Fortunately, the story of the collaborator didn't end in a dark twist, where the infiltrator was actually captured and exploited. The Princess waved her hands, assuring us that the collaborator was indeed a Resistance agent on a mission, driven by a fierce desire for revenge against the Military State, and even boasted that she had seen his face in person.

Though we remained skeptical, our destination was clear.

The Alchemic Steel Refinery. A place where the screams of both steel and humans echoed simultaneously.

We arrived there.

Clang. Clang.

The dry, heated sound reverberated through the air. It was the sound of refining molten alchemic steel into ingots. Since the Military State had Signallers, our attack had probably been broadcast across the entire region. Other places had tightened their defenses or locked their gates in response, but this location seemed isolated—unconcerned and indifferent to whatever was happening outside.

Despite the arrival of an unregistered automaton carriage at the factory entrance, neither guards nor laborers appeared. It was almost disappointing. The only sound affirming where we were came from the screams of steel being forged all around us.

“…Tch. This place always gives me the creeps. We should just pass by,” the Regressor muttered, clearly fed up. But then, she noticed a shadow hesitating near the gate. The suspicious figure spotted us and quickly approached.

The Regressor instinctively raised her sword, but as the figure drew closer, showing no hostility or signs of aggression, she lowered it again.

"Someone's coming this way? Doesn’t seem like an enemy. Could it be a Resistance collaborator?"

It was Siati who answered.

For once, she wore a rare, welcoming expression. Among the few things left in the world that mattered to her, besides destroying the Military State, this person must have been one. Despite her weakened state, she greeted the man warmly.

Three steps before they met. To avoid any possible traps, and to honor the past, Siati confirmed the old code they had shared.

“Where are we?”

The man stopped in his tracks and responded in kind.

“Still, beneath the riverbed.”

“You’re safe, Carrafald.”

“And you, Siati.”

After confirming each other’s identity, they briefly embraced, exchanging the kind of camaraderie only those who’ve faced death together could understand.

At least, for Siati, that bond seemed unwavering.

After the short reunion, the man called Carrafald turned his attention to the rest of us.

“There are quite a few people here who don’t seem to be Resistance. Are they our collaborators?”

“No. We’re the collaborators here.”

“What? What in the world is going on? Wait… who are those?”

Carrafald’s face shifted to surprise as he recognized me and Historia.

He was a rather unremarkable man—clean-cut but forgettable. The kind of face you wouldn’t remember the next day, no matter how hard you tried. He quickly masked his surprise with a smile and approached us.

“Historia? Huey? Is it really you? How did you two make it here…!”

To my surprise, he seemed genuinely happy to see us, though Historia, on the other hand, looked less than pleased.

‘Barely saved you from drowning under that river, and you’ve crawled back into danger. Is everyone just itching to die? Why do you keep….’

For Historia, the people she couldn’t save were a source of regret, and those she did save were her achievements. So seeing her “achievement” risking his life again clearly annoyed her.

Historia, her expression twisted with displeasure, averted her gaze and walked past him. Carrafald’s smile faltered as he withdrew his hand and glared at her retreating figure.

“Hasn’t changed a bit. Historia still pretends we don’t exist, doesn’t she? Acting like she’s better than us.”

…It was clear he thought he knew Historia well, judging by his grumbling. I decided to defend her in her absence.

“She’s not ignoring you; she’s letting it slide. From her point of view, the Resistance are targets she should apprehend.”

“Even so! What’s with that attitude? She should pick a side! Military State or ours!”

Carrafald huffed.

That attitude—typical of him. The kind of narrow-mindedness that divides everything into black and white, demanding more while relying on others. It was a childish way to see the world, especially coming from someone who expects favors but gripes about them afterward.

Still, he managed a friendly smile when he turned to me.

“Anyway, Huey, it’s been a while. It’s reassuring to know you’re here.”

