Chapter 19: The Silent God Part 1

The next morning.

“Next!”

At the inspector’s shout, an elderly gentleman dressed neatly stepped forward slowly.

As he sat down, a towering werewolf, about two meters tall, nodded from the opposite side.

“Good morning. I am Blaszczek, an olfactory officer from the Southern Border Immigration Office.”

Holding a small pen that seemed oddly mismatched with his size, he spoke.

“What brings you to the Immigration Office?”

“I came to complete the departure procedures.”

The Kingdom of Crossroads does not only inspect incoming travelers.

Where there are arrivals, there are also departures.

Since records had to be kept even when leaving, the Immigration Office was always bustling with both entrants and exit applicants.

Fortunately, the criteria for departing travelers were not as strict as those for arrivals.

“Then, may I have your name and destination?”

The old man smiled as he answered.

“William Kafka. I plan to travel to the southern continent.”

“William Kafka.”

At that, the olfactory officer opened a thick book labeled [Immigration Record Book].

The werewolf’s eyes scanned the ledger swiftly, stopping somewhere around the middle.

“Found it. Let’s see… From the Northern Scadi Empire, 68 years old, entered a week ago… No companions.”

He glanced at the elderly man briefly before closing the ledger.

“Everything matches. From what I can see, there are no issues with your identity.”

“Splendid.”

“But there is one thing that bothers me.”

Kafka’s face, which had been smiling at the thought of everything being resolved, stiffened for a moment.

The olfactory officer looked at him and then pointed with a large finger to the map hanging nearby.

“…Are you sure you’re okay traveling alone?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s true that the southern region has better-maintained roads compared to other borders, but there’s no guarantee that bandits or monsters won’t appear.”

Following the finger, Kafka looked at the map, noticing that the dangerous areas of the southern continent were marked with red circles.

In a concerned tone, the werewolf continued.

“Would you like me to find a traveling companion for you? There are several caravans heading south.”

“Hahaha. I appreciate the thought. You’re quite considerate. But I’ll be fine.”

Kafka shook his head and slightly pulled aside his coat.

“Despite appearances, I’m a former mercenary.”

A well-maintained dagger was revealed.

“I’ve been protecting myself like this for decades.”

As he said, Kafka’s physique was quite robust.

It didn’t seem like he was lying about being a mercenary.

“Hmm. Then it looks like there are no issues. Very well.”

The olfactory officer finally relaxed his expression and picked up a stamp.

-Thud.

[Departure Processed]

The short, bold word was imprinted on the document.

“I wish you a safe journey. The Kingdom of Crossroads will always welcome your return.”

“Thank you. Oh, by the way…”

“Yes?”

The olfactory officer, who was about to call for the next person, paused awkwardly.

“It looks quite busy here. Is something going on?”

Kafka slightly tilted his head and glanced past the officer, looking inside the Immigration Office.

Just as he said, the Immigration Office was in complete chaos today.

Normally, the staff would just walk around lazily, stamping documents with indifferent expressions, wishing for the end of the day.

But now, what he saw was…

“Supervisor, we have completed the statement from the time of the entry denial incident!”

“Oh, really? Who made the statement?”

“Two ordinary entrants who were present at the scene!”

“Excellent. Take it to the evidence storage.”

“Yes! No exceptions at the border!”

The assistants were working with an enthusiasm rarely seen before.

“Who noticed the discrepancy in the cargo manifest? Was it the tactile officer? We need a copy.”

“The olfactory officer inspected the personnel list. It turns out they mixed the names of holy knights among civilians.”

“Hmm… That means it was deliberately done to avoid suspicion. Alright, note that too.”

The inspectors were also working diligently, with sharper eyes than usual.

And at the center of the chaotic yet vibrant Immigration Office…

“Bundle the collected statements with a blue ribbon! Documents related to immigration regulations go in red! Bring everything else to me!”

A young man with black eyes was leading the entire scene with precision.

Under his direction, various documents were being systematically placed into a box labeled [Evidence Storage].

Watching the almost military-like efficiency, Kafka couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Quite a sight. I’ve never seen a government agency work this hard.”

“Ah, well…”

The olfactory officer scratched his head with an awkward smile.

