Chapter 113
Translator: uly
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: Do as Chris Says, and It'll Work Out for Now. (2)
The overseer position managing the spies dispatched to Harp Royal Palace.
That was the mission assigned to Nigel.
Situations that shifted dozens of times a day.
Among them was information on someone named Chris.
Rumors he'd dismissed as utter nonsense at first glance.
Nigel gazed at Chris, who was groaning right in front of him.
"Aigoo... My fate."
"...."
"I'm just a plain old shaman, so why do I keep getting tangled up in messes like this..."
In Nigel's judgment, that statement was dead wrong.
Because he'd never heard the word "shaman" in his entire life.
Someone who divines the future and chats with spirits, right?
How the hell was that anywhere near ordinary?
"War ain't some kid's name to toss around... Tch, let's get on with it."
In that instant, Nigel locked eyes with him and froze solid.
The man's whole vibe had flipped in a heartbeat.
A quiet, bottomless gaze.
Even he—who'd probed countless folks while sifting intel—couldn't read a damn thing.
Nigel flinched.
He glanced at Closel and Parmon, but both stayed cool as ice.
No one had breathed a word about that.
If anything, that made it all the weirder.
Spy intel.
Especially for a guy like Nigel—top-shelf stuff got locked down tight.
Dead accurate again.
Every time Chris's eyes rolled back, words tumbled out.
Astoundingly, every one hit the mark.
The spot Chris's finger jabbed.
A wound from some assassination gone sideways ages ago.
"I'll whip up a talisman for ya—keep it close."
The instant the rattle chimed, Nigel yanked out his coin pouch.
Because he'd heard about this "offering fee" thing.
And what kinda hell breaks loose if you stiff 'em.
As time dragged on, Nigel couldn't mask his shock anymore.
Nigel flinched.
Who the hell was he even talking to?
Chris's hands pawing all over the place.
And then.
His hidden secret drawer slid open, spilling documents.
'How in the world did he know about that?'
A drawer only a handful of the dispatched crew even knew about.
Tough to spot with your eyes, tougher still to crack open.
Hidden in the most convoluted damn way.
Suddenly, Chris ripped one of those docs to shreds.
"....!"
"This here's bad intel."
A map with a path to sneak into Harp Royal Palace.
"Follow this, and you'd all be goners."
Chris's weird-ass antics kept rolling after that.
"This too."
"Dunno what this is, but the guy with two moles on his neck says rip it up too."
Nigel's eyes bugged out again.
The underling with moles on his neck.
Dead man already.
🔔 Ting-a-ling— 🔔
Ting-a-ling—
Chris shook the rattle as he hauled over a stack of papers and plunked down on the floor.
"Whatcha waiting for? Sit your ass down there."
Casual as hell, just blurting it out.
But Nigel couldn't say no.
Was this what they called presence?
Not like the raw power from heavy hitters.
A gaze and vibe that crushed you without trying.
"Looks like you can skip everything else you hauled in. Total wild-goose chase otherwise."
Nigel sat facing him, and the rattle really got going.
Papers Chris hadn't even pulled from the envelopes yet.
Still, the deets spilled from his mouth like water.
"...."
Knowing the upstairs he'd never scoped? Old news by now.
Nigel shot Closel a look.
Closel had just issued orders on that.
Scope out the sea.
"Do what that friend says."
"Got it."
🔔 Ting-a-ling— 🔔
Ting-a-ling—
"That's right."
Chris stared down at the envelope, lost in thought.
Then dropped a curveball.
"Pardon?"
Nigel's frame shook again.
Hit him where it hurt—the doc contents.
Info Count Nordin had whispered for on the sly.
Straight-up about sea-crossing merchant caravans.
'How's he linkin' these?'
No logic could square it.
He figured it was future-sight prophecy.
But detailed enough to snag this?
Chris called him out quick.
"....!"
Nigel twitched.
"Not quite, but..."
A flood of applications hit him.
Deadly power, per Nigel's read.
Weaponized right, empire conquers the continent.
Overkill dominance.
Pre-knowing strategies and wild cards? Game over.
Hell, didn't the north pull somethin' similar?
Sharp eyes stabbed him the second he mused that.
"...."
Nigel twitched.
Felt like his guts were gettin' filleted.
Face stayed stone, for sure.
Emotions off? Spy 101.
But Chris saw straight through, knew it all.
Goosebumps crawled Nigel's skin.
Those eyes—how not to fold?
Primal terror bubbled up.
Couldn't look away.
In a blink, cold sweat trickled down Nigel's mug.
People overlapping? Bullshit, right?
But he'd seen the report.
[Walking through undead, sometimes looked like a granny.]
Lips clamped tight, stubborn.
Eyes slitted narrow.
The young dude's face he'd clocked seconds ago now ghosted over with granny vibes.
Even the rattle shake screamed old-school savvy.
Chris's tone flipped out of nowhere.
"....!"
Chris's head swiveled sideways.
Toward Closel.
Head swung back.
"Horseback comin' up. Ditch it all then. Sword or statue—six of one."
⟨ Spirit Voice ⟩
Chris wheeled back to Nigel, face blank.
Quiet, probing eyes.
Nigel knew gut-deep.
The words he had to spit now.
"S-Sorry..."
A nod.
One word, and the air eased up.
No reason to cringe, yet his shoulders hunched anyway.
Like a hex hit him.
Nigel bobbed his snow-white head like mad.
Couldn't think past that.
"Y-Yeah, got it."
Chris's hand swept the map.
Then mumbled, all puzzled.
"...?"
Capital to empire border.
Even Chris scratched his noggin at the bonkers call.
"Make it happen somehow."
"...."
"Offering fee... lemme circle back in a week or so."
"Explain yourself! My flower garden's toast?!"
Old man Closel was stompin' a hole in the floor.
"Spirits laid it out plain."
"Didn't you say fates ain't fixed?!"
True enough, in its way... But this? Outta my hands.
"Divine it how you will—that bit sticks."
Old timer flopped into his chair like a sack. Poster boy for lost cause.
"Aah, my dear... our flowers...!"
Sucks, sure. I'll hunt a fix, but odds say it happens. Spirits dropped by personal-like and spelled it out. Parmon gramps, cool as ever. Deep in the weeds, maybe.
"King next, right?"
"Yep."
Time to face Count Nordin. Gotta eyeball him to vibe it out. But.
"King really holed up here?"
Scanned the capital top to bottom—no royal scent. Straight-up ownerless shed.
"Rats everywhere..." ```