Chapter 137: Be careful not to wear a mask for too long and you won’t be able to take it off

Otto didn’t answer immediately as he watched Litt’s respectful posture.

Instead, he took a light sip of his black tea before speaking.

“This kind of request isn’t difficult to accommodate. With the Gilded Chamber of Commerce’s inventory, allocating a portion for our partners is perfectly reasonable.”

Red felt a wave of relief at those words, though Otto’s generosity left him rather confused.

Maybe Otto saw through his uncertainty, because he continued,

“No need to worry. That Enchanted Dagger you enchanted for me last time—I tried it, and it worked exceptionally well. Didn’t I still owe you payment for it? These weapons are your compensation.”

It was only then that Red remembered:

Otto had only given him the task back then.

After he’d completed the enchantment, Otto never came by the shop to retrieve the Enchanted Dagger, and of course, no payment was ever made.

But for a single Enchanted Dagger to earn such a generous reward…

It honestly felt like he was getting the better end of the deal.

Then again, it was possible that the dagger Otto entrusted to him for enchantment had some special property or power that he himself simply didn’t know about.

“Did you bring that dagger with you?”

“Yes, we did.”

Red hadn’t answered yet, but Litt had already handed over the Enchanted Dagger that Otto wanted.

Otto inspected it closely for a while, then nodded in great satisfaction and praised, “Such exquisite craftsmanship… Seeing such flawless enchantment makes me feel like I’ve shortchanged you, Red.”

Red took Otto’s humble words as a well-intentioned comfort, meant to make the deal—which on the surface seemed to benefit Red more—feel fairer, so that the “one who got the better end” could feel at ease.

After all, in the end, this was just an enchantment technique.

With Otto’s capabilities, he could surely find someone even more skilled than himself.

“Not at all,” Red responded with matching courtesy, “I’m well aware of my own skill level.”

“Heh…”

Otto chuckled and didn’t take Red’s words to heart.

“I’ll send people to deliver the weapons and armor you want to your shop. But compared to what you make, the quality of these items may be a bit lacking.”

“That’s fine.”

Rather than closing shop for several days, Red thought it better to keep it open; at least this way, people would know about the store.

Once the deal was struck, Red and Litt prepared to leave.

But as they reached the doorway, Litt paused and glanced back at Otto.

The man was still examining the Enchanted Dagger in his hands.

She narrowed her eyes.

Ever since Otto picked up the dagger, scenes had started replaying in her mind, as if a Dungeon memory was playing out.

It wasn’t a coherent story, but a rush of abrupt, broken, pain-filled mutterings forced into her head, her vision spinning until it froze at a bizarre angle, as if she were being pinned, face down, against a cold, rough floor.

Her body was completely out of control, racked by spasms so violent it felt like her bones were being dislocated.

Cold gravel pressed into her cheek, and every painful breath was thick with the taste of blood and dust.

No enemies, no battle—just endless darkness and the suffocating, dying pain.

But Litt was certain of one thing: the person about to die wasn’t her.

From this first-person view, she could see that “her” arm was dark and thick, clearly a man’s hand.

But who the dying man actually was…

Litt had no idea.

She did her best to piece the flickering, fragmented images together, analyzing them.

Soon, she found something worth pondering.

At some point, the dying man glanced down.

At the spot of his heart, a wound gushed blood nonstop. Judging by its size… it was clearly made by a sharp dagger.

At this, Litt’s gaze fell on the dagger in Otto’s hand.

The man she’d just “seen” in her mind—could it be that he was killed by this very blade?

But why would Otto want to kill someone in the Dungeon?

“What’s wrong?”

Otto noticed Litt lingering at the door, puzzled.

“Sister Litt, do you have some other business?”

“Nothing.”

Litt kept her face calm and left as if nothing had happened.

Just as she was about to close the door, though, Otto spoke.

Though he was far away, his voice seemed to pierce straight through to her ears.

“Sister Litt… Are you planning to play this role your whole life?”

Litt froze, turning to look at Otto.

At some point, he’d raised his head to stare at her, a playful smile on his face.

“Just a word of friendly advice—be careful. If you wear a mask for too long, it might never come off.”

***

Night fell.

In a shabby little house by the Sacred Heart Monastery of the White Church, Satania sat upright on a stool.

Before her stood two men dressed in Priestess robes.

Just thinking of what Red had said to her earlier, her heart clenched, mixed with a sense of grievance and unwillingness.

Even so, she kept her expression neutral.

Or perhaps—it wouldn’t matter even if she did show it, since the two Priestesses didn’t seem to care.

Satania looked at the two men in front of her.

Their faces were devoid of expression.

She hadn’t thought much of it before, but now… she felt their eyes on her were chillingly cold.

“Priestess sirs, may I ask what you need from me?”

“About your plan to use the Dawnblade against Red… Did it fail?”

“…Yes.”

Satania nodded.

“Though capturing Red was a failure, at least I’ve established a connection with that White Church priestess, Letia.”

The two Priestesses, knowing exactly which priestess she referred to, sighed in disappointment at her words.

“Satania… do you know?”

One of them sighed and said, “Those Holy Church types, always playing with Holy Light—they’re all rotten to the core. You’ve been deceived by her.”

If this had been before, Satania might have believed them, but now, seeing the utter coldness and indifference on their faces, she… simply couldn’t believe it anymore.

“Forget it. We never really expected you to take down Red anyway. Your task is complete—as you bought us the time we needed.”

“Huh?”

Satania’s mind couldn’t keep up.

Wasn’t her task to contact the Dawnblade or deal with Red?

