The Deceived One
As we neared the tavern Cold Sun, the underworld thugs finally gave up the chase and turned back.
This area was known for its many off-duty City Guards who enjoyed drinking nearby, so even the black market's brutes avoided it.
Thanks to that, Kals could finally set Tyrbaen down after carrying her for quite some time.
"Thank you, Sir Silion."
"Haha, think nothing of it, Lady Sui. You weren't heavy at all."
"R-really? That's kind of you to say."
"It's true! Hahaha!"
…Give me a break.
Watching those two chat made my stomach twist a bit.
If she's going to blush, she should just drop the disguise spell already!
Right now, Tyrbaen and Kals didn't match at all.
A grimy-looking middle-aged witch and a bright, handsome young knight—an awkward pair if there ever was one.
That disguise spell… I hadn't thought much of it in the game, but being beside her now, it really grated on me.
Still, she stubbornly maintained the spell.
And I got it.
'That's Tyrbaen's tradition.'
The witch Tyrbaen Sui inherited her master's name, identity, and memories across generations.
So the current nineteen-year-old Tyrbaen, who was Giloshan's master, was forced to act the part of an old crone.
The real Tyrbaen only reveals her true face after her Identity Revelation Event.
'Until that event, she hides her face almost pathologically.'
That event was essential for me, too—not only because it was annoying to see her like that,
but because the disguise spell consumed a significant portion of her mana.
'That disguise drains about 20% of her total magic power constantly. What a waste.'
As the story progresses, that drain becomes a serious handicap.
So triggering the Identity Revelation Event was absolutely necessary.
In that event, Tyrbaen confides her secret to the player and lifts her disguise.
My plan was to complete that during this Save the Orphans quest.
'And it'll happen naturally.'
Because Tyrbaen's revelation event is tied to the death of innocent people.
When the time comes, the young witch will regain her true self.
"There it is, sir," Thomson said, slowing his pace.
Turning a corner, we found a shabby tavern standing quietly—
the Cold Sun.
"Wow! You really know your way around the back alleys! That was fast! Amazing, really amazing!"
I laid the praise on thick—enough to make a whale dance—but Thomson began backing away slightly.
"Th-thank you, sir. But, um, about that place…"
He'd led us this far, but now he stammered, hesitating to approach the tavern.
It wasn't surprising.
Because of who frequented the place.
'The City Guard.'
As I'd mentioned, Cold Sun was a favorite spot for the city's enforcers.
Naturally, the underworld avoided it like the plague.
Thomson had decided to leave the underworld, sure—
but the City Guards weren't known for their forgiveness or empathy.
He knew that perfectly well.
Still, I clapped him on the back.
"Relax! They're not gonna kill you."
"They might not kill me, but they sure won't let me go easy!"
"…They'll probably just drag you off for questioning."
"What if they drag me off and I end up on the gallows? That's a very permanent questioning, sir!"
"…."
Wow. He got smart all of a sudden?
Didn't seem that sharp before.
He wasn't wrong, though.
Anyone from the underworld caught by the City Guard usually ended up swinging.
Especially the small fries without powerful patrons.
In Aulrax, the Revolutionary Army's authority was a wall ordinary people couldn't cross.
But I patted his shoulder again.
"I'll make sure you live, alright? Don't worry too much."
"Still, sir, this place—"
"And if the Guards do get involved, they'll probably come after me before they bother with you."
"Eh?"
He looked confused, so I smirked.
"Because I'm technically a prison escapee—from the underground dungeon."
"Wha—!"
Thomson gasped in horror.
Kals and Tyrbaen, who'd been smiling until now, froze as well.
"Th-that's right!"
"We completely forgot about that!"
"...I didn't," I muttered.
Of course you two forgot.
No sense of tension whatsoever.
The quest You're the Prisoner, I'm the Archbishop was still active, intertwined with Savior of the Sons.
Every Revolutionary Army NPC except the Eolem Church treated me as a hostile criminal.
One wrong move could lead to a fight.
I knew that perfectly well—so I gave clear instructions.
"From here on, let me do the talking. All of you, keep your mouths shut. Got it?"
"What if we keep quiet? What'll you do?"
"What else? I'll use my silver tongue."
And with that, I strode straight toward the tavern Cold Sun,
pushed open the revolving door, and shouted,
"Yo! You taking customers or what?!"
Behind me, I could hear Kals mutter, horrified,
"Where did he even learn that thug accent?!"
I ignored him.
Inside, the tavern was quiet.
A few patrons holding beer mugs glanced up, then returned to their drinks.
The bearded bartender scratched his chin and gestured lazily.
"Find a seat wherever you want."
"Sure thing."
I sauntered over and dropped into a table in the middle of the hall.
Gulp.
Tension ran across Kals and Tyrbaen's faces as they sat beside me.
No wonder—City Guards sat scattered throughout the room.
Thomson was sweating so hard it dripped down his temples.
Then, the bartender eyed us sharply.
"Hm. Don't recall seeing you folks before."
He lumbered toward our table.
