SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 608: A Face Worth Borrowing

- Caelum POV -

Inside the rented quarters, Caelum began meticulously arranging his prepared tools upon the modest table.

He was a man defined by his precision, nearing perfectionism, a trait absolutely essential for the demanding nature of his profession, akin to a surgeon's exactitude.

This was the undeniable reality. An assassin acting carelessly might succeed once. A spy making a mistake could survive, perhaps once. Caelum's craft, however, demanded far more than mere survival; it required unwavering repetition, profound patience, and the uncanny ability to depart a location leaving behind fewer traces than the ambient dust.

One by one, he conjured the instruments intended for his use.

First were three diminutive glass vials, each no longer than two fingers in height. The contents within each possessed distinct colors, aromas, and functions. One vial contained a potent poison, swift and lethal, a single drop proving fatal. Curiously, approximately two years prior, one of these very vials had vanished. This loss remained indelibly etched in Caelum's memory; he never forgot any loss, particularly those measured in mere drops.

The second vial housed a more potent chemical agent, his decidedly preferred instrument. It required only a few inhalations for an individual to succumb to slumber, entirely without alarm or resistance. In contrast to the poison, this method was elegant, highly practical, and significantly easier to manage in the aftermath. The third contained a simpler concoction, though simplicity did not equate to diminished efficacy. It had the effect of lessening one's presence, rendering a person almost unnoticeable, as if the world had momentarily overlooked them within its own expanse. This was not overt invisibility, a crude effect by comparison. Rather, it subtly guided attention away, allowing the user to blend into the background like a shadow, unscrutinized.

Following the vials, he presented his daggers.

Caelum placed both blades on the table with extreme care. Having been thoroughly cleaned, sharpened, and prepared following the events on the train, they betrayed no sign of their intended purpose. True quality weapons never announced themselves; they simply waited.

Hung upon the back of the chair were five distinct attire sets, each selected for a specific scenario. A common servant's uniform. A traveler's coat suitable for a messenger. A formal black suit appropriate for low-level administrative roles. A technician's ensemble featuring multiple layers and concealed pockets. Lastly, a more opulent garment designed for access to exclusive areas without challenging questions.

Placed beside them was a coil of rope.

A professional like Caelum always ensured a reliable supply of rope was within easy reach. Doors required securing. Hands needed restraint. Feet demanded binding. Other tactical applications certainly existed, and anyone who suggested otherwise had clearly never engaged in truly functional work.

The remaining implements were laid out with quiet deliberation.

A Shadowlink Echo intended for his esteemed Young Master.

Another Shadowlink Echo designated for Lord Valttair.

A dark, palm-sized orb, facilitating the monitoring of each active clone's status.

Currently, Caelum maintained seven active clones at all times. One remained in close proximity to Valttair. Three were strategically positioned within Morgain Castle, typically observing Rivena, Maeron, and Seraphine when they were present, though Caelum adeptly shifted their locations among various corridors and vantage points as required. The remaining clones were deployed dynamically based on unfolding necessities, occupying inconspicuous positions, low-priority posts, and angles unlikely to attract scrutiny from important individuals.

Since attaining the Ascend Core stage of Cultivation, Caelum possessed the capability to sustain a greater number of clones across extended distances. Furthermore, he had devised an ingenious mana-feeding mechanism, enabling these physical forms to operate autonomously without constant direct oversight. With an adequate mana supply, these clones could remain active for as long as a century without dissipating, provided they remained within a hundred-meter radius of their respective feeding points.

Stepping back from the table, Caelum approached the mirror affixed to the wall. The glass itself was of modest quality, exhibiting a slight distortion along one edge, yet it sufficed for his needs. He smoothed his gray hair into its customary style, adjusted his shirt collar, and ignited a small lamp. Adequate illumination was crucial for the subsequent phase.

He raised both hands to his face.

[Borrowed Face]

His unique innate skill was activated.

This was not the product of any tool or artifact. No mere artifact could achieve such a flawless replication. Artifacts invariably leave behind tell-tale signatures, discernible edges, or minute imperfections. Caelum's skill, however, did not merely overlay a mask; it fundamentally reshaped reality through the manipulation of mana and intrinsic memory.

