Chapter 592

“Ian, the puppet master from Astana, Katimako, has arrived.”

“Send him in.”

With Ian’s permission, the doors slid open to either side.

Katimako had come in a rush, his breath heavy and uneven. He looked around, clearly confused about the situation, but no one was willing to speak first. There was a woman tied up and blindfolded, quietly sniffling, surrounded by guards and others.

“What’s going on here?”

“This is Barsabe, a magic swordsman from the Imperial Palace Guard. It seems she’s been cursed by a puppet master from Toorun.”

“A curse? Excuse me for a moment.”

“Barsabe identified the target with her eyes, and even launched an attack. We suspect the curse originated from Toorun’s mainland.”

“If the bond is strong enough, that’s entirely possible. What kind of attack was it?”

“It was the same mysterious assault the Astanians suffered during the Battle of Agiar, but much stronger and heavier.”

Katimako finally realized the purpose of the tightly drawn curtains—they were a makeshift measure to keep their location secret.

He gestured for a lantern, and a guard brought a lit candleholder, holding it before Katimako.

“Katimako, all the puppet masters were killed when Rutherford was captured. So whoever cursed Barsabe is definitely dead. I don’t understand why the curse hasn’t faded.”

“It depends on the type of curse. Let me check first. Barsabe, open your mouth. The puppet master’s wound should be inside.”

“Ugh…”

Barsabe, still sniffling, slowly opened her mouth. Her comrades looked away, their hearts breaking.

Katimako examined the wound inside her mouth carefully, then pulled a small knife from his pocket.

“Is it true that your vision is being transmitted?”

“Ugh, yes. It feels like the back of my head is hollowed out. Like my mind isn’t my own, but a hole someone’s peering through.”

“The good news is your mind is still intact. If all five senses are controlled, the next step is the destruction of personality. Barsabe, have you ever acted against your will or orders?”

“No, never.”

Katimako touched the wound inside her mouth with the tip of his knife. The marks of the puppet master’s threads were visible. He frowned and muttered,

“Performing puppet magic on a living person is difficult. Since the puppet master is dead, it seems the control was only partial…”

His thoughts tangled. As he hesitated, the palace guards rubbed their foreheads anxiously, careful not to speak too loudly lest Barsabe’s hearing also transmit their words to the enemy.

“Barsabe, any other unusual symptoms?”

“Sometimes I hear a voice. Mostly just exclamations like ‘I see,’ but earlier it tried to coax me to look to the side. I followed without realizing it, but it wasn’t unconscious movement—I was startled by how vivid the voice was in my ear.”

“Hmm, I see.”

Katimako inspected the wound again, then tapped one of the threads with his knife. The thread was tightly woven, as if part of her body now. He asked for her consent quietly.

“I’m going to remove all the threads I can. It will hurt a bit. Is that alright?”

“Of course. Please cut every last one.”

Without waiting for a reply, he began. Barsabe’s arm, tied to the chair’s armrest, twitched, but she clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white, swallowing the pain. She didn’t utter a single cry, as if pain itself was shameful.

The guards looked away or bit their lips, and Katimako carefully cut the threads one by one.

“There is a very difficult and forbidden type of puppet magic called ‘Double Puppet.’ It layers puppet magic on top of itself. Since the puppet master is dead but the effect remains, this is likely the case. There must be another puppet master involved.”

“Is there a way to break the curse?”

“Of course. Every curse has a way to be undone. Puppet masters control their targets through a ‘doll’ fashioned in their image. Destroying that core object will naturally break the spell.”

Ian furrowed his brow. That meant they had no choice but to find the puppet master, presumably in Toorun. It was a method they couldn’t act on immediately, which was troubling.

“There is another option. Since only sensory control has been established over Barsabe, severing that link might break the connection.”

He meant she would have to give up her sight.

The palace guards listening immediately protested.

“No! That’s impossible!”

“You want a swordsman to give up their sight? Absolutely not!”

“Everyone, calm down.”

“Captain Jarrett!”

“Quiet.”

Katimako shivered at the low warning from Captain Jarrett. Such a commotion during a procedure was unprofessional. As Katimako refocused on his knife, Barsabe trembled and whispered,

“It’s alright.”

“What?”

“Barsabe!”

“If what I see threatens His Majesty the Emperor and Bariel… I’d rather live forever in darkness. To me, that would be a more beautiful life than all the dazzling light in the world…”

Tears streamed down beneath her blindfold, but her voice was steady.

The guards were heartbroken, unable to say a word. Jarrett covered his face with both hands, overwhelmed by the cruelty of it all.

“No.”

At that moment, Beric broke the silence with a firm refusal.

