chapter 8: dirty work

*Flap flap*

The powerful winds from the beast's massive wings nearly tore my hood from my head, forcing me to hold it in place with one hand.

"You there! Traveler! State your business! Where is your transportation? Why are you traveling on Aurelia Highway on foot?"

The woman in the military uniform shouted, her voice clear and commanding, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

((Normally, running into a guard this early in an infiltration op would be a hassle, but this time, it might actually work to my advantage.))

I thought, my mind racing as I quickly considered how best to turn this encounter to my benefit.

""First I need a new face...""

I whispered to myself, ducking low behind the guard rail. The officer was already approaching, her attention solely on me. I couldn't afford to let her recognize me down the line. This was the perfect moment. Covered head to toe in thick, unrevealing clothes, I chanted the spell in my head, making sure the flow of mana was quiet—so subtle it wouldn't be sensed.

(([Polymorph]))

The change was immediate, sharp, like being plunged into molten metal. My entire body liquefied in an instant, my skin loosening, muscles twisting. My bones felt as though they had turned to mush, softening and bending as they elongated, then compacted again. It wasn't a gradual transformation—this was fast, brutal, almost surgical. The flesh beneath my clothes writhed, stretching and folding in ways that weren't supposed to be possible. The pain was almost unbearable, each nerve alight with a searing intensity as if I were being dissolved from within.

Protein cells were rapidly converted into fat cells and vice versa making my entire body burn from inside with chemical reactions.

It was like having my bones snapped and re-formed in the blink of an eye, my skull cracking and reshaping, pushing outward then compressing into a new form. I stifled a gasp, gritting my teeth. Every joint in my body contorted; muscles rippled, changing density, mass shifting like clay being kneaded by unseen hands.

But regardless I persevered. As I took command over my flesh, over the very form that defined me, it sent a sharp thrill through my veins. To hold that much power over my body—no one else could tell, but I was being remade, sculpted into something new.

The pigmentation of my skin shifted, darkening in a matter of seconds as my cells bent to my will. My jawline sharpened, eyes narrowing, cheekbones rising. My hair thickened, curling into a new texture as the spell adjusted every minute detail, the sickly white turning into a healthy chestnut.

It was agonizing. It was intoxicating.

This spell—this delicate combination between Biomancy and Alchemy—wasn't just cosmetic. I was undoing the very fabric of my physical self, the spell quite literally breaks down the bonds between my flesh, bone and nerves cells at least for a moment, temporarily unspooling my existence to reshape it, to create a new identity entirely. I could feel my organs shifting too, adjusting to the new proportions. Blood rushed through veins that had grown longer, thicker. My body temperature fluctuated wildly, a side effect of the transformation, but I controlled it.

I'd done this many times, but it never became easier. At higher levels, I knew I could even change my sex. But for now, I was limited to the essentials: altering bones, stretching skin, enlarging and shrinking muscles. Just enough to slip by unnoticed.

The pain began to subside, leaving a faint buzzing numbness in its wake, like pins and needles prickling under my skin. As the transformation settled, I exhaled softly. My form had solidified. The work was done. I had become someone else.

A young man barely older than his teens but old enough to be in the workforce.

Quick. Subtle. Fast enough that the officer hadn't even noticed.

My opponent in the skies, clueless to the shift beneath my disguise, hadn't sensed a thing.

Time for the show...

""Please don't attack! I'm unarmed! I was just trying to reach Garellia to find work, but... one thing led to another, and I ended up losing my horse!""

I strained my throat, injecting as much life into my voice as possible, fully aware that my usual flat, robotic tone would do me no favors here. I stepped out with my hands up showing no hostility.

""...""

Her gaze locked onto me, sharp and unyielding, like a predator assessing its prey. It felt as though she was scrutinizing every inch of me, probing both my body and soul for any sign of deceit.

((Don't show any weakness. Your act must be flawless. Every fiber of your being must embody the role of the unlucky traveler. There can't be a single crack in the mask for her to find))

Fortunately, as part of my training as an Executerii assassin, I've mastered nearly EVERY anti-interrogation technique under the sun. Building rapport, the direct approach, the Reid technique, the "we know all" approach, the pride and ego play, the good cop/bad cop routine, cognitive interviewing, the false evidence ploy—none of them will work on me. I've even been conditioned to endure the most extreme methods, from isolation and truth serums to sleep deprivation and any form of physical or psychological torture.

