“Aiden, do you know the Chiss?”
The sudden voice in his mind made Aiden freeze. It took a full two seconds before his taut nerves loosened again.
“Chiss?” Aiden forced his thoughts to stay steady, raking his memory at high speed for the unfamiliar word. At last, he slowly shook his head. “Sorry, Boss, I’ve never heard of it. Sounds like… the name of something? Or a place?”
“A category of monsters,” Lin Jun’s voice answered again, firm and concise.
“If it’s a monster…” Aiden’s thoughts immediately sharpened. “The Guild should have some records. I can try collecting information.”
Lin Jun considered, then declined.
Chiss… Ninety-nine percent chance they weren’t native to Amethyst Dungeon.
If Aiden suddenly went digging, it would draw suspicion.
After all, the humans were sending down some so-called “Expert Team” into the Deep Layers soon. If they ran into the Chiss, and then noticed Aiden had mysteriously asked questions about them beforehand…
How would he explain?Why would he have foreknowledge of changes in the Deep?
It could raise problems.
And as Lin Jun’s most critical eye in the Guild, Aiden could not afford to risk exposure over this.
Besides, the Chiss weren’t yet important enough.
When the voice faded from his mind, silence settled. Aiden did not move immediately.
He sat in the same posture, staring at the tweezers in his hand as if studying their shape.
The only sound was the fireplace crackling softly, and faint bustle drifting from the distant market outside.
Five whole minutes passed before his shoulders sagged the tiniest fraction, as if breaking free from a heavy trance.
No matter how many times he spoke with the “Master of Pujis,” he still could not fully adapt to that uncanny method of communication.
He picked up the tweezers again. Crafted from starmetal wood heart, the tool had a natural affinity for magic flow—ideal for fine magical instruments or miniature formations.
But Aiden had another use.
He opened his left palm. Strands of white mycelium curled across his skin, two filaments twisted into a hard knot.
Holding his breath, he pressed the cool, smooth tip of the starmetal tweezers against it and pinched. The tangled knot snapped apart.
With delicate care, he swapped the cut ends, aligning them neatly side by side.
Then he touched the tips together, channeling a thread of magic down the tweezers.
Bathed in mana, the filaments fused seamlessly, leaving no trace of the break.
The knot was gone. The surface smoothed, flawless.
If left alone, the mycelium fused into his flesh would sprout haphazardly, forming lumps and ridges under the skin. Normally harmless—but if someone touched him, the strange texture would give him away.
His illusions could trick the eye into seeing smooth skin. But they couldn’t erase the feel of it.
So, like a gardener, Aiden had to prune, reconnect, and smooth every strand of fungus, again and again.
So that even if someone brushed against him, they would feel nothing more than normal flesh.
Knock, knock—
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Aiden, the materials you requested are ready. You can pick them up from the storeroom anytime.” A girl’s voice answered through the door, bright and young.
“I know. I’ll be right there.”
As soon as he finished speaking, Aiden raised his right hand. A soft, silvery glow bloomed from his palm, like moonlight flowing.
He brushed it over his left hand. The fungal threads vanished without a trace.
Perfect, unblemished hands—hands that could make artists weep—were revealed once more.
Aiden opened the door. A young female clerk stood outside, register in her arms.
Her cheeks flushed pink. When her eyes met his, she glanced away quickly, then shyly peeked back, like a timid fawn.
Aiden’s lips carried their usual gentle smile, but inside, he sighed.
Once, he would not have minded savoring “love” with such a girl.
Now?
Heh. Touching another person was no different from courting death.
A life of abstinence piled stress inside him. But when he saw the stockpile of materials, true joy welled up.
President Fahl might have driven him into this wretched state. But to be fair, the young lord was generous with those who worked for him. Never stingy with coin.
Aiden had requested supplies, ostensibly to craft tools for the next operation.
And when he checked, not only had nothing been cut back—he had been given twenty percent more than he asked for.
“There really is nothing money can’t do,” Aiden murmured.
Of course, these weren’t all for Guild business.
Part of the haul was cover. The main portion was for anti-detection tools.
He couldn’t risk bumping into some mage with a scrying spell and having all his secrets laid bare.
Just as he hauled the crates into his room, someone else summoned him.
This time it was Fifteen.
“You’re saying the reply came back?” Aiden asked.
Fifteen nodded. “They’re waiting for you to read it.”
It was Inanna’s reply. After writing that “request for aid” at Lin Jun’s command, no answer had come for ten long days, leaving him anxious.
Now, finally, a response.
He entered the meeting hall. Soraline was absent. The letter lay on the table, addressed to him, still sealed.
Aiden didn’t know what kind of woman Inanna was. But since the request had been sent in his and the Guild’s name—with Lin Jun only hinted at—he assumed her answer would be discreet.
Opening it, he relaxed halfway. There was no mention of Lin Jun. The whole letter spoke only of “support.”
But as his eyes skimmed line by line, his brow furrowed deeper, until his face nearly knotted.
“What does it say?” Fahl asked.
“They’ll send help. But…”
“But what?”
“By the duke’s approval, she herself will lead the aid force. And she will travel alongside the ‘Expert Team.’ The letter makes special note—the leader of the Expert Team is… Lord Elvien Slane.”
“The Sword Saint!?”
“My master!?”
Fahl and Fifteen cried out at once.
But Fahl’s voice was thrilled. Fifteen’s was horrified.