Chapter 420
Chapter 420. Clever Disguise
――Sebaie, the bustling nightlife.
A man strolls leisurely down a back alley, feeling the night breeze.
“Hey, Bennett. Are you off early today?”
“Yup, just a bit ahead of schedule. I’m already ready to drink and hit the sack.”
Bennett, the man casually responds while waving his hand, is none other than—Virosa.
It would be difficult for even the most skilled detective to see through the disguise hiding this man’s true identity as a Night Elf.
At first glance, he looks like a tired man in his forties. With a slightly angular face and a muscular build, he strays far from the slender image typically associated with elves. His skin shows signs of aging, a natural quality hard to replicate with special effects. With a scruffy beard and thinning hair at the crown… it all seems too natural. Aside from a relatively pale complexion due to his nocturnal lifestyle, he appears to be just an ordinary human.
No, it’s not just appearances. Clearly, the fact that he interacts normally with dog beastmen, despite not smoking or being covered in spices, shows that his body odor is also distinctly human.
Virosa is not just an ordinary spy.
He is among the few elite who have mastered the 【Human Transformation Magic】. Having utilized it for over a decade, he has aged nicely like a human. Those who have known him for long would never suspect that he is a spy of a different race.
Unlike ordinary Night Elves, he doesn’t need makeup or sunscreen, allowing him to splash water and expose his skin boldly in public. He can wash his face freely at the communal well, and even swim in the lake with “friends” during the day without worry.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that nothing but holy attributes can reveal Virosa’s true identity—
“~♪”
As he leisurely walks along, whistling, Bennett appears to be in a carefree mood—but—
(A letter from Uncle Virosa! Is it the real deal? I can’t wait to read it!)
In reality, he feels a childlike excitement and anticipation, tinged with a hint of anxiety—
He gently strokes the envelope hidden in his pocket. It was delivered to him shortly after he arrived at work, carefully wrapped with the words, “Looks like you’ve got a letter.” When the raven emblem of the wax seal met his eyes, he struggled to maintain a poker face.
(But what could it be about…?)
If it were merely a request for information, his current status upon leaving the Ark Deacon Trading Company renders him nearly useless for that purpose, and how much assistance he could offer remains uncertain—
Originally infiltrating the Ark Deacon Trading Company, Virosa now seeks refuge with the city’s largest mafia, the “Fuzendust Family,” amid the uptick in dark element hunting.
Though he held a respectable position in the trade company, now he finds himself as a mere dealer in a back alley casino. No matter how skilled he is at reading, writing, or calculating, he can’t trust anyone who has disappeared without clearing the ledgers, nor can he assign them any vital tasks.
Hence, being a dealer in an underground casino became his only option. Fortunately, even as a human, he retains his nimbleness…
(Well, at least I had an escape plan ready…)
Virosa felt relieved to have prepared thoroughly. To avoid arousing suspicion if he suddenly vanished, he had been skimming a little off the trading company’s profits for over a decade. He had also devised a plan to plant incriminating evidence to a less friendly company member, hoping they would expose it at the right moment after hearing of the Demon Lord’s Prince Zilbagias’s exile.
The company member who uncovered the evidence would be convinced they had independently exposed the wrongdoing and would now be standing tall…
By the way, the money he embezzled wasn’t spent and had piled up nicely over time, making it just the right amount for a gift to the mafia.
“I’m back, and…”
Speaking to no one in particular, he managed to suppress his eagerness, buying food and drinks from a stall while taking his time to return to his cheap apartment. It was one of the properties owned by the Fuzendust Family, with almost all residents being members or affiliates.
After cleaning the little table, ensuring it was without a speck of dust, Virosa cautiously opened the letter.
“Hmm…”
It indeed didn’t have the handwriting of his beloved uncle. But the last time he saw Uncle’s writing was decades ago. Has his writing style changed, or is it deliberately disguised? If so, for what reason?
Unclear. He would hold back. If it were a case of impersonation, it felt eerie that both his and his uncle’s information was known, and the use of the wax seal made him uneasy…
(No irregularities in the cipher… I see.)
The content was overtly harmless, a casual update. It contained a passage that said, “I’ve decided to travel again; I hope to visit you if the opportunity arises. It would be nice to meet again.”
Yet cleverly hidden within was a cipher intended for Night Elf spies. The message read, “As an escort for a noble, I have also infiltrated the alliance.”
(A noble… Could it be that Uncle is with Zilbagias…?!)
Why on earth? Despite being the youngest of the Demon Lord Princes, who would risk their life to protect someone as capable as Virosa?
