The voice sounded calm, but there was a faint trace of amusement hidden within it.
"Sharon, your psychological tactics are really impressive." Hastur sighed, realizing that tonight he had once again lost to Sharon.
She was indeed the seeker tonight, but she had turned passivity into initiative, deliberately hiding herself so that he wouldn't find her, leading him into misjudgment.
Before entering this house, she had probably already inspected every room one by one, then returned to the mirror to leave a reminder for him.
In the end, she crouched right where his body was hidden, waiting for his spirit form to emerge, seizing the chance to win the game in one stroke.
"I was simply more patient than you."
Sharon's figure drifted out from the window and came to stand before the wardrobe, her expression calm as she looked at Hastur.
"Sigh… When did you come into my house?"
"Around seven-thirty."
"Was that the time Maric told you?"
Sharon silently nodded.
"And you saw everything?"
She nodded again.
"…" Hastur's cheeks warmed. That meant from the very moment he'd stepped into the wardrobe, she had been watching him the whole time.
No wonder he couldn't find her, this was hardly a fair game of hide and seek!
Sharon's sapphire eyes glimmered slightly, as though a smile flickered there, but soon they returned to their usual calm, free of any surplus emotion.
"From the moment you slowly closed the door, carefully crawled into the wardrobe, and finally emerged in spirit form, I saw it all, clear as day."
Her tone remained even, yet it was like she had gently twisted another knife into Hastur's wound.
"…" Hastur wanted nothing more than to cover his face, slam the wardrobe doors shut, and hide in the corner.
Having it spelled out like this was unbearably humiliating.
He recalled the scene again, thankfully, he hadn't muttered to himself at the time. Otherwise, he truly wouldn't have had the face to live it down.
Taking a deep breath, Hastur forced a smile and stepped out of the wardrobe. With a light chuckle, he asked: "When I'm in spirit form, can you sense me easily?"
"No."
Sharon thought for a moment, then added, "Your spirit form is unusual. Even if I open my spiritual vision, I still can't detect you."
"…So you actually couldn't see me at all?"
"Mm. Once you left this house, I could no longer sense your position."
"…Then the writing on the mirror and the sound, that was to deliberately lure me out?"
Sharon didn't answer, but her eyes told Hastur he had guessed correctly.
Tonight, he hadn't just been fooled by Maric's false intel, he had also lost in patience and cunning to Sharon.
Fortunately, his revised second version of invisibility had managed to deceive even Sharon.
At that level, it should be enough to sneak into the Roselle Memorial Exhibition and steal the Black Emperor card.
"I couldn't see you because you were far away. At close range, I'd get a faint sense of your presence."
Hastur blinked, then looked out the window, speaking in astonishment: "Miss Sharon… so from the beginning, you were hiding far outside the house, observing my every move through the mirrors inside?"
Sharon turned slightly aside. After a pause, she replied, "The rules only required me to find the hiding you. They didn't say I had to enter the house."
"…Miss Sharon, isn't that cheating?"
At last, Hastur understood, this was a game he could never win, no matter who was seeker.
Because he limited his thinking to inside the house, he had no way to find Sharon, who hid somewhere outside, across the mirror world.
"I simply made reasonable use of the rules."
Turning back, Sharon met his gaze directly and said: "Learning to exploit loopholes in the rules, isn't that something Beyonder of the Lawyer pathway should be used to?"
"…" It felt like another knife twisted into Hastur's chest.
"You're not acting like a qualified Beyonder." Sharon calmly raised another invisible blade and slowly drove it into his wound, leaving only the hilt outside.
"…" Hastur looked at the woman before him, her pale-gold hair tied back neatly, her sapphire eyes gleaming like gemstones, her face delicate and flawless, her tone always serene no matter what she said.
He realized something: beneath her refined doll-like exterior lay a heart of steel, someone who could smile sweetly while stabbing you again and again.
Noticing his gaze, Sharon spoke in a slightly unnatural tone: "Your invisibility is very good. Just remember to hide your body properly next time."
With that, her figure vanished, likely leaping instantly to another place through a mirror.
Though the range was only a few hundred meters, it was already a very practical ability.
Whether for fleeing or reconnaissance, it had miraculous uses.
"Well, as Maric said, losing to Miss Sharon isn't something to be ashamed of. She's Sequence 5, while I'm only Sequence 7."
"And she's a Wraith of Sequence 5, elusive by nature. Failing to find her is perfectly normal."
"There's no reason to get discouraged over such a small defeat. Even Sharon could only sense me at close range, that proves my invisibility is impressive."
Hastur comforted himself, but recalling the earlier events still made him cringe.
"Just now… was Sharon secretly laughing at me?" He thought back carefully. It seemed he hadn't actually caught a smile on her face.
"Sigh, I'll just go soak in a bath, relax, and think about whether I can develop a third version of invisibility."
He left the room and headed for the washroom.
When he stood before the mirror and saw his own face, the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Miss Sharon, your sense of play is stronger than I thought…"
On his handsome face, three black lines had been drawn on each cheek, and the tip of his nose was inked dark, like someone had doodled a cat's face on him.
Thinking back to how Sharon had stared calmly at him while chatting, without betraying even a twitch, Hastur couldn't help but admire her doll-like composure.
Most likely, once she advanced to Sequence 4, the Puppet potion in her body would be completely digested.
"…This is truly humiliating."
Hastur buried his face into the foaming bathwater.
...
In the following days, Hastur stayed home to research his third version of invisibility, while also rehearsing his plan to steal the Black Emperor card at the Roselle Memorial Exhibition.
So as not to interfere with Qilangos' operation, he postponed it until after the Duke Negan's ball, where he planned to capture Qilangos and then seize the opportunity.
Saturday, Hillston Borough.
Inside a house with a stable and a garden.
Qilangos, with his distinctive wide chin and dark-green eyes, stood before a dressing mirror, leisurely changing into the clothes stripped from a fainted man on the floor. His gloved left hand squirmed as though alive.
Moments later, his body in the mirror shimmered with light, his face, muscles, skin, and bones shifting grotesquely.
Soon, his appearance became identical to that of the man lying unconscious on the floor.
A sharp nose, sparse brows, sagging cheeks, and pale-blue eyes, this was now his new visage.
To be precise, Baron Germani.
"A noble's ball… how delightful. I wonder if Loen noble blood tastes sweeter than others, or just as foul and reeking as pirates on the sea."
Murmuring, Qilangos twisted the real Baron Germani's neck before leaving, couldn't risk him waking up and causing trouble.
Better to kill, much simpler.
After all, in this world, few things were easier than killing.
Humans are fragile, especially those without Beyonder powers.
A fork and knife, if plunged in the right place, could end a life all the same.
He had never liked anything troublesome. If killing solved it, then killing was just right.
In truth, he always considered himself fair, because death is fair to all, rich or poor.
...
Empress Borough, Duke Negan's villa.
The nobles of Loen's high society arrived with their wives, companions, partners, and children to attend the ball.
Just the line of carriages at the entrance stretched for over a thousand meters, with dutiful coachmen waiting at their posts, gazing at the brilliantly lit villa from afar.
That was a world they could never enter, though the distance was not so great.
Yet instead of resentment, their faces bore pride. They straightened their backs, proud to be in the service of those who passed them by.
After all, they had witnessed the splendor and extravagance of true high society, closer than most could ever hope to be.
Just as beggars living on alms, when facing migrant workers struggling to survive, would speak of Backlund's greatness and prosperity with pride.