I Became the Leader of the Monster Circus Troupe

The secretary’s announcement was enough to freeze everyone in the room.

The Marquis, who had been silent in shock, finally asked in a slow voice, “Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

The scholars behind the secretary nodded with determined expressions.

“We stake all our honors on it, Your Grace.”

Then, they began to list the reasons why the script was fake, one by one.

The Marquis hung his head low.

He wanted to shout at them, “What do you know?”

It wasn’t because of his honour or pride.

But given the situation, he had no choice.

He looked back at the acrobats who were staring at him in dismay.

Everyone except Clara was aghast at the unexpected news.

A fake script?

They recalled what Hopps had said before the premiere.

When Clara asked what would happen if the script was fake, he had replied,

“What do you think would happen? Not only His Grace but all 11 of us here would be utterly humiliated. ‘What, you practiced for two weeks and didn’t realize it was fake?’ they would say. People would point fingers at us even as we walked down the street. We might even get kicked out of the industry.”

Of course, it was an exaggerated joke, but the words couldn’t cover the gossip that the people involved would hear.

“I’ll try my best to handle this, but it seems it will be difficult for the five circus troupes gathered here to avoid disgrace. Everyone except Miss Clara took a group photo in front of the factory. I am truly sorry. This is my fault.”

Even though a person of high status like the Marquis bowed his head and offered a sincere apology, not a single person accepted it graciously.

Even Simon, who always treated him with utmost respect, was biting his lip, looking like he was holding back a curse.

Thus, the curtain fell.

As the five Directors and five performers exited the factory, reporters swarmed them.

The invitation to a press conference immediately after the premiere had now become a curse.

The reporters, having already heard the news, thrust notebooks and pens at them, blocking their way.

“Is it true?”

“Is the script really fake?”

“Didn’t you notice anything strange during rehearsals?”

The soldiers cleared a path for them, but the reporters persistently clung to them.

They even continued to bombard them with questions while they climbed into the carriages and passed through the square.

There were only three people in the Wonderstein’s carriage on the way back to the lodgings.

Clara had managed to avoid the reporters, so she had slipped out through the back door and would come later alone.

The atmosphere in the carriage was sombre.

Maya vented her frustration lightly over the wasted effort, but Ella, who had a deep affection for Christian, was deeply shocked.

To think she had been so confident and yet couldn’t recognize a fake script.

She was overwhelmed with a sense of self-doubt.

Wonderstein tried to cheer her up with a smile, but from someone lying in bed, it only looked like a pitiful gesture.

She seemed somewhat excited when talking about Wonderland.

During the ride back, she recounted her experiences there to Wonderstein.

He listened with repeated expressions of amazement, as if hearing it all for the first time.

She left out the information about the slumbering chaos, as she had vowed to the Saints.

The five-man ensemble was simply a result of the the Saint’s to hear a living person’s performance.

Wonderstein felt a mixture of pride and sadness as he sensed her special affection for the Scarecrow from her story.

Originally, upon returning to the surface, he had planned to reveal his true identity to the group.

After all, the quest condition was to escape from Wonderland.

But he realized he couldn’t do that.

First, to protect Arno’s secret. If he revealed that he was Oz, anyone would be able to deduce who the fairy casting illusions by his side was.

And second, for his own sake.

Ella had said it wouldn’t be long until her memories returned.

The good times were coming to an end. The Ella who originally despised him would return.

If he honestly revealed his experiences in Wonderland to her, those memories would soon be overshadowed by the dark ink of Wonderstein.

The sincere comfort he offered, the laughter they shared, would all be seen as deceit.

So, he decided to keep silent.

“It’s amazing. It’s a relief you came back safely from such a place.”

Before long, the carriage arrived at the lodgings.

The members were surprised and rushed over when they saw Wonderstein being helped out by Ella and Maya.

“Master, what happened?”

“What’s this, are you hurt?”

“Where is Clara?”

He waved away the barrage of questions from the members.

“I’d like to rest today. We can talk tomorrow. Clara will be here shortly.”

Carried to his bedroom by Maya’s telekinesis, he barely managed to move his trembling limbs and collapse onto the bed.

He hadn’t felt this heavy just a while ago, but the moment he reached the accommodation, all his energy seemed to drain away, and exhaustion washed over him.

With great effort, he managed to pull the blanket over himself.

In this state, even eating alone seemed impossible.

The modifications through Debulroots were of no use.

He had controlled Mantula’s knifes and the arms extracted from Yurakne during their previous encounter.

In other words, he had implanted the sensation of moving arms, allowing him to manipulate them easily.

However, now the souls corresponding to his arms and legs were severed.

Even if he extracted them, he wouldn’t be able to move them properly.

Lying on the bed, he pulled out the item he had secretly taken during the earlier confusion.

It was stardust he had placed under the Marquis’ seat.

What had once been more than half full was now reduced to just a few grains at the bottom.

He decided to consume the remaining stardust. There was no telling what might happen if he left it.

After swallowing it, he lay back on the bed.

Just before falling asleep, he recalled the events of their escape from Wonderland.

