What happened last night?
After Atropos left me alone, the first thought that crossed my mind was, Damn… I just acquired a rather powerful weapon. The doll now in my possession wasn't just some tool; it was a force to be reckoned with. It could hold its ground against an experienced Hunter and still come out ahead.
Before my self-proclaimed sister's aura fully faded from the doll, I used my Soul Link to borrow her attribute. Atropos's attribute, Doll, was the foundation of her Maker State, and it offered more utility than I initially expected. I decided to discard my own Connection attribute temporarily and made a quick visit to Selena. From her, I borrowed her Disguise attribute.
The plan? Combine Doll, Puppetry, and Disguise to redesign the doll I had claimed. Why Disguise? Simple. It wasn't just about visual alteration; it could tweak physical components to a degree. That level of derivation was incredibly useful for the task at hand.
I spent the entire night working on the transformation. The doll's original design was functional but crude—a combat machine stripped of any resemblance to humanity. Its blade-like hands and legs were undeniably powerful, but I needed something more versatile. Something subtle.
The first thing I changed was the hands. I reshaped the sharp, metallic claws into articulated fingers, ensuring the doll could manipulate objects with precision. Next were the legs. The bladed limbs, while devastating, lacked subtlety. I transmuted the material, reshaping them into something resembling human legs with proper feet.
This wasn't about adding new materials or components. I didn't need them. All I needed was to transmute the doll's existing structure, thanks to my complete usurpation of Atropos's control. For that, I had my Puppetry attribute to thank. It allowed me to mold the doll like clay, bending its form to match my vision.
In the end, I had created a perfect humanoid replica—or nearly perfect. Despite my efforts, I couldn't remove its feminine aesthetics entirely. The chest bulge and pronounced hips remained. Modifying those areas would have required extensive restructuring, and I didn't have the time—or the patience—for that level of precision.
Still, the result was impressive. The doll now stood as a seamless blend of functionality and subtlety, ready to serve my purpose.
The doll in front of me looked far more like a mannequin than a person, stripped of the ornate decor that Atropos had given it. Gone were the gaudy accessories and unnecessary embellishments, though the maid-like outfit it originally wore seemed to be crafted from expensive materials. Perhaps I could repurpose that later.
I glanced at the clock.
"I might as well work on it now."
Aura wasn't my strong suit when it came to my Maker affinity, but through sheer technique and precision, I managed to create something new out of the maid aoutfit: a frilly black-and-white cloak imbued with invisibility, courtesy of Selena's Disguise attribute. Unfortunately, the cloak's invisibility only functioned while I had Disguise loaded in my slots, making it situational at best.
It helped that I found a sewing kit around.
Speaking of Disguise, it offered me another avenue for my strategy. I decided to alter the mannequin's appearance. If I could make it resemble me, I could use it as a decoy in battle. My plan was simple: hide under the cloak's invisibility and let the mannequin fight in my place. The trick was ensuring its movements were convincing enough not to arouse suspicion.
To execute this, I swapped out Disguise to reopen a slot and reactivated my Connection attribute. With it, I trained relentlessly through the night, combining it with my Puppetry attribute to create a new technique: Soul Marionette. This ability allowed me to control the doll with invisible strings formed from interlinked Soul Links and Soul Marks.
The Connection attribute enhanced my training efficiency significantly. While practicing my puppetry, I also refined the doll's design. Using Atropos's Doll attribute as a foundation, I optimized its structure, improving its balance, flexibility, and reaction time. By the time I was done, the doll wasn't just an improved version—it was a superior one.
I could confidently say that this new creation was at least 1.5 times more effective than Atropos's original design. What I had in front of me was no longer a mere mannequin or tool. It was a finely tuned weapon, ready to execute my strategy with precision.
The next day arrived, and with it, the usual haze of fatigue that followed a night of minimal rest. I had lost the Doll attribute now—its temporary residency in my slots was over—but the two hours of sleep I managed were sufficient. After waking, the first thing I did was call Selena to borrow her Disguise attribute once more. My loadout for the day was simple yet efficient: Connection, Puppetry, and Disguise.
It was a tried combo already, so I held a bit of confidence with them on my loadout.
Now, back to the present.
The Soul Chains encasing Gerry dissipated like mist, and his limp body collapsed to the ground like he was a heap of rags battered by the storm. His confession had served its purpose. I retrieved a hidden pen recorder from my pocket, borrowed from Selena. Double-clicking it, I sent a copy of Gerry's confession directly to her. The recording would serve as leverage against the Elsewhere Cult—a weapon for a different kind of battle.
As for the dagger… That was another story. It was a fascinating piece, disruptive to probability itself and capable of bypassing the tower's anti-lethality protections. A dangerous artifact, no doubt. Unfortunately, it was also a liability I couldn't keep. The Hunter's Association would demand it, and refusing to hand it over wasn't an option. Promising not to use it? Laughable. It was better to surrender it outright than risk unnecessary suspicion.
