The Clone!Bird persistently conveyed its message throughout the night, an insistent reminder of the horrors committed. It sought to etch the dreadful deeds into memory, loudly and irritably, like a relentless itch. Yet, this was just the prologue.  

At 3:54 AM—merely six hours ago—Tris came off cooldown, marking the true beginning of my plan. She used a dozen clones and efficiently indexed the entire city in an hour. It was rough on me—I teetered at the brink of biomass and mana exhaustion. My body was seriously a few short minutes away from consuming itself, and it would have had I not had a few clones dedicated to eating fish in the port.    

But the struggle was over. This whole city…was now my playground.  

And it was all thanks to Tris. She utilized rats, birds, bugs, and dogs to infiltrate every nook and cranny of the city, including Gregory’s mansion.    

But there was something else. Before evolving, Tris was limited. A book or document had to be in our storage to analyze and learn its contents. 

Now?  

Merely targeting anything written with [Deduction] downloaded everything it contained to her databanks. After evolving, analyzing information was faster than ever.    

A 1,000-page tome took two seconds to devour.  

And if something was inside a lockbox or behind a series of seals designed to prevent scrying magic? Or if a book was protected by powerful magic that prevented someone from grabbing it?  

So what. [Skyview] couldn’t be stopped by that sort of child’s play.   

[SkyView] had a passive ‘scanning’ range of about 10-15 feet, so everything within was automatically indexed. And that truly meant everything. That safe hidden inside a concrete block behind a painting in Gregory’s mansion? Tris merely targeted the diary it held and learned his deepest, darkest secrets without needing to drill or melt into it.   

Even if that was required, it wouldn’t have been a problem.    

"What?! Gregory Atrix has a son?!" exclaimed Verdant at the breakfast table as I casually revealed the first shard of information.  

"That’s correct," I responded, sipping my coffee. "His name is Ayroix, but he doesn’t know that. He thinks of himself as an orphan. Gregory believes that Ayroix is dead. Years ago, he sent an assassin to kill him and his adoptive father upon learning about him, but only the latter died. I don't know how it happened, but Ayroix survived without his father knowing.  

Verdant, bewildered, questioned how I discovered this. "I told you. I excel in information gathering. No one can hide from me. And I mean no one,” I replied, stressing the last two words. “Consider the city an open book that only I can access. I’ve confirmed Ayroix’s existence with my wooden puppets. And to make it easier… Here.”  

A dozen folders manifested from seemingly nowhere after I waved my hand across the table. “Don’t be shy.” I chuckled. “Go on. They won’t bite. Look at them.” I waited for Verdant and the others to grab them before continuing. Kull was hesitant. That fear in his eyes…  

He feared me. He tried to hide it, but he knew I perceived it. Why else would he glance away shamefully?  

“These hold the next month’s guard patrols, shipments, meetings, deliveries, and more. Everything you need to strike is held within them, including summarizations of Gregory’s journals. You’ll also find an organized list of Atrix’s military forces, including a rather extensive rundown of their levels. Oh, and a rough measurement of their strengths and weaknesses and battle plans they’ve used in the past ten years.”   

The others were silent as they looked through them.   

“Oh, and this is for your affirmation…” I played my flute as Tris made a [Skyview] window for the others. It showed a clone—a wooden puppet—inside Gregory’s bedroom, sitting at his office table, flipping through his diary. “Notice the words. And the handwriting. See? There. It mentions his son and how he was told by Ayroix’s mother that she wasn’t pregnant. In his own words, and I quote, ‘the life of a whore matters less than the worth of a stray dog. Now? I must extinguish the life out of that bastard kid.’ I don’t know who or what he used, but I don’t think it matters much since that entry was written years ago.”  

Their jaws dropped more until Kull mentioned what everyone else was thinking, his voice quivering and cracking. “Mila, if you’re capable of this, why not kill Lord Atrix? You could end—”   

“it won’t be enough,” I replied. “Think of the power vacuum Gregory's death would cause if he suddenly dies. The sole way to solve the issue would be for the people to revolt and fight for themselves. We must merely lend a guiding hand from the shadows. “ All lies, of course. I could easily take Lord Atrix’s place and broker a peace deal. I could’ve solved this in an hour.     

