Chapter Fifty-Two: The Lantern Bearer of a Thousand Faces—A Genius Who Shapes Heaven and Earth

Louis took a piece of magical bread from his pocket, broke it in half, and sprinkled the crumbs into the chest. Instantly, a shower of bread rained down inside. As each magical crumb touched the ground, it swelled in size, and under Louis’s enchantment, the enlarged crumbs transformed into beautiful bread mushrooms.

The dark wizards seemed to have been starving for some time; under the astonished gazes of the agents, they began to weep and scramble madly for the food. Louis chuckled and manipulated the magical puppets to block the wizards’ path, refusing to let them eat.

The agents, thinking the puppets were coming for them, gripped their wands in alarm, but the puppets simply trampled a dozen or so agents beneath their feet as they passed. Strangely, the twelve dark wizards displayed some genuine skill: not only did they withstand the iron feet of the puppets, but they even managed to engage them in melee. Each dark wizard could take on two or three puppets and a heap of wooden dolls besides.

This surprised Louis a little. According to Sakura Bell, the puppets Harold crafted would require a dozen adult wizards to barely suppress them, and if elite wizards like Sakura Bell and Oxicris worked together, it would still take both to handle a single puppet. By that measure, those little underachievers, Oxicris and the like, stood no chance against the carpenters and blacksmiths now in the chest.

It might be time for a few remedial lessons.

“Why is it that everyone truly skilled in this world is a craftsman?”

[My lord, that is indeed the case, ahem.] Stuart grinned obsequiously. [To be honest, I am a craftsman myself. You see, I—]

Louis glanced at Stuart and dismissed him.

“I am a wizard.”

Stuart’s smile stiffened at his master’s words.

“How did Mr. Harold fare?”

[He’s already been delivered, my lord, and his identity has been confirmed by the Black Cell. The bounty is considerable...] Stuart reported. [There’s another matter I must discuss with you—about our Warden Duke ‘Bolst’.]

Stuart wore a sheepish smile. [He’s been impersonating you for some time, but ever since Harold arrived, he seems a bit unsettled...]

“Oh?”

“Yes, my lord, he’s been impersonating you.”

Whenever Stuart brought in prisoners, no one dared question him—after all, his rank was not insignificant. Nor did anyone ask such things; it was simply the warden’s job. Be it their own strength, or the number of underlings, informants, and bounty hunters at their disposal, the wardens always had plenty. It was perfectly routine for them to capture fugitives. Recently, Stuart’s performance had attracted the attention of his superior.

This superior was famous, but loved nothing more than glory—yet he was lazy and idle, his greatest joys consisting of sipping coffee, reading the newspaper, and dabbling in playwriting. What he hated most was trouble.

When this man noticed Stuart’s achievements exceeding expectations, he took an interest and summoned Stuart for a chat.

This was none other than the “Lantern Reaper of a Thousand Faces,” Bolst, now the warden of the Hexagonal Prison—rumored to have even dueled the Dark Lord, with Stuart himself snapping photographs at the time.

The Dark Lord and Stuart had struck many poses together. The Dark Lord had been very pleased with Bolst, for he was a master playwright and a consummate actor—astonishingly, Bolst could also serve as action choreographer.

He was as renowned as Director Trev, head of the Special Bureau for Mysterious Incidents.

Bolst’s motive for approaching Stuart was simple—his tenure as a senator in the Magical Parliament was ending, and in the upcoming election, his opponent was formidable. He needed a reputation boost, an old friend’s help.

So, before a big fish like Harold was ever caught, Bolst found the arrangement delightful—relax in his office, read the paper, sip coffee, and let fame accrue.

It reminded him of those leisurely, joyful days when the Dark Lord visited—back then, Bolst was invincible. When challengers came for his “King of Clubs” title, Bolst never needed to lift a finger—the Dark Lord handled it. Only Bolst himself could best the Dark Lord.

