Even in the imperial capital, there was a place that the watchful eyes of the guards could not reach—the slums. There, the laws of the empire held no bearing, and those who inhabited this place all knew that their fates depended not on the government but on the leaders who ruled the underworld.
In a corner of this lawless place, a man stood inside a dilapidated building, concealing his presence as well as he could while holding his breath. This man, Spider, belonged to an organization that had tasked him with a mission. It was for the sake of completing this very mission—disposing of several people—that he found himself lying low in the ruins of this building. Suddenly, someone kicked open the door and several men rushed in, surrounding Spider.
“You’re the guy who’s been hanging around here a lot these days, aren’t you?” one of the men asked.
Spider didn’t reply.
“This building’s part of the Gateau Family’s territory. If you’re gonna squat here, you’d better be ready to pay u—” The man froze and stopped speaking.
These men were just common hooligans who’d come to extort someone who they thought was an insignificant vagabond looking for shelter. What they hadn’t expected, however, was to see several men tied up with spider threads in a corner of the room.
The thugs began to realize that they’d stuck their noses somewhere they shouldn’t have. This “vagabond” was dangerous. For the man who’d spoken, this realization came too late. An expression of anguish marred his features a second before his severed head hit the ground.
The others screamed in horror. One of them fell to the ground as fear gripped his heart and his legs gave out under him. From that angle, he could see the threads already intertwined around his friends’ necks.
Spider looked at the intruders with a frigid, annoyed gaze.
“Stop screeching so loudly, you worthless worms.”
The man on the ground let out a choked groan as he watched his comrades contort in pain. He, too, would soon end up like that—a headless cadaver.
“No... Please... Spare—” The man never finished his sentence. His consciousness had been snuffed out.
An elven man emerged from the darkness, stepping into the puddle of fresh blood with a squelching noise.
“My, my. That was quite the flashy display,” he said, exasperated.
Spider ignored him and extended one of his threads, looping it around the elf’s neck. However, before it could do him any harm, the thread burst into flames.
“I couldn’t feel any mana in the air... Is that spirit magic?” the elf asked.
The ease with which he’d destroyed the thread put Spider on alert, and he prepared to fight.
“I know your face,” Spider said. “You’re Lotton Flywok the Clairvoyant, of the empire’s Merchants’ Guild Council.”
“Calm down, Spider. It’s me, Phasmid.”
After Phasmid showed him the dagger he’d received from the young master of their organization, Spider finally believed him and lowered his guard.
“You always doubt me so much,” Phasmid said with a sigh.
“I can’t help it, can I? You have a different face every time I see you. Speaking of that, what did you do with your previous face?”
“It expired,” Phasmid replied. “It was such a shame because I liked it a lot. I could even use the unique spell Hiding with it. To be honest, I’m already tired of this one, so I’m on the lookout for a new face.”
“Is that so?” Spider kicked one of his captives who was still bound with his threads, and the man rolled helplessly in front of Phasmid. “How about that one? He’s the informant of the organization the young master had me deal with. He can use the unique spell Transcendent Sight.”
“Oh, that is quite rare. In that case...”
Phasmid waved his arm and a blade of wind beheaded the restrained man. Then, he gouged out the corpse’s heart with a knife.
“Divine Artifact, No Face.”
Phasmid’s mana flowed outward from his body before condensing itself into the form of an altar with a bronze mirror at its center. Two boxes lay in front of the mirror. Phasmid picked up one of them and put the heart of the man inside.
Phasmid’s Divine Artifact, No Face, allowed him to steal the appearances of the people he killed by enshrining their hearts. By doing so, he could not only copy their appearances, but also their memories and mana.
Phasmid’s face warped and twisted until it transformed into that of the man he’d just killed. He moved his body around a little as if testing it.
“I’m a little weaker than I was as Lotton, but oh well.”
“That ability of yours really is convenient,” Spider said. “The perfect disguise.”
“It’s not actually that convenient,” Phasmid replied. “I can only stock up to two faces at once, and while I can copy unique spells, I can’t copy Divine Artifacts. Not to mention that I can’t entirely stop the hearts from decaying, so I can only pose as someone for so long.” As he spoke, Phasmid turned back into Lotton. “The worst part is that I can never return to my real self,” he continued. “I cannot recall what I looked like or how I spoke originally.”
“Wouldn’t you just turn back into your real self if you removed both hearts from the boxes at once?” Spider asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never tried. Breaking the conditions of a Divine Artifact is quite risky. If I just lost my mana and returned to my real self as a result, it wouldn’t be so bad, but there’s no telling what else could happen. What if I turned into a cursed monster?” Phasmid shrugged. “At any rate, I came to see you because the young master has new orders for you.”
Phasmid took out a piece of paper and handed it to Spider.
“If you’re delivering his orders in person, it must be an important mission,” Spider said, unfolding the paper.
He started reading the orders very carefully. Phasmid observed his face, waiting for his reaction while discreetly preparing for combat. He’d been told to kill Spider on the spot depending on his reaction.
“I understand,” Spider eventually said. “Let the young master know I’ll do it.”
“All right... I shall pray for your good fortune,” Phasmid replied. He put down a small box on a half-rotten desk and started walking away.
Spider watched him disappear before holding the piece of paper over a candle until it burned to ashes.
“If these are the young master’s orders, I will not question them. I’ll see things through, even if it means risking my life,” he said to no one in particular.
Spider picked up the little box Phasmid had left and opened it without hesitation, retrieving its contents. It was a clear jewel as large as his palm, inside of which a dark mist swirled. Some might have mistaken it for an ordinary crystal, but Spider could tell it was packed with dense, concentrated mana. He tucked it inside his inner pocket.