XLVII

What happened last night?

The thought lingered as I glanced at the mannequin-like doll standing before me, a testament to hours of meticulous work. After Atropos left me alone, the first thought that crossed my mind was simple yet loaded: Damn… I just acquired a rather powerful weapon.

The doll now in my possession wasn’t just some tool—it was a force capable of going toe-to-toe with an experienced Hunter and emerging victorious. It was crude, sure, but its potential was undeniable.

Before Atropos’s aura fully faded from the doll, I used my Soul Link to borrow her attribute. Atropos’s Doll attribute, the foundation of her Maker State, offered far more utility than I had initially expected. I decided to discard my own Connection attribute temporarily and made a quick visit to Selena. From her, I borrowed Disguise.

The plan? Combine Doll, Puppetry, and Disguise to completely overhaul the doll. Why Disguise? It wasn’t just about visual alteration—it could tweak physical components to a degree, offering a level of refinement I couldn’t achieve otherwise.

The entire night was spent reshaping the doll. Its original design was functional but brutish—a combat machine with blade-like limbs that tore through opponents with sheer ferocity. Impressive, yes, but I needed something more.

Something subtle.

The first change was the hands. The razor-sharp claws, while devastating, lacked finesse. I reshaped them into articulated fingers, giving the doll the dexterity to manipulate objects with precision. Next came the legs. The bladed limbs were transmuted into something more human-like, complete with proper feet to improve balance and mobility.

This wasn’t about adding new materials or components; the doll’s existing structure was more than enough. Using Puppetry, I molded its form as if working with pliable clay. Every movement of my hands, every command I issued, brought it closer to my vision.

By the end of the night, I had crafted a near-perfect humanoid replica—or as close as I could manage. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t completely erase its feminine features. The chest bulge and pronounced hips remained, relics of its original design. Modifying those would’ve required extensive restructuring, and I didn’t have the patience—or the time—for that.

The doll now stood before me, a seamless blend of subtlety and lethality. Gone were the gaudy accessories and the maid-like outfit Atropos had adorned it with. I set the discarded clothing aside, noting the high-quality materials.

“I might as well work on it now,” I muttered, glancing at the clock.

Maker Aura wasn’t my specialty, but through sheer technique and precision, I managed to transform the outfit into something new: a frilly black-and-white cloak imbued with invisibility. Disguise made it possible, though the cloak’s invisibility was limited—it only worked while I had Disguise loaded in my slots.

With the cloak complete, I turned my attention back to the doll. If I could make it resemble me, I could use it as a decoy in battle. My strategy was straightforward: hide under the cloak’s invisibility while the doll fought in my place. The challenge lay in ensuring its movements were convincing enough to fool an opponent.

To execute this, I reloaded my Connection attribute, reopening a slot, and began training relentlessly. Using Connection and Puppetry, I developed a new technique: Marionette. Invisible strings formed from Soul Links that allowed me to control the doll with unparalleled precision.

Hours blurred together as I refined both the doll and my technique. The Doll attribute served as the foundation for optimizing its structure. I enhanced its balance, flexibility, and reaction time, pushing its capabilities far beyond its original design. By the time I finished, the doll was no longer just a tool—it was a weapon.

I could confidently say it was at least 1.5 times more effective than Atropos’s original creation.

Morning arrived, bringing with it the familiar haze of fatigue. Two hours of sleep had been enough to recharge me, though the lingering weight of the night’s work pressed on my mind.

After waking, I immediately called Selena to borrow Disguise again. My loadout for the day was simple: Connection, Puppetry, and Disguise. 

A tried-and-true combination, and one I had honed to perfection.

Now, back to the present…

The Soul Chains dissipated like mist, and Gerry’s body collapsed to the ground, limp and lifeless, a heap of rags battered by the storm. His confession had served its purpose. I reached into my pocket, retrieving a hidden pen recorder I’d borrowed from Selena. A double-click sent a copy of Gerry’s damning words directly to her. The recording would serve as leverage against the Elsewhere Cult—a weapon for a battle fought in shadows rather than blood.

As for the dagger… that was another story.

An artifact like this could bypass the tower’s anti-lethality protections, a loophole that shouldn’t exist. A fascinating piece, but also a liability. The Hunter’s Association would demand its return, and refusing wasn’t an option. Promising not to use it? Laughable. Better to hand it over and avoid suspicion.

Still, I couldn’t help but study it for a moment longer. What a dangerous little thing.

But how had I extracted Gerry’s confession so thoroughly?