“If there’s a way to break the curse, why give up her sight? And the palace guard is already stretched thin—every single person is precious. If we lose you too, Ogrim, we’re truly in trouble.”

“Yeah, Beric’s right! No matter what happens to you, Barsabe, the Emperor’s safety is still at risk. So please don’t give up so easily, okay? We can break the curse.”

“We’ve lost too many comrades already. I can’t give up on you over this.”

“Barsabe, stop crying, please.”

If not for the endless drops falling beneath her blindfold, no one would have known she was crying.

Jarrett spoke quietly to Ian.

“Minister Ian, what do you think?”

The palace guard wanted to save Barsabe, but if the magic department, a key part of their forces, opposed it, there was little they could do. They waited tensely for Ian’s answer.

“Just knowing the enemy’s location is enough for them to threaten His Majesty. That’s a serious risk.”

Ian’s low voice made Barsabe grip the armrest tighter, steeling herself.

“But that’s only because we’re here in Agiar.”

If either the doll or the environment didn’t exist, the attack couldn’t happen. Since Toorun’s puppet masters had directly supported Agiar, they shared knowledge of the terrain, making it easy to set the stage.

But what if they moved beyond that?

Could they still track her movements outside Agiar?

They didn’t have to go far—just beyond the castle walls, information might leak, but attacks wouldn’t follow.

“Katimako, are you sure no senses besides sight are being transmitted?”

“Yes. From what I see now, that’s correct. These bastards were in such a hurry they botched it badly, so no transfer occurred. It’s a miracle. The threads controlling sight are too strong to cut, though.”

Relieved that hearing and speech weren’t affected, everyone exhaled deeply.

“Minister Ian, shall we finish this? Once we sever the last thread, Barsabe won’t hear anything from the other side.”

“Wait!”

Barsabe’s voice rang out. She wiped tears from under her blindfold and asked,

“Could we leave that part alone? We might be able to gather information through it. If it’s just hearing without other issues, I’d prefer that.”

“Very well, as you wish.”

Katimako shrugged, and Ian nodded. If there was no other risk, there was no need to block incoming messages.

Katimako pulled herbs from his bag and applied them inside her cheek, preparing the final treatment.

‘What Barsabe sees is also visible to the enemy.’

Ian watched thoughtfully. It was dangerous, but if used cleverly, it could become a powerful weapon.

When the procedure was done, Katimako wiped sweat from his brow and stood.

“It’s finished. I sealed it carefully to prevent it from breaking.”

“Well done. Barsabe, you must keep your blindfold on while in Agiar. The palace guard will strictly oversee this. Captain Jarrett.”

“Yes, Minister Ian.”

“I trust you’ll take good care of her.”

“Of course,” Jarrett said with a slight bow. “We’ll do whatever it takes to protect Barsabe.”

At that moment, Katimako adjusted his sleeve and called Ian over.

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind, could we talk a little longer? I just received word from Astana. I’d like to discuss the Dollmasters of Toorun.”

“Of course. Please step outside for now. Escort them to the parlor.”

“Yes, this way.”

Katimako stepped out first, with Ian following close behind. At that moment, the palace guards rushed toward Barsabe and quickly untied her bonds. Freed, she clasped their arms, and they gently patted her shoulders, offering words of comfort.

“Barsabe, you’ll be fine. We’ll find your eyes for you.”

“Yeah. When we get to Toorun, we’ll make them pay back what they did to you—times ten. Barsabe, don’t cry too much.”

Barsabe, unable to respond because of Katimako’s treatment, simply smiled. As if steeling herself, she tightened her blindfold and then thrust her fist forward.

Thwack.

Her comrades lightly bumped their fists against hers. In a world where she could see nothing, this was the only path she could follow.

Screeeech.

Boom.

Meanwhile, Ian, accompanied by the mages, began sorting through the situation as they headed toward the parlor. It felt as if a massive storm had just swept through.

“The Emperor has completed his examination,” one mage reported.

“Any serious injuries?”

“No, it seems he only suffered minor scratches from flying glass shards. Nothing major. Also, Ian, this just arrived from the Bariel Magic Department. Lord Romandro sent it urgently.”

“Romandro?”

What could it be? If there were problems in the palace, the message would have gone directly to the Emperor, not the Magic Department. This likely concerned either the department itself or Ian personally.

Ian tore open the letter as he walked, then suddenly stopped.

“Ian? Are you all right?” the mages asked, watching his expression closely.

He said nothing. But the coldness that settled in his eyes told them it was not good news.

Ian stood still for a long moment, reading the letter carefully before folding it sharply and tucking it into his chest.

‘…Philia has gone missing.’