My confidence doesn't just stem from my anti-interrogation training. I've also honed my acting skills to perfection—method acting, emotional recall, voice modulation, and body language control. That is why I can say with ABSOLUTE certainty that she will find no opening in my act, nor will her intimidating presence shake my mental fortitude.

"I see... what was the reason for the loss of your steed? Were you attacked on the road?"

The woman on the back of the dark blue and white wyvern asked, her voice laced with curiosity as she eyed me with an inquisitive look.

It didn't take long for all the possibilities to run through my mind. Within seconds, a story formed, one that was both plausible in this world and impossible for her to verify.

""...Yes, unfortunately""

I began, injecting a subtle note of reluctance into my voice.

""It happened last night. I'd made camp just off the road, thinking it was a safe enough spot. But I woke to the sound of them cutting the ropes, and before I could even reach for my weapon, they were gone. They took the horse and whatever supplies I had left. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't slit my throat""

I paused, allowing the weight of my words to hang in the air.

""I didn't even get a good look at them. Just shadows in the dark...Couldn't tell if they were human or something else. But they knew what they were doing""

((Stick to the details that can't be easily verified or disproven. The woods are vast, and nighttime thieves' attacks are common enough that she won't question it—not even the Marginot Line, with all its wyvern patrols, ship watch, and roaming guards can keep every corner safe))

I thought, keeping up the facade of a weary traveler as I awaited her response.

"..."

The woman's gaze lingered on me, her expression unreadable.

"I see... Take us down, Maris."

With a gentle tug on the harness, she guided the wyvern downward. Her tone and mannerisms made it clear that she treated Maris more like a trusted companion than a mere mount.

((That's useful... I may be able to leverage that later.))

I mentally filed this observation away, anticipating that our interactions might not remain so cordial. Despite their fearsome reputation, wyverns—especially domesticated ones—are remarkably easy to handle. Worst case scenario I can take the wyvern hostage.

*Jingle jingle*

The woman unfastened the metal harness securing her to the saddle and dismounted, her boots touching the ground with purpose as she approached me.

"...*Inhales*"

She drew in a deep breath before speaking.

"As a member of the Marginot aerial unit, I sincerely apologize for our lack of diligence. If we had done our job correctly, you would still have your horse."

She bowed respectfully, her apology genuine.

((...))

I was momentarily struck silent but only for a brief instance.

((Well, I can't say this scenario hadn't crossed my mind, but her earnestness is quite unexpected))

I relaxed slightly, recognizing the potential to manipulate this intimidating yet ultimately good-natured guard to my advantage.

"If you wish, I can take you to Garellia's gates atop Maris,"

The military officer offered, gesturing toward her companion.

((Well...I'm bound to run out of luck if things keep going this smoothly))

I was caught between gratitude for my apparent good fortune and an uneasy sense of dread, wondering when my luck would inevitably turn.

"Gah gah!"

The wyvern struck a pose, as if trying to show off.

((I have to admit, that's kinda cute...))

I thought, slightly amused by the creature's playful demeanor—a rare sentiment for me, considering my usual detachment.

""Well, I certainly appreciate your candidness, Mrs... uh, my apologies, but may I ask for your name?""

I continued, keeping up the act of the plucky traveler.

"Officer Sera Banfield of the 34th aerial unit, at your service,"

She replied, saluting in a practiced manner.

"Might I inquire your name, traveler? You seem quite young to be traveling this path alone—no offense, of course."

Her question followed swiftly, her tone curious but not accusatory.

((Right...a name. The Maestro did advise me to prepare one before setting out on this mission. Unlike my past operations, this one's going to be a long-term infiltration.))

I recalled that I had indeed chosen a name for myself before the mission began. Though it was a purely practical decision, the sensation of finally having a name after nine years of existence sent a shiver through me—an unfamiliar feeling I couldn't quite put into words. I had been called many things before—001, G7-1, callsign: Oblivion, White Jackal, Executioner—but this would be the first time I carried a proper name, like any normal person.

With complete ease, the words slipped from my mouth, though they felt foreign in my mind:

""Markus... my name is Markus Nox Ulric. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance officer Banfield""

A fitting name for an assassin, wouldn't you agree? In an ancient version of northern Valentian common, "Markus Nox Ulric" literally translates to "imperial daggers." It once denoted assassins who served the throne, the crown's "blade in the dark," so to speak.

At first, I thought naming myself after an ancient term for imperial assassins was reckless and kind of dumb, practically begging my targets to uncover me. But then I remembered—the ancient dialect was nearly wiped from history after the Wars of Vindication in 2130 BCE (Before Collapse Era). Few outside of the Executerii scholars even know it exists. Plus, the Maestro told me a fearsome name could be an asset in certain situations.

