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Chapter 52: City of Shadows (2)
There was something I realized clearly on the journey to Igrosia.
Mages really are useful.
Putting aside their personality issues, they were a species that elevated the dignity of humanity by several levels.
There were plenty of situations that forced me to acknowledge this.
Starting from the very beginning.
—Detection magic picked up some creatures. It’s a carriage. Fourteen people: one Expert, eleven Beginners, two commoners. Looks like a noble’s carriage. Let's divert slightly to the northeast.
Beatrice’s detection magic could pick up creatures within a range of several hundred meters and find routes that avoided detection.
Whether it was noble caravans traveling between satellite cities, merchant groups, peasants out hunting, or even other camping adventurers—she filtered them all out.
Thanks to her, the loss of mobility due to stealth was drastically reduced.
Even the movement itself was greatly aided, but the true gem was during camping.
—Fire.
Fwoosh!
Without even proper firewood, snapping off a few branches was enough for her to instantly create a fire.
—Shelter.
Crack!
When asked for shelter, she formed an earthen hut to sleep in.
Beyond that, there were countless magical conveniences—camp defenses, concealment barriers to hide smoke, and so on.
Fatigue from the journey dropped to nearly nothing.
I had mixed feelings about it.
Half of me appreciated the convenience, but the other half was annoyed at this woman who turned such an amazing mage into such an unpleasant person.
Of course, now that I had regressed, the appreciation outweighed the annoyance.
Unlike me, however, the prince had quite a few complaints.
Not just about the environment, either.
—Hey, couldn’t she at least pretend to listen and make me a pillow?
—Hey, mage! Why is only my hut’s floor damp?
—...Yuren, could you tell her for me? Water! Please! Just a little water!!!
Frankly, even from my perspective, it was obvious Beatrice didn't like the prince one bit.
And there was little I could do about personal feelings.
Besides, the Magic Tower had its own autonomy, and Beatrice, as the heir to it, was under no obligation to obey the prince’s orders.
This autonomy was something Lorna Woodwich had won for them.
As the official heir to the hero who had defeated a demon, Beatrice was practically on equal footing with the prince, at least in formal terms.
Thus, both acted however they pleased, leading to this mess.
Should I have stepped in to mediate?
I thought about it, but… “Why bother?” was the conclusion I reached.
After all—
"Water."
Trickle...
She responded just fine to me.
Why get involved?
It wasn’t my job to fix their bad relationship.
‘The prince will handle things professionally if it’s official business. As for Beatrice, she listens when I talk, so I’m not worried about her doing anything reckless.’
So I decided to just ignore it.
I wasn’t their babysitter, after all.
Water conjured from the magic circle filled a cup.
Maybe because it was magically created, but drinking it slightly restored my mana.
My throat cooled, my insides filled with energy, and I glanced at Beatrice.
She was fiddling with her hair again.
"Stop that. You’re going to ruin your hair."
Flinching at my words, Beatrice pulled her hand away without a word.
"...You're right."
Then she turned away.
No idea why she acted like that.
Not that it was my concern.
I erased the thought and looked toward distant Igrosia.
It was my first time seeing it in person.
If I had to describe my impression...
"It's really filthy."
"...Well, it is a city of criminals."
It wasn’t that the appearance was dirty; rather, the energy radiating from it felt filthy.
I could see it with my eyes—corrupted mana, traces of various non-human races, cursed objects trading hands—causing soot-like mana to cling to the city like grime.
I really didn’t want to go in.
But we had no choice.
As I sighed—
"So, what’s the plan?"
"First, we sneak in. We need to assess the internal situation."
Charging in blindly just because things looked suspicious?
Maybe if your brain was the size of a goblin’s pinky.
The whole point of infiltration and investigation was to gather the enemy’s information covertly.
So first, disguise.
"Hey."
"Yes, I can do it."
Clank—
Her prosthetic hand opened, revealing magical mechanisms inside.
A magic circle formed from it, quickly shaping a spell above her palm.