But I couldn’t do that.     

The rebellion needed to happen.     

I needed the life force.     

Kull shook his shocked face away after I asked about elections. “By tradition, a child inherits rulership from their parents. The leader of a city-state is akin to a king. Their word is law.” I asked what would happen if, for example, everyone with Gregory’s blood was assassinated. “A Heptarchis would be called in Orchta. The Wisefolk would convene and perform a ritual to grant a chosen successor blood of Atrix’s Vestige. It’s the same with the other city-states.”   

Okay, that was interesting.    

“Is there a way to prove Ayroix is Gregory’s son?” I asked. “Undeniable proof that cannot be ignored? The journal is one thing, but it may not be enough.”  

A Mousefolk with orange whiskers answered. “The Wisefolk have a ritual,” they said. “It can detect if a person has the blood of a Vestige in their body.”  

It felt like this whole country was a giant, seven-section cult. But whatever. It didn’t really bother me.    

We just needed to make Ayroix the cornerstone of the revolution. He worked as an apprentice at a blacksmithing shop located near the harbor. As of now, the orange-eyed teenager with orange glasses worked over an anvil, hammering away at a sword he needed to make for a customer. He was none-the-wiser about his true heritage.    

“It’ll be a delicate balance,” I said. “I cannot do everything, but I’ll do what I can. It’s up to you to convince Ayroix of his birth and understand that he can lead the rebellion, and I’ll continue to my instigation. General Blackthorn and Guildmaster Thornbrook hate each other.” I threw two journals on the table. “They each have a specific section of the military loyal to them. The general obviously has more, but Guildmaster Thornbrook has a detachment loyal to her via money.”  

I told them the rest of the plan. With the information I’d brought back, Verdant’s spies were responsible for sneaking into the military offices, registration buildings, warehouses, and the docks to cause damage. I gave them ten boxes filled with firesalt bombs. And these had a metal pin to have them act like grenades. I showed them what to do with a dummy Tris had made for this very moment.    

“It’s a strange device. I never knew safety features could be instilled into these things.”   

“Because it’s difficult to do,” I told Kull. I saw him shake one up and down, causing Margie to smack him silly. I told her these wouldn't explode unless the pin was pulled. And then, you’d have 5 seconds to throw them.     

Perhaps they thought it was the end of the meeting since everyone started to move. “But there is one more thing.” My words made the spies sit down. “During my investigation, I found mention of a group that, according to General Blackthorn, and I quote—‘A unit of protective savants only loyal to the ground enshrining the city-state of Atrix.’ Do you know anything? I didn’t find anything in Gregory’s notes.”  

It was like I spoke another language. Margie and the others shared confused glances. “That’s…the first we’ve heard of it.”  

“Is there any secret group I should know about? Rumors? Whispers? I must know even the smallest crumble." 

“Well, there’s the Citrine Reapers.”  

“I’m sorry?”  

Margie finished Kull’s statement. “They’re rumors. Ghosts-- a group of mad soldiers who don’t exist. We’ve tried and failed to get proof of their existence, but we only have musings in the dirt and whispers in the shadows.”  

“Such as?” I listened as the dwarf explained that the Citrine Reapers were only loyal to one man.   

Gregory Atrix.   

“They say the final test is to kill your family. But there’s a mysterious glyph etched into their bodies that the others can feel.” 

“Yeah,” Kull added. “It’s supposed to be of a scythe or something? Does that help? Like we said, we aren’t sure if they’re real. Or if they’re rumors spread by Lord Atrix to keep his men in line. Like—‘Follow my orders, or the Citrine Reapers will have your head!’ kinda deal. Hmm? Mila?”  

I ignored Kull and let Tris focus. Her sweet voice echoed around my mind after forty-five seconds of silence.    

That is what I needed, my lord. I have searched for those above Lv. 50 with etchings or tattoos masked by magic, then further deduced that list by seeing if they have any living relatives within the city.   

Like… A DNA test?  

Indeed! Tris was probably pridefully puffing out her chest and said a person’s mana signature was unique, but family members shared a core aspect. Irisa, Mom, and Dad’s mana emerged from the same ‘root,’ so to speak, which was another way of ‘fingerprinting’ someone since everyone’s mana was unique to themselves. Those similarities were engrained in Erin’s, Irisa’s, and Dad’s mana.   