The answer lay in my Soul Link ability. By linking to someone’s aura, I could equalize it with my own, borrowing their essence temporarily. Returning their aura wasn’t a simple matter of restoration—it came back under my control, a tool for sabotage. And when multiple Soul Links were embedded in a single person, they fell completely under my sway.

This principle had turned Gerry into my puppet. The Soul Chains, a fusion of interconnected links, cocooned him, leaving his aura at my mercy. While ensnared, he had no choice but to confess. Every heinous act, every hidden crime, poured from his lips like a dam bursting.

If he’d had even a shred of decent technique, he could’ve unraveled the chains, breaking them link by link. But he didn’t. And so, he broke.

What a pity. All that bluster, yet no skill to back it up.

Still, it worked in my favor. Now I had his confession, his dagger, and his defeat. One fewer problem to contend with.

I had my doll kick Gerry’s body, checking for signs of life. Nothing. No twitch, no groan—just a broken husk.

The doll moved again, retrieving the discarded gun from the ground. It fired several rounds into Gerry’s torso, each shot precise and methodical. The echoes of gunfire faded, leaving silence in their wake. Still no reaction.

Satisfied, I stepped forward and deactivated the invisibility on my frilly cloak. The sight of myself wrapped in that ridiculous garment made me wince. Frills and functionality—a combination I despised, but it had served its purpose. I’d discard it soon enough.

Speaking of discards, I let go of the Disguise attribute. Its job was done. In its place, I claimed something new: Gerry’s Homing attribute.

At first glance, Homing seemed simple, even unimpressive. But Gerry had honed it through sheer brute force, turning it into something terrifyingly effective. His Vector Infinity technique alone had pushed me to my limits.

I couldn’t help but wonder how Selena might’ve handled him. She wouldn’t have fought head-on. No, she’d have dismantled him with precision, destabilizing the aura in his vectors and sending him careening into a wall. Splat. Game over.

The thought almost made me laugh. If I had her training and aptitude, I might’ve done the same. But I didn’t. So, I made do with what I had—and in the end, it was enough.

Gerry was gone. His attribute was mine. Permanently.

The arena around me began to shift, mechanical clicks and clacks echoing through the air. The ground trembled faintly beneath my feet as panels slid into place, walls rotated, and new shapes emerged. It was like being trapped inside a massive Rubik’s Cube, each piece rearranging itself with perfect precision.

I didn’t panic. Instead, I stood still, watching with passive interest. This wasn’t my first time witnessing the Tower’s theatrics.

There were 128 participants in this trial. Eight matches to win.

This was just the beginning.

If I understood the schedule correctly, there would be two matches today and two more tomorrow. That left me with seven battles ahead. But something about this moment felt different.

The arena didn’t seem to be setting up for another fight. If I were being shuffled to the next opponent, they would’ve sent an elevator or transitioned the space more discreetly. Instead, the surroundings felt agitated, as though the entire structure was alive, reacting to some unseen force.

Finally, the shifting stopped.

I found myself standing in a peculiar space—a courtroom, but exaggerated to an almost surreal degree. The walls stretched impossibly high, vanishing into a haze above. Surrounding me were towering pedestals, each one impossibly tall. I craned my neck to take in the full scale, and a dull ache shot through it.

Perched on one of the highest pedestals, grinning with unnerving cheer, was a bald man I recognized immediately.

The president of the Hunter’s Association.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice carrying a razor-thin edge of amusement. “We meet again, Reynard, isn’t it?”

I stared back at him, unflinching. So, they’d gone through all this trouble to bring me here. This wasn’t just another round. It was something far more significant. I had asked for this, in a way, so I couldn’t exactly blame anyone but myself.

As I took in the scene, my gaze shifted to the figures seated below the president’s towering perch. Five faces I recognized instantly—not from personal experience, but from the pages of Hunterworks.

From left to right:

• Atropos, her razor-sharp glare cutting through me like a blade.
• Maurice, the ever-composed bodyguard dressed in unassuming everyday clothes.
• Tori, her discerning eyes behind thick glasses locking onto me like a hawk sizing up its prey.
• Klein, stoic and brooding, his albinism stark against the muted tones of his suit.
• Yamada, calm yet unnervingly clinical, his gaze dissecting me as though I were a specimen on a slab.

Five of the ten directors of the Hunter’s Association. This wasn’t a simple inquiry—it was a tribunal.

The president’s booming voice broke the silence. “Let’s get on with it.”