Apparently, that was her staff.
I remember how shocked I was when I first saw it.
Anyway, Beatrice used her prosthetic to cover her face.
Her appearance shifted: her hair turned brown, her features hardened into someone with a cold, fierce look, an eye patch covering one eye.
Honestly, that face suited her better.
"How’s this?"
Even her voice changed.
Magic really was convenient.
"Good. Now for me and His Highness."
"Right."
The prince's disguise... well, to put it bluntly, he looked ugly.
Almost bald, pockmarked face—he looked like your average thug.
"Now your turn."
"Just don’t make me look too scary."
"What’s wrong with your face now?"
"You look appropriately villainous."
"Hmph..."
While we bantered, Beatrice approached me.
What was she doing—?
She grabbed my face, kneading it gently on both sides.
Carefully shaping it, apparently.
"Don’t overdo it. Being too noticeable would be bad."
"Understood."
Thus, my new face was created.
The prince commented:
"Hmm, pretty plain."
"That’s the best outcome."
"You don’t really look like a criminal, though."
"The really dangerous ones don’t look dangerous. It’s always the normal-looking ones you have to watch out for."
"Speaking from experience?"
"Why are you picking a fight?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he shrugged.
It felt like he was slipping back into his old personality.
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"...Let's just go."
After gathering our things, we moved toward the city gate.
The plan was simple:
'Pretend to be criminals fleeing from the south.'
That way, we could blend in naturally and begin our investigation.
Being mistaken for a local would raise fewer suspicions than looking like complete outsiders.
Our ultimate goal was clear:
'Get an audience with the Dagger of the Observer.'
There was an open secret about Igrosia.
When newcomers made a name for themselves inside the city, the Dagger of the Observer—the city’s ruling shadow—would reach out to them.
From there, one could receive secret missions tied directly to Igrosia’s inner workings.
Some were even recruited into the Dagger’s ranks.
'Once I get close, I’ll find out exactly what they’re up to.'
We had to drag out not only Gilgore but also those pulling strings behind him.
I ran a final check.
'We’ve got forged identities. I personally selected them from actual southern criminal registries.'
There were no flaws that could raise suspicion.
Now the only challenge was climbing up the ranks quickly.
And in a city of criminals, there was only one way to do that.
"Stop! Who are you?"
A guard—or maybe just a thug—blocked our way.
I stepped forward.
And then—
"Watch your tone, you bastard."
CRASH!
I grabbed the sentry's head and slammed it into the ground.
Ah, it had been a while.
This feeling.
"The little sentry brat spoke without respect."
I glared at the sentry menacingly.
I could feel the sentry trembling.
"Wh-who are you...?"
"Do I have to tell you to get in? They said they'd let me in even if they didn't know who I was, so I came all the way from the South."
It wasn’t baseless bravado.
That’s how things actually worked in Igrosia.
You either bribed your way in, or you intimidated your way in.
If you tried to get in through proper channels, that would be what raised suspicion.
Gulp—
The sentry swallowed hard.
He averted his eyes from me and then finally spoke.
"...Please, go in."
"That's more like it, brat."
I lightly tapped the sentry’s cheek.
Then I tossed him a silver coin.
"Here. Compensation. What are you waiting for? Let's go."
I spoke to the Crown Prince and Beatrice.
The two blinked in confusion, then dazedly followed behind me.
'Hmm.'
Neither of them seemed to have a talent for thuggery.
* * *
Gilgore dreamed.
It was of events long buried in the past.
The underbelly of Igrosia.
In the sewers where dozens, hundreds, starved to death each day, Gilgore had met a boy.
A boy with black hair much like his own, with clear and intelligent eyes.
—If you have any food, please spare some.
—Huh? I don't have any.
—You do.
—Oh? Why do you think so?
The boy sparked his interest.
Even as he was starving to death, he calmly asked for help.
Out of so many people, he had managed to notice Gilgore, who had been concealing his presence.