Eventually, no one dared challenge Bolst—except the Dark Lord. And every encounter made the papers.

Now, with the Dark Lord gone, the lantern bearer who once illuminated the darkness was fading into obscurity; many believed Bolst was already too old for the Hexagonal Prison, let alone the senate.

At night, Bolst would cradle the “Reaper’s Lantern” left by the Dark Lord, lost in melancholy.

Stuart’s recent activity gave Bolst hope, and Stuart was happy to look after his old comrade and colleague. They hit it off immediately.

Who could have predicted Harold’s arrival?

Bolst had gleefully drafted many articles—at election time, he’d leak the story to a newspaper, and his reputation would be secure.

Who dared claim Bolst was past his prime? Who said he spent his days idling in the office? Every night, before bed, he secretly wore his underwear over his trousers and did good deeds in silence. All he did was avoid fame—though he was always in the headlines.

Once voters became excited, the senate seat would be his.

Stuart’s informants seemed diligent, delivering plenty of prisoners each week—of ever-increasing notoriety...

Now Harold had been caught. Trouble had arrived unbidden.

Bolst’s expression soured at once. For most, it didn’t matter; the Reaper’s Lantern could handle them, and few dared challenge the Thousand-Faced Reaper. But some, the Lantern couldn’t manage, and certain ones delighted in challenging the Reaper.

Harold was one such—a magician who couldn’t be confined, who loved wandering the Hexagonal Prison and sought Bolst out to play “the ultimate game of life and death.”

Whenever Harold arrived, Bolst was forced—amid internal tirades—to stage a breathtaking performance.

The last time Harold escaped, Bolst’s acting had reached its peak—managing not to apprehend the fugitive.

Now, after such effort to see Harold gone, he was delivered right back? And Bolst expected to act again? To keep playing Harold’s games? His scripts were nearly exhausted!

So, just half an hour ago, Bolst spoke with Stuart—he wanted no more fame. Otherwise, he’d never have approved Harold’s bounty!

“A rare talent indeed,” Louis couldn’t help but nod appreciatively after hearing Stuart recount these scripts.

[My lord, what do you propose we do?] Stuart inquired cautiously.

“Oh.” Louis, making the agents and wizards in the chest dance as he spoke, replied, “I’ll leave a mental imprint for Harold and the agents, then have the agents write an ‘Investigation Report of the Faceless One’ to submit to the Ministry.”

[My lord, you’re so wicked—(Louis glanced over)—ahem, I mean, sharpening Warden Bolst’s writing and acting is a fine thing. By the way, he’s written quite a few scripts lately to impersonate the Faceless One—I even helped photograph him!]

“Perfect. Hand me all the material Bolst planned to leak, and I’ll pass it along to the agents to submit to a major newspaper.”

[…]

Seeing Stuart still dazed, Louis asked, “Well?”

[Ahem, my lord, I think there are a few bits missing—let’s wait two weeks before leaking it. I’ll first claim Harold’s bounty.]

“Alright.” Louis nodded. After a pause, he asked curiously, “How much money do I have now?”

The magician’s chest was a secret domain; with enough crystal arrays, wizards could create vast spaces inside. With money, one could build a small kingdom within—or a film studio, for that matter. An entire estate would be no problem.

Louis was planning to grow chives—he craved chive dumplings. Conveniently, he had some “craftsmen” on hand—farmers, fishermen, carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, even a dragon-tamer...

Hearing these trades had piqued Louis’s interest. Surely, they could farm and build houses or castles.

It seemed Harold had intended to raise dragons inside, but lacked the funds for a large crystal array to maintain the magical elements in a dragon district, so the project was never finished.

Now that Louis had sold Harold, the proceeds should suffice.

In the future, Louis planned to raise some dragons himself. Ideally, a giant dragon—larger than a fire dragon, able to speak, and if he gave it some treasure, he could transform and sleep there whenever he wished.