“Why not go with a female form this time? I know you want to become someone new, but it might be best to stick to your original body, don’t you think?”
“You, you…”

To the average onlooker, it might not have been clear, but the fight between him and Historia was starting to slow down. The heated exchange, which had involved blood and blistering intensity, was gradually giving way to a more calculated back-and-forth, almost as if they were sparring partners rehearsing a routine.

“It’s easier to shrink than to grow, after all. Expanding is simple, but reducing takes effort. A smaller size would ensure a bit more uniqueness, wouldn’t it? Besides, Jiekhrund was already lean, so that suits you better, right?”
“Stop…”

“And let’s go with your younger face. Oh, you said you couldn’t remember it, didn’t you? That’s a bit of a problem.”

I can’t paint his face for him, and even if I could, there’s no guarantee it would resemble his original face. That face vanished long ago.

As humans grow, their bodies change, their faces too. Life leaves its marks on the body, like the rings of a tree. That’s what creates an impression. But for someone like him, who changes his face every day, no impression could form. The face of his childhood may linger as a faded memory, but no one can predict how it might have turned out.

Ultimately, his desire isn’t about reclaiming his old face but finding an anchor, a standard to keep himself from being lost. I could slap together some arbitrary look for him, but that would lack the sincerity he deserves.

“In times like this, let’s turn to the power of mystery. I’ll give you a lighthouse to guide you, something more than an anchor.”

“You… Pied Piper… what exactly are you?”
“Does that matter right now? What matters is that I can grant your wishes.”

Even if I sketched his face here, it wouldn’t resemble the real one. Besides, there’s still more to be done. I’ll leave some of this for him to figure out.

“Find Shay in this refinery. She has the Eyes of Fate. Do you understand what I mean?”

If the Regressor’s Eyes of Fate have reached that level, she might just be able to glimpse the destiny that lies ahead. And if she uses her Agartha Mask, she might even recreate that face. Though whether she’ll go that far is anyone’s guess.
She’s collected so many treasures—she could afford to share a little.

“She…”

“Of course, she won’t offer her help willingly. But you can trade our whereabouts in exchange. That should be enough to get her to cooperate.”

The Regressor will be pleased enough just knowing about Jiekhrund’s abilities and identity.

Is there anyone as generous as me, a genie who not only understands desires but provides clear, satisfying solutions? If I had been the one granting wishes, stories about demonic contracts and monkey paws wouldn’t exist.

Jiekhrund, or rather, the body he had prepared for his transformations, began to lose its form. As the ki that filled his muscles and bones leaked out, his body gradually shrank.

It’s easy to expand, but reducing is difficult. Expanding is just a matter of adding or inflating, but reducing means loss or suppression.

“Uh, uh, ah…”

As his body transformed, the fabric of his clothing, once tailored to his form, now hung loosely. Sleeves left half a hand’s width empty, and a now slim jaw replaced the once firm jawline that had been propped up by alchemical substances.
Having changed his body structure by infusing ki directly into his bones and muscles, he now looked deflated, like a balloon that had lost air. He muttered with guilt and agony.

“No… I can’t betray her…”

“I don’t know who ‘she’ is, but what betrayal? How does achieving your own wish count as betrayal? You’ve already been exposed, so why not live a new life with a new face and name?”

Jiekhrund clung to his identity with desperate resolve. His anchor was nearly uprooted, but he redirected his fundamental suspicion towards me.

Can he really trust me?

‘It’s impossible. This guy claims to know people’s deepest desires and grant them? Sure, he calls it wish fulfillment, but it’s really just digging up the dirtiest, basest parts of a person! Dangerous…’

He started to doubt not my offer but my very existence. My proposals are perfectly tailored to his needs, so he’s trying to find fault elsewhere.

‘Prophets force sacrifices on people for the sake of the future. But this guy’s power is the opposite—he allows us to indulge in sin as much as we want. It’s the exact opposite of the Holy Church… Could someone with such a monstrous ability have really been born and raised here in the Military State, a place devoid of mystery?’

