The Perfect Disguise
It had already been a full year since I exacted revenge on the Wickers for my family.
After barely escaping the Crollin Kingdom, I wanted to cross straight into the Bernheim Empire... but there was no identification that would let me slip safely over the border while shaking off any pursuers who might be right behind me.
Documents recorded physical appearance and eye color, so some preparation was essential.
The artifact necklace my father had left me carried one fatal limitation.
An artifact could not be omnipotent, so it could not be helped.
It could easily alter the length and color of my hair, the hue of my eyes, and the shape of my features, but changing height, bone structure, or overall build had clear limits.
And finally, every night I had to release the disguise for several hours to let the mana recharge.
It could function for a few days without charging, yet it was wiser to keep it as close to full capacity as possible.
After turning over every possible way to throw the Wickers off my trail, one elegant idea finally came to me.
I would change my gender as well.
Short hair, slightly altered eyes, nose, mouth, and facial contours, a chest flattened to male proportions.
Yet male disguise clearly consumed a great deal of mana; I could never quite perfect the voice.
Since I could not increase my height either, the result was less a young man and more a youth in late adolescence.
After that period of careful preparation, I created the identity I now used: Runelk Eins.
Afterward I crossed into the Bernheim Empire and secured a position without incident in the Knox Ducal House’s action squad.
Looking back now, it had been a flawless choice.
A tree is best hidden in the forest, a book upon the shelves of a library.
No one would ever imagine that Helena of the Wickers—whose fate had tangled so many ways with the Knox—would be working openly in their own house.
And in male disguise, at that.
Let them search all they like.
I smiled with quiet satisfaction, picturing Edward, that vile and tenacious bastard, positively poisoned with rage by now.
“Next, please.”
I waved the next waiting wagon forward.
The position had seemed simple enough: a large organization with many low-ranking members, easy to join. Yet it proved ideal.
Everyone who visited the Knox estate had to pass through the main gate, making it the perfect vantage from which to watch for anyone trying to follow my trail and slip inside.
Because of my own circumstances I performed the inspections with extra rigor, and before long the action squad had come to regard me as someone with sharp eyes and excellent instincts.
“Ugh, it’s hot.”
Still, this was the life I had chosen.
I wiped away sweat, lifted the wagon’s cover, and spoke.
“Mr. Baker of the Cheshire Trading Company.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“The order sheet lists thirty barrels of Kenjia Mountain wine.”
“Th-that is correct, however…”
“Look there. At a glance, that’s clearly thirty-three.”
“What? No, it isn’t!”
“Mr. Baker, if you insist on playing games, I’ll open every last one myself. Shall I?”
When I stared at him with a skeptical tilt of my head, the Cheshire employee averted his eyes and obediently turned the wagon around.
The ducal estate itself was the size of a small town, so black-market dealings inevitably cropped up.
But the Knox family strictly regulated every item that entered their grounds.
After all, who could say whether those unlisted barrels contained drugs, or people, or something worse?
“Next…”
I was about to call the following visitor when a shout rang out.
“His Grace the Duke returns!”
The action-squad members who had been lounging at the guard post all sprang up at once and hurried to move every carriage lined before the gate aside.
Thunderous hoofbeats rolled closer.
A deep-green carriage emblazoned with the Knox crest swept through, followed by several riders whose cloaks whipped wildly behind them. They passed the gate in a blur.
The speed was so great that a gust of wind rushed in their wake.
“Whew. Terrifying as always.”
Senior Jake had appeared beside me at some point and let out a low whistle.
“Last year I had an errand that took me to the main building.”
The main building was the castle at the heart of the private estate, where the core departments and the Duke’s office resided.
“I happened to see the captain of the personal guard in the corridor for the first time.”
“You mean Kane Diggory?”
“Yeah. I made a beeline for the bathroom right after. Thought I might’ve pissed myself.”
Jake shuddered theatrically, as though the memory alone still frightened him.
“They say he’s the greatest talent in Knox, yet even the guard captain is like that. If I ever came face-to-face with His Grace, I might drop dead of a heart attack on the spot.”
I usually ignored most of Jake’s chatter, but this time I nodded in silent agreement.
Killian Knox.
