"Huh? You want to ask about the theory behind anomalous events?"
Ron tilted his head up, looking at Quân, who was running a hand through his silver hair with a distinctly provocative smirk.
"Yeah. Since you couldn't give me a proper answer about Gifts, I figure I can try guessing based on how you awakened yours. Besides, you mentioned surviving an anomalous event when you were thirteen."
Ron nodded thoughtfully at Quân's words.
"I did go through one, but it was far from a pleasant experience. To put it bluntly: it was absolute dogshit. Nearly the entire orphanage died. Only I and three lucky ones who happened to be away that night made it out alive."
Hearing that, Quân hesitated, awkwardly covering his face.
" Ah... Sorry. If you don't like talking about it—"
"It's fine. But I suppose giving you some basic knowledge is necessary. You should know that anomalous events originate from demons. More specifically, it works like this."
Ignoring Quân's awkward expression, Ron began instructing the teenager on a concept entirely foreign to him.
"The first stage is the larval phase—dream-eaters, succubus-types, or dream-weavers. In this stage, they lack a physical form. A simple touch of Holy Magic is usually enough to deal with them.
The second stage is growth. They take the shape of humans, or whatever creature whose dreams they consumed most frequently. Depending on whether they fed on nightmares or lustful dreams, they manifest differently.
If it's nightmares, they become slaughtering machines. If it's lustful dreams, they disguise themselves to blend into human society. However, genuine dream-parasites often don't even realize they're demons—they become so accustomed to human sensory pleasures that their urge to kill wanes, effectively reducing them to nothing more than amnesiac drifters."
Quân pondered this seriously. So the succubi from those adult comics were all fake. Otherwise, they'd practically be angels.
"The next stage is incubation—it's like spinning a cocoon to rest and await hatching.
There's nothing particularly special about it since the demon remains largely cut off from the outside world during this time. But take note: the longer the incubation lasts, the more it consumed beforehand, meaning it will hatch into something significantly stronger. The best approach is to kill it while it's completely defenseless.
Once it hatches, it triggers an anomalous event—the very thing I experienced. Anomalies fall into two categories. For succubus-types, it creates a 'closed anomaly'—a self-contained space, which was the case for me.
It can manifest as a virtual domain, a mind domain, or an unconscious realm... In short, it doesn't truly exist in the physical dimension.
The second type belongs to nightmare demons: 'contamination.' It anchors to a set of spatial coordinates, corrupting the surrounding environment into demonic flesh and blood.
The final stage is maturity... Truthfully, I'm not entirely sure...
However, one thing is certain: inside an anomalous event, the demon imposes its own absolute rules upon the space. The stronger the constraints and the more rules it enforces, the more formidable it becomes upon awakening."
Ron finished his explanation. Quân stood bewildered, mulling over the implications. According to Ron, the odds of encountering a demon or an anomalous event were lower than getting struck by lightning, but still—better safe than sorry.
His own past... had already been far too full of chaotic coincidences.
"Though... encountering a demon doesn't always mean you kill it on sight. There was actually a case where an anomalous event was granted city-level protection."
Ron's next words piled confusion upon confusion for Quân. Seeing his bewildered expression, Ron elaborated further.
"Normally, when establishing a territory, most lords spot anomalies early on. During the dream-eating or pre-anomalous stages, they eradicate them immediately. But if the demon reaches the dormant cocoon stage, they often just subtly cover up the surrounding issues to conceal it."
"...Why would they do that? If they do, they miss the golden window to destroy the demon, and they're just inviting catastrophe down the line!" Quân blurted out, unable to comprehend the logic.
Of course, Ron had already anticipated his reaction.
"It's due to an unexpected Imperial policy designed to prevent rebellions against the crown: the Territorial Rotation Law.
Every thirty years, nobles ranked Marquis and below must rotate territories with one another. For Dukes and Marquises, it's every fifty years. The Crown implemented this to prevent two things: long-term accumulation of power to avoid gaining excessive popularity among the locals, and long-term policies designed for private financial gain.
Still, one can vaguely deduce the nature of a demon through the historical records of a region.
However, at Oxxy Village, an unexpected crisis occurred—what they called the anomalous event: 'Tide of Dark Puppets.'"
"Tide of Dark Puppets?"
Amidst the shattered ruins of buildings—where a bleak, monochrome palette dominated all creation—figures bearing distinct, unnatural colors emerged from a broken window frame.