His sharp instincts, his natural observance, and his paranoid caution, honed by a lifetime of evasion, pushed him to reject my offer.

‘I may not believe it, but even if I accept his powers as real… agreeing to his proposal might be a demonic contract.’

Tsk. I even dropped him a hint, hoping he wouldn’t doubt me. But spelling it out would ruin the mystery.

Let’s give him a little more. I whispered softly to him.

“A gift from the Wise Men of the East.”

‘The Wise Men… from the East?’

It’s a biblical phrase, referring to those who found the first prophet and saint. Though they’re long gone, people searching for prophecies or revelations often speak of being guided by the Wise Men of the East.
Even if his life on the run was long, his roots lie in the theater. He pulled from a distant memory of an old phrase.

‘A role often seen in religious plays. A stagehand who provides the protagonist with a special encounter. Right, all of this….’

Yes. You’ve realized it, haven’t you? As someone who has encountered countless stories and roles, who has researched and acted them out, you’ve finally figured it out on your own.

‘The wandering scholar. The mercenary drifter. The reclusive sage. The mendicant monk. The wayfarer. They’re all… nameless extras. No need to know who they are or even if they exist. All these nameless characters lead to one.’

And then, his thoughts, rolling around like marbles, landed on a realization. He looked up at me with trembling eyes.

‘Could it be…?’

Perhaps it was the barrage of mental blows that shook him. He panted heavily, his bloodshot eyes shaking uncontrollably.
Ah, he’s moved beyond words. A rare satisfaction filled me as I contemplated my next steps.

“Oh, and we’ll need a name too. You’ll be living with it for the next half of your life, so it’s important. What should it be…?”

Jiekhrund’s name, like many, was plucked from the epics of ancient heroes. While that kind of name does stick around in people’s minds, nothing can compare to one’s true name.

I selected a name from the countless possibilities, pulling out one old name, deliberately forgotten.

“What do you think, Hilde? Are you ready to accept my proposal?”
“How… how do you know that name…”

Just like a stage name, a courtesan’s name is only used within the brothel. He had abandoned that name when he left the brothel, but here I was, handing it back to him.

It had once shone brightly before disappearing. Now, I was gathering those fragments to build a lighthouse. Throwing away this identity would be a real waste.

“…I am… Hilde.”

Jiekhrund, former head of the Public Security of the Military State, was no more. In his place stood Hilde, the identity he had long discarded.

Hilde took a step back, hesitant. No longer Jiekhrund, she had no need to guard this refinery or fight us. She also couldn’t attack me, her observer.
She lowered her head and mumbled something under her breath. I couldn’t quite make it out, but it was likely a thanks.

“Oh, it’s nothing. After all, you’ll be the one asking Shay. Your first task: reclaim your face and live a new life.”

I waved my hand, gesturing for her to leave. Like an animal encountering an intruder, Hilde stared at me for a moment before quickly turning and disappearing from sight.

Once she was completely gone, I exhaled a long breath.

“Phew. That was close. I barely managed to fend her off.”

Good thing I found a weakness.

Honestly, it was a real danger. If Hilde had tried to manipulate things from wherever Tyr or the Regressor was, there’d have been no way to escape without revealing my mind-reading abilities. Neither of them would brush off a matter involving prophecy.

And tackling it head-on? Forget it. The Six-Star Generals are too powerful. If I’d tried anything directly, I’d have been tied up and dragged to an interrogation room before I could even talk my way out.

Thank goodness for Historia, the true soldier who tackles enemies without question. I feel a renewed sense of friendship toward her.

“Thanks, Ria. Really, you saved my life.”

Even if I was the one to defeat her, it was only possible because I had Historia, the sturdy wall. She was the barrel of the gun, and I was the bullet. There’s no need to measure who did more. It’s not like I think I did less or anything.

As I let out a sigh of relief, Siahti staggered to her feet. Though the princess was supporting her, Siahti shook her off and approached me.

What’s with that look? Why are your eyes so scary…?

Ah, right. The earlier manipulation hasn’t been fully dealt with yet.

“Huey. Whose side are you on?”