SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 611: New Identity

The service lane narrowed between the two administrative buildings, far enough from the main road that Aurevane's festival noise reached them as a blurred murmur.

Orven von Halbrecht slowed, rubbing two fingers against his brow while he kept walking with the stubborn dignity of a man pretending the wine had not reached his legs.

"I may have underestimated the second bottle," he said.

"Only the second?" Caelum asked, keeping Edran von Voss's aged voice mild.

Halbrecht gave him a tired side glance. "Do not become irritating now, Master von Voss. I was beginning to tolerate you."

"That would be a shame to ruin."

Caelum's hand slipped into the inner pocket of his coat and closed around the small glass vial. With the same motion, he drew out a folded handkerchief, uncorked the vial beneath his sleeve, and soaked the cloth with a few careful drops. The chemical breathed into the cold air, bitter and sweet enough to scratch at the back of the throat.

Halbrecht noticed at once.

His face tightened. "That scent..."

Caelum moved before the warning finished forming.

He hooked one arm around Halbrecht's chest from behind, dragged him back, and clamped the soaked cloth over his mouth and nose. Halbrecht jerked hard, one hand snapping toward Caelum's wrist while the other clawed at the wall, but the wine had already stolen the first proper answer from his body. The chemical stole the rest.

"Mmph—!"

"Save your strength, Master von Halbrecht," Caelum said near his ear, calm enough to be insulting. "You will need the headache tomorrow more than the struggle tonight."

Halbrecht drove an elbow back. Caelum shifted with it, letting the blow scrape past his side before tightening his grip. The engineer's boots rasped against the stone, once, twice, the sound drowned beneath music and carriage wheels from the main road. His fingers twitched near the ring, searching for a tool, a ward key, anything that could turn this back into a problem he understood.

It did not.

Caelum kept the cloth sealed until Halbrecht's resistance buckled. The man's body surrendered in stages, pride leaving last, as if unconsciousness also needed to win an argument before being allowed inside.

When his weight gave out, Caelum caught him before he struck the ground.

He checked the man's pulse, his breathing, and the flow of mana beneath the skin. Stable. Deeply asleep. Usable. The face remained undamaged, which was the minimum standard. Damaging the face he intended to borrow would have been amateur work, and Caelum had very little patience for amateur work, even from himself.

A rear door opened deeper in the lane.

One of his clones stood inside, wearing the unremarkable face of a night porter. The rented room beyond had been prepared in advance: narrow bed, covered windows, small table, washbasin, and enough dust in the corners to convince anyone that the place existed only because landlords hated empty space.

Caelum hauled Halbrecht inside and laid him on the bed. Boots removed. Coat loosened. Gloves placed nearby, one slightly crooked, because Halbrecht in this state would not have arranged them with his usual irritating precision. A half-empty bottle waited on the table beside a glass. Several documents from Halbrecht's pocket were spread open near his hand.

A drunk professional, overworked by event week, who had failed to reach his own lodging with dignity.

Caelum took out the Memory Veil and placed one drop beneath Halbrecht's tongue. The potion would bruise the edges of memory without breaking them. When Halbrecht woke, he would remember wine, fatigue, a walk through Aurevane, and the humiliating possibility that his own body had betrayed him before his workday began.

His pride would complete the lie for him.

The porter-faced clone stayed near the door, quiet and forgettable. Caelum adjusted the dose once more through that spare body, leaving Halbrecht deep enough under that he would not wake before morning. If anyone knocked, the answer was already prepared: Master von Halbrecht had returned unwell after drinking more than was wise, and he had ordered not to be disturbed before the morning review.

A boring explanation survived longer than a clever one.

Caelum removed the ring from Halbrecht's hand.

Next came the identity plate, the pocket seal, the technical key, the folded schedule, and the small case of ward-inspection tools. Each item was placed in order across the table. Caelum did not hurry. Haste belonged to people who had failed to prepare earlier.

First bell. Western technical gate. Lower ward registry. Lady Ilyra di Nareth. Closed meeting before the afternoon previews.

Everything Halbrecht had said matched the documents.

Good.

Caelum stepped before the narrow mirror and activated his skill.

[Borrowed Face]

A borrowed face could be fashioned swiftly, but Halbrecht's demanded greater deliberation, as familiar habits often betrayed features. The structure of his bones was secondary to his typical demeanor, his skin less telling than the cadence of his annoyance, repeated often enough to become ingrained.

Caelum traced the lines of his jaw, throat, brow, and cheeks with his fingertips. The vampire's delicate visage receded, replaced by the firmer set of Halbrecht's jaw that formed beneath his touch, followed by the neatly trimmed beard, the weary lines etched near his mouth, and the subtle pressure around his brow. His hands appeared aged by precise measure, the knuckles thickening, veins becoming more prominent. His shoulders adjusted, his height subtly altered. His posture mimicked Halbrecht's slight imbalance, that faint drag on the right side which wine seemed to accentuate, making it easier to observe.

The voice was the final element.

"Bring me the lower ward registry, not your summary," Caelum declared.

Too polished.

He touched his throat and attempted again, deliberately roughening the intonation towards the end.

"Bring me the lower ward registry, not your summary. If I desired mere conjecture, I would consult the event committee."

Improved.

He slipped on the ring, brushing it once with his thumb. The timing was off. He tried again, this time moving his thumb slightly before uttering the sentence. Better. The gesture needed to manifest as if the body had long accustomed itself to irritation rather than patience.

He then donned the gloves.

The left first. The right second.

With the chiming of the first bell, Halbrecht departed the rented quarters.

Caelum strode across Aurevane, the engineer's coat, ring, tools, documents, and a semblance of sour dignity arranged about him. The city had already commenced its event-day spectacle. Carriages rumbled towards the exhibition avenues, assistants scurried with files clutched to their chests, and guards, their faces etched with the exhaustion of pre-breakfast encounters with insolent nobles, checked invitations.

The Glass Atrium loomed ahead, vast and pale under the morning sun.

Its western flank remained hidden from the public thoroughfare. The technical entrance, situated between angled walls of reinforced glass and white stone, was guarded by four men and a ward plate affixed beside the entryway. A junior assistant awaited near the gate, a folder pressed firmly against his chest.

He snapped to attention the moment he recognized Caelum.

"Master von Halbrecht, a fine morning to you. Lady di Nareth has already arrived, and we were apprised that you would proceed directly for the lower registry review."

"I should certainly hope you were apprised," Caelum responded in Halbrecht's resonant voice, his thumb brushing the ring. "Were I to journey this far and find myself unannounced, Aurevane would be indebted to me for an apology and a more competent administrative team."

The assistant flushed, lowering his gaze. "Indeed, sir. The registry has been prepared for your examination."

"Prepared diligently, or prepared in that specific manner administrators employ when they mean 'casually placed upon a table'?"

The young man swallowed audibly. "I believe it has been diligently prepared, sir."

"Belief does not constitute a technical standard. Unseal the gate and allow us to ascertain its veracity before Lady di Nareth misinterprets our waiting as a sign of complacency."

The guard accepted the identity plate and presented it to the ward panel.

The runes etched in glass began to glow.

The wards meticulously scanned him, assessing his mana, the plate, his posture, and his authorization. Caelum maintained Halbrecht's steady breathing, projected Halbrecht's visible impatience, and kept Halbrecht's hand positioned near the ring as though the very delay were a personal affront.

The ward accepted the deception.

The western technical gate swung open, admitting Caelum into The Glass Atrium, the identity of another man serving as his herald.