The morning rays of sunlight started seeping through the gaps in the windows, signaling Reivan to open his eyes.

Greeting him was a slightly unfamiliar ceiling and a mild annoyance at himself for waking up earlier than he should. He was incredibly strict with himself so he always got up at the same time every day, so he naturally had some trouble trying to copy the irregular sleeping schedule of someone less disciplined.

'Well, it's too late now. I should have ordered Mr. Salwyn to maintain a strict sleep cycle, but I suppose that would have greatly troubled him since he already had enough trouble studying as it is.'

Anyone secretly observing him would have surely noticed that he was awake, so he tried his best to act groggy as he clambered out of bed. Then he remembered how the reports usually depicted Clover Salwyn roused from slumber. So Reivan took a page from the sorcerer's book and rolled to the floor, filling the room with the resounding thud of man on wood. With a long groan and squinted eyes, he pushed against the ground into a sitting position.

“Glasses….” He muttered with an unnaturally deep voice that most people had when they just woke up.

Reivan’s hands blindly felt around near the bedside cabinet for some spectacles, finding them after a bit of time and jamming them roughly into his face.

That was when his gaze fell on the long mirror in the hotel room.

'I already tested it out before, but I'm glad it doesn't wear off when I sleep.'

Reivan resisted the urge to smile and combed back his hair — which had turned from silver to blonde. His handsome Aizenian features were also gone, replaced by the face of a man from the republic of Arkhan. And his eyes, which used to be a golden yellow, were now a dark emerald green color.

Staring at him from beyond the mirror was Clover Salwyn.

Or rather, the one reflected on the mirror’s surface was someone who looked like Clover Salwyn. Even someone with acute supernatural senses would agree.

And it was all thanks to the sub-skill that Reivan unlocked by being a big stinking liar in front of the entire kingdom — [Reality Falsification].

 

 

One line.

Excluding the part stating its limitations, the skill’s description only had one line.

Reivan was tired out of his mind when he first unlocked it, so exploring the ability's capabilities was the least of his worries. But the next morning, when he finally had the mental capacity to spare a look at his newest boon, his eyes almost burst out of their sockets.

How could he not be surprised?

If the description was to be trusted, Reivan would be a god amongst men. Even though there seemed to be a limit, any lie would come true. This meant he could just lie about how he could kill someone just by wanting to or how a certain part of his body was larger than it actually was.

He wasn’t dumb enough to use such grand statements to test out his ability though.

And that’s why, years ago when he first got it, he tested it out on the nearest insignificant object he could get his hands on.

A pebble.

it was the most ordinary pebble he had ever seen, with tiny little pores that didn't form any particular pattern he could notice.

Reivan had concentrated on activating his ability while saying that the pebble was blue — which, obviously, it wasn’t. He grasped it in his hand so strongly he almost crushed it, waiting for something amazing to happen.

But nothing did.

His expectations were dashed when a full minute passed with no results; the pebble remained just as it always was, with a rocky gray color.

A truly depressing outcome.

Not giving up, Reivan continued to try his ability out in all sorts of ways, even consulting a few other gift-holders among the knighthood. There were also a number of historians in charge of studying the vast array of special abilities that knights of the past wielded. Reivan had gotten quite a few ideas from them too.

But in the end, nothing worked.

That is, until one moonlit night, when he was endlessly frustrated with the lack of progress, a flash of insight suddenly struck.

Reivan lied that he knew how the ability worked.

And lo and behold, it activated.

Reivan’s brain was assaulted by a rush of knowledge about his skill, and apparently, as a penalty, he would lose his swordsmanship expertise until he reverted his ability's effects.

‘That was a freaky experience.’

After dealing with the sudden loss of something integral to his identity and combat style, Reivan wrote his newfound knowledge down and then canceled his ability, returning reality to how it should be — him having advanced swordsmanship knowledge while knowing little about [Reality Falsification].

But now, he had the knowledge about [Reality Falsification] on paper. He was limited by what his vocabulary could put into writing, but it did, in a way, work out very well.

Basically, he cheated.

It was very fortunate that an anti-cheat system or authorities to pursue his exploitation of the system didn’t exist, so he carried on and perused his findings, discovering the intricacies of his ability.

First off, [Reality Falsification] did just what its description said — it empowered a lie to the point that reality itself was deceived.

Something the skill’s description failed to mention was how the ability’s power was very reliant on his power. And as a mortal, albeit one that was approaching ascension, he didn’t seem to have that much of it as far as the ability was concerned.

