Resurrection—technically, it was something that could be achieved through certain means. That was Tsuna's first instinctive thought. Annihilation Maker could, in theory, accomplish "resurrection."
But then what? That was what Tsuna cared about most.
He wasn't some all-powerful God. Before doing anything, he had to think about whether he could actually bear the consequences that would come from such an act. If he couldn't, then he had no business touching a taboo beyond his capacity.
One's strength determined the height one could reach. It wasn't about limiting power—it was about knowing one's limits, about what burdens one could carry. Tsuna wasn't the type to recklessly overreach. If something exceeded what he could handle, he'd never attempt it.
"Reincarnation… yeah, that's been a thing people talk about. I remember those lunatics from the Dark Faction three years ago—they all believed in that. Those crazed bastards charged in with Flame Stones, convinced that once they died, they'd be reincarnated, and that they'd meet their families, friends, or lovers again in the afterlife."
Finn's tone carried a mix of pity and understanding. He believed reincarnation probably existed—after all, there were Gods who governed death itself. But whether those Gods actually kept their promises to their followers after death… that was another matter. The afterlife was far beyond mortal comprehension. Whether those divine promises were ever fulfilled depended entirely on a god's integrity.
"So that's why the Dark Faction went mad back then—charging at us with Flame Stones just to blow themselves up."
Just remembering that scene gave Finn a headache. A swarm of living people, throwing away their lives without hesitation, rushing forward with Flame Stones in hand to self-destruct. At the time, he couldn't understand what drove them to such madness. But after learning about the so-called "promise" from their Gods, it all made sense.
Still, could those Gods really be trusted to keep their word to their own Familia? Finn doubted it. And as for the concept of reincarnation itself, he couldn't bring himself to believe it wholeheartedly either.
"What do you think, Tsuna?"
"About reincarnation?"
"Yes. The Dark Faction's Gods once promised their followers it existed. But I'm still skeptical."
"Reincarnation does exist," Tsuna said calmly. "After death, every soul begins a long, slow queue for rebirth—to start their next life. But as for the part about meeting loved ones after death… I think the Gods were just playing with words. Even if souls happen to brush against each other during the process, they can't actually recognize one another."
Even if a God did fulfill their promise, who could ever prove it? Tsuna didn't believe that those Gods would grant such a wish exactly as the adventurers imagined.
"Even if the Gods really do keep their word, the person wouldn't know it. Even if two souls crossed paths in the afterlife, it wouldn't be like meeting in the world of the living. What the Gods promise and what adventurers imagine are two completely different things. In the end, it's an empty promise."
Finn sighed quietly. He finally understood what kind of lies the Dark Faction's Gods had been spreading. Maybe, technically, they hadn't lied. Maybe their words were true in some twisted way. But whether those promises actually meant anything was another story.
"They weren't exactly lying… but in essence, they were. What the Gods promised and what mortals understood were never the same. And no one could ever witness a God's so-called promise being kept. It was nothing but a trick—a way for the Gods to lure broken adventurers with honeyed words."
Those who were deceived… they were just desperate people searching for something to cling to. Adventurers who'd lost everything—hope, home, purpose. Whether they believed those divine promises or not, they only had one choice left. Their hearts were already too fractured to choose anything else. Three years later, all Finn could feel toward those who charged at them with Flame Stones was sorrow and pity.
He shook his head, forcing the heavy topic aside. Talking about resurrection wouldn't help either—it wasn't something they should continue discussing.
"So, Tsuna, what's the other reason you came out here?"
"I couldn't mention it until we entered the Dungeon," Tsuna said. "But my human puppet is complete."
He stepped slightly to the side. A boy about the same height as Tsuna appeared beside him. He wore a hooded blue jacket that shaded his forehead. From beneath the hood peeked a pair of half-lidded eyes, dark circles hanging beneath them. His dull gaze looked completely devoid of emotion. In his left hand, he held the sheath of a blade. At a glance, he could've passed for an ordinary adventurer.
"This is the puppet I created," Tsuna explained. "It'll act as my stand-in on the surface—to maintain appearances and keep the Gods above from noticing anything strange. I didn't put much thought into its personality, only synchronized its Status with mine. If needed, I can also control it directly for combat or monster-training purposes."
Tsuna raised his right hand, and the puppet mirrored the motion perfectly. Their synchronization was flawless—every twitch, every movement perfectly identical.
When Tsuna lowered his hand, the puppet's arm stayed raised. Then, without warning, it gripped the sword with its left hand and stepped forward, swinging.
The blade extended unnaturally, slicing through the tunnel's stone wall with a sharp clang.
The black hilt shimmered faintly as fragments of violet light stretched out like linked shards, forming an extended, segmented blade.
The puppet flicked its wrist, and the fragments retracted neatly—snapping back into place like puzzle pieces. On closer inspection, the entire weapon was composed of countless blade fragments fitted together.
"Besides perfect synchronization, I can also directly control its movements like a true puppet," Tsuna continued. "As for the weapon—it's a special model I made myself. A blade composed of a thousand controllable fragments. Not only can it be freely manipulated, but I also infused it with my imagination to boost its sharpness. It should easily reach first-class weapon standards."
"So damn extravagant," Bete muttered, staring between the puppet and its blade. Whether it was the perfect sync with Tsuna or the idea of a level one adventurer wielding a first-class weapon—it was absurdly over the top. "Only you would think to do something like that."