Until recently, Virosa consistently sent information back to the Demon Kingdom via the Ark Deacon Trading Company, while failing miserably to receive information from the Demon Kingdom in return, often delayed by six months to a year via the liaison.
Therefore, he had no way of knowing about Zilbagias’ private treatment, much less insights into the Sidarl faction…
(If the letter is real, could Uncle be bringing Zilbagias with him?)
In such a volatile situation, reuniting with his beloved uncle felt reassuring, but the extra baggage was too bothersome.
(While the decree says support from the Demon Kingdom, including the intelligence network, cannot be offered during the exile, this unprecedented situation does complicate things. The intelligence network is mostly in shambles anyway; perhaps survival takes precedence.)
What on earth does Uncle expect of him? Could he even fulfill that expectation? Uncertainty looms steadily overhead.
(Speaking of uncertainty, what is this “thing” anyway…?)
Turning over a little bone fragment included in the letter in his palm, he tilted his head.
Despite his transformation, inside he’s still a brutal and experienced Night Elf. The moment he touched it, he recognized it as human bone. The issue, however, is why it was included. The letter merely stated, “I’ve placed a protective charm inside; take care of it,” with no additional cipher, leaving no clear intention.
(Which part is this…?)
From the shape, it resembles a finger bone… if he can identify which finger, a message might be revealed.
(…No, that won’t work. While it looks like it could be a second joint, I can’t determine much beyond that…)
On a whim, he fetched the magnifying glass from his time at the trading company and began to inspect it closely.
(…Though the material seems ancient, it shows nearly no signs of wear. The bone density is unnaturally uniform, giving an impression of a model rather than human bone…)
At that moment, inspiration struck.
(Could this be a piece formed using the Demon Race’s 【Bone Manipulation Magic】…?)
If it were a magically formed bone fragment, that would explain the artificial feel. The only reason for including such a thing would be—
(This proves the Demon Lord’s Prince is indeed together with him…!)
Moreover, considering the elaborate nature of the setup, it likely serves as a forewarning that they would visit him…! That’s the only interpretation possible.
(I’m somewhat sensing a weak aura of magical power…)
His sensitivity to magic is notably diminished in human form, so he couldn’t tell for sure. If he reverted to his Night Elf appearance, he might have grasped more, but removing his transformation here would mean he had no confidence in mimicking the natural aging process from over a decade.
If he suddenly looked youthful tomorrow that would be suspicious, so if he hopes to stay in this town, he preferred not to break his transformation.
“Mmm…”
Feeling uncertain, he returned the bone piece and letter to the envelope. Grabbing the sword leaned against the wall, Virosa uttered softly, taking a stance.
“…Hah! …Hah!”
He began swinging his sword quietly.
It serves both as a training exercise as well as a routine for gathering his thoughts and calming his spirit. These days, as he acted the part of a slovenly uncle, nobody would ever imagine he was diligently practicing sword swings alone in his room.
(In this situation, I wish I knew how Uncle would act… I could really use his advice right now, but to hear it directly from him would be a dream come true.)
—The future seemed exceedingly muddled. He had no choice but to discard his position within the trading company and found himself utterly inept as a spy, with the intelligence network itself in tatters from the hunt for the Demon Lord Prince.
The operatives like him are left wondering if they will ever return to the lands of the Demon Kingdom.
(The Empire is seemingly managing well… I wonder if they are safe.)
The neighboring Kaizaan Empire, predominantly human and minimally influenced by Forest Elves, boasts advanced papermaking and printing technology, with a major trading company publishing an informational magazine called the “Newspaper.”
Of course, Night Elves have infiltrated there as well, significantly distorting the information reaching the Emperor’s ears, undermining the reputation of alliances and the Holy Church, downplaying the capabilities of the Demon Lord’s Army, and exacerbating the trend of discrimination against Beastmen within the empire.
(When it comes to dark element extermination, the Holy Church has been quite relentless. I haven’t seen the articles from our once-renowned operative reporter recently. It seems…)
As long as they managed to hide effectively, it’s good, but should they fall into the hands of the Holy Church, it would be disastrous. He wished to believe he wouldn’t be at risk even if they extracted information from him since he had no direct connections.
Regardless, losing such a key “asset” from the Night Elf intelligence network would carry immeasurable loss.
(What should I do… Uncle, what should I do?)
The image of his uncle, confidently smiling, felt reassuring yet remained silent.
Virosa, desperately plotting his next move, found that lateral connections were ineffective, individual actions were severely restricted, and returning home was nearly impossible—it left him with a sense of helplessness.
