12 O'Clock Marionette-Chapter 60

"Cruello, can you handle it?"

"It's a bit difficult here due to the magic resistance. Is there any way to stop him from escaping?"

I shook my head.

Binding spells were too slow.

Using other holy spells for an attack would be troublesome.

To kill him instantly, I would need a high-tier spell, but gathering divine energy would take time and surely expose me.

If we wanted to move him somewhere without magic resistance, we’d have to track Ares, but with how cautious he was, that would be difficult as well.

"It would be better if we had bait to lure him out."

I cast a disapproving look at Dylan, who was still sound asleep.

"Huh? A hostage? See, temple people are all the same. Acting all noble, then playing hostage games?"

"It was a slip of the tongue. That was wrong of me. I apologize."

"Mm? No, Lord Ares has no family, no friends—he's a born loner. He did talk to me a bit, but he's just another textbook case of a man who ruined his own life."

"…Why are you glaring at me like that?"

Just thinking about it made me mad.

Some people live so busily they don’t have time for family or friends.

Starting from Nigellia, everyone in the Black Serpent Cult had a knack for getting on my nerves.

They don’t have friends either!

Anyway, this bear hunt was proving to be more challenging than expected.

"The sun will rise soon. Let's head back."

At Cruello's words, I nodded.

We tossed the still-sleeping Dylan back into his office and exited through the iron door.

Then, stepping into the gate Cruello had opened for me—voilà! My bedroom!

And then—

"Where have you been?"

Minuet—voilà.

"Gah!"

I clutched my heart and collapsed.

That was the biggest scare of my life!

"Mi-Mi-Minuet? Why are you in my room?"

"That gate spell just now, His Highness opened it for you, didn't he? What were you doing out at this hour? You weren’t out on a date with him, were you?"

Minuet crouched down to meet my gaze.

Her gentle smile sent a chill down my spine, so I turned my head away—only to lock eyes with Gavotte.

"Gavotte!"

He was just standing at the bedroom threshold, yet I clutched my heart for the second time.

There wasn’t even a Pianissimo, so why was his presence so faint?

Was he turning into a spirit?

"If you're scheming something, fine, but at least return early. How can you trust that guy and stay out this late? Tsk."

"Exactly. I was starting to wonder if something had happened. Nothing went wrong in Whistle, though."

"Wha-what are you talking about?"

"Oh, by the way, I owe you an apology, Siora. I was too curious about the gift you received from Marchioness Somon, so I took a look. You’ll forgive me since we’re family, right?"

Damn it.

That meant she had already seen the church robes and the badge.

Minuet's gaze then drifted to the ring on my hand.

Not the one from Cruello—the one from Nigellia, with a coiled serpent.

Minuet’s eyes curved softly.

"We seem to have a lot to talk about."

She was, without a doubt, the scariest of them all.

I had no choice but to spill everything, tears in my eyes.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

***

Ares wasn’t born as Ares.

Hey, brat. Stray cat. Little thief.

People called him by many names, but he had none of his own.

One day, he had simply been thrown onto the streets, left to claw his way through life.

His fate changed when he turned eleven.

The older boy who had looked after him was beaten to death for stealing a mercenary’s coin pouch.

He had just become an adult.

Watching that wretched scene, Ares trembled.

More than anger, more than sorrow, more than despair—fear gripped him the most.

"I don’t want to die."

That was the one thing that defined Ares’ entire life.

Yet, even as he shrank back, survival meant he had nothing.

To stay alive, he had to take risks, and the more he did, the greater his fear grew.

Then, someone took notice of his exceptional physique, even among kids his age.

"If you desire something, speak. If it is within our power, we will grant it."

"I… I don’t want to die. No matter what happens, I want to survive. Can you help me?"

"Oh, my."

Ares still remembered that smile.

The way the lips stretched wide—it looked like a grotesque mask.

"You truly are one of His children."

And so, Ares was taken into the cult.

It was the grandest place he had ever seen. He could hardly believe he would be living there.

The doctrines of the cult pierced straight into his soul.

Conquer death. That was exactly what Ares wanted.

But since he had not been taken in out of kindness, his life did not become easy.

The Black Serpent Cult gathered talented orphans and made them compete against each other. Ares, lacking any magical talent, learned the sword.

Children who fell behind in the competition disappeared without a trace.

The cult, recognizing his overwhelming fear of death, deliberately pushed him to the edge.