"Your accent's a bit different, too…"
Thud.
The man tossed the menu roughly onto the table, then suddenly nodded as if realizing something.
"Aha, the Five Beast Tribes, huh? You lot must be from their lands!"
The phrase Five Beast Tribes popped out of nowhere.
"...?"
Kals, Tyrbaen, and Thomson exchanged bewildered looks before turning to me.
Thankfully, they followed my earlier instruction—not a single word left their mouths.
They just looked visibly startled, which, in the end, played perfectly to our advantage.
"Hahaha! Nailed it, didn't I? You're beastfolk, right?"
The barkeep roared with laughter, misreading their confusion exactly as I'd hoped.
His assumption, though mistaken, was a direction I'd deliberately led him toward.
Scratching the back of my head awkwardly, I forced out a hearty laugh.
"Ahaha, sharp eyes you have, barkeep! We're mercenaries from the southern plains, just crossed into Aulrax!"
"Ha! I knew I recognized that accent before!"
The deeper his misunderstanding grew, the less attention the City Guards paid to us. Perfect.
"Just arrived in Aulrax today. Met this fella in the back alley and asked if there was a good tavern nearby. He recommended this one!"
I patted Thomson on the back again.
At that, the barkeep's eyes narrowed.
"Oh-ho, I do know that face. Black Society, right? Let's see… Toby? No, Thomson, wasn't it?"
"Ugh!"
Thomson's face drained of color.
At the mention of the Black Society, several guards in the room gave us sidelong looks.
I clicked my tongue inwardly.
'Poor bastard can't catch a break anywhere.'
Can't blame him—anyone would panic if the barkeep knew their name.
And this was precisely why the Cold Sun was such a favorite hangout for the City Guard.
"Haha! That punk's got guts, recommending my tavern of all places! Even a lowlife like him knows who I am—and where he is, right?"
The barkeep's eyes glinted sharply as he stared down Thomson.
"Or maybe he's got another motive? Trying to turn himself in, perhaps? Curious what the gallows look like from above?"
"Th-that's not—"
Thomson couldn't form a coherent reply, blinking rapidly.
The bearded man chuckled and lightly patted Thomson's cheek.
"Relax, boy. I'm joking. Once in a while, I get folks like you who've changed their ways. If you ever need help, just ask."
"...!"
The would-be con man's eyes wavered at that.
And just like that, the guards lost interest and turned away.
The laughing barkeep was no ordinary man.
'This guy's name is Lucard.'
A former Captain of the City Guard.
Now he ran this tavern, but he also distributed wanted posters and criminal notices across the entire city—an important quest NPC.
So the Cold Sun wasn't just a bar; it was practically an outpost where guards could drink while keeping tabs on the underworld.
Lucard's eye for faces was as sharp as ever—sharp enough to remember every alley informant by sight.
'That's why the City Guard trust him so deeply.'
And his judgment of outsiders like me carried absolute weight.
If I could deceive Lucard, we'd be safe—even in the lion's den.
The former Captain of the Guard himself would be our shield.
'For a while, anyway.'
Of course, it couldn't last forever.
Once detailed descriptions of escaped convicts spread and inspections tightened,
Lucard would eventually take a second look at us.
But for now, we were fine.
'After all, the darkest spot is right under the lamp.'
No one would suspect a group of fugitives hiding in the tavern of the City Guard's own hero.
It was the perfect spot to shake off the Black Society and prepare for the next quest phase.
That's why I'd used that ridiculous southern accent—to pose as mercenaries from the Beast Tribes.
Kals' horrified reaction had only been because he didn't know much about beastfolk.
Otherwise, my acting was objectively—well… pretty convincing.
'…Maybe not objectively. Subjectively, then.'
Whatever.
The important thing was that Lucard bought it.
"So, what'll it be? If you came from the Beast Tribes, I suppose you'll want to try Aulrax's famous local brew?"
…Ugh, the original script described that beer as terrible.
But this wasn't the time to show I knew that.
"If it's the local specialty, then we've got to try it. Three mugs, and some food too."
Lucard nodded and turned toward the kitchen.
Just then, a thought crossed my mind.
'Igral.'
Right. That guy said if I mentioned his name, Lucard would even give us a room.
It wasn't like I was broke—
I'd made a killing in the black market earlier.
I could splurge for weeks without running out.
But I needed more intel on Igral.
How did Lucard view him, exactly?
"Hey, barkeep. I've made a friend since I got here—goes by Igral. You know him?"
Lucard froze mid-step.
"Hm? Who did you say?"
"Igral. Wears a dark hood. Son of the shadows, that one."
At that, his expression shifted slightly.
Interesting. How did he know Igral?
As an assassin? A priest? Or maybe a mysterious traveler?
But then Lucard said something that made me frown deeply.
"Never heard of him."
"…What?"
"Igral, you said? First I'm hearing that name."
He shrugged and walked back to the kitchen.
For a moment, I just stood there, dumbstruck.
…That bastard deceived me?
'Why the hell would he lie about something like that?'
Now that really pissed me off.