Chapter 2: The Puppet Threads

Vane slowly regained consciousness. What met his eyes were the rugged stone walls of a cave, with the faint, flickering glow of a fire nearby.

He could not feel his limbs.

"..."

Suddenly, as if his blood had just begun to circulate again, his frozen hands and feet regained a bit of sensation, bringing with them the excruciating pain of severed meridians.

Since the Demon Realm’s failed invasion of the Immortal Cultivation Realm over a decade ago, countless powerful masters had fallen. Those remaining were merely low-level demon cultivators with negligible power. It was a place of unbridled darkness, rampant oppression, blood, and insults. The disparity between the strong and the weak was displayed there in the most vivid and cruel manner; it was no exaggeration to call it purgatory.

And he, Vane, was nothing more than an ant at the bottom of that realm, someone anyone could trample upon.

The passages leading to the outside world were extremely difficult to find; he had only managed to escape this time through a stroke of immense luck.

The boy’s lips were pale and he was incredibly weak, yet his dark eyes shone with a startling intensity.

His features were youthful but sharp, carrying an air of fierce defiance. A few bloodstains marked his face, adding to his hostile aura.

Unable to move, he shifted his dark pupils to look at the person sitting by the fire.

It was a girl about his age. At first glance, her appearance seemed entirely harmless—the contours of her eyes were soft and rounded, and the tips of her nose and cheeks were slightly flushed from the cold.

Vane knitted his brows. The pain from his severed meridians had lessened somewhat in the freezing weather. His hands and feet were bound, but he endured the agony without letting out a single groan.

...He wasn't dead. Perhaps the person before him had saved him.

Even though she had cautiously severed the tendons in his wrists and ankles... without her, he likely wouldn't have survived in the blizzard.

The fire crackled as it consumed the wood. It was late; the stone walls reflected the dancing red light, making shadows twist and sway.

Vane waited for a long time, but the girl showed no intention of speaking. He lay powerlessly against the ground.

Only when his breathing grew faint did he finally speak: "...What do you want to do?"

If she intended to take him as a slave, a person with severed tendons couldn't do much work.

Or perhaps it was one of those filthy things done by people in the Immortal or Demon Realms—harvesting hearts, using people as ingredients for puppet elixirs to boost cultivation.

Yet, she didn't look like a cultivator with any spiritual power.

The girl snapped out of her daze and seemed to ponder for a moment. From a dusty bag in the corner, she pulled out a bundle of golden threads still stained with blood. They shimmered with a radiant light, and the moment they were brought out, they exuded a powerful celestial aura—clearly no ordinary item.

This was an object taken from the two dead men who had been chasing the boy. It could control whoever was entangled by it, regardless of the user's cultivation level. It was known as the Puppet Threads.

Of course, a cultivator could resist the initial attachment of the threads, but once the golden lines fully submerged into the body, there was no turning back. One would have to strip their bones and reshape their flesh to truly break free.

Or kill the one controlling them.

She stood up and walked over. There was no killing intent in her movements. Her soft, warm fingertips touched his ice-cold wrist.

"..." Vane went silent for a moment.

Zora finally touched the wounds she had cut, where the flesh was turned outward.

The boy grit his teeth to endure, but his body couldn't help but tremble slightly.

She pressed the end of the golden thread against the raw, red flesh, her expression exceptionally serious.

Having absorbed the fresh blood, the thread began to glow with a faint heat.

Vane’s lips were white, his voice dry: "...What is this?"

Zora looked at him and answered honestly: "Something to control you."

The moment the words left her mouth, the golden thread suddenly came to life, wriggling like a snake. One end remained in her hand while the other dived into the boy’s body like a loach.

Vane’s heart leaped, but he was at her mercy and could do nothing. A strand of thread crawled through his flesh, winding around his bones, inch by inch.

Zora spoke again: "Let’s establish a Master-Servant Covenant."

She wanted him to be a slave.

Vane stared fixedly at her. "And if I refuse?"

"Then you can stay here for a hundred years. I will keep you locked in this cave, bringing you food and things to play with every day, until you die of old age and turn into white bones," Zora said earnestly.

By then, since he wouldn't have practiced immortal or demonic cultivation, he would surely die of old age without ever having a chance to destroy the world. Plus, seeing only her every day, wouldn't "capturing his heart" happen naturally?

She hadn't considered at all that "capturing his heart" usually implied romance.

To her, the bond between a master and servant was much the same.

Vane, the boy who lived in the cruelest depths of the Demon Realm where everyone could step on him, felt his high-alert stance soften slightly. He wore a strange expression: "...That’s it?"

No humiliation, no beatings—just being kept here with food and toys until he grew old and died.

How soft-hearted. And how lacking in vigilance.

Zora ignored his question, focusing intently on the progress of the Puppet Threads' intrusion.

Even as the golden lines seeped into his marrow, Vane did not show a look of unbearable agony. Beads of sweat continuously broke out on his forehead, sliding into his hair.

Vane watched Zora’s focused expression for a while, then suddenly twitched the corner of his mouth. He didn't ask why she was doing this, only saying: "Fine."

Only then did Zora lock eyes with him, searching her mind for the contents of a Master-Servant Covenant.

During the brief silence, Vane seemed to misunderstand something and continued on his own: "Since I’m destined to be a slave or a puppet anyway, I might as well choose a master who’s easy on the eyes."

Zora asked: "Those people wanted to capture you as a slave?"

"Yeah." He curled his lips again, though there was no mirth in his expression.

Even if being a slave meant being controlled by someone else, and even though he had hidden and plotted ruthlessly in the Demon Realm just to avoid becoming a tragic, short-lived servant and to survive—if it were now—

Vane felt the Puppet Threads sinking into his white bones. He lowered his eyes for a moment, concealing the look deep within them.

