The Pursuers
"Still no word from Pladeus?"
"Seems that way. It's been five days since the last regular report."
"Hmm... Was attempting a contract with Manbianja, Dantalian a mistake?"
"Could be. I've heard the Manbianja is awfully capricious."
Sunlight streamed through the windows into the vast library. Shelves lined with all manner of rare magic tomes—this was the grand archive housed in one of the five towering mage towers at the heart of the grand hall in Magus Civitas, the continent's sole city of wizards.
An extraordinary sight unfolded: endless rows of bookshelves, towering stacks of volumes, and familiars of every shape darting through the air, carrying books in their grasp. Tomes floated lazily, pages flipping open as magic pens scribbled notes on their own in a mystical display.
On the third floor of the annex in that grand archive, five elderly mages gathered around a black crystal orb, their faces grave.
"He paid the price for chasing forbidden knowledge... Fool."
"But didn't Pladeus devote his long years to us mages? Thanks to his scholarly zeal in unearthing lost ancient spells and lore, we've recovered so much."
"You call that devotion? Gunter, even if that's true, can we just overlook him abandoning his humanity to become a lich?! And that dangerous demon-summoning ritual on top of it?! You know how those Holy Kingdom fanatics freak out over heretics and undead!"
"Enough, Richard. I know you have your grievances, but the tower council already decided to just keep watch on Pladeus, didn't it? The vote with the other elders is final. No amount of complaining from you will change it! If you're that upset, go convince the others!"
"Hmph!"
"The regular communications through the orb at this hour don't seem like they're coming anymore. Gunter, what about dispatching an investigation team?"
"Hmm... If he offended the Manbianja, we might not even find a corpse."
"Even so, we can't just leave all those rare tomes he's deciphered and collected there, can we? If there's no body, at least salvage his relics. I'll lead the team myself."
"Do it. Be careful, Ostis. If the Manbianja is there... don't look back. Just run."
"Will do."
The lich who had attempted to summon Manbianja, Dantalian—Pladeus. Concerned over his severed regular contact, his fellow senior mages in the wizards' city decided to send an investigation team to trace him.
To the place where the monsters now dwelled.
The same time. In the mansion of the Count of Colorado...
Thud!Thud!
"Goddamn it! My main revenue stream!! I'm ruined now!!— Aaaarrrghhh!!~~"
"M-My lord Count! Please calm down!"
"Butler! You think I can calm down right now?! What the hell am I supposed to tell His Majesty the King?!"
The County of Colorado held one of the kingdom's top ten trade ports as its territory. Bootlegging wasn't just the count's personal income source. It included profits from maritime brokerage trade, and the liquor was among the major luxuries offered monthly to the crown—forming the basis for the royal family granting the Colorado house key trade rights and various privileges for their merchant caravans.
Using grapes from royal vineyards in direct crown territories to secretly brew wine for the Holy Kingdom, and so on. Not just the Colorados—the crown formed deals with other nobles too, reaping massive economic gains and loyalty in return, while the nobles secured commercial interests in a symbiotic setup.
But it all came crashing down when the Holy Kingdom's inspection team caught wind of it.
To seal the mouths of the inquisitors and inspectors, the Count of Colorado had to vomit up a fortune. He pinned the bootlegging crimes on Dekilaz, the subcontractors handling it, cutting off the tail to save himself. His life and house survived, but at the cost of abandoning the bootlegging business entirely.
Thud!
"Those damn Dekilaz bastards! They said they'd hidden it tight! And they found it in the sewer treatment plant?!"
...
"My lord, as ordered, we've dealt with all the Dekilaz members. But during the cleanup, we heard something odd from Garfield."
"Something odd?"
"Yes. About the one who leaked the bootlegging info to the temple this time."
"Who the hell is it?! Spill the details!"
"It was kinda rambling, hard to believe, but it was about some beggar wearing mage robes."
"A beggar in mage robes?"
"Yes. Apparently, a mage had bought some beggars from Dekilaz a few days back. But the leaker who burned the slave warehouse and snitched on the bootlegging was that beggar. Seems like the beggar killed the mage, escaped, and got revenge..."
"So... a beggar kills a mage, steals his robe, parades around in it, burns the slave warehouse, and rats out the bootlegging? Are you an idiot?! You think a mage dies to some lowly beggar?!"
"That's true, but the problem is they couldn't find the bodies of the guy or the slaves. Maybe they all fled somewhere..."
