Chapter 113: Tonight is the Seventh Night the Puppeteer Carves the Witch’s Body…

Chapter 113 Tonight marks the seventh night the puppeteer has spent carving a body for the witch...

Tonight marks the seventh night the puppeteer has spent carving a body for the witch.

Ever since the prayer ritual received a response, the moon hanging above the forest has stayed full night after night, as if time had frozen at that very moment.

This moon was unnaturally round, its edges faintly tinged with blood-red. As the crimson hue gradually spread and deepened, an iron-like scent of blood permeated the depths of the woods, causing residents of nearby towns to bolt their doors at night.

Whether real or imagined, the moon in the sky seemed to grow larger and larger—as if it were an eye slowly lowering itself toward the earth.

Inside the wooden cabin, rasps, carving knives, and ball joints lay scattered across the floor.

At the witch's request, the puppeteer had forgone his preferred material—fresh corpses—and instead opted for traditional wood.

A fine piece of timber gradually took shape in his hands, forming a human silhouette before being connected segment by segment with ball joints for articulation...

"Just the eyes remain, and it will be complete."

The puppeteer stared obsessively at the puppet, utterly unable to look away. "This will be my offering to the Lord, and the most perfect work of my life..."

Whispering to himself, the puppeteer sat cross-legged amidst the mess, his rough fingers gripping a brush as he carefully traced eyelashes onto the puppet.

Since childhood, he had trained under his elders in the craft of puppet-making, honing hands steady as stone.

Yet after seven days and nights of ceaseless carving, even these hands had begun to tremble.

The puppeteer felt as though his body and soul had been split in two—

Every muscle and nerve in his body screamed their protest, warning him to rest;

Yet his soul was swept up in an inexplicable compulsion, driving him to create, create, create with bloodshot eyes, as if immune to exhaustion...

Like a music box dancer spinning endlessly at its heart, he carved and painted without pause, burning every ounce of his life as fuel for his creation.

The puppet beneath his hands grew increasingly lifelike—the rough texture of the wood coated with a special finish to replicate human skin's luster, its smooth skull crowned with thick crimson hair, its blank face gradually given delicate, lifelike features...

Yet as the puppet became more vivid, the puppeteer himself grew gaunter, his complexion more haggard, as if he were feeding this "perfect" puppet with his own flesh and blood, staining her rosy lips with his lifeblood.

Time became meaningless as the night outside grew more terrifying, the blood-tinged full moon fixed motionless at the sky's zenith.

The moon seemed to smile, gazing at the forest cabin with fixed attention.

When the puppeteer finally laid down his brush, the puppet was complete.

With great care, he placed it before the mirror, lit candles arranged in a crimson inverted pentagram, and summoned the Ill Fate Witch.

Then—the human-sized puppet blinked its emerald-green eyes. The rigid wood of its body softened as it turned its head haltingly, studying its reflection in the mirror before curving its pale, perfect lips into a satisfied smile.

It... no, she.

She tested the ball joints at her elbows and knees, working her limbs to stand, her movements growing smoother with each step.

Amidst the soft creaking of wood, the witch-inhabited puppet approached the trembling, emaciated puppeteer, looking down at him with regal disdain.

She leaned forward slightly, a lock of dark-red hair slipping from her shoulder like a venomous snake undulating above the puppeteer's nose.

The ancient witch spoke: "I am pleased with this vessel. In return, you may make one wish."

"However."

Perhaps due to years without normal human interaction, her words came slow and deliberate, "Remember—a twisted wish will be fulfilled in a twisted way."

Though she had done nothing yet, appearing serene, beautiful, and harmless, merely being under her gaze made the puppeteer tremble uncontrollably, like prey frozen before a predator.

Too exhausted to ponder her warning, the puppeteer swallowed hard and rasped, "I only ask for more materials—fresh, intact, flawless corpses—to craft more soulful, enchanting puppets!"

"As the disaster-bearing witch you are, you could easily bring disaster upon the nearby towns—plague, disease, anything..."

Elius chuckled softly, confirming, "Any disease will do?"

The puppeteer nodded feverishly, his bloodshot eyes burning with manic hunger.

After a moment's thought, Elius smiled. "Very well, I understand."

The moonlight seeping through the window cracks turned crimson in an instant as the witch straightened and merged with the eerie, crimson glow.

Just before her figure vanished entirely, the puppeteer heard a simple reply:

"Your wish is granted."

Heart pounding, the puppeteer threw open the door and craned his neck outside.

What catastrophe would the witch unleash?

Drought? Flood? Or pestilence?

How long must he wait for his next batch of "materials"?

The moment his gaze fell upon the scene outside, his smile stiffened, his eager anticipation twisting into pure terror.

—Why... had the trees outside transformed into human-shaped horrors with legs rooted in the earth and pale arms stretching skyward?

These "people" stood with legs like roots, elongated arms as branches, and flowing hair as foliage; their limbs intertwined, their locks entangled, forming an impenetrable, lightless forest that stretched endlessly.

