Aiden left the inn with great caution, scrutinizing every shadow in the thick fog. The grimoire under his jacket gave him the impression of carrying a burden much heavier than its actual weight, as if Corvus's confessions weighed on his conscience.
He unfolded Thomas's map by the flickering light of his candle, looking for the next point of interest. Several places were marked with a red cross: the Henrot forge, the old chapel, the healer's house, and of course, the manor at the top of the hill.
The forge, he decided after a moment's hesitation. Corvus mentioned that the blacksmith's Flame had given him an understanding of metal and fire. Maybe I'll find clues about how he makes his puppets.
But according to the map, the forge was on the other side of the village, in a district that Thomas had marked with several warning symbols. "High concentration zone - Frequent patrols" was scrawled in the margin.
Aiden took a deep breath and set off, slipping from shadow to shadow. Very quickly, he understood why this area was considered dangerous. The streets were narrower here, flanked by tall buildings that created a real labyrinth. The fog seemed denser, almost viscous, and he had the disturbing impression that it sometimes moved by itself, as if it were alive.
Worse still, puppets were indeed patrolling the sector. Aiden encountered a first one at the turn of an alley, pressing himself against a wall just in time to avoid being seen. The creature advanced with a mechanical step, its head pivoting left and right with jerky movements. In the mist, it looked like a child's nightmare that had come to life.
Calm down, he told himself, feeling his heart race. You managed to avoid the others. You can do it.
But this area was different. The patrols were more numerous, more organized. No matter how hard Aiden tried to memorize their routes, there was always a puppet that appeared where he didn't expect it, forcing him to make increasingly complicated detours.
After an hour of laborious progress, he began to panic. He felt like he was going in circles, not getting closer to his objective. Worse, his candle was dangerously diminishing, and without it, he would be completely blind in this sticky darkness.
What if I got lost? This thought chilled him. What if I couldn't find my way back to Thomas's cache? I would die here, in these cursed streets, and no one would ever know what I discovered about Corvus.
For the first time since the beginning of this adventure, Aiden felt doubt creeping into him. What was he doing, exactly? He was just a former sick person who had spent his life in books. He knew nothing about combat, exploration, dangerous situations. How could he hope to succeed where people like Thomas had failed?
The system had told him he was in a story, but did stories really always have a happy ending? What if this one ended with his death and the transformation of all the survivors?
He stopped in a recess between two houses, short of breath, trying to regain his composure. His resistance to fear helped him not to give in completely to panic, but he felt that his nerves were frayed.
No, he told himself firmly. No, I'm not going to give up now. These people are counting on me, even if they don't know it. And somewhere, I have the feeling that all this... all this makes sense. That I'm really supposed to be here.
He consulted the map again, forcing himself to think calmly. According to his calculations, he was only a few streets away from the forge. If he could avoid two or three more patrols...
A noise made him jump. Not puppet footsteps this time, but something more subtle. Like a light metallic tinkling, repetitive, coming from somewhere in front of him.
Ting, ting, ting.
Aiden frowned. This sound reminded him of something... A hammer on an anvil! But it was impossible. Thomas had said that the blacksmith had been transformed more than a week ago. Who could be working metal in the middle of the night in a village of puppets?
Driven by curiosity and inexplicable hope, he set off again, following the metallic sound. It became louder as he advanced, more regular too, as if someone was hammering something with mechanical precision.
Finally, he arrived in front of a building larger than the others, with an extinguished chimney and a large wooden door reinforced with iron. Even in the darkness, he recognized the forge. The tinkling was indeed coming from inside.
The door was ajar, letting filter a reddish glow that danced on the wet cobblestones. Aiden approached cautiously and took a look inside.
What he saw took his breath away.
The forge was lit by the glowing embers of a fire that should never have been lit. And in front of the anvil, a silhouette worked with perfectly rhythmic movements. A puppet, undoubtedly the former blacksmith, who continued his craftsman's work even after his transformation.
But that wasn't the most disturbing thing. On the anvil, under the regular blows of the wooden hammer, something was taking shape that made Aiden shudder with horror.
A miniature rib cage, finely crafted, with twisted metal ribs and a central cavity that seemed designed to contain something precious. Next to the anvil, other similar pieces were lined up: metal skulls with hollow sockets, articulated limbs with complex joints, hands with too-thin fingers ending in sharp claws.
He's making bodies, Aiden realized with dread. Custom puppet bodies.
But there was something else. On a workbench at the back of the forge, dozens of small vials were lined up, each containing a substance that glowed with a soft, changing light. Some were a peaceful blue, others a passionate red, a few an unsettling green.
His new ability to perceive magical auras activated, and Aiden almost fell backwards. These vials... they contained fragments of Vital Flames! Each one pulsed with an energy that reminded him of what he felt in his own chest, but corrupted, altered, as if something whole had been broken to reduce it to pieces.
The colors correspond to emotions, he suddenly understood. Corvus doesn't just absorb entire Vital Flames. He decomposes them, sorts them, classifies them by types of emotion or memory.
The idea was so monstrous that he had trouble accepting it. Not only did Corvus steal people's essence, but he also dissected it like an anatomist studying a corpse.
The puppet-blacksmith suddenly stopped working. Its head slowly pivoted toward the door, and Aiden realized with horror that he must have made a noise without realizing it.
He threw himself back, pressing against the outer wall of the forge, holding his breath. The mechanical steps of the puppet approached the door, stopped on the threshold.
It's looking for me, Aiden thought, sweat running down his forehead despite the cold air. It knows someone was there.