And even though they seemed the same age, he spoke formally.
—Your gait is different.
—The beggars in the sewers don't walk with such long strides, nor do they hold their heads high.
—More than anything, they don't scan their surroundings. They don't have the leisure to.
—Why are you speaking so formally? We look the same age.
—We're probably not. Children don't smile like that.
It had been a long, wandering life.
Yet among all the people he met, the boy had shone particularly brightly.
Gilgore felt a surge of curiosity.
He had only come to learn about a curse, but he encountered this remarkable child.
That curiosity soon turned into a whim.
—You want to live, don't you?
—Everyone would.
—No, you're different.
Gilgore reached out a hand to the boy.
Half in jest, half in earnest, and also with a certain resolve.
—I feel like I could make you live a full life.
—If you can, I'll do anything.
—Why would you trust me?
—I trust that you place no value on me.
—You'd use me like a toy, and I'll be loyal to that role.
—You're truly fascinating.
That day, Gilgore created a reflection of himself.
—Your name from now on will be Gilgore.
—You will live with my name, and you will become the ruler of this place.
—It is an honor for me; and for you, a benefit.
—Hah, what a talent you are.
He gave him a name.
A child so much like himself.
He gave him status—placed him on the throne he had constructed.
The puppet boy knew his place, was astute, and was deeply loyal.
All it took to earn his wholehearted service was to feed him.
That time must have been joyful.
That’s probably why Gilgore stayed for ten years, even though it hadn’t been the plan.
The boy grew into a young man.
The first organization Gilgore ever built had become the ruler of the city.
And through it all, he had enjoyed himself.
He even enjoyed living among people, appointing deputies.
But eventually, he couldn't stay in one place forever.
So he left, entrusting everything to the boy who had become a young man.
—I’ll be gone for a while.
—I will guard your throne until your return.
—Good, Gilgore.
—...Master.
—Get used to it. You're Gilgore now.
It had been a satisfying farewell.
* * *
"Master."
Gilgore awoke to a voice.
The shabby old house was lit only by the faint glow of a candle.
The place where everything had started.
And now, clearly abandoned.
He opened his mouth to speak.
"Yes, Rabon."
"I have found them."
"You took a while. It’s been a week since they left the capital, right?"
"...They were disguised. Very naturally. Their actions showed no signs of suspicion."
"Is that so? What were they doing?"
Gilgore felt a spark of interest.
Rabon was his oldest and most trusted subordinate—the one he had shared his "eyes" with.
It should not have been easy to slip past him.
And yet they had evaded him for a week.
And the reason was because their actions hadn't raised suspicion?
"Strange. Considering the Crown Prince, the Grand Master, and the Magic Tower’s successor, it should've been hard for them to adapt here."
When he asked, Rabon hesitated, troubled.
"Well... about that..."
"Come on. It’s fine. Tell me."
Upon urging him, Rabon finally answered.
"...They're conquering a district."
Gilgore froze.
Rabon bowed his head deeply.
"They’ve crushed all of the Hayas district in the Northeast and are forming a group. They're using fake names: Kulkaran, Dern, and Moira. Those are names of actual criminals who went missing in the South."
And right after—
"Puhaha!!"
Gilgore burst into laughter.
He stomped his feet, slapped his thighs, trying to stop laughing.
His mind raced, thrilled by the unexpected development.
For the first time in a long while, Gilgore was genuinely delighted.
Who was leading them?
Most likely—
"The Grand Master. Yuren Pharos. It has to be him. He’s known for being a former rogue after all."
"Yes. It’s hard to tell them apart, but from their actions, the one using the name Kulkaran is likely Yuren Paros."
"Wow..."
What an entertaining person.
Gilgore spoke with excitement.
"I really want to meet them."
"I'll arrange the meeting as quickly as possible."
"Good. Don't keep me waiting too long."
Gilgore smiled brightly.
The delightful news had quickly wiped away the unpleasant remnants of his dream.
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