Puppet Thug or Gluttony Maniac

It was hard to imagine that even Nork Town, a place known for its chaos, could have days this peaceful.

For a week, the major powers of Nork Town and even the independent Soul Masters had kept their doors firmly shut, refusing to come out.

But beneath this calm, undercurrents churned endlessly. Hals, a newcomer, was like a drop of ink falling into a pond, making its already murky waters even murkier. The fighting power he had displayed in the tavern battle was like a thorn pressed against the backs of every faction, forcing them to stay on high alert.

It seemed Hals and the various factions had reached an unspoken understanding. Hals stayed behind closed doors, while the major powers merely sent people to watch the tavern, making no further moves.

To the people of Nork Town, this fragile, temporary harmony was further proof of how fearsome Hals was. In less than half a day, the details of that battle had spread throughout town. Hals's trick of "controlling corpses" was especially popular gossip, though it also inspired a trace of fear. In private, the name "Puppet Thug" became widely known. Naturally, all of this reached Hals's ears...

In a small basement beneath the tavern

The basement had no windows or lights and lay in near-total darkness. Yet within the gloom, two green points flickered, giving off a faint emerald glow.

With his Soul Flame flickering in his eyes, Hals carefully felt the transformation of his soul.

Perhaps he had been suppressed for too long. Once he had finally let his nature run wild, his soul had transformed once more. For the past week, Hals had stayed in the cramped basement, which gave him a sense of familiarity and security, meditating and cultivating as he quietly awaited the completion of his soul's transformation.

"Hmph."

With a muffled groan, a blood-red "little snake" slithered out of Hals's nostril.

The Soul Flame in his eyes suddenly surged into a towering blaze, scorching the ceiling—and his body.

Hals's face grew paler and paler. It was no longer the sickly pallor he usually had; now his face was ashen, his breath faint. A wisp of Soul Flame separated from his eyes and gradually spread over his whole body, until Hals had become a man of fire.

The green flames devoured his black clothes, burning and corroding his flesh. His body trembled slightly, and his fingers dug deep into his palms. A trickle of blood appeared, only to be burned away by the Soul Flame almost at once.

Blood flowed, burned away, flowed again, and burned away again...

Who knew how much time passed before the wounds in Hals's palms stopped bleeding altogether. Not a breath stirred from his nose or mouth. He seemed to have died, yet, strangely, if you looked closely, you could see his chest still rising and falling faintly.

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

In the soundless basement, a heartbeat suddenly rang out, growing from faint to strong, then thunderous enough to shake the air.

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

The heartbeat suddenly faltered. Hals snapped his eyes open, tilted his head back, and gaped, his throat clearly visible. He was like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen.

Boom.

A deafening roar rang out, at once audible and soundless. The Soul Flame covering his body rapidly contracted, eventually becoming a few wisps of emerald-green fire that coiled around his chest and back like snakes clinging to bone.

The fiery snakes gradually went out—or rather, they condensed into several two-finger-wide green marks edged with flame patterns, deeply etched into Hals's skin. A burning pain continuously assailed his senses.

After catching his breath, Hals raised his left hand and gently stroked the brand-new "scars" on his chest, his expression complicated and hard to read.

"Another scar..." His voice was as hoarse as ever, but now it was lower, tinged with helplessness.

The moment his fingers touched the marks, a sharp pain shot through them. Hals didn't pull his hand away. He endured the pain and kept touching them.

Strangely, though the pain was intense, it affected only his body; his soul could barely feel it. It was a very peculiar sensation. His soul felt no pain, yet it told him that he was in agony...

Hals didn't dwell on it. He lowered his left hand, slowly stood up, and used the night vision granted by his Soul Flame to find the Dark Green Robe lying nearby. He put it on, opened the basement door, and stepped out of the place where he had spent the past week.

But the moment he stepped outside, Hals hurried back into the basement and slammed the door shut.

"Hah... hah..."

Hals leaned against the door, his face grim as he seemed to fight something back. In an instant, cold sweat beaded across his forehead.

Once he had steadied himself, Hals's expression darkened. His mind was filled with the scene he had witnessed as soon as he stepped outside, and the whisper that had risen from deep within him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, countless Soul Flames suddenly appeared in his field of vision, walking or sitting. They were the souls of Nork Town's people. If that had been all, Hals might not have panicked; after all, he had already been able to see Soul Flames through certain obstructions. But when he saw those countless Soul Flames, an endless hunger surged from within him, and he had nearly lost his reason.

Yes, it was hunger—not greed for souls, nor a desire to control them. When that hunger surged forth, Hals's salivary glands instantly produced a flood of saliva. It was just like someone with a sweet tooth who hadn't tasted dessert for dozens of days suddenly laying eyes on some.

He didn't try to go outside again. Hals thought he might lose his mind in an instant.

Hals walked back into the basement. Without taking off his robe, he sat cross-legged and steadied his breathing.

Outside the tavern, a furtive figure crept up to the rear window. He extended his right index finger, and a tiny vine appeared, slowly slipping through a crack. Carefully, it pried the window open. When the figure saw it swing wide, delight flickered across his face. Then he curled himself up as tightly as he could and squeezed into the tavern.

Seeing the empty back room, the figure couldn't help indulging in wild thoughts. In his eyes, the man known as the Puppet Thug had killed the tavern owner with such ease that he couldn't possibly have come through unscathed. He must have paid a heavy price. That "puppet show" afterward had been nothing more than an attempt to intimidate everyone and buy himself time to recover. If so, sneaking in now might let him find some information to sell to the major powers. Of course, killing Hals would be even better. He didn't believe someone like him could be without a Soul Bone. If he could get his hands on it...

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

"Let's see where you're hiding..."

Foolishness and greed always made people throw caution to the wind, didn't they?

In the basement, Hals crouched in a corner, arms wrapped around himself, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Soul... soul..."

A hoarse, crazed whisper echoed endlessly through the cramped basement.

"Boom!"

Hals jerked his head up. Soul Flame blazed in his eye sockets, the muscles in his face twisted, and strings of saliva dripped from his mouth. His arms came loose, his hands opening and closing restlessly.

Looking at the Soul Flame in his field of vision, radiating an enticing fragrance, Hals could hold back no longer. His voice turned slightly shrill, and with a whoosh, he vanished in a cloud of Black Mist.

"Soul!!!!!!"