One part had failed, the other was a complete failure.

Why say her task was done?

“No need to be so surprised. Exposing you to the public eye was just a ploy to attract the White Church, Litt, and Red.”

The Priestess’s words were as cryptic as mist, leaving Satania only half-comprehending.

As she struggled to process it, a cold realization took shape:

“So…”

Her voice trembled imperceptibly, eyes reddening, unshed tears glistening.

“The task you gave me all along… was to use me as bait, wasn’t it?”

A dull ache of betrayal, mingled with the fear of abandonment, made her nose sting.

But remembering Letia’s words, she forced herself to endure.

Now was not the time to escape—she had to find a better opportunity.

The Priestess caught her suppressed tears and aggrieved expression.

A gentle, almost pitying smile appeared on his face, and his voice softened as if to comfort her.

“Don’t be sad about this, Satania.”

He reached out as if to pat her shoulder, but withdrew at her slight flinch, his tone full of praise.

“Your actions have bought the organization invaluable time. You are… the finest Executor.”

In the past, Satania might have been happy to hear this.

Now… those words, “finest,” sounded only cold and mocking.

The Priestess’s tone shifted, his gaze locking firmly on Satania’s eyes.

“By the way… That Demon Potion I entrusted to you—did you… drink it?”

“Ah… y-yes! I drank it!”

Satania’s heart jumped as she nodded quickly.

She hadn’t directly swallowed the Demon Potion, but had used it as a tonic and got it down in the end.

It was in her stomach—so that counted, right?

“Oh?”

The Priestess scrutinized her.

No surge of demonic aura, no signs of losing control, not even a hint of increased power.

This unnatural calm surprised him for an instant, then was replaced by deeper satisfaction.

“Excellent… Very good.”

He nodded slowly, his gentle smile deepening with the joy of discovering treasure.

“As I thought, your body’s compatibility with the Demon Potion far exceeds my expectations. Out of all of us… you may be the most special, and the strongest.”

“Is that so?”

Satania saw the expression on his face and felt a vague unease.

The Priestess continued,

“To test your strength, tomorrow we’ll go into the Dungeon.”

“Eh?”

Satania froze, then asked in confusion, “But… We’ve never entered the Dungeon. What’s the point of testing on the first floor?”

The Priestess only gave a cold laugh.

“That’s nothing for you to worry about. A few days ago, the Scarlet Legion entered the twenty-seventh floor of the Dungeon. I have a way to use their Teleportation Array to go down there.”

“Ah?”

Hearing this, Satania actually felt a jolt of fear.

She knew why the Dungeon could boost people’s strength so rapidly: as the floor level increased, so did the monsters’ power.

So just entering the Dungeon wasn’t enough.

You had to fight your way up by slaying monsters—much like leveling up in a game.

If you were a level one newbie and entered a level fifty dungeon, that didn’t mean you’d have the strength of level fifty.

Any random monster inside could crush you.

Granted, the Dungeon wasn’t quite that extreme, but it was certainly dangerous.

“No need to worry. As long as you’ve taken the Demon Potion, dealing with those monsters will be effortless. Besides, we’ve all taken it as well, so relax.”

As the first Priestess spoke gently, the other fixed his gaze on Satania.

His companion played “good cop,” so he would wield the stick.

When he saw her hesitate, he pressed,

“Satania, are you going to betray the organization’s expectations? Or do you plan to betray the Church?”

“I’m not!”

Satania shook her head at once, denying it. But he wouldn’t relent.

“Then why hesitate?”

“….”

Under the pressure of his words, Satania finally nodded.

“I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit. We leave after tomorrow.”

The two Priestesses left.

In a hidden corner, a Silver Spider quietly crawled out through a crack in the window.

***

Three days passed in a flash.

By the window at the Riverside Tavern, Red and Letia sat facing each other.

Afternoon sunlight slanted in, painting the table with a warm golden hue.

Yet the lazy atmosphere was somewhat ruined by Letia’s extremely “unrestrained” sitting posture.

Though petite and delicate, she now slouched in her sturdy wooden chair like a sloppy uncle nursing a hangover.

She’d kicked off her black Martin Boots.

One foot was propped carelessly on the crossbar beneath the table, the other swung lazily.

In this position, a glance under the table might reveal things that would set the blood racing.

At the same time, she held a wooden beer mug nearly half the size of her face, swirling it gently.

“Gulp gulp gulp…”

Letia chugged a big mouthful, then sighed contentedly.

She wiped the foam from her lips with the back of her hand, and finally turned her gaze to Red.

“Hey, Red,” her voice, slightly husky from beer, went straight to the point, “How’s your investigation going?”

Though these three days seemed peaceful, neither had forgotten their original goal—to track down the Black Church’s whereabouts and movements.

“I’ve just about turned the White Church upside down these past days, but there’s no trace of the Black Church at all.”

Letia was telling the truth.

Of course, her investigation inside the White Church also included tracking Otto’s movements.

But to her surprise, this bishop spent almost all his time in the White Church or the Holy Church, with no intention of heading to the Dungeon.

As for the Enchanted Dagger, it remained quietly at his home.

Letia had examined it herself, but no matter how she looked, she couldn’t figure out its secret.

Though it had indeed been enchanted, there wasn’t even a ripple from the Magic Array, as if it was just a bunch of fancy patterns carved into the blade.

“They’re hidden deep, that’s for sure. Tch…”

Letia clicked her tongue and drained her beer.

But she showed little sign of frustration.

After all… if Otto the old fox was so easy to catch slipping, he wouldn’t be Otto.