High School of Demon Hunting
Chapter 593 - 262 Secret Garden Elf_1

Chapter 593: Chapter 262 Secret Garden Elf_1

"Lift your hat!"

The old voice continued to come from the tall hat of the Puppet Highness, emphasizing in a commanding tone:

"Quickly!"

On the podium, the Puppet Highness seemed a bit surprised by this suddenly appeared voice - but of course, compared to the many young wizards below, its surprise was still manageable.

"It’s not dinner time yet, dear." The originally sharp and piercing voice of the puppet suddenly became smooth, and the tone was much lighter: "You can sleep a little longer."

His long arm was raised, palm opened, carefully placed on both sides of the cheek; at the same time, his eyeballs flipped up at a ridiculous angle, trying to see the brim of the hat that was sticking out above his forehead.

It seemed as if what was perched on its head was not a hat but a bomb.

"Lift! Your! Hat!!"

The old voice roared, exceptionally harsh: "You wood framework gnawed out by the Flober Grub, has your head been hollowed out by worms? You turn your head so sharply, you have the nerve to let me continue to sleep?!!"

The Puppet Highness lifted his long nose, and a look of sudden realization appeared on his stiff face.

"I’ve always thought that dizziness helps sleep." His palm heavily landed on his face, re-detaching his head from his shoulders, and holding it in his hands to examine - God knows what he was using to examine his own head - meanwhile he explained, "Also, my head is not hollow."

The Puppet Highness denied, and added, "You should know it’s made of elm wood, it’s solid. My arms, legs and head, are all made of elm. They initially thought that peach wood was too soft, comfrey wood too hard, and locust wood had too much negative energy, so they finally used elm to make me. I remember mentioning this to you, more than once."

"Shut up! You idiot!!"

"Don’t call me an idiot, call me ’Puppet Highness’."

"Shut!! Up!!! Idiot!!!"

"If you continue to be so rude, be careful, I’ll poke seventeen or eighteen transparent holes in this hat with my nose."

On the podium, the Puppet Highness, holding his head, seemed to be performing a solo comedy sketch. They were arguing incessantly, both enjoying the argument.

The young wizards below the podium, watching the crazy puppet’s antics, were looking at each other, uncertain whether to take this opportunity to attack the luminous shield over the door once more.

But before that, everyone had reorganized into hunting teams and set up defensive formations. Some hunters, injured in the riot, were being given preliminary treatment with the help of others.

For a while, the two groups of people on and below the stage were each doing their own thing. It was a clear separation, each group not interfering with the other.

Of course, this ’peaceful’ state didn’t last long.

Under the roaring and threatening of the old voice, the Puppet Highness soon compromised and took the tall hat off his head.

"You’ll regret it... The hunting competition has not begun yet. Other than drooling for a few hours, do you expect to gain anything else?" The Puppet Highness muttered to himself and hung the hat he had taken off around his neck.

Once the hat was removed, the bare forehead of the Puppet Highness was revealed.

Actually, there isn’t a single hair on the puppet’s head. The forehead was emphasized as being "bare" because there is a large golden high-backed chair standing on its head and further back.

On the chair sat an ugly, fist-sized humanoid creature.

It was garbed in a gorgeous silver robe, leaning on a wand about the size of chopsticks, wearing a Gothic wizard’s pointed hat on its head. A grizzled beard was piled chaotically on its face, almost making it impossible to see its features.

Its lower body, in contrast to the magnificent attire of its upper half, appeared much more shabby.

Without pants, without socks, even without shoes — indeed, this fist-sized fellow is barefoot, exposed his fluffy little legs and toes, letting his bald soles brace the chilling wind.

"Delicious!" The little old man took a deep breath, and laughed, "Every breath of the passerby in the air carries an enticing, bloody fragrance!"

Strange rhetoric, strange tone, strange appearance, eccentric outfit — sitting on the puppet head, this little old man exudes a weird and mismatched aura from throughout, giving an extraordinarily uncomfortable feeling.

Seemingly, sitting on the chair didn’t let him feel relaxed.

The little old man turned over, propped up his magic wand, struggled to climb onto the chair, then spread his arms, looking at the young wizards below, and grinned eerily:

"Young wizards..."

"Whether you fancy necromancy or soul magic."

"Or like to whisper sinister songs and smear bloody runes on yellow paper."

"Whether you like the feeling of mithril and gemstones merging in a spell, or savor the wonderful sound of bubbling in a crucible, or the charming fragrance that Manjusaka flowers give off when they bloom."

"It doesn’t matter."

"In my garden, you all would find your own place!"

"Want a long life?"

"Want endless riches?"

"Want to truly stand out?!"

"Go on, go on..."

"They are all in my garden!!"

"Present..."

"Cough! Cough!" The puppet violently coughed twice, interrupting the little old man’s lament.

The little old man furrowed his brows, raised his fluffy toes, scratched his messy beard, paused for a moment, picked up the magic wand again, and continued his lament. "Present..."

"Cough! Cough!" Again, the puppet dry coughed.

"Thump! Thump!" The little old man grabbed the wand in his hand, angrily poking the puppet’s forehead beneath the high-backed chair, "Shut up! You wooden-headed fool!! Let me finish! Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?"

"I don’t have any elders," replied the puppet as he shrugged. His top hat wobbled, appearing to fall any second.

"Well, can you shut up?!" The little old man continued to prod the puppet’s forehead with the wand.

"Yes, yes." The vibrations from the poking shivered the puppet’s speech, and it had to reach out two fingers to grab the wand, "...but it’s not time for you to demand offerings."

"None...of...your...business!" The little old man strained as he retorted, fighting with the puppet’s two fingers over the ownership of the wand, and almost lifting his whole body onto the wand.

"Before the secret garden opens, it’s naturally none of your business." The puppet rotated its fingertips, spun down the little old man from the wand, and calmly added, "Once the so-called ’delicious’ enters the secret garden, whatever you want to do, that’s your affair."

After falling from the wand back to the golden high-backed chair, the little old man forcefully shook his head and could not recover for a long time.