That was why in his current state, the only aspect of reality he could bend to his will was himself — and even that was limited in yet-unknown ways.

Second, some falsifications had an accompanying penalty, and most of the time, the penalty was much heavier than what he gained. Luckily, there seemed to be no penalties if the falsified reality itself made Reivan weaker.

Third and finally, false realities could be reversed any time he wanted — which was convenient seeing as he could only maintain one of them at a time and their penalties were a massive pain in the nuts.

With all of that, Reivan now had a very good idea of what his newest ability did.

The problem was that even after quite a few tests, he couldn’t find a good enough application for it with its limitations and at his current state.

Reivan couldn’t make himself an Ascendant or a Transcendent with his ability, and though he could actually boost his stats, he was usually penalized with the removal of one or two elemental affinities. Turning that around, he could actually give himself elemental affinities but would be penalized with a massive reduction in physical capabilities.

For a while, Reivan judged [Reality Falsification] as a useless ability that might become more useful once he grew stronger.

As he agonized over how to utilize his newest skill, inspiration struck him like a bolt of lightning — or rather, Gwendolyn pointed it out like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

When he boosted his stats, there was a physical change in his body — meaning [Reality Falsification] could actually change his appearance.

Reivan started by changing his hair color, moving on to his eyes before trying to change the shape of his nose. He even tried playing around with certain parts of his body, like his fingers and his...

In any case, the penalties were minuscule reductions in physical prowess. But they were so negligible that Reivan actually saw how useful [Reality Falsification] was in terms of concealing his identity.

And then, as a natural progression of his experiments, he moved on to becoming other people.

Sadly it didn’t work too well when he tried to copy Valter. The best result was how he looked like Valter and according to the status screen, he was just as old as Valter. However, Reivan couldn't copy any of Valter's extra skills nor could he become an Ascendant — although, Reivan wasn't holding out much hope for that particular part.

Copying one of the palace manservants went perfectly fine, down to every last detail on the status screen though — as long as he didn't look at the Special Ability and Extra Skill section which remained unchanged from his original stats. And perhaps because becoming them also copied their stats, thereby weakening himself tremendously, he didn’t even receive a penalty for shapeshifting into common mortals.

When even the manservant's girlfriend didn't notice a difference, Reivan realized he could actually steal people’s identities.

Of course, it remained a fact that he couldn’t copy special abilities or extra skills like Hector’s [Underwhelm] or even Roland's [Alter Ego]. But even so, the fact that even the Sword Star couldn’t see through his transformation opened a lot of doors for Reivan.

Naturally, Reivan knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, so he consulted smarter people — like Gwendolyn, of course — about how he could put his newfound prowess to good use.

A few days of thinking later, the Spirit Tower Infiltration Plan was born.

‘I still don’t like the name, but whatever.’

Reivan, looking like the spitting image of Clover Salwyn, sighed as he went about the motions to make himself a presentable human being. There was one week left before people with a ticket to the tower were expected to be there, so he had no intention of dilly-dallying.

Fortunately, Clover did not have a whole lot of worldly possessions for Reivan to pack, so he was done in no time at all. One worn-out rucksack contained everything.

‘I should really go buy some new clothes at some point… But I know I can’t right now.’

Keeping an impassive expression on his face, Reivan passed his fingers through the fabric of Clover’s clothing — the vast majority of which had seen much better days. The sorcerer was far too frugal to invest in fresh garments, but Reivan knew that appearance was an integral part of human interaction.

‘It would be cheaper to take multiple trains than to take the very safe and heavily guarded express train to Vel Ayala. With Clover’s personality, he would definitely cut costs as much as possible, so I don’t really have a choice but to do so too. With that in mind… I should still have enough money to get to my destination even if I spend half of my current funds…’

Reivan felt thankful for Clover’s hard-working personality. They had made the man wait for two weeks before making contact because there simply wasn’t a good enough opportunity to retrieve him, but instead of idling around, Clover actually sought out ways to earn money while waiting.

And because of that, Reivan didn’t need to suffer the fate of being completely broke.

Of course, it was because of Clover’s frugal personality that Reivan couldn’t spend the money even when he had it, but at least Reivan had the option to spend it.

“That should be it…” Reivan muttered to himself, much like how Clover did so when he was alone. He then scanned the room a few times for anything he’d forgotten before he slung the bag with Clover’s possessions over his shoulder and headed for the door.

The hinges creaked when he opened it and the wooden floorboards announced each and every one of his steps, giving the inn a run-down feel. But the rooms were very nice, and that was the most important part, so even Clover didn't complain much.

