Puppet Master Chapter 94: Chapter 94: The Meeting

Read chapter 94 of Puppet Master by PeName on NovelPedia.

After finishing their training session, the two prepared to leave. While Rin bathed and changed out of her shredded clothes, Tris tidied up the training ground. Besides putting away the puppet and the stone-and-earth clones he was researching, the main task was cleaning the bloodstains from the arena floor. In truth, even if Tris didn’t clean, guild staff would eventually do it as a part of their job. But he had the habit of erasing traces so no one could glean information about their training. Moreover, in a world filled with all kinds of magic, who knew what others might do with your blood—such as divination or curses through blood rituals. Some might think Tris’s paranoia was excessive. But in the past, he had been ambushed and targeted too many times. Those experiences made him cautious, even about seemingly trivial things. To Tris, paying attention to such details was essential for safety. Naturally, he reminded Rin of this as well. Once everything was done, they left the training ground and headed back to the inn. On the way, the first snowflakes of winter began to fall, making the air even colder. Feeling the snow melt on her skin, Rin shared: “Master, did you know? Life in the slums was extremely harsh, especially in winter. Back then, Rin struggled greatly just to survive in this weather.” Tris: “Yes, I can imagine. For the poor without strength, any disaster can easily crush them.” Rin’s mind was filled with mixed emotions—sadness over past losses, compassion for life’s injustices, happiness at being helped… But in the end, she simply expressed her gratitude: “Thank you for taking me with you back then.” * * * * * * * * * * “Please, this way. The Count is waiting.” The maid bowed slightly and led them forward. The Count in question was Alistair Cedric, ruler of the city of Aldor. He was nearly fifty, with a refined appearance and sharp eyes. His hands were firm and calloused, showing that in his youth, he had spent much time wielding weapons. Waiting in the guest room, he soon received the visitors. As the door opened, Alistair was momentarily captivated by their faces. The guests were three young women, all strikingly beautiful. From their positions, the one in front seemed to hold a higher status, while the two behind carried the air of attendants. The two attendants looked about twenty, wearing white cloaks. Their white hair and pale skin made them stand out. Placed anywhere else, they would easily become the center of attention. But here, their beauty was overshadowed by the girl leading them. She appeared younger, perhaps around seventeen. Her face was divine, with fair skin and neatly cut, elegant short hair. Most striking was her hair: half pure white like silk, half jet black, creating a unique and vivid contrast. Unfortunately, the girl seems to be blind, for her eyes have never once opened. She removed her white cloak and handed it to one of the attendants. Beneath was a finely crafted, expensive Gothic-style dress. At a glance, Alistair could tell it was the work of master tailors. The dress the girl wore, combined with her thigh-high stockings and long gloves, was divided into two distinct halves of black and white—mirroring her hair perfectly. Anyone would be overwhelmed by such uniqueness and beauty. With a clear, melodious voice, the girl spoke: “Greetings, Count. My name is Rose. It is an honor that you have spared time for this unexpected meeting.” Rose held her skirt and curtsied gracefully. Even her movements were refined and elegant, matching her beauty. Alistair would not have been surprised if she truly came from noble blood—perhaps even a princess somewhere. Thus, he dared not show the slightest indifference, ordering tea to be served and politely asking about their purpose. Rose: “We come from the Church of the White God, hoping to receive your permission to preach and also carry out some charitable activities for the poor during this winter. Of course, for all activities we organize, we are f