"Markus N-Nox Ulric? Are you a foreign noble, Mr. Ulric?"

Officer Sera asked, her body language conveying the fact that she was debating whether she should show me more formal respect.

((Only nobles or those with some form of renown or influence introduce themselves with a family name. Most commoners avoid it unless they're descended from heroes or tied to some great deed))

I considered her subtle shift in posture, gauging her reaction to the name I'd just given.

""Oh no...the name may sound grand, but we're just travelers, odd jobbers, and merchants, nothing more. No need to be formal with me""

I reassured her, keeping up the act of the unassuming traveler from a modest, slightly above-average family.

"Ah, I see... phew, thank goodness you're not one of those pompous as— Ahem... I mean, it's good you're not someone who expects luxury."

For a brief moment, officer Sera's voice carried a note of disdain before she quickly corrected herself, returning to her more professional tone.

""...""

((Ah, she's the type to wear her emotions on her sleeves. I could use that to throw her off if we ever came to blows...))

I remained expressionless, offering no reaction nor commentary, while my mind absorbed and analyzed every useful detail about her, like a sponge soaking up water.

Despite how smoothly things were progressing, years of being an Executerii assassin had drilled into me the necessity of always anticipating the worst. As a wise man once said, ""Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. It's just a matter of when?"".

""In my family, we have a saying about how luxury should be earned, not asked for""

I said with a chuckle—or at least, my best attempt at one.

"Thank you! Finally, someone who understands— I mean... uh... your family's values are truly commendable, Mr. Ulric."

She suddenly shouted, and for a split second, my body tensed, battle honed instincts urging me into a combat stance. But I quickly resisted the impulse, maintaining my composure.

""Uhm...right, so...could I...maybe get that ride to Garellia now?""

I asked, pretending to be awkward—or maybe I was genuinely awkward and just decided to use it to my advantage. Either way, it didn't really matter as long as it got me the ride on her wyvern to Garellia.

"Absolutely, this way."

"Gah gah!"

She gestured towards Maris, her wyvern, who seemed oddly excited to assist. Instead of the fearsome creature you'd expect, the dark-scaled beast almost reminded me of a puppy, eager to please.

It took a moment for Officer Sera to bring out the extra saddle they'd been carrying, just in case. She tied the straps securely around Maris, ensuring everything was in place. Once it was ready, I climbed on, and now, halfway through being strapped in, I waited as she finished the preparations.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

She asked, a bit late considering I was already half-strapped into the extra saddle they'd packed. Maris lay on their stomach, waiting patiently while officer Sera secured me. The question seemed more for her own amusement than any real concern at this point.

""Uhm... could you please keep it below the clouds?""

I said, playing along with her banter. I feigned a nervous tone, scratching my head in an exaggerated manner to enhance my act of anxiety.

""Where's the fun in that?""

She smirked, a mischievous glint in her eye, before mounting Maris. The beast rose to its feet with a powerful flap of its wings, letting out a robust "gah!"

""Oi, oi! You're going to keep it below cloud level, right?""

I exclaimed, feigning a nervousness typical of a traveler unaccustomed to flight as I questioned her.

"Hehehe!"

*WHOOSH!*

She laughed as Maris soared into the sky with a powerful flap of its wings.

((Of course she won't, unlike her, I don't have an item to supply me with air and warmth at those heights. She doesn't know I'm superhuman, so she won't go anywhere near that altitude. Plus, as a patrol unit, she can't effectively survey the ground from up that high))

Deep down, I knew there was nothing to fear in this situation, and even if she did fly that high, I could handle it.

A part of me wondered if she might indeed fly high enough to uncover my peculiarities and unmask me, but I swiftly suppressed the thought. There's a fine line between healthy caution and crippling paranoia.

((Though that item of hers is quite convenient...))

I glanced at the ornate jade-like gem encased in gold that hung from her waist on a gilded chain—a portable magic item that could provide air and warmth at high altitudes. It would be incredibly useful, even if I wasn't planning on flying.

((Might pocket that later...or maybe not))

I weighed the pros and cons of swiping it mid-flight to suffocate her and hijack Maris if the situation called for it, or waiting until we reached Garellia, where I might need the item later on. Ultimately, I decided against such unpredictable actions for now but made a mental note of the item for future reference.

""AAAAAH!""

