. Thalos was under my command, his desperation making him pliable, his fear binding him to me. I’d broken him down with whispers of unrest in Thalosridge, shattered him with the auction’s destruction (Chapter 32), isolated him with Faelmont’s betrayal (Chapter 36), and now I’d positioned myself as his only path forward. It was a simple strategy, one I’d perfected through careful study of human nature: strip them of everything, then offer a single thread of hope—one that leads straight to your control.


I paced the small room, my cloak swirling dramatically behind me, my mind replaying every step of my design. I’d identified Thalos’s enemies—Varnholt, a rival faction eager to see him fall. I’d struck them first, disguised as Thalos’s own mercenaries, sowing chaos and forcing them into a corner. I’d planted the seeds of revenge in their minds, whispering through my network of spies and thieves, ensuring they’d retaliate with full force. And today, I’d lured them to the mansion, guaranteeing Thalos would witness his world collapsing—his guards slaughtered, his home in ruins. It was a symphony of destruction, and I was its conductor.


Now, Thalos was mine to direct, his every move dictated by my design. I’d play him a while longer, letting him believe he had a chance at redemption, all while tightening the strings that bound him to me. The memory of his smug face at the auction flashed in my mind, a spark that ignited a fire of rage within me. He’d dared to treat me like a mere spectator in his twisted games, a child to be ignored while he played his petty power struggles with Faelmont and the nobles. I’ll make him regret that, I vowed, my smirk deepening into something darker, more dangerous. Thalosridge will be my canvas, and I’ll paint it with his downfall.


As my anger simmered, another memory surfaced—one that fueled my resolve, a fire that burned brighter than any torch in Thalos’s ruined mansion.


-----------
[Flashback]


The forest clearing was a realm of shadows, the pale crescent moon casting a silvery glow over the gnarled trees, their branches clawing at the starless sky. I stood at the center, my black cloak billowing in the cool breeze, my white mask catching the moonlight’s faint gleam. The five girls I’d freed from the auction’s chains (Chapter 33) stood before me, their young faces carved with desperation, rage, and something more—determination. I let their words hang in the air for a moment, studying their expressions, my mind already weaving plans within plans.


“Good,” I said, my voice calm yet firm, a blade wrapped in velvet. “But understand this. Power isn’t given. It’s taken. If you want strength, you will have to earn it.”


The red-haired girl nodded without hesitation, her bright locks blazing like a torch in the moonlight. “We will,” she said, her voice steady, though her fists trembled with restrained fury.


The silver-haired girl, her hair shimmering like spun starlight, clenched her fists, her eyes burning with resolve. “Just tell us what to do,” she demanded, her tone sharp, as if she could will the world into submission.


I smirked beneath my mask, the curved smile of my disguise mirroring the amusement I felt. “First, we destroy the Baron and the Count,” I said, my voice a low, dangerous purr. “But this isn’t just about revenge. If you want true power, you will listen, obey, and follow my lead without question.”


The girls exchanged glances, their suspicion softened by a grudging respect. They nodded in unison, their resolve a spark I would fan into a wildfire.


“Swear it,” I said, my tone sharp, cutting through the night like a blade.


One by one, they placed a hand over their hearts, their voices a chorus of defiance and loyalty. “We swear,” they said, their eyes gleaming with a dangerous purpose.


I could see it in their faces—there was no turning back for them. They were bound to me, their fates tied to my will, just as Thalos was. I am a force of nature, a child who shapes the world with a flick of his wrist.


The amber-haired girl, her golden-orange hair tied back, spoke up, her voice tight with restrained fury. “Before we swear anything, there’s something we need.”


I raised an eyebrow, the eye slits of my mask glinting with curiosity. “Speak,” I said, my tone a command wrapped in silk.


The sapphire-haired girl, her deep blue braids tight and disciplined, stepped forward, her voice trembling with anger. “They’re conducting experiments. The Baron and the Count… They take people from the streets. Test things on them. We… we were supposed to be next.”


