Episode 593
Snap!
“Ugh.”
At the sound of a string snapping, Kumaṣa, the king of Toorun, slightly opened his eyes.
A plain white doll was barely hanging by a single thread. That thread was the last connection to the eyes of the magic swordsman.
He had heard that a small ethnic group called Astana had joined the battle of Agiar, but he hadn’t expected a puppeteer among them.
“Are you all right?”
“A pity. All the strings except the eyes have been cut. Looks like I’ll be wearing an eye patch for a while. Maybe I’m a lost cause now.”
“Not necessarily. The connection still holds, doesn’t it? Surely there will be a time when it proves useful.”
“True. Maybe it’s something to take pride in—tying down a member of the Imperial Palace Guard. By the way, just as the rumors said, Emperor Bariel has silver hair and blue eyes. I couldn’t see much beyond half of them, so I can’t tell how deep the wounds are.”
Stretching out, Kumaṣa glanced around.
Before him lay a massive miniature diorama of Agiar’s battlefield. Not only the structures but even the brick colors and wood textures were painstakingly recreated.
Sitting right in the middle, he looked like a giant who had fallen from the sky. The child bent down and pulled out a long needle stuck in the shattered window frame.
“If only I’d had one more second, I could have finished it.”
“Perhaps the time hasn’t come yet.”
“Maybe so. And the Minister of Magic, Ian Hielo, right? He looks much younger than I expected.”
“Is he as the rumors say? Blonde hair and green eyes, I heard.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Bright and beautiful—almost too pretty to believe he’s a man.”
The child’s light laughter echoed lonely through the vast hall. Countless human-shaped figures surrounded him, but none responded. Even the attendant standing nearby bowed his head deeply, pretending not to hear.
“……”
Kumaṣa must neither laugh nor cry aloud. As the living god and absolute ruler of Toorun, showing emotion would throw the world into chaos, according to legend.
With pale pink eyes scanning the room, the child strode forward and grabbed the nearest doll.
Thud!
Then, with all his might, he stabbed the doll’s face and abdomen mercilessly with a dagger. As the cotton stuffing burst and the strings snapped, he moved on to another doll, then another, and another…
Huff, huff…
Behind the child lay dozens of tattered dolls strewn about—some with torn bellies, broken necks, or missing limbs—now nothing but trash. Those connected to them must have died without understanding why.
At a signal from a retainer, servants entered to clear away the broken dolls, and Kumaṣa, seemingly somewhat relieved, threw himself toward the pile.
Frustrating.
Though life inside the palace was certainly more comfortable than outside, the suffocating frustration Kumaṣa couldn’t handle surged up as anger. Holding a handful of dolls close, he asked,
“Is the background construction progressing well?”
“Yes, it’s proceeding without issue. It will be completed before Bariel’s forces approach, so there’s no need to worry.”
This was a long-standing project, not just for him but for previous Kumaṣas before him—dedicated to creating a ‘miniature Toorun backdrop’ underground.
Once completed, Kumaṣa and his kind would truly become gods on this land. They could see everywhere from their seat, mete out divine punishment instantly, and even, as just now, bring about inexplicable deaths to humans.
“I hope time passes quickly.”
Murmuring this, Kumaṣa buried his face in the dolls. He longed for the massive underground backdrop to be finished, for Bariel’s army to advance into Toorun, and for the dull, boring days to be stained with the crimson thrill of bloodshed.
Knock, knock.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty.”
At that moment, the sound of a servant outside reached him. Kumaṣa barely lifted his head and glanced toward the door, where the servant stood with the door open, extending only his hand. By law, nobles and those of low status were forbidden from seeing Kumaṣa directly.
The retainer took the golden tray from the servant.
“A letter from Bariel.”
“Read it to me. I don’t want to do anything right now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Rustle.
The retainer read the brief message lightly, then smiled as if bearing good news.
“It says they have secured Philia, the mother of Minister Ian Hielo. She has not yet left Bariel’s territory.”
Oh, that’s good news indeed. Kumaṣa wiggled his toes and muttered,
“Bring her to Toorun at once. If Ian Hielo takes after his mother, I have high hopes. Which doll should I choose?”
This one? Or that one? The child tossed aside a few dolls and found a blonde-haired, green-eyed doll buried underneath. Perfect.
A satisfied smile spread across Kumaṣa’s face, replacing the irritation from moments before.
“Toorun is a country quite different from what we usually understand as a nation.”
Katimako sipped his tea and studied Ian. Though they had moved from a dark room to a brighter one, Ian’s expression seemed colder and darker. Strange. Had something happened while walking down the corridor?
Ian nodded as if he roughly understood Katimako’s opening.
“The king is elected, right?”
“Really? Is that even possible?”
“The Toorun people believe their god manifests in the form of a human girl to rule Toorun. To recognize the god with human eyes, certain conditions must be met. The girl found this way is placed on the throne and given the name ‘Kumaṣa.’”