But this meant Tris had yet another excellent ability that worked with my ability to see mana—tracking someone by their magic’s key signature.    

Which would be helpful if I didn’t have [Skyview]. It didn’t seem like anyone or anything could stop it—but it was nice to have backup options in my back pocket.    

“Hello…? Uhh… I think we lost her? Or is—”  

“Well… The Citrine Reapers aren’t so hidden anymore.” I grinned and grabbed my flute. “I don’t know how many members there are, but fifteen are within the city. The weakest us Lv. 34, and the strongest—the commander—is Lv. 57.”   

I'll consider them Atrix’s version of the United States's Secret Service.    

“What?! But—How—I don’t—” the Mousefolk exclaimed, stuttering like a chugging train. I played my flute to mask Tris displaying a map window of a group of twelve soldiers standing outside Gregory’s office—three were inside with the man himself—although they weren’t speaking--merely watching while he wrote a letter.  

These fifteen mysterious—well, not so much as mysterious as previously unknown and unremarkable—weren’t present earlier when Tris was snooping around Gregory’s estate. They were otherwise unremarkable in almost every way, which explained why Tris’s initial search skipped them over.    

“These are the Citrine Reapers,” I said. “Notice the glowing symbol on their cheeks. It’s a magical epitaph merely shaped to look like a scythe. It reads, 'In the shadow of the reaper's blade, eternal allegiance to the land of Atrix, the undying beacon of our loyalty.' I’m merely using illusion magic to show you what my wooden puppet sees. You see… I have one pretending to be a tile of the ceiling. That pesky magic cladding the vow of loyalty from being seen? It’s merely child’s play and nothing I can’t remove.”   

I’ve done another search for just that epitaph, and yes, I can confirm that there are fifteen members. Altering the query for additional variations yields no other results, and I’ve tried 442.  

“Wow… Just…” Margie and the other spies were…speechless.   

“Oh, but there’s more. I’ve analyzed the Citrine Reapers’ mana signatures and preliminarily searched throughout the town for any similarities. Guess what I found.”  

“I…feel like there’s no right answer, Mila.”  

I sighed. “The least you can do is play along, Kull. But I discovered relatives. Specifically—mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Do you know what this means?”  

“That the rumors are bullshit?” Kull answered correctly.   

“Indeed. A hundred points for you.” Additional investigation with [Skyview] and [Deduction] on certain houses and buildings led Tris to one conclusion. “The Citrine Reapers are a legitimate force. They’re weak in my eyes, but they’re powerful and worth their salt if you remove me from the equation. But they aren’t a group that must kill their family to proclaim their undying loyalty. They must instead die.”  

“But… Ah, I see. The group faked their deaths?”  

“That’s right. The Citrine Reapers let their loved ones believe they’ve passed onto the afterlife to dedicate their entire being to protecting Atrix. But their loyalty isn’t with Little Gregory. No. It’s to defend the land. It’s to ensure Atrix—the city-state, not the person—will continue to thrive." 

“Is there…nothing you don’t know?” asked an orange Hedgehogfolk. She rarely spoke and preferred to be quiet.   

“Many things. I merely have a talent for information gathering. Nothing is more powerful in war than the flow of knowledge. What use is grand, overwhelming power if your opponents know your every little move? The tortoise can beat the hare if it is sufficiently prepared. But heed my words. Little Gregory made his life's biggest mistake when he aimed his foolish ambitions at Plymoise. The ones I love are there, and he put them in harm’s way. And he must pay for that. But it will be the people who take his head. Our goal is to guide them in the right direction. Is that understood?”  

Everyone nodded.  

“Good. Now, you know what you must do. See to it.”  

“Yes!” I didn’t envy the ones needing to convince Ayroix, but it was whatever. The plan didn’t solely rely on him-- he was more of a bonus. If he refused or chickened out, Tris had alternatives.  

But I needed him to grow a pair. The best-case scenario relied on it.  

“Umm… But what about you?” Kull asked, pushing in his chair. His innocent question froze everyone else.   

