I Asked You to Collect Puppets, Not Make Me Your Puppet

“System, can I kill you?”

“Host, stop dreaming.”

On this land steeped in terror and blood, she wears a white robe, her long black hair cascading like a waterfall, her skin as white as snow, and her features as exquisite as a painting.

She holds Buddhist prayer beads. Though she looks delicate, her faith is unshakable.

The beads turn slowly in her hand as she murmurs, “I’ll save those the Buddha won’t.”

In her heart, everyone in the world is someone she can use.

“Are you ready to welcome me, cuties?”

There’s a hint of wicked charm in her voice.

“Please, Host, spare me.”

“My Buddha is merciful. You should still die, so I can rest easy.”