He had no choice.

Fate should have let him die in the snow, yet he had been saved by this person. The price was to become her servant.

He wanted to live.

At the very least, he couldn't be locked here as a cripple, completely losing all chances and hanging his life off the edge of a cliff.

Zora nodded to indicate she understood.

The Puppet Threads emitted a faint golden light beneath his skin, appearing like a dense web. Suddenly, the golden light intensified. He clamped his mouth shut, his body beginning to shake violently, teeth clenched so hard that fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Zora was startled, her eyes widening slightly for an instant.

"..."

Then, she quietly tightened the ropes around his hands and feet that were about to be shaken loose.

Soon, the faint light faded.

The Puppet Threads took effect. The other end pierced into the girl's palm to identify its master, then slipped away, disappearing entirely into Vane’s body.

Zora touched the bead of blood on her palm.

Vane looked as if he had been pulled from a river, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, looking utterly wretched.

Without waiting for him to recover, she established the Master-Servant Covenant bound by the laws of the Dao.

Vane glanced at her, paused for a few seconds, and did not resist.

The Master-Servant Covenants in the Demon Realm were far more oppressive and heartless. What Zora established was the version used in the Immortal Cultivation Realm.

Simply put, if the master died, the servant would be buried with them. If the servant died... they just died.

The servant also could not perform any actions that harmed the master’s interests or life.

Too merciful.

There weren't even any forced commands; fortunately, the Puppet Threads made up for that. Zora thought as she untied his ropes.

The Puppet Threads were originally meant to enter a dead body to create a true puppet. Since Vane was a living person, calling him a "puppet" wasn't entirely accurate.

The golden threads quickly repaired his injuries; even the tendons in his wrists and ankles were restored to their original state.

Vane sat up, clutching his chest.

It didn't hurt.

Zora watched him, thinking about how to use the Puppet Threads. It seemed they moved according to the master's will.

In the silence, Vane suddenly felt his forearm lose control. It was jerked upward like a marionette’s.

"?"

Sensing something, he turned toward her.

Then, his entire body was forced to stand up, as if every inch of bone and muscle were being controlled, leaving him helpless.

Puppet Threads—the puppet moves as the master desires.

But the new master was clearly unskilled.

Tugged by the threads within him, the boy took a step forward in an awkward posture, moving slowly.

He even moved the same arm and leg at once, and after just one step, he tripped over his own feet and crashed to the ground.

Vane: "..."

Zora: "..."

She didn't give up, concentrating to make him walk another circle. After a while, he managed to take normal steps.

Having practiced a bit of proficiency, Zora felt a sharp pain in her head and cut the connection with the Puppet Threads.

Vane’s newly healed body had gained a few more bruises and swells, but he didn't care. Without the control, the boy’s stature was as straight as bamboo. He stood by the fire with his eyes downcast, asking her instead: "What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing." Zora’s face remained impassive.

Although the Puppet Threads could bind an opponent regardless of cultivation, if the gap in power was too large, each use would lead to a splitting headache as time went on.

This was why Puppet Threads were rarely used on living people with higher cultivation than oneself.

Zora asked: "Have you cultivated before?"

"Mhm," Vane stared at the fire, mocking himself. "I had only just started three days ago. Today, it all dissipated. I'm no different from an ordinary mortal."

No, there was still some residue, wasn't there?

With her head throbbing slightly, Zora looked down expressionlessly, also staring at the aggressive red flames.

Fine, then she would have to cultivate as well.

The whistling wind passed by the cave; for a time, they were silent.

The shadows of the boy’s lashes flickered against his skin as the flames danced.

What would she make him do? If it were slavery, it would be nothing more than back-breaking work, whip-lashings, and verbal abuse, disposed of at will. Commands would surely come with cruel conditions, turning an ordinary task into hell, while the master laughed at the slave’s clumsiness and pain, kicking and whipping them with insults.

As his thoughts drifted, a bare wooden stick suddenly appeared before Vane’s eyes. He looked up; the girl’s head was tilted back, her fair face reflecting the warm glow of the fire.

"It’s cold. Feed the fire."

"..."

He waited for a moment, only to find there was nothing but a bare command.

Zora frowned in confusion, wearing an expression that said, "Did you not hear me clearly?"

She poked his abdomen with the stick and broke the words down clearly, urging him: "Add wood. Fix it. Make the fire burn brighter."

"...Alright."

Vane took the stick, added some wood, and sat down to poke the fire occasionally to keep it burning bright. His movements were extremely practiced—survival skills at maximum.

Zora glanced at the boy whose skin was flushed red from the cold: "Go strip the clothes off the dead people and put them on."

"Yes." He glanced at her before standing up.

Once Vane had walked out, Zora spoke: "Oracle, you can start reading now."

[...] The Oracle had been in a state of speechlessness since earlier. It took a moment to realize she meant the book.

[...I'll just waste a bit of energy to compress the plot and transmit it directly into your brain. I'm going offline for a bit; I'll be back once the compression is done.]

The Oracle seemed unable to bear watching any longer and fled the scene in a hurry.

"..."

Fifteen minutes later, night had fully descended as the sun gave way to the moon. Zora planned to leave the snowy mountains tomorrow. She strapped the bag containing various bottles of medicinal pills to her body and lay down by the fire to sleep.

Vane sat opposite her, arms crossed, staring at the flames. The soft crackling filled his ears, and the orange-red glow was mirrored in his dark eyes.

After a moment, when he looked up, Zora had already fallen instantly into a peaceful sleep, her breathing steady.

Vane: "..."