Is he to merely bury himself in this city of Sebaie, aging as a human? That thought tormented him during the day.
At such times, he often pondered what kind of action the legendary operative, Sword Saint Virosa, would take. Lately, he had been constantly thinking about that.
(I want to be like Uncle…)
With resolve in his eyes, he swung his sword down, attempting to slice away his weakness.
It had been a childhood dream. To become not only a masterful operative but also a Sword Saint, a warrior who, despite being a Night Elf, had achieved such heights. The shock of witnessing his uncle wielding the sword with such grace—splitting a massive tree in half—was forever burned into his memory.
With considerable magical power, Virosa had forsaken the path of a high demon servant and chose the perilous life of an operative out of admiration for Virosa.
It was the reason he learned 【Human Transformation Magic】 and began training with the sword. Just like Virosa, he pledged not to use any magic while transformed. The inconvenience of not being able to spark a small magic fire in daily life and having to rely on flint was maddening, yet he maintained it, unwilling to close the path to becoming a Sword Saint.
—Merely yearning wouldn’t make one a Sword Saint or a Bow Saint.
Some colleagues scoffed with cold laughter, but Virosa thought otherwise.
(No matter if it’s rooted in admiration, passion, or a sense of duty—reality pays no heed to such things.)
Before lining up excuses, just swing your sword.
Or draw a bow and let the arrows fly.
It’s not guaranteed that efforts will always yield rewards, but everyone who reached the realm of “Sacred” knew one thing: they respected the principles of reality and diligently worked with sincerity.
If he possessed the power of a Sword Saint—
His freedom of action would’ve elevated drastically. At the very least, he wouldn’t be reduced to just a dealer in a shabby back alley casino.
(Yearning like this doesn’t help.)
In such a state, he couldn’t face his admired uncle.
(If I don’t have it, then I’ll seize it with my own hands.)
Fortunately, he had more time than humans. If aging became unbearable, he could use the transformation again to reset his body and start anew under a different name. By that time, most familiar faces in this town would either lose their wits or pass on.
(I want to be like Uncle…)
Alone in his room, perspiring and earnest, he continued to swing his sword.
Nobody in that moment could possibly regard him as a Night Elf operative.
Perhaps the aspect of Virosa that captivated him the most was his uncle’s martial side—
“…Phew.”
Feeling thirsty, Virosa paused his practice for a moment to drink some water. Glancing at the small mirror leaned against the wall, he felt a sense of unease. Though he didn’t need makeup, the mirror felt essential for a Night Elf operative.
It was critical to remain conscious of how he appeared—
Reflected back at him was a scruffy man in his forties with unkempt facial hair and disheveled hair in a cramped, chaotic room.
Yet something felt off.
Was there something behind him on the wall—
An outline, like a mist, seemed to be surface!
“—!?”
A chill ran down his spine. As he spun around in alarm—
“U…Ahhh…”
Half-transparent spirit passed through the apartment wall!
(Could it be a ghost!? Why here in the middle of the city!?)
Not near a cemetery or battlefield! Instinctively, he felt like igniting a fire as a countermeasure against the undead, but he resisted as he had vowed to avoid using magic.
(What should I do!?)
In his current condition, magically frail in human form, even a flimsy ghost could impose a curse if touched.
If he reverted and used fire magic, driving it away would likely be easy. But he could age back to a younger body dragged down by his Night Elf form. Despite being significantly weaker than Forest Elves, Night Elves were still long-lived, and recreating the aging of a short-lived race would be arduous.
(Am I to… just run away!?)
As anger welled up at the very idea of such an unwelcome visitor, the biggest concern was that nearby residents might panic and call for help from the Holy Church. Each one of them tended to avoid heroes and priests, yet the urgency would change if undead were spotted.
Then the hero would arrive and, on top of defeating the undead, would sprinkle them with holy power! It would utterly strip away his disguise! Although human forms could tolerate sun and light (for the most part), the holy attributes were immune to trickery!
(I have no choice… do I!?)
Considering all the risks, Virosa concluded that recreating his current age perfectly with magic might just be the best option.
His intention was to repeal transformation when—
At that very moment.
“O…Ooo…”
The softly moaning ghost slid toward the envelope left carelessly on the table.
As it inched closer, it seemed to get absorbed into it and—
Vanished.
“…Huh?”
He instinctively opened his mouth, caught off guard and unable to understand what had just happened.
Realizing too late the phenomenon—
With a thunderous bang, a crude blade jutted from the wall.
“Let there be light.”
The transformed Night Elf was not harmed by light.
But this, irksome—
—Except for this silvery glow.