I stretched out my hand, revealing the dagger that had caused so much trouble. Its ominous gleam caught the light, and the room’s atmosphere shifted immediately. A wave of aura fluctuations rippled through the air, crackling like static.

The directors’ eyes sharpened in unison, their auras bristling with tension.

Only then did it occur to me how this must have looked—me standing there, dagger in hand, as if I were threatening them.

Surprisingly, it was Atropos who spoke first. “We appreciate your cooperation,” she said, her voice measured but firm. “Please hand the dagger to the maid.”

Her words diffused the tension, though the crackling energy in the room didn’t fully dissipate.

Only then did I notice the figure standing quietly beside me. The maid had appeared without a sound, her presence unnervingly subtle. But my Puppetry attribute gave me an edge. Even without overt signs, I could tell this wasn’t a human being. The precise way her joints moved, the mechanical perfection of her posture—it screamed artificial.

Yet by appearance alone, she could have fooled anyone. Her vibrant purple hair was tied neatly, her dark, bottomless eyes radiated a strange calm, and her amiable smile betrayed no hint of malice.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing over the dagger. Her porcelain-like hands accepted it delicately, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Despite knowing she was one of Atropos’s creations, it was unsettling how human she seemed.

As the maid retreated, I straightened my posture, locking eyes with the president. My voice was firm as I delivered my opening remark.

“Don’t get in my way.”

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment.

There was no need for pretense. I wasn’t here to defend myself, plead for mercy, or call for justice. Let them judge me openly, hate me if they must. This wasn’t about earning their approval. If I joined this organization, I needed to know who I could trust and who I couldn’t—plain and simple.

The president chuckled, his grin widening. “Bold words, Reynard. Let’s see if you can back them up.”

The trial had begun.

Maurice leaned back in his chair, his youthful face breaking into a grin. “This guy sure knows how to talk.”

With his dark skin, afro, and playful expression, Maurice looked deceptively like a kid. If I didn’t know better, I might’ve dismissed him as someone out of his depth. But Maurice wasn’t a child. He was the president’s personal bodyguard, a position that spoke volumes about his competence.

Klein was the next to speak, his tone calm and measured. “Now, now… he’s someone filled with confidence. And he has the ability to back it up. Maybe?”

Klein’s appearance was striking—an albino with hair as white as snow, skin like porcelain, and eyes the color of blood. He wore a black shirt emblazoned with a provocative image: a monkey using a flag to wipe its backside. It was bold and irreverent, much like the man himself.

I could imagine him having a collection of offensive shirts… and the like…

Tori adjusted her tie, then began polishing her glasses with a cloth. “He is suspicious, after all,” she said coolly, her tone laced with caution. “Thus, this matter must be handled carefully.”

Her presence exuded sharp intelligence, her poker face almost unreadable. But as she spoke, I felt her aura probing me—gentle yet persistent, like a light drizzle soaking through my defenses. It wasn’t painful, but it was deeply irritating.

The sensation of her aura pokes pricked at me like buzzing gnats. My own aura, thin and stretched after the battle, was completely incapable of fending off her advanced probing. If I guessed correctly, this was the Seeker Eyes technique, trained to a high level. It wasn’t overtly dangerous, but it was invasive, designed to test the layers of my being.

I suppressed my annoyance, holding my ground.

This wasn’t the moment to let my frustration show.

Clearing my throat, I projected calm authority as I began, “As you’ve seen, I just killed my opponent. While the no-kill rule hasn’t been enforced due to the tower’s protective abilities, the fact remains—I killed him. While the no-kill rule had not been enforced, I believe that is not the reason I am called upon here. Instead, the real issue here isn’t the kill itself. It’s my supposed connection with Atropos.”

I gestured to my doll.

Atropos was emotionless, her expression unreadable. She remained indifferent despite her recent threats against my application to the Hunting Dogs, her declaration of being my sister, and now this public spectacle. I had expected more of a reaction from her, but perhaps she’d grown too skilled at burying her emotions.

The doll I had reconstructed stood silently at my side, an unnervingly lifelike mannequin. I gestured toward it again and continued, “This doll here might seem familiar to you—”

Atropos abruptly cut me off. “That doll was mine.”

The room erupted into murmurs, incredulity and suspicion flickering across the directors’ faces.

Atropos ignored the noise and elaborated in her usual emotionless tone. “I conversed with him last night, attempting to talk him out of pursuing the Hunter’s life. The discussion escalated into a confrontation, and he stole my doll. He’s since used it for his own purposes. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to my younger brother, Reynard Bright. As of this moment, he intends to implicate the Association in the murder of Gerry Mansel, leveraging the connection of the doll to me. For this failure on my part, I apologize to the president and my colleagues.”