“What I do best, Kull. What I do best…” I grinned. “Leave the Citrine Reapers to me. Don’t even worry about them. Focus on achieving your tasks and practice caution. I'll be sad if you die on me." 

“Y—Yes, ma’am! I won’t die!” Kull scampered away, leaving me alone.    

I think that was too much, my lord. You’ve frightened them.   

They can just deal with it. Do you have something for me?  

Yes! I do! After analyzing the Citrine Reapers’ skills, levels, titles, and combat capabilities, I’ve deduced that Surtr is enough to wipe them out. They will not pose a threat even if they all attack simultaneously. However, I believe the plan can be improved…  

And…  

 It depends on what the Citrine Reapers think about Gregory. I believe not all of them approve of his recent actions. If their love lies in the city and office and not the one who holds it, then perhaps we can persuade them to our side.   

Tris continued, citing that Gregory was a coward. One of his latest journal entries had him jot down a rather vivid nightmare about being chased by a ‘demonic lion born from hell flames.’ Yet anything even remotely related to the Citrine Reapers was absent. Perhaps that was a rule? Or maybe a tradition? Oral record keeping had many flaws, but it defeated our current information-gathering techniques.   

But I need to lure them away from the city. Why not handle that tonight? Surtr?  

Yes, Lord Springfield? Do you need me?  

Possibly. It’ll be later tonight, so be ready.  

I just knew my lion was snarling. Surtr said he would be awaiting the order.   

As for how I’d get him to me?  

[Conferment] of course. I could open a link between his location and mine using my bracelet as a travel path, reducing the life force needed to merely a fraction of what it would require. And at full speed, Surtr could make the trip from Atrix to Plymoise in a few hours.    

But let us go, Tris. It’s time to do what we do best.   

I’m right here with you, my lord!  

Oh, I just loved hearing her cheery voice!   

 

---

For the next 16 hours, I did what I did best.    

Only a chimera such as myself could orchestrate an overwhelming abuse of power. And I had thought about killing more clone children, but I refrained from it.    

Not that it wouldn’t work. I knew it would, but because the initial hesitation had already spread. I could still involve Clone!Kids, but it felt like repeatedly having children die would lessen the impact I wanted to make.    

Tris agreed with me, so we decided to go with something else.  

Earlier this morning, Captain Max met with General Blackthorn about his hasty behavior in sentencing children to death. General Blackthorn wanted to get rid of Max, who was loyal to money. But he was popular amongst the nobles. And Guildmaster Thornbrook, the one he answered to, was the reason why.   

So…   

I had found and downloaded the visual data of a corporal in the good captain’s unit and had him terrorize people at random. He’d throw water in faces and smash rocks through glass windows—something difficult, expensive, and strenuous to make. This puppet soldier would steal out in the open and openly welcome anyone to fight him.  

But he wouldn’t do any permanent harm to anyone’s livelihood. Verdant’s spies were given money to pay for any repair—of course, the silver and gold would come out of the ‘rebellion’ fund Ayroix didn’t know he had.    

The worst part was when he stripped a woman—also a puppet—and molested her in front of everyone.     

A Clone!Bird continued to scream tales of the injustice throughout the city of what this puppet soldier was up to. A legitimate backup unit arrived ten minutes later, just in time to see the puppet soldier receive a rock to the back of the head.    

It wasn’t thrown by a puppet.     

And then someone else threw a rock.    

And another.    

And another. It was only ten people.    

But it was a start.    

I made my puppet soldier die from a lucky strike to the head, which promoted the backup unit to draw their weapons. But the crowd didn’t back down. No. They were angry. An elderly Scalefolk grabbed the puppet woman and placed a cloth around her bare chest while the menfolk picked up anything they could find.    

But I had one more puppet. Cid—an old fellow with little hair, a hand with four fingers, and a missing eye.     

Tris had made him a backstory of how he used to be a mercenary. He was vital to Ayroix because the man who used to look after him…looked the exact same. His name had been Dryke, and Gregory Atrix had the man killed 7 years ago.    

I still didn’t know why Ayroix was spared. He thought the death was due to a smithing accident, but Cid here was going to correct a few things and clear the air while pretending to be his twin brother.    