Thud!
"Find him... Drag that bastard here right now! I'll kill him with my own hands!— Making me suffer this humiliation over some filthy beggar?! Mobilize every soldier in the territory! Catch him!— Rip off his limbs if you have to, just keep him alive! Got it?!"
"Yes, my lord!"
The Count of Colorado's vengeful roar echoed through the mansion office, seething with hatred over his lost privileges. The butler hastily left to summon the vassals.
The knights and soldiers receiving the count's orders split into squads and began the search.
Their target: the beggar named Libert.
He had to pay dearly for crossing the House of Colorado.
.........
"Time for us to head out too?"
"Um... Actor, do we really have to leave?"
"We've seen all there's to see here. Any reason to stick around? Lingering won't do us good. We need to move to a new safe spot."
Actor—that was my name.
I'd lived as a beggar with a mother whose name I couldn't even remember, never called by any name. Before my past-life memories surfaced, I had no interest in names and was just "the kid." But now reborn with those memories restored, I named myself.
It meant "actor" in English.
From wearing Libert's face skin and rampaging in the slave warehouse, I'd confirmed a few facts.
[First. The moment I wear a target's face skin, I become the target itself—like an actor stepping onto the stage.]
As the actor taking the role, regardless of the target's backstory, memories, habits, physical abilities—even their personality! I transform completely into them.
[Second. For those with strong egos—intense personalities! Wearing their face skin risks my own 'self' dissolving as a side effect, turning me fully into the target.]
A doppelganger, maybe. A serious drawback: while wearing it, I have to constantly reaffirm my own identity to hold onto my sanity, or I'll end up living as the original owner of that skin forever.
[Third. If the body transformed via the flipped face skin takes damage, it transfers to the skin itself.]
When I set the slave warehouse ablaze, I felt no pain, but looking closely, there were small burns across my body from the fire and cuts from Dekilaz thugs' swords. When I removed Libert's skin, his cheek and forehead were pocked with burn scars and blade marks—likely the skin absorbing the damage instead of my real body.
'High risk, high return, huh? If I snag a knight's face with superior physical prowess or a mage's who can cast spells... I'd wield their sword or magic like them. But screw up, and their personality devours mine... What a pain.'
Anyway, the 24 slaves trapped there, plus me and the 8 kids—32 in total now that we were monsters.
We'd escaped the lich's lair and decided to leave Colorado.
The initial return scroll worked fine; no slaves died, thankfully. Sure, there was a minor freakout when we first revealed our monstrous forms—screams and all—but after a day of talking it out, we cleared the air and packed to escape.
Among the 24 slaves, 9 were a family ruined by debt, turned into slaves after harassing moneylenders. Two families: one of four, one of five. They'd run a shop, scraping by, but business tanked. They even borrowed from loan sharks to keep the family trade alive, but failed and couldn't pay up.
The other 15 were mostly kidnap victims or those raided by bandits and sold off.
A nomadic people like Europe's gypsies, wandering with small performances to survive day-to-day. Called the Romaani. There were more originally, but bad luck struck while crossing mountains to perform in this port city—they got ambushed by bandits, over half killed, the rest enslaved.
Plus us monsters: 32 souls total!
Rina had blown the money I gave her at the market on heaps of bread and food, nearly bankrupting us—but she scored a wagon for our luggage too. We loaded it with gear and rations from the lich's place and hit the road.
Rina would pull the luggage wagon—no horse needed. Testing the kids' monstrous traits these past days, her superhuman strength blew my mind. She uprooted the thickest chestnut tree in the woods without breaking a sweat! Oh, and Rina's only 10.
Who knows how much stronger she'll get in puberty.
Next, the girl with a human upper body and spider lower half—an arakne. Estelle, also 10 like Rina. She could spin thread from her spider parts like a real spider, tough enough that Libert's sharp knife couldn't slice it easily. Her blackened nails oozed venom too—perfect for poisoning threads or webs, if she masters it. Still adjusting to her new body, so venom control's iffy.
Then the kid with bandaged eyes: born blind, abandoned, no name—so I gave her Mary. Two years older than me at 8. The one thing I owe that lich bastard for? Giving her eyes that can see, monstrous as they are.
Problem: basilisk eyes. Like myths, legends, or game Medusas—petrifying gaze. That's what he implanted. Side effect: reptilian scales around her eyes, so she keeps them bandaged to avoid harming the others.