Chapter 51: The Card of the Pretender

“O lost and bewildered Bladesworn, now the great, beautiful, and adorable Seer shall prophesy for you…”
Celie lifted her staff solemnly, her young face earnest, carrying herself like a little adult as she declared with gravity, “The road ahead lies beneath your feet, but at times, you will need the right guidance. Never forget your original purpose—return to your true self…”
“You should stay in this camp, continue your work in alchemy, live in harmony with those here, helping one another…”
At this point, Celie stole a quick glance at Royon, trying to gauge his reaction.
Yet Royon’s face remained calm and inscrutable, betraying nothing of his thoughts.
Seeing this, Celie seemed a little anxious. Her lively eyes darted, and she waved her staff, saying, “You will… assemble a powerful mercenary company, and its name shall be… shall be… the Gale Mercenaries!”
“In this company, there will be many people, of many different callings—such as… alchemists, and seers…”
By the end, Celie’s voice faltered, her lovely little face flushing bright red.
Then she looked at Royon with hope shining in her eyes—
The little girl looked only seven or eight years old; who knew whose child she was? So young, yet already affecting the manners of an adult, spinning tall tales as if by habit, and when those failed, making up new ones on the spot.
Admittedly, it was rather amusing.
Ahem.
Yet her obvious plea to be taken in left Royon in a quandary.
He was barely more than a child himself—how could he look after another?
Besides, as a promising youth—though who knew if he’d ever get another chance to be a lawyer—Royon was well aware that someone his age was not permitted to adopt a child!
As for clinging to one another for survival—just the thought of it sounded unbearably tragic…
While Royon was mulling this over, Celie tilted her head back, staring at him unblinking; and as the moments passed, her eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to spill over at any moment.
In all honesty, Royon wanted to refuse her; after all, he was only just getting by himself, perhaps a little better than the other heroes, but no more than that.
How could he undertake a long, arduous journey to the far-off, unquantifiable Bolenge with a child in tow?
And what of his own problems?
Speaking of problems, one of the main reasons he’d stayed at Reba Camp was that with the Alchemy Sprite and the secret elixirs he’d obtained, he could, even without leveling up, enhance himself through rune gems; the two combined left him no weaker than any of the other heroes.
Though not quite as invincible among his peers as the elfin beauty Yan Bao’er had described.
And so Royon hesitated—should he return now, or head straight for Bolenge?
His expression flickered with indecision, while Celie’s neck ached from craning, yet she endured, waiting desperately for his answer.
After a moment, Dodo reached out and handed Royon a vial of dark red liquid, breaking his reverie. He took the potion, meant to enhance vitality, and passed it to Celie.
“All right, great Seer—this elixir is yours.”
“And adorable…” Celie choked out.
“Oh, yes, adorable Seer.”
“And beautiful…”
“Yes, indeed, adorable and beautiful… great Seer, here is what you asked for.” Royon reached across the counter, holding out the potion to her.
…
Celie’s body swayed as she stared at the elixir, lifting her hand several times, clearly tempted.