I let out a convincing scream of surprise as Maris shot up into the sky, its powerful wings propelling us toward Garellia.

"Hey! No screaming! Maris has sensitive ears!"

Officer Banfield chuckled, trying to hush me.

""S-Sorry!""

I stammered, clutching her tightly, putting on my best show of someone hanging on for dear life.

"Hehe... you shouldn't cling to an unmarried woman so easily, but I'll allow it since we're in flight"

She teased, her cheeks slightly flushed, clearly enjoying the playful banter with a supposed weak traveler.

((Not only does she wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she also enjoys toying with others. That suggests a strong sense of pride and a tendency to underestimate her opponents. Despite her open demeanor, her body language indicates she's no rookie—she must have combat experience. Maybe she hasn't faced a genuine threat in a while?))

Even amidst the thrill of our ascent, my mind moved like clockwork, analyzing her weaknesses and plotting potential ways to off her should she become a threat to me or my mission. I intentionally hugged her from behind, both to maintain my act and to subtly assess her body for any concealed weapons beyond the conspicuous sword on her belt, ready to act at a moment's notice.

((A dagger in her left pocket... It doesn't seem designed for combat—more for cutting through brush than for stabbing. She might have a backup weapon concealed in her chest area, but I can't touch that area for obvious reasons. Plus the chestplate doesn't appear to have an opening for a quick draw))

I pressed into her from behind, maintaining my act while carefully assessing her without raising any suspicions...or coming off as a pervert.

"Uhm...but it is true that you're holding on to me a little tight"

She suddenly remarked, her voice tinged with a slight squeak of embarrassment.

((Good to know—another opening I could exploit))

I thought.

""I-I'm sorry! I-it's just!...I'm not used to flying""

I stammered, injecting my voice with as much genuine nervousness as I could muster without sounding forced. I had to consciously keep my expression animated to maintain the "mask".

"It's fine! First-timers are always like this. Maris is actually one of the gentler ones when it comes to flying"

Officer Banfield reassured me, attempting to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Gah gah!"

Maris quivered in agreement, as if proud of the compliment.

((Did it think it was being praised? I guess it is, in a way...))

"S-Seriously?! I don't think I'll ever get used to riding a wyvern if THIS is considered 'gentle.' No offense to Maris, of course"

I replied, chuckling half-heartedly, trying to keep the mood light while remaining acutely aware of my surroundings.

"Eh, you're doing better than most, so no worries! I was half concerned you'd vomit like some of the others in my unit when they flew for the first time"

Officer Banfield laughed, her tone light and engaging as the wind rushed past us.

I managed a nervous chuckle, feeling a mix of amusement and tension.

""I guess I'm not quite that unlucky, at least!""

I replied, keeping my voice shaky for the facade, as I considered what my next move would be.

"You'd be unluckier if you dirty Maris or my uniform with your bile. I JUST cleaned both of them!"

Officer Banfield said, half-joking and half-threatening me not to throw up on her or her mount.

"Ha ha...I'll certainly keep that in mind"

I replied, matching her banter for a while longer as the city of Garellia loomed into view.

From our vantage point, it resembled a massive turtle carved from stone, its tallest buildings rising in the center like a protective shell, while shorter structures sprawled around them. The layers of high steel walls encircling the city were manned by countless guards, who looked like a colony of ants from this distance. ((A fortress city indeed)) I thought, noting the impressive defenses as I mentally prepared for the next phase of my mission.

((Let the hunt begin...))

I thought, feeling like a bloodhound being set loose on the organization's enemies. Well, that's not exactly an inaccurate comparison, I suppose.

As we landed near one of the aerial unit's outposts, Officer Banfield quickly explained my situation. After a few rounds of questioning and verification of my papers, I was released without much fanfare. The only noteworthy moment was when I discreetly pocketed one of the magic items similar to the one Officer Sera used to regulate air and warmth during her high-altitude flights. No doubt, this will prove invaluable later if Plan A plays out as expected.

"See ya, Mr. Ulric...enjoy your stay in Garellia"

Officer Sera waved me off with a smile as I stepped away from the post.

I gave a respectful bow.

""My thanks for your help, Mrs. Banfield""

I replied, keeping my tone measured and polite as I took my leave.

Stepping into the streets of Garellia, I felt the overwhelming presence of the city. A fortress city, built with one purpose in mind: defense. But its other identity, as a port city, gave it life—a heartbeat that pulsed through every cobblestone and alley. The towering walls loomed over the streets, casting long shadows that made the streets feel narrower than they were. From every vantage, the walls were visible, a constant reminder of the city's purpose. Yet, for all their strength, walls could be climbed, tunnels could be dug, and people could be bought.