His full name was Killian Cresteer Knox.
He was the very reason I had hesitated to hide myself within the Knox organization.
The sole Duke of the vast Bernheim Empire and, at the same time, the leader of the Knox syndicate.
A man who gripped staggering power in both hands, yet power alone was not what made him terrifying.
Killian Knox was ruthless.
At eighteen he had killed his stepmother and half-brother.
Killian Knox was cruel.
After disposing of them, he had rooted out every faction inside Knox that had followed the pair and personally tortured each one until they confessed their sins.
Rumors persisted that for a hundred days the underground prison of the Knox mansion had never fallen silent; the screams never stopped.
And damn it all, Killian Knox was frighteningly competent.
In the eight years since inheriting the ducal title and the seat of leadership, he had multiplied the organization’s size several times over.
He had off-loaded every illegal venture that could become a weakness onto loyal outside families—on paper, they had no connection to Knox—and then reached with insane ambition into massive legitimate enterprises.
Railways, civil engineering, distribution, mercenary contracts, trade through the Knox merchant guild, even refined opera houses and art galleries.
Every one of those ventures had become a golden goose in his hands.
Not a single failure.
The colossal capital he secured became absolute power in turn.
Most nobles of the empire owed debts to the Knox family, and even the Emperor himself spent his days nervously trying to curry favor, watching Killian’s every move.
Finally, Killian Knox possessed an almost supernatural instinct.
A sixth sense that transcended ordinary human perception, or perhaps something more.
That was why I had wavered before taking shelter inside his house.
That instinct was a keen blue blade that severed the necks of spies and traitors without mercy.
In truth, this was the most famous thing about him—how eerily accurate his judgment was.
Back when I still belonged to the Wickers, our attempts to plant agents in Knox had cost us many carefully trained operatives.
Well, we did succeed in the end.
Because of that reputation, rumors even circulated that Killian Knox possessed some mystical ability to peer into people’s minds.
And what lent those rumors a strange weight was the golden Dragon Eye said to have been handed down through the Knox bloodline for generations.
Not ordinary round pupils, but slit like those of the dragons in ancient tales.
People who had actually faced Killian Knox swore that meeting those eyes left them paralyzed, as if enchanted.
Of course such stories could not be literal.
Yet there was no denying that the man possessed an abnormally sharpened instinct—something that could only be described as intuition or gut feeling.
The person I was now was neither a spy from another organization nor someone planning to betray Knox.
Even so, given my murky circumstances, the wisest course was to live without ever drawing that man’s notice.
“Well, our paths will never cross anyway.”
I belonged to Knox, yet I was nothing more than a low-ranking gatekeeper patrolling the outer perimeter.
There was simply no chance that someone at the very bottom of the action squad would ever stand before Killian Knox.
“Rookie, shift change.”
The night crew had arrived without me noticing and took the visitor log from my hands.
I headed straight for the action squad’s barracks on the outer edge of the estate.
“Aigoo, I’m exhausted.”
Whatever else one might say about Knox, I appreciated that even low-ranking members received private rooms with their own bathrooms.
Forcing my tired body to move, I washed up roughly and prepared for bed.
It was still early, but I intended to sleep straight through until morning.
Click.
I locked the door firmly and drew the curtains so no one could see inside.
Then, standing before the mirror, I deactivated the artifact.
Shaaaa—
A sensation like a soft breeze wrapping my entire body washed over me, and my form slowly returned to its true shape.
The short, tousled ash-blonde hair lengthened like flowing water until it reached my waist, then deepened into jet black.
At the same time my facial bones softened and my height increased by roughly two finger-widths.
Yet the most dramatic change was in my eyes.
Runelk’s sky-blue irises, clouded like an overcast day, gradually flushed the color of sunset before finally settling into the deep crimson of fresh blood.
This was the face of Helena Morton, known only to me in all the world.
No problems.
After confirming the necklace functioned without flaw, I dove into bed and fell asleep.
The terrible insomnia that had tormented me throughout my days with the Wickers had vanished long ago.
How long had I slept?
My eyes flew open.
I seized the dagger I kept beneath my pillow.
Creak… creak.
Suspicious footsteps were drawing steadily toward my door.