Chapter 35: Cracks in the Mask

  “Then make me do it,” the elf in front of him said quietly. “If you really dare.”

  Lucien paused for a moment. He wasn’t used to being contradicted, not as an Inquisitor of the Church. It felt wrong and almost confrontational. In that brief pause, he tried to assess the situation.

  Normally, he would have been more cautious and better prepared, but luck wasn’t on his side today. The Church’s communication channels had been sluggish all morning. When he sent his inquiry about the elf through a [Sanctum Courier], no answer had arrived before his departure. Still, he couldn’t afford to wait the entire day. Something was brewing, and it slowed down the flow of information across all networks, not only the courier network of the Church. But it wasn’t like he expected much of a problem with his inquiry anyway.

  The elf, however, was undeniably suspicious. His apprentice had already checked the gate records when the woman entered the city, yet there had been no mention of her. She’d slipped in without registration, which alone made her a person of interest. And beyond that, they were far in the north, thousands of miles from elven lands. Why would she, of all people, come here to trade? There was no sensible reason for her to choose Tiara unless something else had drawn her here.

  That led Lucien to a clear conclusion. Since she was not officially registered at the gates, she probably had no backing or support inside the city who could have opened them for her, and with that assessment, Lucien reached his decision. Even if she was no cultist, this elf was fishy enough, and he bet she was even here illegally in the Kingdom of Burm. After all, every non-human from a tolerated sapient species had to register before entering a kingdom under the Ecclesia’s protection, and he was sure she had not done that, since she hadn’t entered the city legally.

  Also, Lucien’s impressions of the situation were already biased, so he misunderstood the words, or rather, the threat, from the elf in front of him. What he saw was a rich merchant who bent the rules and laws of weak-minded kingdoms with wealth, so he interpreted her tone as arrogance, the kind that came from someone rich enough to think herself above the law. But he was not the law; he was the Church, and no one stood above the Church. Even when most nobles were scum and corrupt, he took pride in being different. So, he was glad to be here, ready to catch this arrogant elf and show her the place she deserved in this world.

  He smirked. “Oh, you think because you have some money, probably stolen somewhere, that it will help you? No.” He stood up, and the two guards he had brought with him understood the gesture and stepped closer. “I will arrest you in the name of the Inquisition. Your dishonest nature as a non-human was already shown once when you slipped into the city, and you have shown it again here by refusing to reveal your class before a servant of the Goddess.”

  The elf rose slowly from her seat. Lucien almost expected to see fear in her eyes—who would not be afraid when the Inquisition moved to arrest someone? But there was no fear. In her emerald gaze something else shimmered: annoyance, as if she regarded him as a pesky insect rather than a real threat. Lucien was normally a composed man, but that look threw him off. Who was she to look down on the Church? He decided to show her what it meant to disrespect a Church agent. First, he would arrest her and humiliate her in public. Then he would bring her to one of the Church’s interrogation rooms and break her resistance. She would beg for forgiveness, confess everything, and when she had finally paid for her insolence, he would see her burned.

  ???

  Also, Lily wasn’t an impulsive person by any means, but this was too much, even for her. She could have blamed it on her avatar, Lilithia Nocturne, for the anger rising inside her—it almost hurt physically—but no, that would have been hypocritical. It wasn’t just the man in front of her. It was the way he behaved, like a typical brainwashed NPC with a superiority complex. And she knew exactly where that came from.

  There was a reason Luxandra and her guild, the [Ecclesia Regnum], had never joined any of the major player alliances. Even though the guild had once ranked among the top fifty worldwide—with at least three members in the top thousand and Luxandra herself in the top two hundred—they had always taken their supremacy fantasy too far. What they built was no longer roleplay; it had become a stage for their delusions as self-proclaimed gods and a refuge for more extreme-minded individuals who built a cult around an idol who, in real life, had been sentenced for tax evasion, fraud, and the embezzlement of donations, and was suspected of even more.