My eyes narrowed behind my mask, a slow, deadly anger unfurling within me. “What kind of experiments?” I asked, my voice low, dangerous, a storm brewing beneath my calm facade.


“We don’t know,” the ivory-haired girl admitted, her pale white hair flowing like a phantom’s veil, frustration etched into her young face. “But we heard… Something unnatural is happening in that lab.


”A cold, deadly fury ignited within me, a fire that burned hotter than the sun. I am a protector of those who swear loyalty to me, and I will not tolerate such atrocities under my watch.


“And?” I asked, my voice a hiss, the air around me growing colder with my rage.


The red-haired girl clenched her fists, her voice breaking with emotion. “Our friend, They took her. We don’t know if she’s still alive.”


Silence hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as I processed their words. Then, I stood, my cloak billowing dramatically behind me, my mask gleaming with a deadly promise.


“Where is she?” I asked, my voice a low growl, the question a vow of vengeance.


The girls’ eyes widened, a flicker of hope piercing their despair. “Y-you’ll save her?” the silver-haired girl stammered, her voice trembling with awe.


I didn’t answer, because in that moment, I had already decided. The Count and the Baron had gone too far, crossing a line I could not forgive. They would pay for their sins, and I would be their executioner. I am a storm, a shadow, a child who will bring this world to its knees.“


Then we’ll raid it,” I said, my voice cold, final, a decree from a king to his subjects.


The girls’ eyes widened in shock, the amber-haired girl stepping forward, her voice trembling with disbelief. “We don’t even know where it is,” she protested, her golden-orange hair glinting in the moonlight.


I let out a low, theatrical chuckle, the sound reverberating through the clearing like a shadowy melody, my mask’s curved smile catching the moonlight in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. I tilted my head slightly, my black cloak billowing dramatically in the breeze, exuding an aura of unshakable confidence. “Fear not,” I declared, my voice a smooth, cryptic purr, dripping with an almost performative certainty. “The lab’s location… I shall unveil it with ease—a trivial task for one such as myself.” I raised a hand, fingers splayed as if I were weaving the very threads of fate, my tone laced with a hint of amusement. “After all, no secret can remain hidden from me.


”Inside, I smirked, my mind already tracing the path to the lab I’d uncovered days ago. Of course, I already knew its location—such a minor detail was child’s play for me to acquire. But where’s the fun in telling them that? Let them marvel, let them whisper among themselves, “How does he do it?” Their awe is my currency, their faith my weapon.


The girls stared at me, their eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and disbelief, their breaths catching as if they’d just witnessed a miracle. Their faith in me surged, a palpable force, binding them to me more tightly than any chain. They would follow me to the ends of the earth, and I would lead them to victory—on my terms, of course.


--------------
[Present]


The memory faded, but the anger lingered, a smoldering ember beneath my composed exterior, fueling the intricate web of schemes I’d woven. I paced the small room with deliberate, measured steps, my cloak swirling behind me like a cascade of shadows, a silent testament to the storm I would unleash. My mind hummed with countless stratagems, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of chaos I would orchestrate. Tomorrow, the next performance would commence—and I, Aren Wolfhart, would take center stage as its unseen maestro.


Thalos was mine, a marionette molded by his own desperation, his fear the strings I held in my grasp. I’d let him cling to the illusion of salvation for a while longer, all while tightening the noose of my influence, his every move a dance I directed from the shadows. Thalosridge would quake beneath my unseen hand, its fate rewritten by the will of a child they dared to overlook.


I paused by the door, my gaze lingering on it as a slow, sinister smirk curled my lips beneath my mask. I could almost see Thalos beyond it, resting fitfully, grasping at the false hope I’d so generously dangled before him—a hope I would twist into despair when the time was right. “Rest well, Baron,” I murmured, my voice a low, velvety purr that seemed to seep into the very walls, laced with a quiet, menacing promise. “For tomorrow, you shall witness the folly of defying me, Aren Wolfhart—the harbinger of your ruin.”


Count would soon tremble at the revelation of what a mere child could achieve—a shadow that eclipses all light.




To be continued...