I had come here with one goal: to infiltrate a maritime smuggling ring known as the Velvet Tide. But I knew nothing of them yet—not their faces, their contacts, or even their methods of operation, I only knew that they were sighted here. For now, I was simply a traveler—Markus Nox Ulric, blending into the city and learning its secrets one step at a time.

I started with the main roads, taking in the structure of the city. Garellia's layout spiraled outward from the central keep, where the tallest buildings clustered like the shell of a stone tortoise. As I ventured further, I noted the layers of walls that protected it. This wasn't just a city; it was a stronghold. High walls separated districts, and each layer had its own checkpoints, its own guard posts. The city was designed so that even if an enemy breached the outer walls, they'd be trapped in a maze of stone and steel, funneled toward the heavily fortified core.

Moving deeper, I reached the port district, where Garellia's dual nature truly came alive. The streets here were bustling, but it wasn't the kind of chaos you'd find in a city market. This was organized, efficient—ships docking and unloading goods, workers moving like ants under the command of ship captains and merchants. The smell of saltwater mixed with the earthy stench of fish and wet wood, and the distant sound of seagulls echoed overhead.

((A fortress and a port...one side of the city ready for war, the other for trade. But both sides are well-guarded))

The docks stretched long and wide, ships from various regions lined up in the harbor. Some carried banners, proudly announcing their allegiances. Others, however, bore no marks at all—unassuming, silent. The kind that might move things in and out without drawing attention. Smugglers, perhaps? Or just wary traders? It was too early to tell, but this was where I would need to focus my efforts. If the Velvet Tide operated anywhere, it was here, hidden among the legitimate ships and merchants.

I walked along the docks, taking in the sights while subtly mapping out the area in my head. Warehouses lined the waterfront, some marked with official insignias, others less obvious, their doors guarded by unsavory types. It didn't take long to realize that beneath the surface of Garellia's lawful trade, there was a thriving underbelly. My instincts told me that these shadowy corners were where I'd find the Velvet Tide.

For now, though, I had no contacts—no leads. I had to keep my eyes open, listen for whispers. The Velvet Tide wouldn't reveal itself so easily.

As I moved further into the city, I passed through the lower districts—where the common folk lived and worked. These streets were narrower, winding like serpents between the towering buildings. Vendors hawked their wares, children played in the alleys, and taverns overflowed with the sounds of clinking mugs and raucous laughter. It was here, among the people, that information flowed freely. If I was to uncover the Velvet Tide, this would be the first place to look.

((No fortress is impenetrable. The trick is finding where its walls are weakest))

I made my way into a busy square. The air was thick with the smell of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and the sharp tang of spices. The market stalls were filled with goods from across the continent, and here, I began to observe the flow of people—the merchants, the guards, the travelers, and the locals. This was the lifeblood of Garellia. And somewhere, hidden among them, were the criminals I sought.

As I moved from stall to stall, pretending to browse, I caught snippets of conversation—some trivial, others more promising. I heard rumors of certain ships that never unloaded their cargo in daylight, of merchants who operated only at night, and of certain warehouses that were rarely inspected by the city guard.

((Smugglers, no doubt))

The pieces were starting to form, but I needed more. The Velvet Tide was like the sea itself—ever-present, but always just out of reach. I would have to immerse myself deeper into the city's underworld, build trust, and eventually, make contact with the right people.

By nightfall, the city was transformed. Torches lit the streets, casting long shadows on the walls, and the once-bustling port now seemed quieter, more secretive. This was when the real business of Garellia took place—the kind that wasn't found in the city's ledgers.

I paused for a moment on one of the city's many bridges, overlooking the canal. The water shimmered beneath me, reflecting the flickering light of lanterns. In the distance, I could see the ships resting in the harbor, silent as sentinels. Somewhere out there, the Velvet Tide was operating, pulling strings in the shadows.

((The key points of interest are the markets, the docks, the warehouses, and the seedy corners of the commoners' district. It's a wide net, but the larger the net, the bigger the catch))

I kept walking, absorbing every detail of Garellia's layout, the rhythm of its streets, the movements of its people. A fortress city like this had layers—layers that could hide even the darkest dealings. The first phase of the infiltration was done.

Now it was time to move to phase two...

((This is gonna be a long one...))

I thought, sighing as I began to work.

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