Reivan steadily made his way to the stairs and climbed down, catching a glimpse of the bar slash restaurant attached to the inn.

“Oh? Hey, well if it isn’t Mr. Salwyn! You’re up unusually early today.”

Unfortunately, having the eatery in his sights meant that he was visible to any patrons catching an early meal too.

Reivan followed the source of the greeting, maintaining a stony face as he examined his first hurdle of the day.

‘Uh… Who was this guy again?... Oh, wait. I remember. He’s one of the people in the thirty-man hunting party Clover ran with a few days ago…’

This meant that Clover probably made minimal contact with the man — perhaps the sorcerer didn’t even know the guy’s name.

Reivan nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing else. He headed for the counter and let his bag fall to the floor as he sat down on an empty seat, far away from the man who’d called out to him.

Despite apparently being told by Dalamar to improve his sociability, Clover still prioritized Reivan’s orders to minimize interaction with everyone around him. Hence, Reivan would be breaking character by suddenly acting otherwise, incurring the doubt of the Ascendant who was doubtlessly watching him.

“Good morning. What’ll you be having, dear?” The portly proprietress asked with a pleasant smile.

Reivan dipped his head but didn’t return the greeting, immediately getting down to business. “What do you have?”

“Same thing as every other day. Except we just got a bit of vanberry jam, so you can have that instead of butter.”

“I’ll stick with the butter, please,” Reivan answered immediately. He held no dislike for the sweet berry, but it was listed among Clover’s least favorite things.

Unfortunately, Reivan had no love for butter, but Clover liked it, so Reivan would just have to suck it up.

‘I hate this already…’

Reivan quietly received his bowl of hot meat soup with a side of bread and was about to start eating when someone sat at the seat right next to him.

“You’re cold as always, Mr. Salwyn.” The man who’d initially called out to him chuckled sheepishly, raising a finger at the inn’s proprietress. “I’d like a cup of coffee, please. One for my friend here too. On me.”

“Coming right up.” answered the portly lady before heading to the kitchen.

“Do you need something?” Reivan asked the man whose name he should pretend not to know, tearing off a piece of his bread and slathering it with a layer of nasty butter. “I’m not paying for that coffee.”

“I said it’s on me, man. Relax.” The man shook his head with an exasperated sigh then tapped on the counter twice. “Anyway, we’re going on another hunt tomorrow. You coming?”

“Can’t.”

“Already have plans?”

“No.” Reivan finished chewing his bread before he continued with the terse tone that Clover usually used when dealing with other people. “I’m getting out of this city today.”

“Oh?” The man raised a brow as he said a word of thanks to the inn proprietress, taking a cup of coffee in hand and pushing the other toward Reivan. “Where to?”

“None of your business.”

“Don’t be like that. Didn’t we walk the lines between life and death a few days ago? We’re brothers now!”

Reivan snorted before finishing taking the bowl of soup and tilting its contents into his mouth. He then finished off the bread and then started on his coffee.

“Damn, you’re a fast eater as always. Anyway, I heard from some of my boys that they saw you come out of City Hall a few days ago…”

“And?” Reivan took a whiff of the hot brewed drink, throwing his unwanted conversation partner a side glance. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. But the Spirit Tower is apparently welcoming a new batch of recruits in a week…”

“Like I said, what’s it to you?” Reivan glared. Being investigated by some no-named hunter was incredibly unpleasant for his espionage plans.

‘Should I have him killed? Since his job’s dangerous, it’s actually pretty easy…’

The man raised both arms and chuckled. “I don’t want any trouble, Mr. Salwyn. It’s just that I know someone who would want to be in your good graces.”

“Tell them to screw off, then.” Reivan snapped, but internally, he was beginning to see what the man actually wanted.

And just as he predicted, the man took out what seemed to be a business card — though it was made of silver instead of hard paper. “It never hurts to have more options, Mr. Salwyn. If battlemage work ever gets too dangerous, you’re free to utilize your skills elsewhere after retirement. We’ll welcome you with open arms, though we can’t promise as big of a wage as the tower.”

‘I was right.’

Battlemages took three oaths: to use their power only in honorable ways, to use their power only for their countrymen, and to protect the tower’s secrets.

None of the oaths restrict battlemages to work for only the government.

They could retire at any point in their career and work for private organizations or even create an organization for themselves. As long as they don’t do any dirty work or spill the tower’s secrets, of course. For very important businessmen, this meant they could obtain a very capable guard.