Ron, half of his face thoroughly charred to the point where even a walking corpse would look away in terror, wiped the scorched blood from his hands. With a single arm, he hauled the two siblings, Emy and Mark, out from the rubble.
Emy was on the brink of death, her magic core drained of all mana during the battle. As for Mark, he was far too young to endure a clash of this scale.
Even if he were conscious, a child witnessing a horde of lunatics coming to kill him would be utterly paralyzed with fear; there was no expecting anything from him.
All three were nearly dead; Ron was the only one who remained coherent.
"...It's only been twenty-four hours since I last mentioned your name."
Ron muttered. One of his eyes had long since burned out, while the other was obscured by drying blood, yet he could still clearly perceive what stood before him.
A pitch-black silhouette—resembling a dark, lifeless puppet.
'ETERNAL KINGDOM!'
A faint voice croaked near Ron. It was Emy, feebly reaching out with her shattered, broken limbs. She was desperately trying to cast something.
Ron didn't have to wait long to see the result. Faint, mysterious rays of light instantly materialized around him, condensing into pale yellow pages that wrapped tightly around Ron's body.
The paper sheets adhered to Ron's wounds, forming a fresh, artificial layer of skin. Ron instantly understood what it was.
Physical Essence: Muscle Compression. Speed. Strength. Recovery. Endurance.
Ron lunged forward, forming a hand-blade with his fingers. He delivered a crude horizontal slash, which the puppet dodged with effortless grace. Capitalizing on the momentum, Ron spun around to drive a sharp elbow backward.
Instantly, a hidden blade sliced through his outer coat, whistling straight toward the dark puppet.
However...
"You seem to know who I am?"
A voice shattered the silence, catching both Emy and Ron off guard. Surprisingly, the dark puppet could speak.
So what?
Ron pivoted on his heel, driving his foot hard onto the top of the puppet's boot, burying his heel deep into the structure.
Flexing every muscle in his frame, Ron launched a heavy, direct punch straight toward the dark puppet's abdomen.
Yet, his fist came to a abrupt halt—freezing just inches away from the puppet's torso.
Bound around Ron's neck were dark threads, hovering ominously, waiting to swallow him whole.
"There might be a slight misunderstanding here.
I am the Tide of Dark Puppets.
Or, you may refer to me as a member of Special Task Force 000, Kale—"
"Shut the fuck up."
A raspy, inhuman voice—sounding like someone who didn't belong to this world—erupted from Ron.
He spoke deliberately, his face devoid of a single trace of emotion.
Snap!
A sharp flick of the fingers echoed through the air. Emy's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, losing consciousness completely.
"You've lost your ally. Left all alone, what do you plan to do?"
Ron covered his mouth, spitting out a glob of black phlegm.
The glob writhed on the ground—pitch black and bristling with squirming dark filaments.
"..."
Kale—or the entity calling itself Kale—stepped toward Ron. Right before Emy's unconscious form, he extended a hand.
"It has been a very long time since a Dark Sovereign showed such interest in mundane affairs..."
Kale smiled, only for his face to be violently caved in by Ron's fist.
"What's with the cryptic act? You second-rate villain."
"If I am a second-rate villain, then you are merely third-rate.
The Slothful One."
Ron didn't reply. He clenched his fists tightly, a subtle glimmer of golden light flashing across his knuckles.
"Trying to send a message? To the princess? Or someone else? Could it be... you've already decoded it?"
Kale stepped forward, closing the distance until he was right in Ron's face, as if preparing to execute him.
"A puppet? The true nature of puppets lies in the strings that bind them—shaping their very soul."
Ron took a step forward, eye to eye, face to face—a decayed, zombie-like body standing before a dark puppet.
Though they seemed to be talking past each other, the murderous intent radiating from both sides completely saturated the air.
Ron charged forward, completely disregarding the physical state of his broken body to fight.
Gift: DEAD MAN'S FACE. Gift: TIDE OF DARK PUPPETS.
Ron's face instantly mutated, the skin peeling away to reveal a rotting, blood-soaked mass of black flesh beneath.
This was the price for daring to burn his own body.
The blood pouring from his face transformed into a dense black mist, swirling around his frame.
As for the dark puppet, hundreds of black threads erupted from behind his back, weaving a dense cocoon around his form.
Whether he won or lost this battle, Ron had already uncovered the underlying truth.