Divine Mask: I Have Numerous God Clones

As Thalnor neared the outskirts of the village, the quiet of his thoughts was suddenly interrupted by a frantic voice cutting through the air.

"Elder Thalnor!" The voice called out, dripping with urgency.

Thalnor stopped in his tracks, the smirk that had been playing on his lips vanishing instantly. His eyes darkened, and he slowly turned to face the source of the disturbance.

A deep frown etched itself across his face as he watched a villager running toward him, breathless and wide-eyed with panic.

The villager stumbled to a halt just a few paces away, barely managing to steady himself. "E-Elder Thalnor...!" he panted, gasping for breath. His tone was shaky, the anxiety clear in his every word.

Thalnor's gaze was cold and piercing, his voice smooth but edged with icy impatience. "What is it? What's happened?"

The villager flinched slightly at the elder's tone but pushed himself to speak. "We've just received word... young master Vesperin..." he gasped, struggling to catch his breath between each word.

Thalnor's frown deepened, his patience wearing thin. "Yes? What about Vesperin?" he prompted, his voice calm but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of irritation.

The villager swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his brow before continuing. "He's coming... in three days... for his corpse puppet upgrade. This time, he's requesting... a major enhancement."

For a moment, Thalnor stood in silence, his expression unreadable. But inside, a wave of annoyance surged. "Vesperin. Again." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His grip tightened around the staff he carried, though his outward appearance remained composed.

He let a moment of silence stretch between them, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. Finally, with a slow, measured tone, he responded. "I see. Let him come... and have him stay for a while after his arrival."

The villager hesitated for a moment, noticing the elder's mild irritation, but quickly nodded in understanding. "Yes, Elder Thalnor. I'll make sure the arrangements are in place," he said respectfully, bowing his head slightly before scurrying off to relay the instructions.

Thalnor watched the man leave, his irritation bubbling just below the surface. Once the villager was out of sight, he muttered to himself, "I thought it was something urgent, but it's just Vesperin coming for another puppet upgrade. Hmph." His lips curled into a sneer as he resumed his walk back to the lab.

Thalnor's irritation wasn't just about Vesperin's inconvenient timing—it ran much deeper. It was a constant, gnawing reminder of his place within the Malachor Clan, a place he had long since outgrown.

Though he held the esteemed title of elder, that title felt more like a gilded cage. The others viewed him as nothing more than a glorified corpse puppet master, valued solely for his skill in upgrading puppets. To them, he was useful, yes, but ultimately expendable. A tool.

His lips curled in a sneer as the thought crossed his mind. "They see me as a technician, someone they can easily replace once I've outlived my usefulness. How foolish." The words echoed in his head, each one dripping with disdain.

Thalnor's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms, but he quickly relaxed, exhaling slowly. "But that's about to change." His smirk returned, more sinister than before, as his mind wandered to the secret weapon he had spent years perfecting.

Through relentless study of every forbidden manual, every ancient cultivation technique the clan possessed, he had created something the others couldn't even dream of: the Nether Puppet Cultivation Manual. It was his masterpiece, born from years of tireless research and ruthless experimentation.

As he walked, his eyes gleamed with ambition. He could almost feel the power of his creation coursing through his veins. "They have no idea what I've accomplished. No one in the clan could have foreseen this."

Thalnor's smirk widened, his dark thoughts swirling with satisfaction. "Once I perfect this technique, I'll no longer be just the elder known for upgrading puppets."

His steps grew lighter as his vision of the future solidified in his mind. "I'll be the one they fear, the one they bow to." His voice, though silent in the open air, was filled with the venom of his ambition.

The thought of the current clan leader crossed his mind, and Thalnor's smirk deepened into something far more wicked. "Surpassing him won't be difficult once I master the Nether Puppet Manual. Just wait, old man. Your reign is nearing its end."

His eyes flickered with dark resolve. He knew that this technique would allow him to do more than just create an unparalleled corpse puppet.

The manual would let him harness the soul and life force of his victim, granting him not only strength but also youth and vitality. With it, he could claim immortality of sorts, and no one—neither Vesperin nor any other elder—would stand in his way.

As Thalnor neared his lab, his mind was already racing with the next steps. Every detail, every subtlety had to be planned. There was no room for error. He paused at the door for a moment, staring at it as if the future lay just beyond its threshold.

He muttered under his breath, a low, dark whisper, "Soon... soon, they will all see." His fingers brushed against the door's surface, and his smirk returned, full of dangerous intent.

Opening the door, Thalnor stepped inside his lab, the familiar scent of death mana filling the air around him. His sanctuary. His place of creation.

With ambition burning in his chest, he crossed the room, already plotting his rise to power. Every move, every choice from here on out would be calculated to ensure his ascent. And when the time came, the Malachor Clan would belong to him.