But how had I extracted Gerry's confession so thoroughly?
The answer lay in my Soul Link ability. With it, I could equalize and borrow another person's aura by linking to them. When I returned their aura, I retained partial control over it, turning it into a tool for sabotage. Now, what happens when multiple Soul Links are embedded in a single person? The answer was simple: they fall completely under my control.
I'd used this principle to devastating effect. By cycling Gerry's aura through my Soul Links and infecting him with my influence, I turned him into a puppet. The Soul Chains—a fusion of interconnected Soul Links and Soul Marks—served as the ultimate entrapment. While cocooned within them, Gerry's aura was mine to manipulate, leaving him no chance of resisting.
If he had even an ounce of decent technique, he could've undone my Soul Chains, cleansing them link by link. But he didn't. And so, he broke.
It was a pity his skill didn't live up to his bluster. Still, it worked in my favor. He wasn't worth the trouble. Now, I had his confession, his dagger, and his defeat. One fewer problem to contend with.
I had my doll kick Gerry's limp body, just to check for any signs of life. There was nothing. No twitch, no groan—nothing to indicate he was anything more than a broken husk.
Next, I had the doll retrieve the discarded gun from the ground. With mechanical precision, it fired several rounds into Gerry's torso. Each shot struck true, but still, there was no reaction.
Satisfied that Gerry was out for good, 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 weren't a combination I enjoyed, but it had done its job. I'd get rid of it soon enough.
Speaking of getting rid of things, I let go of the Disguise attribute. I didn't need it anymore; its purpose had been served. In its place, I claimed something new. Something permanent. Gerry's Homing attribute.
At first glance, Homing seemed simple, maybe even unremarkable. But I'd seen firsthand how potent it could be. Gerry had refined it through sheer brute force, turning it into something terrifyingly effective. His Vector Infinity technique alone was enough to push even an experienced fighter to their limits.
I could only imagine how someone like Selena would have dealt with him. In fact, as the author of this entire mess, I didn't have to imagine too hard. If Selena had been in my position, she wouldn't have fought head-on. She would've outclassed him with her superior technique, tweaking the aura embedded in his vectors and destabilizing them entirely. Gerry's carefully constructed paths would have backfired, sending him careening straight into a wall. Splat. Game over.
It was almost funny to think about. If only I had Selena's training and aptitude, I might have pulled off something similar. 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. And now, with this new power, I'd push my skills even further.
The arena around me began to shift with a series of mechanical clicks and clacks echoing through the air. The ground trembled faintly beneath my feet as if an enormous puzzle box had been set in motion. Panels slid into place, walls rotated, and new shapes emerged. It was like being inside a massive Rubik's Cube, each piece rearranging itself with perfect precision.
I didn't panic. Instead, I stood still, keeping my footing steady, watching with passive interest. After all, this wasn't my first time seeing the arena's theatrics. There were 128 participants in this trial, which meant I'd need to fight eight matches to win. This was just the beginning.
If I understood the schedule correctly, there would be two matches back-to-back today and tomorrow. That left me with seven more battles ahead. But something about this 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 just sent an elevator or transitioned the space more discreetly. Instead, the surroundings seemed… agitated, as though some greater event was about to unfold.
The shifting finally stopped, and I found myself standing in a peculiar space. It resembled a courtroom, though exaggerated to an almost surreal degree. The walls loomed high, and the pedestals surrounding me were impossibly tall, stretching far above my head. When I craned my neck to look up, a dull ache shot through it.
Seated at one of the pedestals, grinning with unnerving cheer, was a bald man I recognized immediately. His presence confirmed my suspicions—this wasn't just another round.
"Well, well," he said, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. "We meet again, Reynard, isn't it?"
The chairman of the Hunter's Association.
I stared back at him. So, they'd gone through all this trouble to bring me here. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. I asked for this, so I couldn't exactly blame anyone.
I took a better look at the figures seated below the chairman's towering perch. They were five faces I recognized instantly, not from life but from the pages of Hunterworks. Each one matched their description from the novel—down to their clothing, posture, and the intangible weight of their presence.
From left to right sat Atropos, with her razor-sharp glare that seemed to cut through anything; Maurice, the ever-composed bodyguard dressed in an everyday clothes; Tori, whose discerning eyes behind the glasses honed on me; Klein, stoic and brooding, his albinism creating a powerful contrast; and finally, Dr. Yamada, calm yet unnervingly clinical, his eyes scanning everything as though disassembling it in her mind.
Five out of ten directors of the Hunter's Association. This wasn't a simple inquiry—it was a tribunal.
The chairman's booming voice broke the tense silence. "Let's get on with it."
I stretched out my hand, the dagger gleaming ominously in my grip. The room's atmosphere shifted immediately. A wave of severe aura fluctuations rippled through the air, crackling like static. Each director's eyes sharpened, their auras bristling with tension. It wasn't until that moment I realized how it must have looked—me standing there, dagger in hand, as if I were threatening them.
