Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 25: The Monster in the Mirror

The small audience remained silent, their expressions a mixture of awe and unease as the final words of the puppeteer's tale hung in the air.

The children among them clung to each other, their wide eyes darting between the storyteller and the wooden remnants of the monstrous puppet on the stage.

The puppeteer let out a theatrical sigh and waved his hands in a grand gesture.

"Relax, relax, everyone! It is only a fairy tale. There's no giant puppet dismembered and hidden everywhere. Not a giant puppet."

The children still looked unconvinced, shifting uneasily. One little girl, gripping the hem of her older brother's coat, swallowed before speaking in a timid voice.

"B-But... you said it was a true story."

The puppeteer, still draped in his theatrical flair, let out a light chuckle and waved his hand dismissively.

"Ah, my dear, one must always say such things when telling a tale! If you wish for your story to reach as many ears as possible, you must claim it is real. It adds a certain... thrill, wouldn't you agree?"

The children did not seem entirely reassured. Some exchanged glances, uncertain, but the puppeteer continued with a broad smile.

"Besides, you need not fear. The King was separated into seven parts, and each piece was taken by one side of the coin." He twirled his fingers, a pair of small metallic tokens appearing between them before vanishing just as quickly. "The creatures of light and the beasts of darkness despise one another so much that they would never allow such a thing to happen again."

A boy, clutching his wooden toy sword, hesitated before asking.

"But... what if someone put the pieces back together? The King is dead, so there's no worry, right?"

The puppeteer's smile thinned, his painted face shifting as he leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a softer, almost conspiratorial tone.

"Ah... but that is where the real problem lies, young one. You see, the King's origin was always... uncertain."

The children shivered, sensing the weight in his words. Even some of the adults standing in the crowd tensed slightly.

"The creatures and the beasts," the puppeteer continued, "despite their endless war, shared common ground. They were reflections of one another, two halves of a whole. But the King... was neither. He was something else entirely." His gloved fingers danced in the air, and for a brief moment, faint glowing symbols flickered into existence before vanishing. "They say he had four hearts and four minds, all working in unison within a single body, as one heart, as one brain. You could separate his limbs, break his body, divide his essence... but should those parts ever reunite?"

The firelight from the performance flickered, casting shifting shadows over his face.

"Then, my dear children, the King would rise again."

A hush fell over the gathering. The children, already uneasy, shrank back, clutching their companions' hands tightly. The creeping dread of the tale lingered in the air, invisible yet palpable.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the puppeteer clapped his hands together and straightened, his voice returning to its cheerful lilt.

"But of course! That is for another story. And perhaps, in another world, in another reality. Who can say? There are two sides of the world, and if we don't know it, then we're probably not on the principal one." He flourished his hat, bowing low before them. "The end."

Silence followed. Then, just as the tension reached its peak, the puppeteer snapped his fingers.

"Ah," the puppeteer mused, "let us not forget the most important part."

Instantly, the tiny puppets sprang to life, scurrying toward the crowd, their carved hands outstretched, little hats in their grasp, begging for a coin.

The audience let out startled gasps before nervous laughter bubbled up. The eerie spell was broken, replaced with amused chuckles as people fished out coins to drop into the puppets' waiting hands.

As the children giggled and dropped coins into the puppets' outstretched hands, Bel instinctively reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against nothing but fabric.

He frowned.

Right. No money.

The puppet before him, a black sheep with stitched-on eyes and a drooping head, let out a comically exaggerated sigh, its tiny wooden hands trembling as if on the verge of tears.

It wobbled side to side, giving the most pitiful performance of heartbreak one could expect from a puppet.

A voice, smooth as silk and laced with amusement, resonated through the air.

"Ah, a tragic tale unfolds before our very eyes," the puppeteer mused. "One who dines on a feast, yet leaves the table without offering a crumb in return. Is it greed? Is it mere forgetfulness? Or perhaps... something else?"

Bel turned his gaze toward the mime, unimpressed.

"No one said I had to pay. I would've left."

The puppeteer sighed theatrically, pressing a gloved hand to his chest.

"Ah, then not greedy, merely proud. A far more dangerous thing." His painted smile widened. "You wear it like armor. Heavy, isn't it?"

Bel's gaze sharpened slightly.

"You sure talk a lot."

"Ah, words are the paint to my canvas," the mime chuckled. "But! Perhaps we can make this interesting. A game, if you will."

He stepped forward, his long fingers tapping against his palm as he tilted his head.