Sometimes, organizations hired ex-battlemages as a status symbol too. But nobody could deny the practical benefits of having one on their payroll.

‘I don’t plan to play this game long enough to have a pretend retirement, but whatever. Wouldn’t hurt to take it, if only to get this guy off me.’

Reivan gingerly took the card, glancing at it and frowning upon the realization that the company the man worked for was actually owned by Elsa, of all people.

‘Small world.’

“I’ll think about it,” Reivan grumbled, but he stowed the card in one of his inner coat’s pockets anyway. “Don’t hold your breath though.”

“Of course. Just something to think about a few years down the line.” The man seemed happy enough just to be entertained. He then finished off his piping hot coffee in one gulp and stood up, leaving a few coins on the counter to pay for the drinks. “Well, that’s all I wanted to say. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Reivan grunted in acknowledgment before slowly sipping away at his drink. From the corner of his eye, he watched the man leave the inn with a few associates and thought about his next few moves when the proprietress suddenly decided to strike up a conversation.

“Mr. Salwyn, you seem to be in a good mood today.”

His cup froze on its way up to his lips. “What do you mean?”

"Hell if I know." The proprietress shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron as she took his empty bowl and plates away. “You just seem more talkative and approachable today. Usually, you would've just told him to leave and reject his card, no?”

Reivan frowned at that.

‘Great. I haven’t even left the gods damned inn and I’m already getting busted…’

Just as he was contemplating how to respond, the lady sighed as she headed to the kitchen. “Eh, well. Maybe it’s just my imagination.”

“...Perhaps it is,” Reivan murmured, setting his cup down half-full. The breakfast was included in the room he paid for and the coffee wasn’t even something he ordered, so he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder as he headed for the exit.

 

---

 

Reivan was both taller and had longer legs than Clover, so it would have been slightly troubling to readjust. Fortunately, he had made very extensive preparations for this whole plan, and had ample time to practice moving around in Clover’s body.

Because of this, Reivan had no trouble walking to the station.

He could have ridden a carriage, and he really wanted to, but putting it bluntly, Clover Salwyn was a penny-pinching cheapskate. Considering the character he was disguised as, Reivan couldn’t spend money he could save by sacrificing time and some elbow grease.

“Tickets, please.”

Reivan stood somewhere in the middle of a long line of people waiting to get inside one of the train’s passenger cars. At the head of the queue, a uniformed attendant meticulously examined tickets before ushering each traveler inside.

After his turn was finished, Reivan stepped into the passenger car, the echo of his boots against the wooden floor broadcasting every step. Though the train appeared wooden from the outside, Reivan noted the metallic interior as he traversed the aisle flanked by rows of two-seater chairs.

He picked a spot randomly from the back portion of the car since fewer people would walk all the way to it — unless the car was fully packed — and sat down, placing his bag beside him to deter potential seatmates. While admittedly impolite, this was simply what he had to do.

The train car was steadily getting filled up, but just as he planned, nobody chose to sit next to the asshole with a bitchy face. He would obviously be the last option as they found other seatmates, but the car wasn’t at full capacity yet so there were always alternative options.

Soon, no other passengers got on and a high-pitched noise announced that the train would depart any second now, leaving Reivan with a two-person seat all to himself.

‘Being an ignorant menace has its perks.’

Reivan wasn’t being an asshole on purpose, of course.

This was just how Clover acted.

The sorcerer wasn’t used to how trains worked and the etiquette expected of someone riding it. Furthermore, he was far too focused on keeping to himself and anxious about his general situation to pay attention to how his actions annoyed other passengers.

Reivan was simply putting that to good use.

Since he was stuck on a train for god knows how many hours and would likely ride another one right after, he actually welcomed some conversation. But he wasn’t “Reivan” right now, he was “Clover Salwyn”.

Hence, he had to keep to himself.

At least until he got to the tower, giving him an excuse to “change” and “try to get along with others better”, as Dalamar likely would have put it.

‘I wonder what the others are doing…’

As Reivan thought about his two fiancees and the rest of his family, the train rumbled to life and soon surged into motion. Leaning his elbow on the window sill, he sighed as he watched the scenery blur by.

The bustling platform and the station interior vanished, soon replaced by an expanse of green and some faraway forests. Those tall trees in the distance were where Clover risked his life for a few wads of cash. And more than likely, quite a number of people were there doing the very same.

Reivan mused on how, despite how different his status was from all of them, he was also venturing into the jaws of the unknown.

And just like them, he was also unsure if his bravery would be rewarded.