Pritt, Tivian.
In the South District on the outskirts of Tivian, three figures stood in a dark grove. After being stamped with a sigil and rising to his feet, Hadi glanced at Adèle and Gregor, letting a small smile curve his lips.
“Well then, you two, shall we begin? My lady, if you please, we require your discretion now.”
When he said that, Hadi’s gaze shifted over to Adèle, who returned a faint smile of her own.
“Oh my… so I’m to step away? Well, if that’s how it is, I’ll make my exit so as to preserve my heart—which is purer than a child’s, mind you.”
With a playful glint in her eye, Adèle lifted her folding fan to hide the lower half of her masked face and withdrew from the clearing. Hadi pursed his lips at her parting remark, then turned back to Gregor.
“All right, Sir Shadow Facade. Shall we get started? You got everything ready?”
“Of course.”
There in the woods, two people who looked exactly alike began removing their clothing. Stripping down to their undershirts, they exchanged garments. Gregor donned Hadi’s undershirt, while Hadi took Gregor’s. Hadi then pulled on his original outerwear again, making sure to leave it partly unbuttoned so that sections of the undershirt showed through.
Meanwhile, Gregor didn’t bother putting on his own outer jacket. Instead, he wore only the undershirt he’d taken from Hadi. From his bag, he took out a small pack of hospital blood, cut it open, and splashed it generously over his shirt, making himself look as though he’d suffered a grievous wound.Once Gregor was thoroughly drenched in fake blood, he retrieved a small pouch from the bag and tossed it to Hadi, who tested it by pressing on the contents. Feeling something firm inside, Hadi tucked it away and spoke to the ghastly-looking Gregor.
“All right, we’re set. Ready for this, Sir Shadow Facade?”
“Any time,” Gregor answered crisply, then cast his gaze around, comparing his and Hadi’s appearances, then glancing toward the distant warehouse. A hint of concern crept into his voice.
“Based on what you said earlier, there may be a White Ash fighter in there, plus multiple Black Earth rank enemies… To deal with that lineup, the Serenity Bureau would normally deploy at least two White Ash squads together. Us going in there alone… is that really okay?”
“Don’t worry. As long as everyone does their part and coordinates properly, we’ll manage. Even if we fumble a bit, I have contingency measures in place, and with that lady assisting us from the shadows, it’ll be fine.”
Hadi’s composure as he spoke seemed unshakable. Gregor’s eyes still hinted at lingering doubt, but he nodded anyway. Recalling the mysterious woman who had just left, Gregor fell into silent thought.
In his impression, the woman seemed powerful and deep, possessing some sort of strange ability on par with Detective’s. Presumably, she had used her powers to capture this sentry. Gregor sensed that she might be an even more formidable Beyonder than himself, and she also gave him a bizarre feeling of déjà vu.
Powers that can exert influence from a distance… A woman who can manipulate people’s subconscious behavior… The Rose Cross Order wields all sorts of uncanny and elusive abilities. There’s just no comparing them with normal standards. I can’t apply Bureau logic to measure the Rose Cross Order.
Such were Gregor’s thoughts. Realizing that typical norms didn’t apply, his earlier worries eased somewhat, and he prepared himself mentally for the upcoming plan.
“All right, let’s begin.”
…
In a corner of an abandoned warehouse on Tivian’s southern outskirts—a half-enclosed area formed by a messy pile of bricks—a Silence ritual array traced in bone ash covered the floor. Nust, bound and unconscious, lay sprawled atop that array.
On the array’s edge, a robed, bearded man named Atif sat cross-legged, staring intently at the prone figure in the center. Within his mind, Atif weighed his observations of the powerful Soul-Guarding Sigil on Nust, trying to deduce how to break it.
Just as Atif immersed himself in the ritual, his Silence Beyonder sense suddenly detected a piercing message. The ghosts set to guard the warehouse perimeter were screaming—inaudible to ordinary ears, but loud and clear to someone of his path.
Hearing that silent alarm only Silence Beyonders could perceive, he frowned deeply. Standing up from his meditative posture, he strode out of the half-walled enclosure into the larger, dilapidated main space of the warehouse. There, three subordinates hurried over to meet him.
“Lord Atif! The spirits outside are screaming—someone’s here!” one of them exclaimed anxiously. Atif, face stern, scanned the immediate surroundings to ensure there was no immediate threat, then spoke in a harsh tone:
“Where’s Hadi? He was supposed to be on lookout tonight,” Atif demanded. Before any of his underlings could respond, the warehouse door suddenly cracked open. Someone staggered through that narrow gap: Hadi.
“M-My lord, someone’s… someone’s broken in! They’re really strong—I couldn’t stand up to them at all…”
Face pale with fear, Hadi clutched his arm and lurched toward Atif one unsteady step at a time. At first, Atif felt relieved to see him, expecting a firsthand report. But as Hadi drew closer, Atif gradually realized something was off.
Though he was indeed speaking North Ufigan, Hadi’s accent sounded odd. His clothing was disheveled, and in the flickering light, Atif noticed that the undershirt showing through didn’t quite match his memory. A string of inconsistencies reminded him of the conversation he’d had with Hadi earlier that day about the suspicious butler double spotted in Blackwater Street.
Two people who look exactly alike… If they aren’t siblings, it must be some mystical ability that lets a person mimic someone else’s appearance. If that’s the case, we might have been found out.
Alert to the possibility of a shapeshifter, Atif’s eyes widened. Watching Hadi approach, he barked sharply.
“Hold it! Don’t come any closer—stay right where you are!”
Hadi froze, mere steps away, his face clearly startled. The subordinates flanking Atif exchanged confused glances.
“M-My lord, why—?”