***

It was the Saints who had saved Hawk during the moment of crisis.

As soon as the Eye of Chaos fully closed, the Saints, who had been busy pacifying Kirku, rushed outside.

The power emanating from dozens of Saints was formidable.

They quickly drove back the forces of Zakanubas.

Once the tide of the battle turned, the Diamond Queen ran to help the Scarecrow.

“Ugh, who are you?”

“I felt bad about what happened earlier, so I came to help!”

As she narrowly intercepted Patty’s attack and restrained him, Hawk inspected the Scarecrow’s body.

Patty surveyed the battlefield.

Most of his kin were retreating from Wonderland.

Staying any longer would mean being surrounded by the Saints.

As much as he hated it, he decided to flee.

However, he didn’t plan to leave empty-handed.

“You’re coming with me!”

Just before leaping out of Wonderland, he swung his scythe to snatch Chen Hawk.

Hawk had been the most annoying one today.

Had it been in mid-air, Hawk could have easily evaded, but unfortunately, he was grounded.

The Diamond Queen reached out to grab him, but she couldn’t overcome the soul-attracting power of the Reaper’s scythe.

“Kuhaha, I’ll play with this one’s soul until it completely shatters!”

The Scarecrow realized there was only one way to save him.

He used his quest reward.

Hawk’s soul, which had been trapped in the Reaper’s scythe, popped out and entered the reward section of his status window.

“What did you do? How did you mess with the Reaper’s scythe?”

Patty yelled and used his black magic on him.

Black smoke shot at him like an arrow.

It was faster than he could tear a ticket.

He thought he would be impaled in the chest for sure.

But fortunately, one of the Saints, who had followed the Diamond Queen, blocked it.

She was a woman wearing a black pointed hat, a black cloak, and a lumpy green mask resembling a potato.

“Our youngest!”

The Diamond Queen shouted as she punched Patty in the face.

The Scarecrow remembered that the Diamond Queen had been the youngest until twenty years ago, before two more recruits joined.

As Oz was enveloped in light and disappeared after tearing the ticket, the youngest Saint whispered to him.

“Goodbye, Scarecrow.”

It was a voice and attire he was familiar with from somewhere.

Who could it have been?

A passing character in the game, perhaps?

He closed his eyes.

Was it because of exhaustion or the remaining stardust he had consumed?

He continued the dream he had last time.

***

Twenty-four hours had passed since he was punished. The Scarecrow was released from solitary confinement.

A hunchbacked boy came to fetch him.

“Thirsty? This big brother saved some water for you.”

In the Dreamy Festival play, he had played the role of the Tin Man. Since his name was too long, his friends called him Can.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

The boy nicknamed ‘Can’ rolled his body around, inspecting the areas where he had been beaten by the instructor the day before.

“What the hell, you don’t have a single bruise? You weren’t even hit that hard. You were just pretending yesterday.”

“No, it really hurt.”

“And now?”

“…It doesn’t hurt now.”

“That’s because you thought you were getting hit and panicked, screaming for no reason.”

Can spoke with the air of someone who had picked up some knowledge from somewhere and wanted to show off.

Scarecrow recalled the girl who had secretly come to his solitary cell the previous night and had massaged him.

Strangely enough, after that massage, all his pain had disappeared.

He thought about telling his friend but decided against it.

Can was the most sceptical among the children at the Institution when it came to faith healing.

“It’s all a scam, a scam. Do you believe that crap? Damn it, if modern medicine can’t fix it, how can some nonsense like that?”

Of course, he didn’t say it out loud.

He knew there were kids who clung to the hope of being healed by the pastor, and he didn’t want to destroy that hope.

“Time for evening worship.”

Following the instructor’s orders, the children moved to the worship room.

Up ahead, there was a girl whose entire face, except for her chin and mouth, was covered in green bumps.

The Witch.

She was also one of the friends who had prepared for the Dreamy Festival play with them.

Scarecrow hadn’t forgotten that she had brought him water at night.

“Thanks for the water….”

“It was nothing. Are you feeling better?”

He looked at the hand that had massaged him the previous night.

Until now, he hadn’t noticed, but it was very white and slender.

Maybe because it was a girl’s hand.

Soft. Warm.

The children each opened the religious text placed in front of them.

Most of them had bodies so damaged that the instructors had to help them open and turn the pages.

Being a religious organization, the instructors became surprisingly kind during worship time.

The text distributed by the Church was like that of any cult, altering key terms from the original Bible to suit their needs or inserting baseless philosophical statements that one might find in a cheap philosophy book.

“Laugh, and blessings will come.”

“Believe, and blessings will come upon your body.”

“The end of the world has come, believe in God and you will be saved.”

The children read through these passages with bored expressions, following the instructor’s lead.

“Almighty Father, sleeping under paradise, open your eyes….”

TL Note:

Okay. I am having theories now. First probably the youngest Saint/Apostle of Kirku in Wonderland is probably the Witch.

Secondly, does anyone else finds that last line ominous as if they are worshiping…..Kirku? I wonder if the orphanage and the religious group from his past life is linked with Kirku.

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Chapter 245: Wonderland – 48