SWNOVELXO Chapter 8
Chapter 8: The Evil Puppeteer (1)
Like a calligraphy stroke drawn by a master’s hand, a winding mountain ridge stretched across the landscape. Tucked away among it was a cleverly concealed cave.
It was so well hidden that one might easily pass by without noticing.
The cave extended deep inside.
And at the end of the long, straight passage...
There stood a workshop that could only be described with one word: horrifying.
Tang, tang, tang—!
Under ropes tangled like cobwebs along the ceiling, human arms and legs hung in clusters.
Various bones were piled like firewood in one corner, and strips of flayed skin were pierced onto iron hooks like dough.
Even a bundle of severed heads—once atop living necks—was set aside in a basket, placed like a casual ornament.
“W-Wow, is it finished? Let’s see… Huh? Huh?!”
A man, presumably the owner of this grotesque workshop, was inspecting something he had crafted.
“Nooo! NOOOOO!”
Crack!
Suddenly, he shrieked and smashed it.
“No, no…! This isn’t right! This part should be thinner. Did you forget? But, hmm… emphasizing the muscles might also be good…”
This man was the true culprit who turned a peaceful mountain village into a village of corpses in an instant.
The evil puppeteer—Molga.
Molga’s appearance alone was far from normal.
His hair was so long it dragged on the ground, matted and unkempt, clearly untouched for ages.
The clothes he wore were stained with grime and filth, their original color no longer identifiable.
He continuously muttered incomprehensible phrases to himself, an aura of unease clinging to every word.
But above all—his eyes.
“Heeheeheehik! Hiiik!”
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.
In this case, the saying rang true. At least now, it did.
Anyone who met Molga’s gaze would immediately sense something was deeply wrong.
TANG—! TAANG! TANG!
Molga slammed down his hammer, cackling maniacally.
“Heeheeheeheek! Good, good, gooooood—!”
His unnaturally bulging eyes gleamed with the mania of someone wholly obsessed.
If the people of the world saw this man, they’d call him one thing with certainty—
A madman. A lunatic.
“Heeheehik! Hiiik!”
Molga continued his bizarre laughter as he pounded away with his hammer.
What he struck… was human skin.
Chang—! Chang—!
Yet, for some reason, instead of a soft, pliable sound, it rang with a metallic clang.
After repeating the motion for a while, Molga paused to examine it.
“Perfect… This one turned out quite nicely! Now, I need to hurry and work on the next part…”
Molga’s methods were simple.
First, he scouted out remote villages with minimal contact with the outside world—and marked them as targets.
Then, on the darkest of nights, he would joyfully massacre the entire village.
Using their corpses as the base, he would craft his darling “dolls.”
Lifelike murder dolls that resembled humans to a terrifying degree.
“Yes, yes… I must follow the principle. Of course. I have my own method, after all…!”
Both memory and appearance were replicated to perfection, with not even a fraction of error. So much so that people could easily mistake them for real humans.
He even treated them to prevent any odor of decay.
Their way of thinking, their manner of speech—were preserved exactly as in life… and at his signal, they’d transform into murder machines.
“Just a little more, just a bit more!”
Then, he assembled various human body parts like “components.”
Until finally, he completed one single doll—his masterpiece.
—Blasphemy.
This man had betrayed every law of humanity—every moral principle a human should uphold.
But Molga considered himself a born artist.
In his mind, ethics and morality were trivial concerns in the pursuit of art.
What truly mattered was reaching a higher realm—no matter the cost.
And the result of that madness now stood before him.
“—It’s complete! The pinnacle of my life’s work!”
Before him stood the most perfect doll he had ever created.
“Kihihihihik!”
Molga let out a shrill scream of joy. The catharsis that surged through his body from head to toe…!
“Ahhh… Superb, simply superb! Must be thanks to the fine materials. Isn’t that right?”
Molga also had one other hobby that he enjoyed just as much as completing his artworks.
And now, he had the perfect opportunity to indulge in it.
“I really must thank you, dear Hunter. For giving birth to such fine quality raw material… Thanks to you, I’ve created my life’s masterpiece!”
Molga turned and grinned grotesquely at someone.
“Too bad, too bad. Truly unfortunate. You came all this way full of hope… and what did you find? Not your living son, but his corpse. What a pity.”
“…”
“But it’s perfect, isn’t it? Looks exactly like your son did in life! Oh, and it can mimic him too—just like before. Don’t you want to see? Hm? Don’t you? Want me to show you? Huh?”
A middle-aged man, bound tightly in chains, slowly lifted his head.
Drip, drip…
Blood was flowing freely from numerous wounds, but his eyes—his gaze—remained fierce.
“Ghh… Ghkk!”
His eyes were bloodshot, crimson tears streaming from burst vessels, and his lips bled heavily from how much he had bitten them.
He looked as if he were enduring not physical but emotional torment.
—His name was Jaigo, a veteran low-rank Hunter.
A Hunter’s duty was to slay monsters, and yet here he was.
To understand why, a bit of backstory was needed.
Molga, the evil puppeteer, had been wanted for decades for the annihilation of multiple villages. Despite relentless investigations by authorities, he always slipped away without a trace.
Instead, those pursuing him—detectives, knights—ended up dead or missing.
—Before this causes further damage, it’s better to involve the Hunters.
Recognizing the bizarre nature of the case, it was transferred to the Hunter Association.
Although Hunters were primarily tasked with “monster extermination,” the Association itself was founded to protect humanity.
When threats emerged that ordinary people couldn’t handle—whether individuals or organizations—the Association would occasionally dispatch Hunters to resolve the issue.
However, this time, Jaigo had not come as a Hunter.
A year ago, his son went missing.
And so, he came here as a father.
“…You bastard!!!”