Told to stop, Hadi turned to Atif with a bewildered look. But Atif, expression grim, stared him down and spoke in a measured, severe tone.
“Hadi, answer me now. What’s your full name? Where are you from? When did we first meet?”
He rattled off three questions in quick succession. Hadi’s face went momentarily blank, his confusion deepening.
“Oh… My full name? Let me think…”
His reply sounded flustered. Seeing that he couldn’t immediately respond, Atif’s expression hardened; beneath his robes, his hand gripped a bone fragment tightly.
“Stop right there!”
Before anyone could say anything else, a noise came from the warehouse entrance again. Everyone swiveled to look. The door through which Hadi had just entered was now supporting the weight of a man soaked in blood, trembling with weakness. Glaring hatefully into the warehouse, at the other “Hadi,” was a man wearing the exact same face.
The men inside stared in shock. Two Hadi’s?!
“That… that guy’s a fake! He can change his appearance… He’s… he’s a Beyonder… a fake!”
The newcomer, propping himself against the door, rasped with bloody lips, voice slurred yet emphatic, pointing a trembling finger at the Hadi standing near Atif. The singled-out “Hadi” scowled darkly.
“You’re still alive?!”
Snarling, the false Hadi whirled, evidently prepared for a last stand. Realizing the ruse, Atif’s subordinates moved to surround the imposter, who swore under his breath and lunged at Atif with a drawn dagger, as if making one desperate gamble.
Expecting trouble, Atif stayed calm. Clutching his bone fragment, he invoked the imprisoned spirit within, opened his mouth, and breathed forth a chill wind.
A searing gust of freezing air shot toward the fake Hadi’s face, draping him in icy white mist. His entire body went rigid from the cold, limbs going numb almost instantly. Frost coated him from head to toe, and he toppled to the floor with a heavy thud, his rage-filled expression forever frozen in place.
After using his ability to kill the “fake Hadi,” Atif exhaled in relief, then he and his subordinates turned their attention to the “real Hadi” at the door. Clearly gravely wounded, he looked like he was on the verge of collapsing.
“Hadi! How bad is it? Hang in there!”
Seeing the state of this “real Hadi,” several of the tomb raiders moved to help him. Wheezing for breath, bathed in blood, “real Hadi” could no longer support his own weight and sank to his knees. Lifting his head to meet the eyes of his former comrades, he tremulously raised a hand toward them and, in a weak voice, gave one last warning.
“Huff… be careful… besides me… there are others who’ve been replaced… that guy… he has accomplices… he plans to stir up chaos… and then strike… watch out…”
Finishing this, “real Hadi” collapsed in a heap, apparently succumbing to his injuries. Seeing him fall, everyone in the warehouse froze for a moment, then cast wary looks at one another. Every gaze brimmed with doubt.
From his final words, they all realized the crisis was far from over. The shape-shifting Beyonder wasn’t alone; there were accomplices, more people possibly replaced. At the realization that the enemy might still be among them—that any ally could be an impostor—the tomb raiders each backed away a few steps. Including Atif, four of them eyed the others suspiciously, each wondering if the person next to them was really who they claimed to be. The tension in the air soared.
“It’s me, I’m real, Lord Atif. I’ve been in the back this whole time…”
“Me too, I swear I haven’t been replaced—I’ve been guarding the door throughout the ritual…”
“I’m real as well…”
All at once, the warehouse erupted in a clamor as three of them tried to prove their authenticity to Atif, who, as the one person they were certain hadn’t been substituted, was the only one above suspicion. The tension only mounted. Yet Atif remained calm, speaking in a firm voice.
“Don’t panic! Keep quiet! I’ll question you one by one, and if you can answer correctly, we’ll know.”
His resolute words restored some order. The three fell silent, ready for Atif to interrogate them in turn. But as Atif prepared to question the first subordinate, a sudden movement came from the “fake Hadi” lying on the floor, his body covered in a layer of white frost.
Somewhere inside his clothing was a pouch filled with a grayish powder, and within that powder lay a small metal box. At that moment, a flicker of electricity flashed inside the box—an unsuspected detonator. Instantly, the explosive inside went off, blowing the pouch apart and flinging dust into the air. Combined with the debris churned up by the blast, the result was a cloud of swirling particles that filled the warehouse, obscuring everything.
“Cough… cough… what is this stuff?!”
“I can’t see a thing!”
“Watch out! Don’t let him slip away in the chaos!”
The explosive’s power wasn’t huge, and it had gone off some distance away, so it didn’t badly injure the tomb raiders. But their efforts to confirm everyone’s identity were abruptly derailed, and the swirling dust in the air made it impossible to see clearly. The entire warehouse sank back into turmoil, each person eyeing the hazy surroundings in alarm.
“That guy wants to cause confusion so he can strike when we’re distracted…”
This was the warning the dying “real Hadi” had left behind. Right now, it echoed ominously in each raider’s mind as they peered into the dusty haze, recalling his final words that the impostor might still be among them.
In that instant, they all felt their hearts clench. Nearly in unison, they produced their bone fragments holding enslaved souls and readied themselves, scanning the shadowy outlines around them. Every silhouette in the haze seemed a potential enemy, each of them a possible impostor waiting to pounce.
Their nerves, stretched taut, kindled a flood of suspicion. And from doubt sprang a strong desire to strike.
If they were all enemies, would it be better to make the first move? Waiting in fear was too passive. If that impostor launched a sudden attack, would they have time to defend themselves?
So maybe… I should attack first…
If I kill the enemy before he can kill me, what does it matter which silhouette he is?
Overwhelmed by tension, such thinking took root in their minds, swamping their reason. Soon, every raider’s eyes blazed with a hint of madness.