A long moment passed. Aiden could hear his own breathing, which seemed deafening in the night's silence. Finally, the steps moved away, and the metallic tinkling resumed.
But Aiden no longer dared to move. He was too close, too exposed. The slightest mistake now, and he would find himself face to face with a puppet in a confined space, with no possibility of escape.
And yet, I need to see those vials up close, he told himself. They're the key to everything. If I understand how Corvus decomposes Vital Flames, maybe I can find a way to reconstitute them.
He waited several more minutes, then slipped again toward the door. The puppet-blacksmith had returned to his work, turning his back to him. Aiden could see that its head was slightly inclined, as if it were concentrated on its task.
A chance, he realized. It's programmed to work, not to watch. As long as it has something to do, it won't pay attention to what's happening around it.
Taking his courage in both hands, Aiden slipped into the forge, staying along the walls to remain in the shadows. The heat from the embers felt good after the humid cold of the night, but the atmosphere of the place was deeply oppressive.
He reached the workbench with the vials and approached the nearest one. Seen up close, it was even more disturbing. The substance it contained moved slightly, swirling in the glass as if it were alive. And when he looked at it carefully, he had the impression of seeing faces form and dissolve in the colored light.
Memories, he understood. These aren't just fragments of energy. They're pieces of someone's life.
He extended his hand toward a light blue vial, the one that seemed the least threatening. The moment his fingers touched the glass, a vision struck him like a punch.
A middle-aged woman, her hands covered with flour, who smiled while kneading dough. "Every bread I make is a little love I give to the village," she said to a little girl who was watching her. "That's the secret of a good bakery, my dear. Love."
Aiden withdrew his hand, gasping. It was Jeanne, the baker! He had just seen one of her memories, a moment of simple and pure happiness that had been torn from her soul and imprisoned in this vial.
Corvus collects them, he realized with disgust. He steals their lives and keeps them like trophies.
Another vial caught his attention, a dark red that pulsed like a wounded heart. This time, he didn't need to touch it to have a vision. His ability to perceive magical auras allowed him to "read" its contents from a distance.
A robust man with a weathered face, holding in his arms a woman who had just given birth. "She's perfect," he murmured, tears in his eyes. "Our little Marie, she's perfect." The woman smiled weakly. "Take care of her, my love. Take care of our children."
It was a memory of the blacksmith, the day of his daughter's birth. A moment of absolute happiness that had been stolen, dissected, reduced to a simple curiosity in a monster's collection.
Aiden felt anger rising in him, a pure rage he had never felt in his life. These people weren't just victims - they had been violated in the most intimate way possible. Their most precious memories, their purest emotions, had been torn from their souls and transformed into collector's items.
[MAJOR CLUE DISCOVERED: THE SOUL DECOMPOSITION WORKSHOP]
[PROGRESSION: 50%]
[REWARD UNLOCKED: INCREASED FEAR RESISTANCE - LEVEL 2]
[NEW ABILITY: READING RESIDUAL EMOTIONS]
The sensation was different this time. More intense, deeper. Aiden felt something unlock in his mind, as if a part of himself he didn't know had just awakened. His perception of magical auras refined, allowing him to see the currents of energy circulating in the forge.
And what he saw chilled him.
Threads of dark energy emanated from each vial, rose toward the ceiling, and disappeared in the direction of the manor on the hill. Corvus was connected to all his creations, to all the soul fragments he had stolen. He felt them, controlled them, fed on them permanently.
That's why he becomes more and more powerful, Aiden understood. He doesn't just absorb Vital Flames once. He continues to feed on them, day after day, like a parasite slowly gnawing at his victims.
The puppet-blacksmith stopped working again. This time, it turned completely toward Aiden, and he could see its porcelain face in the glow of the embers.
There was no expression on this smooth mask, but Aiden felt something else. With his new ability, he could perceive the residual emotions emanating from the creature.
Sadness. Confusion. And... anger?
The puppet slowly raised its hammer, but instead of approaching Aiden, it struck three blows on the anvil. A signal.
Other tinklings answered it, coming from different points in the village. The puppets were communicating with each other!
Shit! Aiden rushed toward the exit, but it was already too late. Silhouettes materialized in the fog, surrounding the forge. He was trapped.
His breathing accelerated, but his improved fear resistance helped him keep his ideas clear. He looked around, searching for another way out. There was indeed a window at the back of the workshop, but it was too small and too high.
Think, Aiden! There must be a way!
That's when he noticed something strange. The puppet-blacksmith wasn't advancing toward him. It stayed near its anvil, hammer in hand, but it wasn't moving. And in the residual emotions that Aiden perceived from it, the anger seemed directed... not toward him, but toward something else.
Toward Corvus?
A crazy idea germinated in Aiden's mind. What if these puppets weren't completely submissive? What if a part of their original personality still resisted the Puppeteer Scourge's control?
There was only one way to find out.
- "You were this village's blacksmith," he said softly, not taking his eyes off the puppet. "You had a family. A daughter named Marie."
The hammer trembled slightly in the wooden hand.
- "He stole your memories," Aiden continued, his voice becoming firmer. "Your emotions, your joys, your sorrows. He keeps them in these vials like trophies."
The porcelain head slowly turned toward the workbench with the colored vials.
- "But you're still there, aren't you? A part of you still resists. A part of you remembers."
The puppet dropped its hammer. The metallic sound resonated in the forge like a thunderclap.
And for the first time since its transformation, the former blacksmith of Greyhollow brought his wooden hands to his porcelain head, in a deeply human gesture of pain and confusion.