He let out a roar. Like he had no choice but to unleash the fury erupting from within.
Jaigo, known even among low-rank Hunters for his endurance and tenacity, had survived countless missions.
But not this time. Not for this.
This time, even he couldn’t remain rational…
And as a result, instead of avenging his son, he ended up captured by his murderer.
‘…A fatal mistake.’
He should have stayed calm. He should have been more cautious. The moment he caught Molga’s trail, he should have reported it to the Hunter Headquarters instead of charging in.
Countless regrets and what-ifs spun through Jaigo’s mind—but in the end, he knew even if he could go back in time, he would’ve made the same choice.
Because in just a moment’s delay, the monster he couldn’t forgive—not even by tearing him apart—might have escaped.
That alone… must not happen.
‘That bastard is mine.’
He didn’t care if his soul was condemned to burn in hell for all eternity.
As long as he could be the one to bring justice to the monster who killed his son—!
“How dare you commit such horrors wearing the skin of a man! Are you not afraid of LAMPAS’s divine judgment?!”
“Not particularly?”
Molga responded without a flicker of emotion.
“Art is a supreme act—created by mere creatures who wish to resemble, approach, and praise the great Father in the heavens! There’s no way the divine would dislike such a thing…!”
His expression was so pure it was almost childlike—as though he genuinely couldn’t comprehend why Jaigo was furious.
Jaigo muttered with a disgusted look.
“…You’re the very definition of a madman.”
“Of course I am! After all, one must go mad to create art! Hiiik!”
Molga wore a grin that only made him look more twisted.
“Hey, dear Hunter. Isn’t it about time you met him? Your precious son—so beloved you wouldn’t feel pain even if he were in your eye.”
With a flick of Molga’s finger, the completed doll—Jaigo’s son—began to rise from the bench with a creaking motion.
“Ah…”
A breathless gasp escaped Jaigo’s lips.
“My son…”
His reason screamed at him not to look.
That wasn’t his son. His real son had died long ago. What stood before him now wasn’t the boy he had loved.
—Father!
And yet… Jaigo couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Step. Step.
He heard the approaching footsteps of the doll.
Memories kept flooding back—unbidden.
—When I grow up, I’ll become a Hunter just like you, Dad! I’ll get really strong, and then I’ll be the one protecting you!
—Daaad! I—I got into Rusram Academy…!
—Good day, sir! I’ve just been officially assigned as a low-rank Hunter, name’s Nathan. Hehe. I look forward to working with you, Father—no, Senior!
And now, the thing wearing his beloved son’s skin stood before him.
Jaigo stared up at it, stunned.
“…”
He felt like a man sentenced by the Grim Reaper—its scythe resting against his throat.
“Heh.”
Then it smiled—mimicking the smile of the boy he had once loved beyond words—and said,
“Father.”
“…!!!”
Just a single word. Just that one word.
A word he’d heard so many times, one he thought he’d always hear until his death… but now would never hear again.
And it pierced him like a blade straight into the heart.
—He hadn’t been able to protect his son.
That truth—kept locked away until now—was finally driven into him like a dagger.
“Ah, aaah… AAAAAHH!”
In that moment, the iron-willed Jaigo—who had endured every kind of hardship and trial—crumbled into despair.
Molga, watching the scene, turned red with glee, laughing as if drunk on the moment.
“Kihihik! Kiiiiiihik!”
Molga’s most twisted pleasure—was reuniting his dolls with the people who had once loved them.
Despair… was his greatest muse.
The raw emotion of a broken human soul inspired him more than anything else.
“Just as I expected! …I’m bursting with inspiration!”
The expression of betrayal by a friend. The expression of being murdered by a lover.
And the expression of someone realizing their beloved family member had long since died… and they never even knew…
It was exquisite. He didn’t need to eat—he was already full.
And this Hunter and his son—what a delightful pair they were.
“Is it because he’s a Hunter? Or were the two of you just special?”
The son had provided a high-quality body.
And the father… had given him glorious artistic inspiration.
Now, it was the father’s turn to become the next perfect material.
“Eheheh. If I use the man who produced such an excellent son, I’m sure I can create a masterpiece to surpass even this one…!!”
It might even become his new life’s work!
Just as Molga, face full of anticipation, grinned and began stepping toward Jaigo—
Shhhhhk!
A sharp object came flying straight at him.
Molga, realizing it was too late to dodge, twisted his body.
“Argh!”
The knife lodged into his shoulder. Had he reacted even a second later, it would have pierced the base of his neck.
Sweat dripping from his brow, Molga shouted,
“Who’s there?! Identify yourself!”
“Me?”
From the dark ceiling of the cave, a man dropped down.
It was Gale.
“Just a guy passing by. No, wait—since I was thrown here, I guess I should say I was flying by? Some crazy brat launched me in this direction.”
Gale scratched his messy hair as he spoke.
“What? What are you babbling about?”
For the first time in his life, Molga understood what it meant to be utterly dumbfounded.
A historic moment—where a lunatic himself was left speechless by another’s nonsense.
“Y’know, that thing. Your… enemy.”
But Gale, unaware of the irony—or perhaps not caring—just carried on like a guy out for a casual stroll.
Truth be told, even if he had known, it wouldn’t have mattered.
He didn’t care for villains’ tragic backstories.
“Somehow, I ended up hearing your whole sob story. Even a guy like me has a little empathy. That damn kid promised a good payday, too… so I guess I’ll consider it an official request. Which means—”
Gale’s crimson eyes curved into a murderous smile.
“Hey, you filthy bastard. Let’s have ourselves a dogfight. I might not look like much, but I take mercenary work very seriously. You’re going to be a stepping stone on my career path.”
Gale Garav—a mercenary famed for a 100% request success rate.
That fact would not change today.