Yet, for reasons unknown, she resisted the urge, her tear-filled eyes fixing on Royon, as if silently accusing him.
Royon could not help but feel a pang of guilt.
Inexplicably, he recalled those times he’d been rejected himself, and how painful those moments had been, set to the soundtrack of the most mournful music…
Ahem.
“Celie, there are some things I need time to think through. So—for now, just accept this payment for your prophecy, and come back after a while, all right?”
Royon stepped out from behind the counter, pressed the potion into her hand, and wiped the tears from her face.
Still, the tears kept flowing.
Celie just looked at him, silent, unmoving.
“Sigh!”
Royon let out a long breath, regretting ever lingering so long in Aireba.
Ordinarily it wouldn’t matter, but now, sending a child off alone with a bottle of potion, he really couldn’t feel at ease.
Especially seeing her like this…
“How about this—stay here for a while and look after the alchemy workshop for me; I have something to attend to outside.”
Royon settled the little girl behind the counter, on his own chair, nodded to Dodo, and hurried out of the camp.
“Dodo will do her best!”
The Alchemy Sprite’s voice called after him. Royon smiled wryly, circled the camp several times, then strode out onto the open grassland.
In truth, Celie’s words and her solitary, fragile but bravely defiant figure had inspired a faint idea in his mind.
He just needed time to ponder it.
In this strange world, children like Celie were not exactly everywhere, but they were by no means rare.
Just think of Goya and Sylvie at the last camp, or Tony, planning his big heist.
So many of them—becoming heroes at so young an age, fighting alone or banding together in little groups, struggling onward.
Yet most of their stories ended in heartbreak.
“Thieves are hanged, but kings go free…”
“To kill one is a crime; to kill thousands, a hero…”
By that logic, if adopting one is forbidden, what about a whole crowd?
What if he formed a mercenary band of children in this world?
Wouldn’t that make him… king of the kids?
“That hardly fits with my need for a low profile! Eh—”
Suddenly, something flashed through Royon’s mind—a fleeting spark that vanished before he could seize it.
So, finding a quiet, picturesque spot far from any disturbance, he lay down and began to think in peace.
He had a sense—vague but growing—that if he could just unravel this knot, the problem of his level cap would resolve itself.
“What was it? Why did it slip away so fast?”
Thinking thus, Royon drifted into a drowsy sleep.

And in sleep, once again, the “Whisper in the Wind” seemed to echo in his ears.
On the grasslands, heroes bustled here and there; now and then a gust would reveal a lurking beast, its monstrous face briefly exposed.
With every camp Royon journeyed through, the danger around him rose—
From the lowly level one or two spike rats and skeletons, to the casual appearance of level seven or eight bloodthirsty hyenas.
Only Royon would dare to sleep so openly on the plains, without the slightest protection.
When he awoke, the sky had grown overcast, as though a storm were brewing.
But his mind was elsewhere, eyes agleam with sudden inspiration, as if he’d just remembered something crucial—utterly absorbed.
The camp was not far off, but Royon wasted no time, opening a teleport scroll at once.
Upon returning, he did not head for his workshop, but made straight for a nearby inn.
In a small, shuttered room, he locked door and windows, checked everything thoroughly, and once again produced his identity card.
“Impostor!”
Royon let out a long sigh. Only now did he realize where the problem lay.
All this time, he’d been so focused on [disguise], he’d forgotten his true calling.
Now, alone in this room, Royon shed all his facades, returning to his genuine self.
The cloak, the gloves, the boots…
The longsword in his hand.
Every item in his [disguise] set reverted to its original form.
And Royon’s class was no longer Bladesworn.
[Impostor]—at last, it appeared once more in its true form.
“So this is what it means to remain vigilant, to face your heart unflinching?”
Royon examined his profile; many things that had been hidden now revealed themselves, along with several new details.
In his inventory, there were many card-like objects he hadn’t noticed before.
“Spiders? Red spiders, blue spiders, black spiders, green spiders… and flower spiders…”
Reading the images on the [cards], Royon recited each one.
Beyond spider cards, there were many others—spike rats, skeletons, monsters from the underworld.
Each card was neatly organized, row after row, evoking memories of his childhood obsession with collecting cards.
Even now, he still felt a pang of regret; since arriving in this strange world, all those treasured cards he’d nearly completed—just one card away from a full set!
Most had vanished with his childhood. Only a handful, hidden well enough to escape his mother’s thorough cleaning, had survived.
But never had he imagined that, in this new world, there would be a [card collecting] game for him to continue playing.
Royon flipped through them; most numerous were the spider cards and those monsters from the underworld—chiefly spiders.
Most other cards were dull and lifeless; only those creatures he’d encountered and fought had lit-up cards, allowing him to view their details.