Chapter 20
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: The Silent God (1)
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The next morning.
"Next!"
At the examiner's shout, a neatly dressed old gentleman slowly stepped forward.
As he sat in the chair, a massive werewolf about two meters tall across from him nodded.
"Greetings. I am Olfactory Officer Blaszek, affiliated with the Southern Border Immigration Control Office."
He spoke while holding a pen that seemed disproportionately small for his size.
"What brings you to the Immigration Control Office?"
"I've come to handle my exit procedures."
The Crossroad Kingdom didn't just screen entrants.
For every arrival, there was a departure.
Records had to be kept for those leaving as well, so the Immigration Control Office was always bustling with both incoming and outgoing travelers.
The fortunate part was that exit screenings weren't nearly as stringent.
"In that case, could you please state your name and destination?"
The old gentleman smiled as he replied.
"William Kafka. I'm here because I'd like to set off on a journey to the southern continent."
"William Kafka."
At those words, the Olfactory Officer opened a thick ledger labeled Entry Records.
The werewolf's eyes scanned down the list swiftly before stopping midway.
"Found it. Let me see... From the northern Scardi Empire, age 68, entered a week ago... No companions."
He glanced briefly at the old gentleman, then closed the ledger.
"All right. Everything matches. In my judgment, there are no issues with your identity."
"Excellent."
"However, there's one thing that's bothering me."
Kafka's face, which had relaxed into a smile assuming all was cleared, stiffened in an instant.
The Olfactory Officer stared at him and pointed with a large finger at the map hanging nearby.
"...Are you sure you'll be all right traveling alone?"
"Pardon?"
"It's true the southern roads are better maintained than other borders, but there's no guarantee bandits or monsters won't appear."
Following his finger to the map, red circles marked the dangerous zones in the southern continent.
The werewolf spoke in a concerned tone.
"If you'd like, shall I find you some companions? There are a few merchant groups heading south."
"Hahaha. Thank you. That's very kind, but I'll be fine."
Kafka shook his head.
And he slightly parted his coat to reveal.
"I'm a former mercenary, you see."
A well-maintained dagger came into view.
"Protecting myself is something I've done for decades."
As he said, Kafka's body was quite sturdy.
It seemed his claim of being a mercenary wasn't a lie.
"Hm. In that case, no problems at all. Very well."
Only then did the Olfactory Officer relax his expression and raise his stamp.
- Thud.
[Exit Processed]
The short, bold words were stamped onto the document.
"We wish you a safe journey. The Crossroad Kingdom always awaits your return."
"Thank you. Ah, by the way."
"Nex—, yes?"
The Olfactory Officer's mouth halted awkwardly as he was about to call the next person.
"You seem awfully busy. Is something going on?"
Kafka tilted his head slightly and peered past the Olfactory Officer into the office interior.
As he said, the Immigration Control Office was in utter chaos today, more hectic than ever.
Normally, it would just be attendants wandering quietly and examiners mechanically stamping documents with disinterested expressions, counting down to quitting time.
But what he was seeing now was,
"Central Officer! We've prepared statements from the entry denial incident!"
"Oh, really? Who are the witnesses?"
"Two ordinary entrants who were there at the time!"
"Excellent. Over to the evidence storage there."
"Yes! No exceptions at the border!"
Attendants showing unprecedented zeal,
"Who spotted the anomaly in the cargo manifest back then? Was it the Tactile Officer? I need a copy."
"The personnel list was checked by the Olfactory Officer. They said paladin names were mixed in among civilians."
"Hm... That could be seen as deliberate to avoid suspicion. Good, let's include that too."
And examiners tackling their work with even sharper eyes.
And right in the midst of that bustling, vibrant office,
"Bind secured statements with blue ribbons! Entry regulation documents in red! Everything else to me!"
A black-eyed young man was directing it all.
Under his command, all sorts of documents were steadily filing into boxes labeled [Evidence Storage].
Kafka remarked in admiration, as if watching zealous soldiers.
"That's the Minister for you. First time I've seen a government office working this hard."
"Ah, well, you see..."
The Olfactory Officer gave an awkward smile and rolled his eyes.