The plan was for Cid to make himself known by taking out the unit of soldiers, which he did via firesalt bombs to blow them to smithereens. Tris had correctly predicted the onlookers would gasp in horror and scream. But she was accurate in that after Cid gave a heroic speech about how the threat of tyranny couldn’t be handled by passiveness, rebellious murmurs would, once again, flow through the crowd.     

It had gone all according to plan. The people were talking even more than yesterday. Some had said they were fed up with the violence and harsh taxes to fuel the military. And many started crying over the puppet victims that had died the day before.  

When it came to children… People acted. Maybe not a lot. But some. And you needed a little push to get the ball rolling. And you couldn’t overdo it. It was like a super move, and I knew that made me sound evil. But the deaths of puppet children had to be used when it would benefit me the most.     

While that was happening, two of Verdant’s spies spoke with Ayroix at his job and told him about Dryke. He didn’t believe them, but his tune changed after they dropped details only those who knew the man would’ve known.    

He looked at his hands and wondered if he was Lord Atrix’s son. After he read a copy of Gregory’s journal, he still had trouble believing it.    

But that was where Cid helped the most. The puppet’s arrival alone sent the bastard son into shock, gasping as if he had seen a ghost.   

Cid spent the next six hours handling that and convincing Ayroix to become the vanquisher of evil and the rebellion’s commander when it had formed, and I turned my attention to the noble quarters.    

The people here foolishly believed they had nothing to worry about. They scoffed and laughed at those peasants who were so uneducated that they let their children die.   

These scum truly believed they were safe—that they knew the Atrix would emerge victorious in the war-- that their contributions to the war fund would be returned with interest.    

Oh…   

How wrong they were.    

Chief Justice Darkfeather was popular here. He had taken a thousand bribes and forged evidence to out his contributors' enemies in prison. It was an open secret. The man’s diary had said so. But he had confidential information to blackmail anyone who tried to expose him.    

And I knew those secrets. And I had that blackmail. A clone had used [Ichor Manipulation] to burn a hole through a solid steel safe with their superheated blood to retrieve the incriminating documents.   

But before distributing them and announcing everyone’s secrets, I needed to make everyone infuriated at Little Gregory.    

To do so, I decided to target the barracks and military warehouses. The noble quarters had a personal section of the army exclusive to them. They answered to no one except Baron Haywood Haitian, a Crabfolk with pincers for hands. He was given control by Lord Atrix after he paid a timely bribe. He also paid Chief Justice Darkfeather to forge a crime to put his biggest threat away for a decade. This family was new to the city. They had moved from Terokai, another City-State, just a few years before it happened. But Baron Haitian believed him to be a traitor.   

The chief justice knew that wasn’t the case. But the bastard ruined a family. That man’s daughters were given to a pervert who helped the baron. Last I read, he had sold them to a band of slavers for pocket change because he was bored of them.     

They weren't in Atrix—not anymore. They weren’t dead, though. Tris didn’t find any graves with their names.    

God.    

This place was fucked up.    

Power struggles were everywhere. It was no small wonder this city-state hadn’t collapsed from corruption.     

This whole system needed to go. I knew democracy wasn’t the best. No system of government was perfect. Everything had downsides because man was flawed. Everyone could be bribed and tempted to bend the rules.  

But there wasn’t any system of checks and balances in Atrix. I doubt any existed in Parthina.     

Maybe that was something I needed to ‘instill’ into Ayroix’s mind?   

You couldn’t become incorruptible, but you could take precautions.     

Perhaps, but that could wait.    

I made a few clones and bombed the warehouses and barracks.     

They were put to death instantly, of course, but one of them exploded a firesalt bomb as he died, killing more of the soldiers.    

These bastards weren’t innocent. Tris had found personnel files, analyzed them, and knew exactly how awful these jackasses were.   

Assimilating then… That couldn’t happen, but Tris had convinced Lady Plymoise to dig a mass grave—with Surtr’s help—to dump the fallen Atrixian soldiers. They were waiting for me to slurp up.   

The dead soldiers from Plymoise were different. They had individual graves, but Tris said it would take me about 3 hours to hit up the gravesites. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle on a still, quiet night.   

