Puppet Thug or Gluttony Maniac

It was hard to imagine that Nork Town, long known for its chaos, would ever see such a peaceful day.

For an entire week, whether the major powers of Nork Town or the scattered rogue soul masters, all had locked their doors tight and refused to emerge.

But beneath this calm lay an endless undercurrent of turmoil. Hals, newly arrived, was like a drop of ink falling into a pond, stirring the already murky waters even cloudier. The combat prowess he had displayed in the tavern fight was like a spike driven into the backs of every faction, forcing them to stand on guard.

It seemed Hals and the major powers had reached a tacit understanding. Hals stayed behind closed doors, while the factions merely posted watchers to monitor the tavern, taking no further action.

To the people of Nork Town, this fragile, temporary harmony only proved how terrifying Hals's strength truly was. Within half a day, the details of that battle had spread throughout the town. His trick of "controlling corpses" became a favorite topic of gossip, yet it also stirred a thread of fear in their hearts. Privately, the title "Puppet Thug" spread far and wide. And of course, all of this reached Hals's ears...

In a small basement beneath the tavern.

The basement had no windows and no lamp lit, shrouded in darkness. Yet within that blackness, two points of green light flickered, casting a faint, eerie glow.

The Soul Flame danced in his eyes as Hals carefully sensed the transformation of his own soul.

It seemed he had been suppressing himself for too long. Once he let his nature run wild, his soul underwent another metamorphosis. For this entire week, Hals had stayed in this cramped basement that gave him a sense of familiarity and safety, meditating and cultivating, quietly waiting for the soul's transformation to complete.

"Hmph."

A muffled grunt escaped him as a blood-red "little snake" coiled out from his nostril.

The Soul Flame in his eyes suddenly surged into a towering blaze, scorching the ceiling above and searing Hals's own flesh.

Hals's face grew paler still. Unlike his usual sickly pallor, his complexion now was like golden paper, his breath faint. A wisp of Soul Flame separated from his eyes and gradually spread across his entire body, until Hals became a man of fire.

The green flames consumed his black robes, burning and corroding his flesh. His body trembled slightly as his five fingers dug deep into his palms. A trickle of blood seeped out, only to be burned away by the Soul Flame in an instant.

Blood flowed, was burned away, flowed again, burned again...

After an unknown span of time, no more blood seeped from the wounds in Hals's palms. No breath stirred from his mouth or nose. It seemed he had died. But strangely, if you looked closely, you would notice his chest still rose and fell faintly.

"Thump, thump, thump..."

In the silent basement, a heartbeat suddenly sounded—faint at first, then growing stronger, until it roared like thunder, shaking the very air.

"Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump..."

The rhythm faltered. Hals's eyes snapped open. He tilted his head back, mouth wide, so wide you could clearly see his throat, like a fish gasping for air.

Boom.

Whether sound or silence, a deafening roar erupted. The Soul Flame covering his body rapidly contracted, condensing into several wisps of emerald fire serpents that coiled like clinging parasites across his chest and back.

The fire serpents gradually died down, or rather, they condensed into several green marks, each two fingers wide, branded deep into Hals's skin. A searing pain relentlessly assailed his mind.

Catching his breath, Hals raised his left hand and gently touched the fresh "scar" on his chest. His expression was complicated, hard to read.

"Another scar..." His voice was as hoarse as ever, but tinged with a low, helpless note.

His fingers barely brushed the mark when a sharp sting shot through his fingertips. He didn't pull his hand away immediately but endured the pain, continuing to touch it.

Strangely, the pain was intense, yet it only affected his flesh. His soul felt almost nothing. It was a peculiar sensation—your soul didn't register the pain, yet it told you, you are in great pain...

Shaking off the thought, Hals lowered his left hand and slowly rose to his feet. Relying on the night vision granted by his Soul Flame, he found the dark green robe he had set aside, draped it over himself, and pushed open the basement door, stepping out of the place where he had spent an entire week.

But the moment he stepped out, he swiftly retreated back into the basement and slammed the door shut.

"Hah, hah..."

Hals leaned against the door, his face grim, as if he was struggling to hold something back. In an instant, beads of cold sweat densely covered his forehead.

Calming himself, his expression darkened. His mind was filled with the scene that had appeared before his eyes the moment he stepped out, and the whispers that had risen from the depths of his heart.

When he had set foot outside, his vision was suddenly flooded with countless Soul Flames—some walking, some sitting. They were unmistakably the souls of Nork Town's people. If it had only been that, Hals might not have panicked; after all, he had been able to see Soul Flames through obstacles before. But when he saw those countless flames, an endless, ravenous hunger surged from the depths of his heart, nearly consuming his reason.

Yes, hunger—not greed or a desire to control souls. When that hunger erupted, the salivary glands in Hals's mouth instantly secreted a flood of saliva, like a sweet-toothed person who hadn't tasted dessert in dozens of days suddenly confronted with a mountain of sweets.

He didn't try to go out again. He felt he might lose his mind in an instant.

Hals walked back into the basement, didn't bother to remove his robe, and sat cross-legged on the floor, holding his breath and calming his mind.

Outside the tavern, a furtive figure crept up to the back window. He extended the index finger of his right hand, and a thin vine sprouted, slowly worming its way through the gap, carefully prying the window open. Seeing it give way, a hint of delight flickered across the figure's face. He then curled his body as tightly as possible and slipped inside.

Gazing at the empty back hall of the tavern, the figure couldn't help but let his imagination run wild. In his view, the man called the Puppet Thug had killed the tavern owner so easily—surely it hadn't been as effortless as it looked. He must have paid a heavy price. The "puppet show" afterward was just a bluff to intimidate everyone and buy himself time to recover. If that was the case, then sneaking in now might let him dig up some intelligence to sell to the major powers. And if he could kill the man himself, even better. He refused to believe someone like that didn't have a Soul Bone. If he could get his hands on it...

The figure licked his lips, his eyes burning with greed.

"Let me see... where are you hiding..."

Stupidity and greed always drive people to throw caution to the wind, don't they?

In the basement, Hals curled up in a corner, hugging himself, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Soul... soul..."

Hoarse, mad whispers echoed endlessly through the cramped space.

"Boom."

Hals jerked his head up. The Soul Flame in his eyes blazed wildly. His face twisted, muscles contorting. Strands of drool dripped steadily from his lips. His arms, wrapped around himself, twitched and clawed at the air.

Staring at the tantalizingly fragrant Soul Flame that had appeared in his vision, Hals could no longer hold back. His voice turned slightly shrill. With a bang, he dissolved into a cloud of black mist and vanished.

"SOUL!!!!!!"