  And now, five hundred years later, this clown fiesta wasn’t somewhere far off in Pangrea; it was right in front of her. Normally, Xantia was vast enough that you didn’t have to care about others if you didn’t want to. But when it came to the top ranks, every guild and player became increasingly prominent. The higher you climbed, the smaller the world became, until everyone existed in the same tight bubble of influence. Naturally, [Doomsday] and other major players within the Xares Empire were quite aware of her.

  So, it had been quite the scandal when Luxandra’s real-life crimes came to light. Everyone knew who she was; she had built her following through her streams. Nevertheless, their makeshift kingdom was far enough from the larger player hubs that they could defend their lands without major losses. Only the Xares Empire had plans to expand in that direction, though even that wasn’t expected to happen anytime soon. Luxandra, however, was well aware of it. Since her fall from grace in real life, she had poured all her resources, free time, and money into the game.

  You’ve got to be kidding me, she thought, the heat under her skin slowly tightening. Out of all the people in this world, it had to be one of Luxandra’s zealots.

  She rose when Lucien did, watching the two men by the door slowly make their way toward her. Tessa still hadn’t returned to her place behind the counter, and no one else was in the inn’s lobby. There was no reason to hold back any longer. Also, Lily realized it didn’t matter—her elven persona was screwed anyway. There was no outcome here where this Lucien would simply turn and leave her be. If he was here, others already knew about her as well.

  Besides, she didn’t want him to leave. No, there was no reason she should quietly endure every insult, no reason she shouldn’t stand up for herself. If she let something like this slide, people would only learn they could do whatever they wanted with her.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  This has gone far enough, she thought, while beneath her skin the heat pulsed with rising anger.

  But before she acted, she took a moment to size up her opponents. The two armored men moved fairly smoothly, but their gear looked mediocre, probably just regular town guards from Tiara. She hadn’t seen anyone above level 200 in the city before. Granted, she’d only been there for a single day and hadn’t visited the Adventurers’ Guild or other organizations that might have higher-level members. Still, she’d met enough of the local upper class to tell that the equipment these men wore clearly had no level restrictions. That alone made her fairly confident they weren’t above level 200.

  The Inquisitor was another case, but since he’d brought these guards as support, he was likely only a little stronger than they were.

  Aside from her assessment of their strength, Lily would normally still proceed with care. After all, in Xantia, anyone—or anything—could kill you, even a bunch of level 200 goons, if something went wrong or if they happened to fight exceptionally well. But like everything in life, it was only dangerous when you lost control of the situation, and this wasn’t one Lily could possibly slip up in. Unless, of course, she accidentally fell asleep or some other senseless thing happened, but in that case, she’d have bigger problems anyway.

  And sometimes, you just had to remind someone of their place in life. That morning, she had told herself she would embrace this new world so she could move forward. She had tried—tried to be kind, tried to be normal, tried to fit in. She had even changed her appearance because she already knew humans would despise her demon self. And still, the first thing that happened when a crime was investigated was racial profiling. Against a fucking elf, really?

  She was so done with it. Every time she learned something new about this world, it felt like a slap in the face. The bank had stolen the legacy of her guild. Her old home in Xerathene had been burned to the ground. And some psychopathic narcissist had founded a religion that was hunting her five hundred years later.

  As her emotions slowly boiled over while she thought about the situation, Lily felt the change. She slipped back into her Xantia persona—her roleplay self, or perhaps her truer self. For so long she had lived behind a mask, pretending to be the shy Lily Carter in the real world. She was the kind of person who was polite to everyone, who tried to please everyone just to be left alone, but inwardly she wished them all the worst.

  She hated how it had become normal for people to ask her for favors and never give anything in return, how it was expected that she was always there for everyone, while no one was ever there for her. Why was it so normal that everyone could treat her however they pleased?

  And in this moment, that mask finally cracked. Because she wasn’t helpless. Because she didn’t need a game anymore to cope. She could simply do whatever she wanted. She was a princess, a high-blood Demoness, Lilithia Nocturne, and this puny human in front of her dared, really dared, to threaten and arrest her?

  ???