So, I had way more life force and SP waiting for me back in the city. I had 12k SP left, and I stood to gain much more from here. 

It was almost too much. But I could dish out that SP to Niva and Tilde. And Sekh, too, when she returned. Now that I could manually learn skills, spells, and techniques, SP wasn’t that vital, but it still deserved some importance.   

Life force, though—that was another story. I needed so goddamn much of it that it wasn’t even funny.    

As all this happened in the noble district, I was in my room at the hideout, watching the chaos unfold as Tris beautifully manipulated everything with my clones. 

But my hands wouldn't remain clean.  

The madness in the noble quarters was just a prelude…to what we had planned for Gregory Atrix’s downfall.  

When it was midnight, I slipped away from the hideout and transfigured into a bird. I flew around the city under darkness's cover. Cid the Clone was still speaking with Ayroix at his house. But they were also surrounded by a group of passionate rebels tired of this city. However, no one but Cid knew Ayroix was Lord Atrix’s son.   

The torch needed to be lit before it could be passed, however. Cid and Verdant’s spies followed Tris' precise instructions to nurse the rebellious flame in his heart. You couldn’t rush it.    

When it came to this, you needed to make your target believe in himself—that this was what he was made to do—that this was his destiny.     

I looked over at the harbors and saw flames spreading amongst the docks. Those guard patrol schedules came in handy for Kull and his team to do more damage. We didn’t need to kill. We only needed to instill fear.   

But it didn’t matter if a few Atrixian soldiers died.   

Where were the elusive Citrine Reapers while this chaos was happening, someone might ask?  

Why, they were standing guard outside Little Gregory’s office because, throughout the day, threatening missives had somehow …spontaneously appeared on his desk.   

Just how in the world did that happen? He certainly didn’t know.    

The threats detailed a lion surrounded by demonic hell flames would come for the city.   

The leader of the Citrine Reapers—a wrinkled, middle-aged man with long orange hair that flowed like watery amber—had nearly begged Gregory for permission to leave. He passionately proclaimed his vow to protect the city, but it merely earned him a punch across the cheek that, admittedly, hurt Gregory more than the unit’s leader.    

The coward valued his life more than the lives of others. Additional arguments broke out, and it ended with the unit’s leader being threatened with execution for treason.  

Either way, it didn’t matter much since Verdant and her spies were ending the operation for the night. The fires would be extinguished within the next thirty minutes, and things would ‘relativity’ calm down.   

Tris, keep them occupied. Two or three more letters should work. Once I’m finished here, we can move on to the next stage.   

Understood, my lord. Shall I have Surtr prepare himself?  

Yes.    

After changing course, I took a path over the noble quarters. Each mansion had a unit of guards standing outside. The heads of each important family were having a meeting. Insults and threats about the day’s events were thrown at each other. It never came close to violence, but most were pissed off at the chief justice for allowing this to happen…   

And what about General Blackthorn and Guildmaster Thornbrook?   

I was about to handle that. Tris and I knew it was too soon for there to be a war between the two, but I could always stroke the fire and stress the already tight tension they shared.     

Soaring high above Guildmaster Thornbrook's estate, I beheld the imposing walls adorned with intricate ironwork, mirroring the twisted nature of its resident. The gilded thorns of the ornate gates welcomed those brave enough to enter. The cobblestone path led to the weathered main entrance, guarded by sinuously shaped hedges. The opulent mansion's polished sandstone walls reflected sunlight while grotesque gargoyles silently warned of the darkness within. I explored the grand foyer through its spotless windows, marveling at the moonlight's dance on the marble floor. In the backyard, a meticulously manicured garden maze of trimmed hedges and towering trees concealed hints of decadence—a seductive facade hiding darker intentions belonging to its owner.  

My lord, I see that you’ve arrived. Don't worry. Everything else is going according to our plan.    

That’s good to hear.  

I switched from being a small bird to assuming the form of a guard loyal to Guildmaster Thornbrook. They were identified by a particular symbol that otherwise looked very ordinary. The armor was created by transfiguring slime.    

I stood and stretched my legs because this body was different. My biomass and mana were draining at a slightly accelerated rate, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. I just had to kill someone and wear their armor.     

