When the Ugly Girl Becomes a Beauty (2)

It was the moment I truly felt the saying that plastic surgery is a life-or-death operation. Sure, no normal doctor would rip a person's body apart like that without anesthesia, but still. I passed out from the excruciating pain, and when I came to, the floor was drenched in fluids that had once been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠inside my body—I nearly hurled.

"What the hell are these smooth legs?"

Ten years of sword training plus muscle workouts. My entire body, once covered in lumpy, bulging muscles, had transformed into sleek, aerodynamic lines. Doesn't this mean I'm ridiculously weaker now? Suspicious, I kicked off the floor and leaped—without using a drop of mana, my head nearly smashed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the ceiling.

"Ack!"

The ceiling was about five meters high. So my jumping power had shot up that much? Still dubious, I punched the wall. The mud wall cracked with a crack, fissures spiderwebbing out.

"At ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠least it's not a downgrade."

The ring had slipped onto my left middle finger all on its own. It hadn't even been equipped, yet it picked me as its successor and remodeled my body—what a curse item.

"Where's my armor?"

It wasn't full plate, but the steel parts of my armor—shin guards, gauntlets, chest plate—were solid. And the leather gear wasn't negligible either. Even bare skin and cloth offered decent protection by comparison. But the outfit I was wearing now... could you even call this clothes?

A harness crisscrossed my body for hanging tools, but the bits covering vital areas were narrower than standard underwear. Together, they formed something indecent I couldn't quite describe. Straight out of an RPG—thief class gear.

"Where's the 'elegance'? This is straight-up trashy!"

Rogue Master's Legacy, huh? That Rogue Master bastard was clearly a massive pervert.

The first quest dropped out of nowhere like that. Time to revise my assessment—that Rogue Master was a completely deranged psycho.

"I just wanted to become a Swordmaster!"

Of course, the ring wouldn't come off. Definitely a curse item.

Lately, the hottest figure in the Snowfall Adventurer's Guild was none other than Gil-dong Hong. A name with an exotic, foreign accent; a powerhouse who climbed from Bronze to Gold tier in just two months of registration. A lone wolf who never partied up, always solo. Folks said her body was decent enough to check out, but her face was a total libido-killer—no drunken mistakes possible. Human birth control.

"I'm telling you, I'm Gil-dong herself!"

"If you're gonna lie, shouldn't you put in some effort to sell it, miss?"

A woman had shown up at the Snowfall Adventurer's Guild, boldly impersonating that Gil-dong.

"So, I got a cursed item from some ruins, and it changed my appearance like this. See? Adventurer registration card."

The woman claiming to be Gil-dong shoved Gil-dong's registration card at the receptionist. The guild hall went deathly cold in an instant. A dozen or so adventurers in the tavern area fixed her with murderous glares. They exchanged looks, hands drifting to weapons, bracing for a fight. The drunk ones shook off their buzz.

"If you killed one of our guildmates, stole her card to raid her savings, you must've come prepared to die, right?"

A veteran adventurer with an eyepatch over one eye leveled his sword. The others assumed attack stances, ready to pounce.

"Didn't know you guys felt this much camaraderie for a solo player who'd never partied once."

"We can't let anyone treat adventurers like criminals to mess with. That's how our guild survives."

The biggest reason guilds banded together: individuals were weak, but united, they were strong. So for a guild to function, crimes against members could never be tolerated or overlooked.

"Marcus, you confess to Bella yet? Dragging it out makes you look pathetic, big guy."

Gil-dong rattled off secret chats she'd had with guildmates. She figured spilling internal guild dirt would convince them it was just her with a new face—the same woman who'd always hung out at the tavern.

"How much did you torture Gil-dong to get that info!?"

"Unforgivable! Heinous murderer!"

"Hang her head in the square as a warning—mess with the guild and you're fucked!"

Backfire city.

"Jeez, people change their face a bit and suddenly no one recognizes them?"

"Your voice, build, gait—it's all a totally different person."

"Yeah, well, my vocal cords, leg length, center of gravity—all remodeled."

Gil-dong sighed.

"Don't even think about billing me for building repairs. I did my best to avoid a fight."

She drew her sword. An arrow whistled from one adventurer. Gil-dong just tilted her body slightly, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠letting it sail over her shoulder. Without certainty, she'd have dodged flashy; with it, minimal tilt sufficed. Peak efficiency evasion.

"Die, you avenger of my comrade Gil-dong Hong!"

The one-eyed swordsman lunged. Missing one eye meant poor depth perception—but he compensated with echoing yells for spatial awareness. Veteran disabled swordsman's style, honed over years.

"Guhk!"

One clash, total defeat. Gil-dong parried his blade, then instead of power-struggling, yanked him in and elbow-smashed his jaw. A feat for someone treating the sword as a body extension. Ten years under a proper master, plus a year of nonstop real combat—sharpened to a swordmaster's edge.

"Come to think of it, we couldn't even beat the original Gil-dong. How the hell do we take down her killer?"

"Hah!"

The guild's top fighter, Marcus, knocked out in one exchange—the rest snapped to reality.

"Abandon the guild!"

"Live to fight another day!"

They smashed windows instead of using the perfectly good door, fleeing. Yeah, adventurer guild bonds were for survival—ditch 'em if you're gonna die.

"See you all alive next time!"

"May the goddess bless you!"

In seconds, only the KO'd Marcus, Gil-dong, and the receptionist remained.

"Now that's the Snowfall Adventurer's Guild spirit."

Guilds were like companies, but looser fate-sharing groups. Die for your company? Crazy. Same for guild.

"Just a superficial change, and proving my identity's this hard?"

No dental records or DNA tests in this world. Gil-dong slumped at an empty tavern table in the deserted hall, sighing.

The mess got sorted after the guild master returned. Far more seasoned than Marcus, he inspected her swordplay and vouched for her as the original warrior woman. The returning adventurers crowded around, gawking at her new look and tossing comments.

"She turned into a total babe!"

"How many years younger did you get?"

Gil-dong hadn't de-aged; she'd always been young. Her old face just looked unbelievably middle-aged for her teens.

"Feel how soft that hair is."

"Orc subspecies turned fairy."

Male guildmates blushed and fidgeted; the few females poked and stroked her hair, body, everything.

"Spill—what relic did you snag!?"

"I'm hitting that dungeon right now!"

Gil-dong didn't explain exactly what happened or what she got. Admit to going rogue? She'd top suspect lists for every theft.

The book didn't mention any Rogue Master. Some side story I missed?

The romance fantasy she'd read featured the Swordmaster Emperor, Saintess, Magic Tower Lord. No thief.

Maybe you can't grasp the whole world from one book.

But I already decided who and what to steal, using the book's knowledge.

Even so, for her first Rogue Master quest, Gil-dong had her target: the villain in Blackfall, later executed by the Northern Grand Duke. Steal his prized possession, hasten his downfall—life-changing theft.

Ruining an innocent's life would give me nightmares.

Her eyes closed, lost in thought, she looked like a work of art.