Standing alone amidst this grove, the puppeteer was consumed by the shadows of the "trees." As the wind blew, their hair brushed against his cheeks like ghostly fingers...

Stared at by those sightless eyes, the puppeteer finally broke under the psychological torment, letting loose a piercing, mad scream.

Like a madman, he fled toward town, heedless of all else...

Days later, news of the puppeteer's sudden madness spread through nearby towns, fueling widespread gossip:

"Hey, how could he go mad so abruptly, without warning? I saw him on the street earlier—he screams at people and shrubs now, muttering about 'people are trees, trees are people,' too terrified to return to his cabin by the woods."

"Don't even mention it. Last time I brought him bread out of kindness, he knocked it all to the ground, raving that I was a tree—that I shouldn't move or speak, that feeding him was a trap... He's utterly deranged. Keep your kids away in case he lashes out."

"Maybe it wasn't so sudden. He was always odd, and before this, he shut himself away for seven whole days. Who knows what he was doing alone in there..."

"Didn’t the local gravediggers say several recently buried corpses went missing? I bet he dug them up at night, maybe praying to some dark power in secret! I’ve written to the churches in the nearby city. Once they investigate, we’ll know the truth and won’t have to live in fear."

"If he really prayed to some dark god during his seclusion, it’s no surprise he broke. Truth be told, he's lucky to be alive..."

The churches handling this incident were among the region’s most prominent—the Life Church and the newly established Fate Church.

Ever since the Lord of Fate began bestowing decrees and blessings upon followers across worlds, local Fate Churches had sprung up like weeds. Though still lacking unified doctrine or official hierarchy, those blessed with fortune naturally assumed roles as clergy, gradually establishing order.

After joint investigation, the clergy confirmed traces of an unknown entity’s power lingering on the puppeteer.

The force clouding his mind resembled less a fatal curse and more a vicious prank—one that had twisted his perception, conflating "trees" with "people."

From then on, in his world, "people" took root in the soil and grew, silently spreading like a forest, while "trees" walked through streets and alleys like monstrous creatures.

Whether in the woods or among crowds, he would forever remain the perpetual outsider.

Meanwhile, the clergy also discovered several corpses in the puppeteer's wooden hut.

These corpses had been treated with certain alchemical preparations, emitting a pungent odor from their skin, yet they remained perfectly preserved as in life. Dressed in ostentatious costumes, they were arranged as exquisite dolls and displayed in a hidden cabinet behind a mirror.

According to testimonies from cemetery keepers and the deceased's families, these corpses had once been buried in nearby cemeteries—no one expected them to resurface in the puppeteer's home as his "collection."

Ultimately, after deliberation, representatives from the Life Church and the Fate Church jointly convicted the puppeteer of grave robbery, desecration of corpses, and conducting forbidden occult rites. He was sentenced to confinement in the church's underground, to be guarded and guided by dedicated personnel.

"An inverted pentagram..."

After bidding farewell to the Life Church's resident priest, the Fate Church's investigator sat alone in the chapel.

Bathed in the holy light of the Lord, the young investigator felt her restless thoughts gradually settle into peace.

Closing her eyes for a moment of rest, she recalled the ritual markings before the large mirror and grew solemn. "Such symbols are common in ritual studies... but which divine being could it be?"

"Tch, daring to 'operate' in territory under the True God's church—He must be powerful enough, but also vile enough. With our strength alone, we cannot lift the 'curse' from that puppeteer. Perhaps only by calling upon a bishop or higher authority could we find a way to break it..."

"At least for the next decade, the puppeteer won't be able to live normally. He's already been driven utterly mad... Confined in the church's underground detention, living in isolation—that's the best outcome for him."

As the investigator sighed in reflection, a golden-haired, red-eyed man appeared beneath the towering statue of the deity.

Startled for a moment, the investigator quickly matched the figure before her with the descriptions from sacred texts. Flustered, she rose to her feet, clenched her fists nervously, and bowed deeply. "Apostle!"

Bryce nodded to her and spoke in a gentle voice, "By the will of the Lord, I bring forth two holy edicts."

"The first decree is for all Fate Believers—from this day forth, beware, for the Ill Fate Witch has awakened from the wellspring of chaos. She will open the ebony box in her hands and unleash a plague of misfortune upon the world."

"If her traces are discovered, pray immediately to the Lord and seek His protection."

Ill Fate Witch...

This ancient title flashed through the investigator's mind like lightning.

Could it be... that the unknown entity the puppeteer worshipped was this very witch?

Indeed, in the next moment, the golden-haired Apostle seemed to read her thoughts and sighed. "The second decree is solely for the believers of this world who follow the Lord."

"Cease all attempts to investigate that ritual. Do not allow its details to spread further... Staying away from Elius is the only thing most ordinary people can do."

—For heaven's sake, don't attract any more heretical zealots to pray to the "witch"!

Yi Fengchu thought with a heavy sigh.