His fingers glided across his jawline, cheekbones, brow, and throat. With each precise movement, his features transformed. Not a crude deformation, but rather a deliberate, organic reshaping. The process bore a closer resemblance to sculpting than to conventional disguise, with the medium being flesh and mana, and the artist possessing an absolute intolerance for any deviation.

Caelum possessed an exceptional ability to recall visages with perfect fidelity. His eidetic memory provided the blueprint, and his [Borrowed Face] skill furnished the means to manifest it. His facial structure, his bodily build, his characteristic posture, subtle asymmetrical details, the visible signs of age around the mouth, the faint yielding of the skin – all responded precisely to his touch.

Not long after, the individual reflected in the mirror bore no resemblance to Caelum.

He had transformed into an elderly gentleman, approximately sixty years of age, possessing pale skin, two discernible fangs, and eyes of red. A vampire. His hair, still a shade of gray, was close enough to his original color that altering it felt like a needless expenditure of energy. No point in exerting effort where it yielded no tangible benefit.

The entire metamorphosis had occurred in a mere two seconds.

Caelum's proficiency had ascended to a speed that bordered on the astonishing, honed by decades of relentless practice.

He scrutinized his reflection, made a minute adjustment to the left side of his mouth, and let his hands fall to his sides.

Sufficient for navigating the streets.

He collected the necessary items from the table, secured the remainder, and departed the room.

The night air of Aurevane was a complex blend of wine, metal, cooked meat, damp stone, and an excessive amount of costly perfumes struggling to mask the pungent odor of crowded thoroughfares. Caelum made his way towards the main thoroughfare, a place where conversations would be abundant and scrutiny minimal. It marked the inaugural night of the event. Patrons indulged in more libations than prudent, conversed with a volume exceeding their intentions, and relied on the cacophony to shield their secrets.

A strategy that seldom proved effective.

This particular evening, Caelum presented a visage unknown to all.

Yet, this alone was not enough.

His true objective was to assume the guise of an individual who could unlock doors. Not just any face, nor a conveniently acquired one. He required someone of influence, someone granted access to realms ordinary individuals could only gaze upon from afar. To achieve this, a comprehensive understanding of the target was essential, with appearance constituting the least significant aspect. Voice, mannerisms, pride, linguistic patterns, points of irritation, personal preferences, social standing – every detail had to be meticulously assimilated.

And this undertaking would need to be accomplished with haste.

Caelum moved among the lingering merchants and ambling visitors, his cane tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones, though he possessed no physical need for it. The vampire facade proved advantageous. Elder gentlemen of means were permitted a degree of curiosity. They were allowed to linger. They could pose questions that a younger stranger would elicit suspicion by asking.

He paused near a stall displaying an assortment of peculiar ammunition.

The vendor had meticulously arranged his wares on trays lined with velvet: alchemical bolts, glass pellets containing colored smoke, small metallic spheres etched with arcane runes, and needle cartridges designed for compact projectile launchers. Much of it was exorbitantly priced. Several items posed a significant risk in the hands of the inexperienced. One particular item was so egregiously mislabeled that it could lead to the loss of the buyer's fingers if handled with undue confidence.

Caelum procured a small cartridge and rotated it between his gloved fingers.

The vendor immediately leaned forward. "A discerning selection, sir. That particular item houses a compressed burst charge. Quite favored by visiting hunters."

"It is also notoriously unstable," Caelum responded in the dry, aged tone he had adopted for his assumed identity. "Unless, of course, your definition of 'favored' encompasses turning people into widows."

The vendor's smile faltered. "Ah. You possess prior experience?"

"Regrettably so."

This was sufficient to engage the merchant in conversation.

Caelum posed a few innocuous inquiries, offered nods at opportune moments, and afforded the vendor just enough attention to appear preoccupied. His focus, however, had already shifted elsewhere.

Just two feet behind him, near the periphery of the stall's canvas awning, a pair of men conversed in hushed tones.

One carried the faint scent of herbs and burnt alcohol. An alchemist.

The other bore traces of mana-oil on his sleeves, and the tips of his fingers exhibited minute pressure marks from manipulation of conduit tools. A mana engineer.

Caelum retained possession of the cartridge and allowed the vendor to expound upon a mechanism he had already deduced from a single glance.

Behind him, the alchemist's voice dropped lower.

"So, regarding The Glass Atrium..."

Caelum no longer required the arduous task of infiltrating The Glass Atrium; he had just discovered the perfect persona to adopt.