“That’s right, Ian. You know it well. Every king of Toorun has been called Kumaṣa. Of course, there have been problems when some tried to seize power, but that’s not important now.”
Katimako pushed his teacup aside and continued.
“You mean those who cast spells on the Varsabe troops? I heard they were reinforcements from Toorun, is that correct?”
“Yes. That was confirmed during the interrogation of Rutherford and his followers.”
“In that case, there’s something you should know. I suspect the king of Toorun—the Kumaṣa—is a puppeteer.”
A puppeteer as king of Toorun?
Ian raised his eyebrows at the unexpected claim. Since the king had passed their unique criteria, he guessed there must be something special about him.
But the exact criteria were unknown. Whether it was a religious distinction or a special ability required further investigation.
“…Why do you think so?”
“Well, first, the overlapping puppet technique I mentioned earlier. To inherit someone’s power, you must have at least equal or superior ability.”
“I understand the principle.”
“There was a puppeteer commander named Bagban, but he died. Yet the overlapping puppet technique remained effective, meaning another puppeteer with greater power must be stationed in Toorun.”
“But that doesn’t prove the king is that puppeteer. Couldn’t it be one of the king’s subordinates, like Bagban?”
A curious mage raised his hand to ask, but Katimako shook his head.
“The overlapping puppet technique is incredibly powerful—almost on par with forbidden magic. Would a king have not one but two such puppeteers under his command? Even if the king’s authority is based on religious belief… I doubt it.”
Not just any mage, but a puppeteer—someone who can control human bodies and minds. Such individuals are naturally feared and watched closely by those in power.
“And if someone with that level of power existed in Toorun, word would have surely leaked outside.”
“Couldn’t it be because the country is so closed off that no one knows?”
“It is closed off, but the royal authority is extremely strong and stable. It’s hard to explain such a phenomenon as two separate things. And most importantly, there’s another reason I think the king of Toorun is a puppeteer.”
Swish.
Katimako began jotting down notes from memory.
“Unlike Bariel, Astana is relatively close to Toorun. Several of us, including myself, have visited Toorun for academic study. We never met the king, but we overheard some of the conditions for Kumaṣa.”
The rest were all external criteria.
Ian immediately grasped the subtle meaning behind these statements.
“From the first to the third, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to consider those the qualities of a puppeteer.”
At another time, he might have dismissed it as purely religious symbolism, but not now. With the obsession over puppeteers, every interpretation pointed that way.
“Exactly. I hadn’t assigned much meaning before, but thinking it over, it’s curious. Considering all the circumstances, it’s quite possible the king of Toorun is indeed a puppeteer.”
The wizards folded their arms or rested their chins in thought. Since they were going to defeat the enemy anyway, it didn’t really matter whether the opposing king was a puppeteer or a doll master.
What truly mattered was Captain Varsabe’s perspective. If there was a definite connection to the king, they might be able to find a diplomatic solution.
“How do we track the traces of a puppeteer?”
“That’s not difficult. Puppeteers keep their dolls close, so they’re easy to spot. Remember how Beric immediately suspected Vagban? He was sure of it.”
“Is there anything else? Like leaving behind magical residues or something? Any advice on how to investigate?”
“Hm, I’m not sure exactly what you mean.”
“Philia has gone missing.”
Clink!
The wizard who was moving his teacup dropped and shattered it. Others followed suit, frozen in place, blinking wide-eyed, even forgetting to breathe.
Katimako looked around, startled by the sudden change in the wizards’ demeanor.
“Ph-Philia? Who is she?”
“My mother.”
“Oh. Your mother? What? She’s missing? Isn’t she in Bariel?”
“Yes. That’s what makes this so puzzling. Vargas, Luswena, even Havan—neighboring countries suspected of involvement—none have the means, nor any reason to kidnap a mere minister’s mother. If they wanted to act, they would have targeted the palace directly.”
Then where else could it be?
The only faction likely to target Ian’s mother was the underground god’s side. It was natural to suspect Toorun, their supposed stronghold.
“Philia has been kidnapped?!”
“This is insane! Is this really true? Ian! What could have happened to Philia?”
“Damn bastards! How dare they touch someone like her! She was—she was an angel sent from the heavens!”
“That bastard still holds a grudge over that incident. Ian, we need to deal with him first.”
“No! This isn’t the time for nonsense. What about Romandro? Is he alright?”
“If he’s alright, he would have sent a letter, right?”
“Ah, what do we do? Ian! What do we do?”
The wizards erupted into chaos, as if something had happened to their own mothers. Even Hale, who rarely showed distress, frowned and bit down on his pipe.
Ian motioned for everyone to calm down, then turned back to Katimako.
“So, we need a way to investigate this. Is there anything you can do to help?”