  A wide grin spread across Lucien’s face as the two guards he had brought drew their swords and pointed them at the elf.

  “Lady Greenwood, you are under arrest,” one of them said. “Please stretch out your hands so we can bind them.”

  Lucien added in a snarky tone, “Suddenly not so talkative anymore?”

  The elf did not answer. She froze in place, and for a moment he thought she might finally realize her mistake. He watched the slight motions of her face, searching for any sign of panic or a trick. He could almost see the gears in her mind turning as she searched for a way out.

  There was no escape now, not after she had disrespected him like this. Then make me do it, if you really dare, she had said only moments earlier, and he snorted at the memory. The audacity of someone like her, demanding obedience from an Inquisitor, was infuriating.

  He felt the satisfaction of control settle in his chest, certain he would break her composure and force a full confession.

  Since she didn’t move, one of the guards stepped closer, ready to grab her arms and force them out so he could bind her. Then, suddenly, her gaze shifted. Her emerald eyes locked onto him, sharp and unblinking. Lucien couldn’t quite follow what happened next, but in an instant, she caught the guard’s hand mid-motion, twisted it, and forced him down to his knees. Her grip looked effortless, yet the man’s face contorted in pain.

  “How dare a lowly worm try to touch me without my permission,” she said in a low, cold voice. The guard struggled, but he couldn’t move under her iron hold. Then her tone changed, softer, almost detached, as if she had come to some strange realization. “No… no, you’re nothing more than an NPC. I’ve killed thousands of you before. One more doesn’t matter...”

  Before Lucien could react, her other hand snapped forward. Her fingers closed together, forming a sharp point like the beak of a bird. She drove it straight into the guard’s chest. The armor didn’t slow her down; her hand sank through it as if it were paper. When her palm reached his heart, she whispered, “[Heartburst].”

  The back of the guard exploded in a burst of blood and bone, spraying across the floor and wall. For a moment, everything fell silent except for the wet sound of the corpse hitting the ground. Then she turned her head toward Lucien and the remaining guard. Her eyes were no longer calm or calculating but wide, almost dreamy, and filled with a strange, manic gleam.

  “What the… what…” Lucien stammered, unable to form a full sentence. The second guard, breaking from his shock, shouted and swung his sword at her.

  She didn’t even bother to dodge the swing. Her hand began to glow faintly as she caught the sword mid-motion and stopped it with ease. Metal screeched under her grip before it snapped cleanly in two. She turned the broken tip in her hand and, without hesitation, drove it straight into the guard’s throat. A wet gasp escaped him as he collapsed beside his comrade.

  Lucien stumbled back, his legs almost giving out. His mind raced as he stared at her, struggling to comprehend what he had just seen. What was happening? How was this possible? She was supposed to be just a merchant. What level was she? How could she…

  When her eyes met his, the deep emerald green began to shift. The pupils widened, stretching into narrow, catlike slits, and the green bled into a dark crimson red. Oh, Goddess, Lucien thought, a demon. She was with the cultists after all.

  As the only true agent of the Church present, it was his duty to stop a demon outbreak, but he already knew he was completely outmatched. The brief exchange he had witnessed had made that painfully clear. He tried to do the only sensible thing he could think of, warn the others. He began to form the words for the skill Holy Fl— but he never finished.

  In the blink of an eye, the elf with the demonic eyes grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. He gasped, struggling for air, while she stared into his eyes.

  “You… it’s your fault. Look what you’ve done,” she said quietly.

  He couldn’t speak, but he tried not to show fear, refusing to give her that satisfaction.

  She shook him once, hard, then dropped him to the floor. Lucien coughed, gasping for breath as he looked up at her.

  “Say,” she continued, her voice unnervingly calm, “since you’re here, tell me—does the name Luxandra mean anything to you?”

  At that question, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He forced the words from his sore throat, barely more than a whisper. “How… how does a foul beast know the true name of the Goddess?”

  The last thing he heard was a quiet, bitter voice muttering, “That damn bitch,” before everything went black.