He smiled, as though we were old friends, even going so far as to introduce himself as if I might have forgotten him.

“Ah, you remember me, right? It’s me, Carrafald!”

‘I am Carrafald. The last survivor of Hamelin. A Resistance fighter and your guide.’

Of course, I remembered Carrafald.

He was one of the few survivors from Hamelin. A prospective mage officer, full of ambition and talent, but unfortunately overshadowed by the monster that was Lancart. The brilliance of another had blinded him, keeping him from rising as high as he might have otherwise.

Yes, I knew him well.

But.

“You disappeared without a word that day. Cento was disappointed, and Siati was furious. But I knew… I knew you couldn’t stay with the Military State forever. I was certain we’d be fighting together again one day, just like when we defeated Nicholas!”

‘Commit to the role. Stick to the script. And deceive {me}. I am Carrafald.’

…A delusional person claiming to be Carrafald?

Who are you, really?

A person who is convinced they are themselves, and no one else, except for some jaded philosopher bored with life? No. The man standing in front of me didn’t even resemble Carrafald in the slightest.

This was not Carrafald.

But everyone around him recognized him as such.

Siati, who knew him best, and even Historia, who had saved him from the riverbed, all believed him to be Carrafald.

"Carrafald. This isn't the time," the Princess interjected.

"What? Princess, you’re here too? Siati, what’s going on?"

"There's a lot you need to know. For now, calm down and listen, Carrafald."

"How am I supposed to stay calm? And who are they?"

A wave of cognitive dissonance hit me. Siati, Historia, and the Princess all clearly recognized him as Carrafald. Their gazes, fixed on his nondescript face, only strengthened this delusion. But I knew better. I couldn’t be mistaken.

Unlike anyone else, the person insisting he was Carrafald was… paradoxically the most aware that he wasn’t.

Huh. So, this was the trick. A masterful sleight of hand. First, he seized the opportunity to introduce himself, slowly weaving the shared past into a narrative that established him as Carrafald. Not an amateur effort, by any means.

It reminded me of my own scams.

Only, where I might imitate someone, this man had “transformed.” Without exception, everyone saw, felt, and acted as if he were Carrafald.

This was… something bordering on the supernatural.

A truly fraudulent ability. If I had this power, I wouldn’t have struggled nearly as much with my schemes. Life certainly wouldn’t have been so unfair. But, then again, at least I had mind-reading to rely on.

If I hadn’t caught onto his trick, I would have followed this mimic straight into a trap. Just like a sailor lured by the song of a Siren, or a traveler enticed by the treasure in a mimic’s chest. I’d have walked willingly into this one, led by the face of a trusted friend.

Now, what to do?

"Alright, I’ve made my decision."

"Hm?"

I calmed my thoughts and, using my mind-reading ability, began to mirror him. He is Carrafald. He is Carrafald. He’s wearing Carrafald’s mask, but… no, I can’t go that far. He might realize that I’ve figured it out.

He is not Carrafald. He is… the shadow of the Military State, the leader of Public Security, the dark matter required for a star to shine. He is not the night watchman, Jiekhrund.

No, no. Stop right there. If I think too much, he’ll know.

He’s not Jiekhrund, but... Carrafald. My friend, who survived Hamelin, endured long years of infiltration, and now, finally, rejoices in his success.

“…I figured it out when I saw Siati, but it really is you, Carrafald. I’ve been running into a lot of old faces lately."

I wasn’t happy. I didn’t know him. But, grinning like I was reuniting with a long-lost friend, I flashed him a proud smile and addressed ‘Carrafald’ directly.

“Sorry, but the honor of breaking the Military State goes to me first.”

I gave him exactly what he expected—mirroring the persona he thought I should play.

When is a person the most vulnerable?

Is it when they’re asleep? When they’re admiring a beautiful view?

No.

It’s right when they’re about to sink their teeth into their prey, basking in the relief of a sure victory.

The game of deception had just begun.