Can you summon my Soul Weapon?   

I can. I’m forbidden from dealing damage, but I can fire it. Why do you ask?   

I planned to transfigure the snake boss’s fangs from the Hershire Valley dungeon onto the barrel of Tilde’s revolver and use it as a melee weapon to earn Soul Weapon EXP.     

Tilde is still awake, so I’ve explained it to her. She wishes you a careful journey, my lord. But could you retrieve Reina’s pistol for a moment?   

I did as she asked, and…   

New Skill: [Soul Weapon Copy]   

The Beretta 92FS is now available to use.   

A basic version of Reina’s Scorpion’s Bite appeared floating.   

I held the Beretta 92FS, a classic semi-automatic handgun with a sleek design. Its full-sized frame made of sturdy steel gave it a reassuring weight. The front and rear serrations on the slide added a touch of style to its appearance. Its double-action/single-action trigger system offered rapid follow-up bullets and precise initial shots. And it held a modest 15 rounds of 9mm ammo.     

The fixed sights provided a clear view, but some models had adjustable rails for improved accuracy. It didn’t have any crimson cherry wood grip like Reina's gun. Nor was it polished to an unhealthy degree.     

It was so beautiful…   

If you acquire a weapon of the same type as your Soul Weapon, it becomes unlocked in the Soul Weapon Evolution System. I didn’t know that until Tilde told me.     

I’d never have even thought about it.    

Tilde sends her love, my lord.     

Tell I love her too. And you, Tris.    

My heart becomes warm at your words, my lord. I shall be watching you.  

I stashed Reina’s gun in my mana and attached the snake boss’s fangs to my 92FS.     

“You’re a sharp little thing, aren’t you?” I quietly asked, piercing my finger. Since a Soul Was an extension of my soul, it only made sense it acted as a part of my body.     

The grass beneath my false dark boots crumbled as I walked around the maze.    

It felt weird.    

I made my way to the start of the maze and saw a man flipping a coin between his fingers. My map obviously had everyone appearing as a red blip. By a rough account, the place had 144 people. Approximately 44 were soldiers. The rest were butlers or maids. Seemed odd, but maybe Guildmaster Thornbrook was so sure of herself.    

“Huh? Taking a piss? There’s something about doing it outside, right?” The man yawned. “What's wrong? Tired? Got the shits?”   

I killed him in the blink of an eye.   

I didn’t feel bad, though. The men here were enemies. And I was protecting my family. They could curse Gregory, Guildmaster Thornbrook, General Blackthorn, and the others in hell.    

After assimilating the corpse, I transfigured into him and wore his armor before walking through the unlocked doors. The guildmaster’s room was on the top floor.    

I didn’t come here to kill her. I worked through the lavish mansion, grossed out by what she would spend her wealth on. The guards in my way died. I often snuck behind and slit their throats, flooded their mouths with my slime while freezing it to subzero temperatures, or broke their necks.    

I unlocked a new skill called [Workshop] on my 16th kill. Invoking it showed me my list of guns and attachments I could add to them. But my firearms needed to be used to unlock the add-ons.    

Any progress was retroactive, though, so I slotted a 2x scope on my rifle. Revolvers didn’t usually have silencers, but my 92FS did. I selected it. It flashed brightly, and there it was…   

I quickly tested it by barging into a room and sending a Clone!Bird far away. It transfigured into me, summoned the gun, and fired six shots…   

And it was totally silent. My clone’s sharp ears couldn’t hear a damn thing. The bullet seemed to lose all potential after forty feet, but it was perfect for sneaking missions.    

Canceling the clone, I had an easier time ascending the next two floors, where I killed six more with shots to the head. The drain on my soul energy wasn’t minuscule, but Tris worked hard to make me ammo.   

It’s a good thing Gretchen made good on her promise and delivered the first batch of those supplies yesterday morning.    

The first 15 bullets are in [Void Storage].    

I ejected the mag, loaded it, slid it in, and readied a round. In just that short time, Tris had more ammo ready. She worked on crafting additional magazines.     

I still didn’t want to rely on soul energy because it was limited. I’d needed to grow it much more before I was comfortable with it.   

After continuing my subtle, murderous ascent…   

I was at the door.