"The internal audit period is approaching soon, so everyone's a bit fired up. Hahaha."
"I see. An audit. A real bloodbath, that. How long does it last?"
"It'll be hectic for about two or three days."
"Really?"
Kafka leaned forward.
And whispered so only the Olfactory Officer could hear.
"Is it because of the pilgrimage group, by any chance?"
The werewolf's expression hardened.
"..."
"Why don't you tell me honestly? Just between us—when will the pilgrimage group be up for review again?"
The persistent Kafka.
His curious purple eyes sparkled.
A long while later, a very low growl was his only reply.
"...We hope you enjoyed your time in the Crossroad Kingdom."
With that, the Olfactory Officer shouted.
"Next!"
Meaning, get lost.
Kafka had no choice but to rise without gaining anything.
The old gentleman's body passed by the Olfactory Officer and exited the building.
Then headed for the city gate.
Passing the massive stone statues atop the walls, he entered a quiet alley with few people.
"...Hm."
Kafka's gaze scanned the surroundings.
The secluded street was filled with silence.
"This should do nicely."
Just beyond here lay the gate, but he paused to catch his breath.
And then,
- Grind!
A gruesome sound of bones twisting echoed through the alley.
"Guh... Hngh...!"
- Crack, crunch.
At the same time, his joints twisted in unnatural directions, his face and frame distorting.
As if afflicted by a horrific curse, Kafka writhed without even screaming.
About five seconds later, what emerged was,
"Hoo, old folks' bodies are so stiff and creaky—really not my thing."
Shahal, sub-master of the Black Hand.
She muttered as she gave her finger joints one last pop to align them properly.
"Next time, something younger."
Changeling.
One of the world's rarest races, Changelings weren't well-known.
Their ability to transform into others made the race itself hard to identify.
In ancient times, this led to them being seen as monsters and hunted—a tragic history.
Even now, revealing themselves invited unknown perils, so they hid desperately—an unlucky race in many ways.
Thus, people treated them as mere legend.
Known only as 'the monster that turns into a person by eating three strands of their hair.'
And Shahal was one such Changeling, fully utilizing her abilities to become the Black Hand's sub-master.
"And men's bodies... Too big, too many issues all around."
She swept back her pale purple hair and spat something from her mouth.
- Splat.
Three white strands of hair hit the ground with a sickening sound.
They were from an old man.
A retired mercenary she'd dealt with on her last mission.
The name William Kafka was an alias—a fake name that never existed.
All she'd taken from the already-dead man was his body and clothes.
And now that exit procedures were done, there was nothing more to squeeze from him.
"He said two or three days for sure... So if I finish it before then, we're good."
She tossed off her clothes haphazardly.
The neat jacket and pants, even the shoes underneath.
Now in her undergarments, all traces of the nameless retired mercenary vanished forever.
Shahal grabbed a tattered skirt and worn blouse from a laundry line in the alley corner.
"Actually, perfect timing. When they're this busy, they won't suspect a thing."
She dressed in them and pulled a small vial from her bosom.
Inside were three more strands from another victim.
Dusty brown hair without a hint of luster.
Without hesitation, she poured them into her mouth.
- Grind! Crunch!
Immediately, her whole body began twisting again.
"Ahaak...! Ungh...!!"
And about five seconds later,
"Hoo."
In her place stood not an alluring purple-haired woman, but a beggar girl who looked like she hadn't eaten in days.
"Time to get started."
She hid the dagger from the ground in her bosom and muttered.
Staggering toward the gate outside.
With a cracked voice and pained expression, she cried out.
"Pilgrimage... group...! Please, show me mercy...!"
She was clearly just a beggar pleading for alms from the pilgrimage group.
While concealing a dagger and a potion from her employer.
- Crash!
The sound of shattering glass tore through the silence.
The hurled water bottle exploded, spilling its contents across the floor.
The face of the woman reflected in the slowly spreading puddle was filled only with terror, fear, and confusion.
"Haa... Haa..."
Her panting breaths held no conviction, and her trembling eyes found no answers.
And the moment the puddle touched her cold, numb feet,
"Why!!!!"
Saintess Erzena Selaph's scream echoed through the tent.