Chapter 454: A Puppet

Chapter 454: A Puppet

Lucien chuckled humorlessly and shook his head, his red hair catching the faint light. “You really don’t know anything, do you?” he said, not mockingly, but almost sadly. “Max, listen carefully. Your so-called boundless potential—the very thing that allowed you to be a genius nobody could match—has been used from the very beginning. Used by Mark. Used by the soul hiding inside him.”

His voice hardened slightly, and his next words hit Max like a hammer. “You think you’ve been walking your own path, forging your own destiny? You haven’t. You’ve been dancing on the palm of his hand all along since the day you met him. Every step you’ve taken, every struggle, every victory… it’s all been under his quiet control.”

Max stood there, feeling as though the floor beneath him was slowly crumbling away. Lucien’s words struck deep into the core of his soul, bringing with them a flood of confusion, anger, and a sickening feeling of betrayal.

“What do you mean?” Max asked, his voice low and dangerously cold, his expression hardening like iron. Deep hatred flared in his eyes, dark and violent. He hated Mark—or more precisely, the soul inhabiting Mark’s body—with every fiber of his being. Detested him. Despised everything he stood for.

The idea that he could have been some puppet for that bastard made his blood boil. Max had vowed countless times to kill him, to tear him apart with his own hands. How could he—of all people—have been controlled by the very thing he swore to destroy?

Lucien, however, only smiled lightly, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze as he watched Max’s fury ignite. “Good,” Lucien said, almost to himself, as if pleased by the depth of hatred he saw burning in Max’s soul. “Hatred will keep you grounded for what’s to come.”

Then, he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “But whether you like it or not, you were used. When you pulled out that sword—the one stabbed into the altar—you didn’t just free a part of his soul trapped there.”

Lucien paused, letting the words sink in, before delivering the crushing blow. “You freed him entirely. You freed him from the Mourning Depths. He was trapped in the Mourning Depths, never to leave it but by taking the sword out, you unleashed him to the world.”

Max’s eyes widened, the blood draining from his face. “What?!” he gasped, unable to hide his shock. His mind reeled violently, trying to process what he had just heard. He had freed him? From the Mourning Depths? Impossible. When he had pulled the sword from the altar, he thought—he had truly believed—that he had only freed a part of the soul trapped there. A leftover part, nothing more.

Just then Max’s eyes widened in disbelief as he realized something. He had thought he had only freed a part of Mark’s soul because that was what he knew. How did he know that? Because that was what Mark told them. Everything was all his plan.

Lucien’s gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften. He simply watched Max, letting him drown in the horrifying realization. “You didn’t just free a part of his soul” Lucien said quietly. “You shattered the chains. You opened the gate. You gave him exactly what he needed.”

Max’s heart pounded wildly, a terrible weight sinking into his chest. ‘I… I freed him?’ His fists trembled at his sides. Without even knowing… ‘I helped the very monster I was supposed to kill.’

“You know that sword you pulled out,” Lucien continued, his voice calm and matter-of-fact, like he was explaining something inevitable. “It wasn’t just some random sword buried deep in the Mourning Depths. It was an Anchor to his existence. That’s why it was stabbed so deep, at the very heart of that place.”

His golden-red eyes sharpened as he spoke, the weight of his words pressing down heavily. “Otherwise, why do you think the sword was filled to the brim with Infernal Energy? It wasn’t a coincidence. It was deliberately saturated with that foul energy to both suppress and trap him. To keep the soul of Mark locked within the altar… and to ensure that Mark himself remained imprisoned there for eternity, unable to leave, unable to influence the world again.”

Hearing this, Max closed his eyes for a moment and drew a long, steady breath, forcing himself to calm the chaotic storm raging inside him.

The guilt gnawed at his insides like a vicious beast, but he had to control it. He understood now. He really understood what he had done. He had broken the chains. He had shattered the very seal designed to keep the monster contained.

But at the same time, a small part of him resisted the crushing guilt. If he hadn’t done what he had done back then, Alice would have been killed. Maybe others too. He hadn’t had a choice—at least, not one that would have left those he cared about alive. He clenched his fists tightly, a flash of stubbornness hardening his heart.

“I was forced to do that,” Max muttered under his breath, almost as if trying to convince himself. There was a tremble of guilt in his voice, but he quickly shook his head, clearing it. No more regrets. What’s done was done. Regret wouldn’t save anyone now.

He opened his eyes again, staring directly at Lucien with burning intensity. “Fine,” he said, voice steady again. “Tell me what you meant earlier—when you said that I’ve been controlled by him ever since the first moment I met him. What exactly do you mean?”

His voice carried a sharp edge, full of demand. He needed answers—real answers—because the idea that his own steps, his own decisions, his own victories, had been strings pulled by someone else made his very soul recoil. If there was even the slightest chance he was still dancing in Mark’s hand, he needed to know. He needed to sever those strings with his own sword.

“I meant exactly what I said,” Lucien replied with a casual shrug, as if he were talking about something obvious, something Max should have realized long ago.

His relaxed demeanor only made the words hit harder. “Why do you think he let you live back then? Was it because you helped him out of kindness? Because he suddenly grew a conscience? No,” Lucien said, his voice sharpening, “it was because he needed you. He needed you alive, working unknowingly for him again.”

Lucien’s gaze hardened as he continued, his words now deliberate, each syllable like a hammer striking Max’s mind. “You carry the Infernal Demon Tattoo, and you hold the Abyss Devouring Sword. Now ask yourself—where could those two things be used? Where would they be crucial?”

As Lucien spoke, a crack of realization split open in Max’s mind. His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, stunned, as everything began to click into place like pieces of a cruel puzzle he had been blind to all along. The tattoo, the sword, the strange pull he had felt when standing before the Chamber of Concepts… it was never random. It was never just coincidence.

Mark had given him the Infernal Demon Tattoo—an ancient curse, a tool bound to Infernal Energy—and had left him with the Abyss Devouring Sword, filled with corrupt energy so vile it could erode the soul. And he had allowed Max to live, even after the sword was pulled free and the altar destroyed. Not because of pity. Not because of mercy. But because he had planned for Max to reach the Lost Continent. To reach the Tower of Truth.

Because inside the Tower of Truth… there was something. Something hidden. Something sealed away so tightly that it could only be accessed, could only be tampered with, through the use of Infernal Energy and the cursed sword Max now unknowingly wielded.

“He was after whatever was hidden in the Tower of Truth…” Max muttered, his voice hollow, almost trembling as the weight of the realization crushed down on him. “And I… I was the key.”

He felt cold all over, a chill sinking deep into his bones as the full extent of what he had almost done settled in his mind. Just moments ago, right before Lucien had pulled him away, he had been on the verge of using his Infernal Demon Tattoo and the Abyss Devouring Sword to trace the corruption hidden in the tower.

Unknowingly, he had nearly fulfilled Mark’s plan—had almost broken the final seal, had almost unleashed whatever nightmare had been buried and forgotten.

Your gift is the motivation for my creation. Give me more motivation!