“It’s… the internal audit period is approaching, so everyone’s working a bit harder than usual. Hahaha.”

“Ah, an audit. Those nerve-wracking days. How long will it last?”

“About two or three days, I think.”

“Really?”

Kafka leaned forward.

He whispered just loud enough for the Scent Officer to hear.

“Is it because of the Pilgrimage Group?”

The werewolf’s expression hardened.

“To be honest, can’t you just tell me? When will the Pilgrimage Group be inspected again?”

The Scent Officer remained silent.

“People outside keep talking about you guys. Just a little hint, okay?”

Kafka asked persistently.

His curious purple eyes gleamed.

After a while, a very low growl came as a response.

“…I hope you enjoyed your time in the Kingdom of Crossroads.”

With those words, the Scent Officer called out.

“Next!”

It was a clear signal to move on.

Kafka had no choice but to get up without gaining anything.

The old man’s body passed the Scent Officer and left the building.

He headed toward the castle gate.

After passing the giant stone statues on the castle wall, he entered a nearly deserted alley.

“…Hmm.”

Kafka glanced around.

The secluded street was filled with silence.

“This place will do.”

Once past this spot, he would reach the castle gate, but he paused to catch his breath.

And then, Crunch!

A chilling sound of bones twisting echoed through the alley.

“Ugh… Argh…!”

Snap, crack.

At the same time, his joints twisted in bizarre directions, and his face and skeleton contorted.

Kafka couldn’t even scream, writhing as if cursed.

About five seconds later, what emerged was,

“Ah, old bodies are so stiff. Really not my style.”

It was Shahal, the Blackhand’s vice-master.

She cracked her finger joints one last time, aligning them properly, and muttered.

“Next time, I’ll pick a younger body.”

Changeling.

One of the rarest races in the world, Changelings are not well known.

Because of their ability to transform into others, identifying them as a race is difficult.

In ancient times, they were often hunted as monsters because of this, and even now, revealing their identity could lead to unpredictable consequences, making them a tragically secretive race.

As a result, people now treat this race as nothing more than a legend.

They are merely known as “monsters who transform into others by eating three strands of hair.”

And Shahal, having fully utilized her Changeling abilities, became the vice-master of Blackhand.

“And men’s bodies… they’re just too big. In many ways.”

She brushed her light purple hair back and spat something from her mouth.

Splat.

Three strands of white hair fell to the ground with a displeasing sound.

They belonged to the old mercenary she had dealt with on the previous mission.

The name William Kafka was a fake—a nonexistent alias.

What she took from the dead man were his body and clothes.

Now that the departure was complete, there was nothing left to gain from him.

“They said two or three days… I just need to finish it before then.”

She casually took off her jacket, pants, and even her shoes.

Once she was down to her underwear, all traces of the nameless, retired mercenary vanished.

Shahal grabbed a worn skirt and a tattered shirt from a clothesline in the corner of the alley.

“Actually, this works out better. When they’re busy like this, they won’t suspect something odd.”

After putting them on, she took out a small bottle from her chest.

Inside were three more strands of hair from another victim.

Dusty and dull brown hair.

Without hesitation, she swallowed them.

Crunch! Snap!

Her body twisted once again.

“Aagh…! Ugh…!”

And after another five seconds, “Phew.”

Where the woman with the light purple hair had been, now stood a shabby, starving-looking beggar.

“Let’s get started.”

She hid the dagger that had fallen to the ground in her clothes and staggered toward the castle gate.

With a cracked voice and a pained expression, she shouted.

“Pilgrims…! Please, show me mercy…!”

To anyone watching, it seemed like a beggar begging for alms from the Pilgrimage Group.

Hiding a dagger and a potion given by her employer.

***

Crash!

The sound of shattering glass tore through the silence.

The thrown water bottle shattered, spilling its contents onto the ground.

The woman’s face reflected in the spreading puddle was filled with fear, terror, and confusion.

“Huff… Huff…”

Her gasping breaths were far from confident, and her trembling eyes found no answers.

As the puddle reached her cold, numbed feet,

“Why!!!!”

The scream of the Saintess Erzena Selaph rang out within the tent.