Daugherty clearly grasped the gravity of the situation, speaking with sudden urgency. "All right! I’ll send the telegram immediately!"

  A moment later, the magic phone crackled with the sound of someone rising hastily from their seat.

  Glenn set the device down, already pondering how he might properly discipline this so-called God of Truth.

  A spark of inspiration flitted through his mind. He murmured, "Perhaps I should become a preacher myself... help the Church of Truth spread its doctrine."

  The line at the butcher’s stall was still noisy and chaotic when a small figure squeezed desperately out of the crowd. The moment it saw Glenn, it broke into a run.

  Sensing someone approaching, Glenn initially assumed it was a child. But when he turned his head for a casual glance, his eyes flew open in astonishment.

  It was a miniature version of the puppet boy—Palindes, the blue-vested wooden puppet.

  He was now the size of a seven- or eight-year-old child, dressed in children’s clothing; a large hat covered most of his face. Without close observation, no one would notice the uncanny texture of his "skin."

  "Sir, I need your help," the smaller Palindes said bluntly.

  Glenn’s expression turned peculiar. He had only just assisted the Forest Will days ago, and now a puppet was here requesting aid. It seemed every entity in this world placed great expectations upon him.

  "What do you need?"

  "I sense my enemies drawing near. I need you to take my sister away while I lead them off our trail."

  Palindes’ voice was barely above a whisper, but Glenn heard every word.

  He remembered the woman who had given him the Moonstone—the creator of these two puppets. She had warned him that both were being hunted.

  Now that prophecy had come due.

  Seeing Glenn fall silent in contemplation, Palindes prepared to offer compensation.

  But Glenn spoke first:

  "No need for all that trouble. Just take me to them. I’ll deal with them directly."

  Palindes jolted in alarm, hastily blocking Glenn’s way.

  "Wait!"

  Glenn frowned and paused.

  "I know you’re a Fifth-Tier werewolf," Palindes said, voice trembling with earnest seriousness. "But I can sense that at least one of them has the strength of a Sixth-Tier combatant! Do you understand how terrifying Sixth-Tier is? That power is close to our creator’s! They could reduce this entire town to ash in an instant! If you go, you’re marching to your death!

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  "I know you’re friends with my sister, but you don’t have to risk your life for us! Just follow my plan!"

  He then launched into a detailed explanation of his escape strategy—remarkably meticulous for a small puppet.

  Watching his solemn little face, Glenn felt speechless.

  "Who told you I’m only at the Fifth-Tier?"

  He finally interrupted the puppet mid-explanation.

  Palindes froze. The metallic sheen in his eyes flickered with bewilderment.

  "I saw you transform into a Fifth-Tier werewolf myself. Unless... you’re relying on a powerful artifact? That’s not safe. My enemies have many methods—some may counter your tools."

  Convinced of his own reasoning, Palindes dismissed the idea of Glenn confronting his pursuers head-on.

  "Enough. My strength is far beyond the Fifth-Tier. Don’t worry. Just point me toward the target."

  Confidence resonated in Glenn’s voice.

  Palindes couldn’t understand it, but since the man was so certain, he decided—for once—to trust him.

  "Very well. Those people are somewhere beyond Bayek, and my gift allows me to sense them. They’re not even attempting to hide. They’re just unsure whether we’re still in town... and wary of Bayek’s strange aura."

  Glenn nodded. If that were true, they’d be easy to find.

  Man and puppet left the shop swiftly.

  ...

  In the outer woods of Bayek, a middle-aged man in ornate robes stood atop a tree trunk, watching the workers in the farmland below—laborers who looked suspiciously like mercenaries.

  "Assassins, sellswords, deserters, wild drifters—and even so many elves." He muttered softly. "Whoever founded this farm... how did they convince such people to do the work of peasants?"

  With elven hearing, those workers should have noticed him. Yet not a single one sensed his presence.

  "I’ve investigated this place. The upper echelons of the kingdom all know of it, yet they treat it as some untouchable secret. Fascinating."

  Not far away stood another figure in similarly luxurious attire—though instead of robes, he wore a fitted assassin’s ensemble designed for speed and movement.

  "So what? Do you think some greater power lurks in this backwater?" he asked with disdain.

  The middle-aged man scoffed openly at the notion of anyone stronger than themselves.

  For years, they had scoured the world for traces of the witch Avisa and her creations. The witch was elusive beyond reason—her methods so strange that even a Seventh-Tier mage of the Domain of Fate could barely track her.

  The only reason they’d gained a lead at all was because she had deliberately revealed herself under a full moon. Even then, they had failed to kill her—though they had gravely injured her.

  Her two powerful magical constructs were their primary targets. Yet for a century, despite countless methods, they had found nothing.

  It was as though the constructs had vanished from existence.

  They assumed the puppets were either destroyed or dismantled to strengthen the witch.

  Then, the tracking device created a century ago to locate those constructs suddenly activated—and delivered a set of coordinates.

  They had been stunned. Despite doubts, they dispatched two of their mightiest operatives to verify.

  "Shall we capture those people down there? They carry the aura of the terror-puppet. There’s no mistake."

  The assassin-like figure proposed.

  But the robed man snorted, "Interrogate them? Why bother? Our target is clearly in the town. We’ll simply level the town. How could they hide then?"

  The Forest Will—who alone knew of their presence—nearly blurted out, True warriors.

  "You’re right. So why hesitate? Let these weaklings taste despair."

  The assassin’s words barely fell when a dread aura swept toward them faster than they could react.

  Thick black smoke billowed and dispersed, revealing a monstrous werewolf in bizarre attire.

  "How can a werewolf be this terrifying?" the robed man cried, blinking into the distance.

  But the next moment, the werewolf’s thunderous voice boomed:

  "Do you long for salvation?"

  Both men widened their eyes in disbelief. Having lived for a long time, they were very familiar with the missionary incantation of the Church of Truth, and Glenn's words immediately dragged their minds back to the glory of the great church that had reigned a century ago.