The murmurs grew louder with a mix of disbelief and amusement rippling through the room.

Dr. Yamada was the picture of callousness as he smirked and chimed in. “It’s simple, then. Just kill him, right? Since you were the one who made the mistake, Atropos, it’s only fitting you clean it up yourself.”

Maurice snapped at him, his tone sharp. “Shut up, Yamada. Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?”

I stepped back into the fray, my voice measured but firm. “The Association has a responsibility of transparency to the old nobility. Isn’t that why I was summoned here? To hand over the dagger? Now that it’s in your possession, I should have been dismissed.”

Truthfully, I didn’t want the murder to be the issue here, since ‘killing’ had been allowed in the latter half of the exam… It just happened that the final exam had a measure to ensure the least amount of deaths.

The problem that I wanted them to focus on… was the dagger…

I let the words hang for a moment, then glanced toward Atropos. “However, as Atropos pointed out, I supposedly have ‘plans’ of incriminating the Association. If that’s what you believe, then let me be clear—I only want one thing: for the death of Gerry Mansel to be covered up. It would be incredibly inconvenient for the Mansel household to escalate my bounty any further.”

Aware that the death of Gerry Mansel could inconvenience me in my hunt for the Elsewhere Cult, I’ve decided to settle this matter with a deal.

Atropos narrowed her eyes slightly, the first hint of emotion cracking through her stoic facade.

Maurice grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Klein nodded, his crimson gaze fixed on me. “Confidence aside, I think we’re all wondering the same thing: What makes you think you can negotiate with us, Reynard?”

The president’s grin widened, his interest unmistakable. “Go on, Reynard. Show us why you think you belong here.”

Now, I just needed to survive their judgment.

And everything should be fine, right?

I scanned the room, taking in the shifting dynamics with measured patience. The tension hung heavy, but beneath it, I detected flickers of intrigue.

Not everyone in the room wanted my head—some were weighing the potential of my offer, my boldness, and the implicit challenge I’d laid before them. I wasn’t just defending myself. I was handing them a problem wrapped in an opportunity, a mess they could clean up or exploit.

“My wife is Leora the Bright.”

The silence stretched until President Bob leaned back in his oversized seat with a grin spreading across his face. He clapped his hands once, the sharp sound echoing through the vast chamber like the toll of a bell.

“Well, folks,” he said, his voice cutting through the room’s charged air, “looks like we’ve been checkmated. And no, Dr. Yamada”—he wagged a finger toward the doctor, whose smirk instantly soured—“killing him isn’t nice. Tsk, tsk.”

The sheer audacity of Bob’s nonchalance was almost comical, but I kept my face impassive, unwilling to give anything away. Yamada’s expression, meanwhile, twisted into something ugly—half scowl, half sneer. His disdain was palpable, but he didn’t speak. Bob’s authority wasn’t something even he dared challenge directly.

I could tell… most of them were unappreciative of the mention of my wife… It made me painfully curious of the reason as to the president’s favoritism towards my wife. It was making me uncomfrtable. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the right time and place to ask such questions.

Bob turned his attention back to the directors, his tone softening but still carrying an edge of command. “Let’s not forget the bigger picture here. At some point, I’m fairly certain this young man”—he gestured at me with a lazy wave—“is going to be one of our colleagues. So let’s all play nice, hmm?”

I inclined my head just enough to acknowledge his support. A faint smirk tugged at my lips as I responded, “Thank you, President.”

Bob waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me. Just make sure you’re worth the trouble.”

I didn’t miss the ripple of dissatisfaction from some of the directors, but none of them voiced their objections. Whether they liked it or not, Bob’s word was law in this room.

“You are dismissed,” he added, his tone light but firm.

I wasn’t about to overstay my welcome. Trouble had a way of finding me even when I wasn’t looking for it, so when I had a chance to avoid it, I took it. With a slight nod to the room, I turned toward the door that had opened behind me. My boots echoed against the polished floor as I walked away, the courtroom’s oppressive atmosphere slowly fading with each step.

But before I crossed the threshold, I glanced back. My eyes locked with Atropos, who had been silent throughout the exchange. For a moment, her impassive mask slipped, and something complicated flickered across her face—hesitation, maybe, or conflict.

I smiled faintly, my voice carrying just enough for her to hear. “Until then, sister.”

Her expression froze, the crack in her composure vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. She didn’t respond, but I didn’t expect her to.

~047