Wizard: Unlimited Profession Slots Chapter 954 - 411: Impostor

In the private laboratory of the Deep Sea Palace, Ron sat alone at a desk made of living crystal.

Before him lay the small puppet, sitting cross-legged, its surface flowing with a dark red glow like the blood of life.

"At this stage, it’s possible to gain a deeper understanding of your true origins."

He activated the "Sensing Power" trait, his spiritual power extending like threads, cautiously touching the Time Mark on the puppet’s surface.

Unlike before, his skills and the intensity of his spiritual power had now reached an entirely new level.

Those previously vague and unclear historical fragments now began to present a shocking clarity.

Ron took a deep breath, cautiously probing his spiritual power into the puppet’s interior.

The next moment, his consciousness was dragged into a completely different space-time...

......

The warm afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor.

Edmond Matthew sat in his cozy little study, holding an ancient tome in his hands.

"Dear, the tea is ready."

The voice of his wife, Lillian, came from the kitchen, carrying its usual warmth and care.

Edmond put down the book, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

They had been married for seven years, with a lovely five-year-old son, Thomas, and a daughter, Emily, who had just turned two.

"Coming, dear."

He got up and walked toward the kitchen, not noticing the subtle... mechanical feel in his wife’s voice just now.

As if it were so perfect that it seemed slightly unnatural.

In the kitchen, Lillian was elegantly arranging the tea set.

Her every move was breathtakingly precise. The distance between teacups and saucers was exactly the same, and the angle of the teaspoons was flawless.

"How’s your research going today?" she asked, her face displaying a standard concerned expression.

"Not bad, I’ve made some progress on the project the Master assigned to me."

Edmond took the teacup, habitually kissing his wife’s cheek lightly.

Lillian’s skin still felt as soft and warm as ever, but Edmond vaguely sensed her reaction seemed somewhat... delayed?

As if it was a split second late before she showed the expected sweet smile.

"That’s wonderful." Her voice remained gentle, but there was an indescribable emptiness in her tone:

"I’m proud of you, dear."

At that moment, little Thomas ran over from the living room, pouncing into Edmond’s arms:

"Daddy! Daddy! Today I learned a new magic!"

The five-year-old’s eyes sparkled with innocent excitement, his small hands waving as he demonstrated the Light Technique he had just learned.

Edmond smiled as he picked up his son, a warmth of fatherly love surging in his heart.

But then he noticed a detail—Thomas’s fingernails.

The child’s nails were meticulously trimmed, the edges smoothed as if cut with the most precise tool.

For a five-year-old child, it seemed almost too perfect.

"Did Mommy cut your nails?" Edmond asked casually.

"Yes!" Thomas nodded, then turned to Lillian: "Mommy does a great job, right?"

Lillian displayed a motherly, affectionate smile:

"Of course, I take care of everything to perfection."

These words filled Edmond with an inexplicable unease.

Not because of the content, but because of the tone.

That absolute certainty, as if stating an indisputable fact.

......

In the days that followed, Edmond began to involuntarily observe his family’s daily behavior.

At first, he thought he might be experiencing some sort of obsessive delusion from dealing with too many odd materials in his research.

But the more he observed, the more anomalies he discovered.

Lillian’s daily schedule was precise to the minute.

Every morning, she got up exactly at 6 o’clock, started preparing breakfast at 6:15, and woke the children at 6:45.

There was nothing wrong with such accuracy, but the issue was that she never deviated.

Even the most diligent people occasionally get up a few minutes late due to fatigue or other reasons.

But Lillian never did.

Her emotional responses also began to seem peculiar.

When Edmond deliberately told some lighthearted jokes, she would always smile at fixed times.

Not because she understood the content of the joke, but because she identified "this is a cue for laughter."

The most unsettling was her state when alone.

Once, Edmond came home early from work and saw Lillian sitting in the living room through the window.

She maintained a perfect posture, her hands resting properly on her knees, eyes staring straight ahead.

But her expression was completely blank, like a... puppet waiting for instructions.

"What is Mommy doing?"

Little Thomas’s voice came from behind, startling Edmond.

Turning around, he saw his son standing at the door, also maintaining an unnaturally perfect posture.

"I... I don’t know." Edmond stammered.

"Mommy is resting." Thomas’s voice was disturbingly calm: "She said there’s no need for expression when resting."

Those words nearly froze Edmond’s blood.

How could a five-year-old child say something like that?

......

At night, Edmond lay in bed, pretending to be asleep.

Through partially closed eyes, he watched his wife beside him.

Lillian’s breathing was as regular as a mechanical device.

Each inhale and exhale lasted the exact same time, and the rise and fall of her chest was perfectly precise.

Even more frightening were her eyes.

Although her eyelids were closed, Edmond could feel her eyeballs moving rapidly beneath them.