"Tell me a hidden truth from the story I just told, and I shall grant you something in return, an answer to the question that burns within you. And a little advice, free of charge."

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Bel scoffed.

"I have somewhere to be."

The puppeteer let out a knowing hum, tilting his head as if listening to some whisper. Then, his painted lips curled once more.

"Ah. Yes. I see. Definitely from the Purple Crown."

Bel's brow twitched.

"You keep speaking nonsense."

"Do I?" The mime chuckled, stepping back with a bow. "Then I must apologize for my riddles. It is simply my nature."

Bel turned to leave, done with the game.

But just as he was about to take his first step, the puppeteer spoke again, his voice lilting, playful, yet eerily echoing in his head.

"The library should be just past the Sapphire District, nestled between the old bell tower and the scholar's court. If you wander too far into the merchant alleys, you've gone astray."

Bel hesitated mid-step.

He turned his head slightly, expecting to see the puppeteer on his stage, but there was no stage.

Instead, the mime was standing right beside him, so close that Bel could see the fine lines of paint around his eyes, the way they glimmered with something far sharper than mere performance.

"One last thing, little lost child." The puppeteer leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You should learn to control the weight of your presence in a place like this. A demon in a sea of men... draws many eyes. And not all of them are kind."

Bel's muscles tensed slightly. His eyes narrowed. What did he...

Before he could ask an explanation, the puppeteer took a single step back.

Bel turned around, but nothing.

He had vanished.

No sound, no movement, just gone, like a shadow swallowed by the light.

Bel whipped around, scanning the streets. The crowd that had gathered moments ago had also dispersed as if they had never been there. The busy square was now eerily quiet, only a few passersby moving along as if nothing unusual had occurred.

Bel exhaled through his nose.

Weird... Very weird.

Still, his eyes flicked toward the direction the puppeteer had pointed out.

If nothing else, at least he had a lead.

Bel exhaled slowly, his mind circling around the mime's cryptic words.

Control his presence? What did that even mean? And was that man even human? Something about him felt off, unnatural. The unease he left behind made Bel doubt he was anything ordinary.

Pushing aside the unsettling thoughts, he decided to follow the mime's directions. He navigated through Eldoria's winding streets, passing lively markets, towering spires, and the constant murmur of noble conversations.

The city was grand, full of life and history, but to him, it was just another place to pass through.

At last, he reached his destination, the Grand Library of Eldoria.

The library loomed before him like an ancient fortress, its massive arched doors adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts, their stone eyes seemingly following those who passed through.

Massive stained-glass windows cast colorful light patterns onto the cobblestone steps. A pair of armored guards flanked the entrance, though they barely spared him a glance as he stepped inside.

The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wax candles. Towering bookshelves stretched toward the ceiling, their contents meticulously arranged.

Rows of tables were occupied by scholars, scribes, and students, each engrossed in their respective studies.

Bel didn't hesitate. He moved swiftly, navigating the shelves until he reached the section dedicated to magical theory. His fingers brushed over the spines of old tomes, but his mind lingered on the puppeteer's words.

Was his presence something people could sense, like magic? Or was it something deeper? A demon's trick? A lingering aura? He wasn't sure. But the way people reacted to him lately, their unease, their fleeting glances, it was too familiar. Just like how animals and monsters had started avoiding him in the wild.

The moment his hand rested on a thick book, a sudden sharp noise startled him.

A glass shattered.

His gaze snapped toward the sound. A young woman stood near a table, her hands hovering above the remnants of a broken glass, crimson liquid pooling across the wooden surface. Her face paled, and she quickly knelt to gather the shards.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, shaking her head.

Her friend beside her frowned, glancing around the room.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The woman hesitated before whispering.

"I don't know, it's just... There's... something sinister in the air today."

Her friend stiffened.

"Hm? Really? You're not imagining things, are you?"

Bel's gaze darkened, a slow realization settling in his mind.

His gaze drifted around the library, taking in the subtle shifts in posture, the uneasy glances exchanged between some people.

They weren't just nervous; they could feel something, something they didn't understand but instinctively feared.

His very presence in the room.

The same way beasts did in the wild. The same way lesser creatures recognized the hierarchy of nature. It wasn't fear in the traditional sense; it was something primal, something instinctual.

A sense of being near something monstrous.

Slowly, his fingers curled around the book beneath him, his golden eyes locked onto its cover.

The emblem of a dragon gleamed under the dim light.