Atropos, surprisingly, was the one to step in. "We appreciate your cooperation," she said, her voice measured but firm. "Please hand the dagger to the maid."
Her words were a lifeline, defusing the situation.
Only then did I notice the figure standing quietly beside me. The maid had snuck up without a sound, her presence almost unnervingly subtle. But my Puppetry attribute gave me an edge. I could tell, even without physical signs, that this wasn't a human being. The subtle way her joints moved, the eerie precision of her movements—it screamed artificial.
Still, by appearance alone, the maid could have passed as human. She had vibrant purple hair tied neatly, dark, almost bottomless eyes, and an amiable smile that gave no hint of malice.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing over the dagger. Her porcelain-like hands accepted it delicately. Despite knowing it was a doll—likely one of Atropos's creations—it was unnerving how natural and humanlike it appeared.
I stood tall, my voice firm as I delivered my opening remark. "Don't get in my way."
There was no need for pretense. I didn't plan to defend myself, call for justice, or plead for mercy. Let them judge me openly, hate me if they must. I wasn't here to win their approval. If I joined this organization, I needed to know who I could trust and who I couldn't—plain and simple.
Maurice leaned back in his chair, his youthful face breaking into a grin. "This guy sure knows how to talk."
He looked like a kid, his afro and dark skin giving him an air of playful mischief. If I didn't know better, I might've dismissed him as a child playing dress-up. But Maurice was no child. He was the chairman's personal bodyguard—a position that spoke volumes about his capability.
Klein was the next to speak, his voice calm and measured. "Now, now… he's someone filled with confidence. And he has the ability to back it up."
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 that bore a provocative image: a monkey using a flag to wipe its backside. It was bold and irreverent, much like the man himself.
Tori adjusted her tie and began polishing her glasses with a cloth. "He is suspicious after all," she said coolly, her tone carrying a weight of caution. "Thus, this matter must be handled carefully."
Her presence exuded sharp intelligence. She had a poker face that was nearly impossible to read, but her actions betrayed her as someone who missed nothing. I felt her aura probing me—gentle but persistent. It wasn't painful, just… irritating.
The sensation of those aura pokes pricked at me like a buzzing gnat. It wasn't something I could resist. My aura was thin, stretched to its limits after the battle, and completely incapable of fending off her advanced probing. If I guessed right, this was the Seeker Eyes technique, trained to a high level. It wasn't dangerous, but it was invasive, designed to test the layers of my being.
I suppressed my annoyance and held my ground.
This wasn't the moment to let my frustration show.
I cleared my throat, projecting 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. How did I know about the tower's abilities? Let's just say I'm well-informed. But the real issue here isn't the kill itself. It's my supposed connection with Atropos."
I gestured to my doll.
Atropos, clad in her maid uniform, stood motionless. Her expression was unreadable, completely 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 reaction from her. Perhaps she'd grown too good at keeping her emotions buried.
The doll I had reconstructed stood silently at my side, an unnervingly lifelike mannequin. I gestured toward it and continued, "This doll here might seem familiar to you—"
Atropos abruptly cut me off. "That doll was mine."
The room erupted into murmurs, and I caught glimpses of incredulity and suspicion from the gathered directors. Atropos ignored the noise and, in her usual emotionless tone, elaborated. "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 chairman and my colleagues."
The murmurs grew louder, some tinged with disbelief, others with amusement.
Dr. Yamada, ever the picture of callousness, chimed in with a smirk, "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."
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."
I watched the room carefully, gauging reactions. The tension was thick, but I could see the flicker of intrigue in a few of their eyes. I wasn't just defending myself. I was putting the burden of this mess on their shoulders. Whether they liked it or not, I'd laid out the cards for them to consider.
Chairman Bob leaned back in his high seat, his grin widening as he clapped his hands once, the sound echoing in the vast room. "Welp, this is a checkmate, guys. My man here has a point. And no, Dr. Yamada, killing him is not nice." He wagged a finger in mock disapproval toward the doctor, whose smirk faded into a disgruntled frown.
Bob's gaze turned toward the other directors, his tone growing softer but retaining its edge of authority. "At some point, I'm fairly certain this young man will be one of our colleagues. So, let's all play nice, hmm?"
I inclined my head, the smallest smirk playing at my lips. "Thank you, chairman."
Bob waved me off casually. "You are dismissed."
I knew better than to overstay my welcome. If I could avoid trouble, then I would. This was my principle in motion. Trouble wasn't something I sought—it had a tendency to find me anyway. So, if Atropos insisted on calling me her younger brother, I might as well lean into that connection. It would be useful in the long run.
Before leaving, I glanced at Atropos. Her impassive mask cracked for the briefest moment, her expression shifting into something complicated—conflicted, perhaps, or hesitant.
I smiled faintly and said, "Until then, sister."
With that, I turned and strode toward the door that had opened behind me. The sound of my boots against the polished floor echoed as I left the courtroom behind, the tension in the room dissipating like a broken spell.