He swung his sword desperately, and in the end—

"Well, well, you actually survived. Spent all your time eating and swinging that sword, and now you’re the last one standing. The youngest, too—how ruthless."

"Shut up and get lost. I have nothing to say to the likes of you."

"What are you babbling about, brat? You shut up. Don't you know I'm your superior now?"

Those who survived became Elders.

That included Qudil and Ares, along with many others now buried in their graves.

Even as an Elder, his life was as fragile as a fly’s—ready to be replaced at any moment. But by that point, Ares had built up confidence.

He was certain he would survive until the grand ritual, that he would witness His descent and gain eternal life.

But he failed.

The Harvest Festival. The engagement ceremony. Whistle.

Three opportunities, all wasted.

Qudil had disappeared, and now the cult had begun tracking him.

"This is a trial bestowed by Him."

Yet, the unease bubbling from the pit of his stomach spread through his lungs, suffocating him.

That fear, first planted in his childhood and watered by the cult, had grown strong enough to shake his entire life.

To erase his fear, he had to restore order.

To make up for his failure, he had threatened Dylan into granting him access to the temple.

But extracting information and aiding the cult wasn’t the only thing he had done.

Ares could never forget it.

That prayer chamber he had only been granted access to right before he left for Whistle.

The moment of kneeling before the only statue in the entire temple, longing to hear His words.

He had needed a revelation.

He had needed certainty that he would not die.

He had dedicated his life to the cult for that conviction.

And now, finally, his devotion bore fruit.

[At the break of dawn, go to the cave where the Serpent's Venom Spring flows. There, you will find the result you seek.]

The voice rang through his mind, piercing straight through him.

It wasn’t telepathic magic.

Such delicate sorcery couldn’t be used in a sacred space, and Ares was no stranger to telepathy.

The unsettling intrusion of another's presence in his mind—this was nothing like that.

The demon’s voice was unexpectedly pure, clear. Strangely trustworthy.

When Ares opened his eyes after finishing his prayer, tears streamed down his face.

He laughed as he wept.

"I have not been abandoned by Him."

Ah, the certainty he had longed for was finally at his side.

The cave where the Serpent’s Venom Spring flowed.

He knew exactly where it was.

Back when the cult was weak, they had needed many hiding places, and that cave had been one of them.

Ares had never been there himself, but he had memorized its location.

Near the capital, within the Marquess of Minerva’s territory, in the Athena Mountains.

Three meters down from a sheer cliff, a tree had taken root in the rock.

The cave concealed behind that tree—that was his destination.

Even if someone knew of its existence, it was in such treacherous terrain that an ordinary person could never enter.

But Ares set foot inside effortlessly.

Caves were not his preferred environment.

Cold, damp, with every sound echoing too loudly.

But he was so elated that he ignored it all.

Which is why, when that foreign presence shattered his joy, he felt genuine irritation.

"Who’s there."

Halfway through the cave, Ares halted, drawing his sword slowly.

The sound of metal sliding from its sheath rang eerily through the cavern.

His blade carried his seething anger.

Who dared to taint a sacred revelation?

"There’s nothing ahead but a dead end. Show yourself at once."

His voice carried the weight of a predator’s snarl.

Then, another set of footsteps echoed in response.

Step. Step. Step.

From the depths of the cave, a hooded figure emerged.

The robes were voluminous, but the frame underneath was not large.

The stranger lifted their left hand, their loose sleeve sliding down to reveal a slender, untrained wrist.

Perched upon it was a massive, majestic bird.

It resembled an eagle, but its tail feathers were long and graceful, its eyes sharp and piercing.

"A woman who commands spirits…?"

Just as Ares was about to deduce his opponent’s identity, she lowered her hood.

A cascade of silver hair tumbled down.

Expressionless, she introduced herself.

"Minuet Bonetti."

Then, with a flick of her hand, she sent the eagle soaring.

"I’ve come to avenge my father."

The spirit spread its wings, rising elegantly.

Ares twisted his greatsword into a defensive stance—but the attack had never been meant for him.

At the spirit’s command, the air within the cave began to shift.

Oxygen withdrew from around Ares as if repelled by his very presence.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

Scowling, he kicked off the ground.

"Cheap trick!"

His greatsword cleaved mercilessly through the air.

The eagle beat its wings, scattering the wind to deflect his strike.

Ares could hold his breath for at least twenty minutes.

More than enough time to tear apart this spirit and its wretched master.

But it wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped.