According to Rowan's agreement with the churches, killing someone of Zilingus's caliber was already enough to qualify him for a high-grade advancement potion.
Zilingus had not been an ordinary criminal.
He was a notorious pirate commander, powerful, experienced, and audacious enough to infiltrate Beckland and attempt the assassination of Duke Nigen himself.
That alone multiplied his value.
Crestay kept his word.
Not only did he provide all the auxiliary materials needed for Rowan's next potion, but he also promised that once Rowan stabilized his current state, he could return and claim an even more advanced formula.
There was only one caveat.
If Rowan required the church to arrange a mermaid to assist with the ritual, the price would be identical to acquiring another high-grade potion.
Either kill a heretic of similar standing.
Or retrieve a church operative who had lost control.
Rowan accepted without hesitation.
Both options were well within his capabilities.
Even without church assistance, he could eventually locate a mermaid on his own. He was already close to converting several search-oriented spells.
With preparations complete, Rowan brewed the potion.
The liquid shimmered with a pale, shifting sheen.
He drank it in one motion.
The transformation was silent.
No violent convulsions.
No loss of control.
His consciousness remained clear as a subtle, profound change unfolded within him.
When it ended, Rowan understood something instinctively.
He had stepped into the realm of the Faceless.
Along with heightened versions of his previous abilities, a new power unfolded at the center of his awareness.
Shapeshifting.
Not illusion.
Not disguise.
True physical alteration.
He could permanently adjust his facial structure, bone shape, and musculature within reasonable limits.
Minor height changes.
Controlled modification of features.
Voice imitation after hearing a target speak.
Clothing, however, did not change with him.
This was the baseline ability.
For most, it ended there.
For Rowan, it was merely a reference point.
With this framework, he could begin converting far more advanced transformation magic from other worlds.
Not just faces.
Not just bodies.
Eventually, full metamorphosis.
Beasts.
Monsters.
Even dragons.
He could already assume draconic form in a crude way, but doing so risked drawing attention from beings who would immediately notice that his power did not conform to this world's logic.
Once properly converted, however, any such transformation would appear as nothing more than an extreme extension of Faceless abilities.
Innovative.
Unusual.
But explainable.
Rowan turned his thoughts inward.
"How do I digest this potion?"
Patterns from prior experiences pointed toward an answer.
To stabilize the Faceless pathway, he would need to live as someone else.
Not briefly.
Not superficially.
But convincingly.
Preferably as an influential or dangerous figure whose actions would leave ripples.
The greater the impact while maintaining the disguise, the faster the stabilization.
"Not yet," Rowan decided.
"I need more converted spells first."
The stronger and more versatile he became, the easier it would be to sustain a convincing alternate identity.
Memory-based magic sat at the top of his priority list.
With it, he could extract a person's experiences directly.
Not imitation.
Replacement.
Three days passed.
Rowan was immersed in spell conversion when he felt a familiar pull.
The gray fog.
"Miles Reed is calling me?"
It wasn't time for the Tarot gathering.
That meant something else had happened.
His consciousness slipped free and followed the fog's guidance.
Within the gray expanse, Miles Reed stood holding a small figurine carved from white bone.
The sculpture resembled a beautiful woman.
Her hair cascaded all the way to her ankles.
Each strand ended in a tiny carved eye.
Some open.
Some closed.
Thousands of them.
Rowan's eyes sharpened.
"A Primordial Witch idol?"
Miles nodded.
"We seized it from a captured Sequence Six Witch."
That alone made the item extraordinary.
In this world, the seven orthodox deities had no fixed appearances.
But forbidden beings did.
The cult that worshipped the True Creator revered a hanging giant.
The Witch Sect revered the Primordial Witch.
And this idol matched the recorded descriptions perfectly.
If the idol truly carried a connection to that entity, Rowan could use divination to draw out fragments of knowledge.
Miles began explaining.
A few days earlier, a scandal had shaken Tingen.
Councilman Maynard had been found dead in bed.
He had attended a private gathering hosted by a charming widow named Sharon.
Alcohol had flowed.
Discretion had vanished.
The councilman's heart failed during the encounter.
His wife refused to accept it as natural causes and accused Sharon of murder.
She hired Blackthorn Security.
The Night Watchers' public front.
Miles took the case.
Using the gray fog, he discovered Sharon's true identity.
A Witch.
Miles reported it to Captain Dunn.
Dunn assembled a small team consisting of himself, Miles, and another operative, Cohen.
Their plan was simple.
Dunn would incapacitate Sharon.
The others would finish the job.
But Sharon had been holding the Primordial Witch idol.
Its presence nullified Dunn's control attempt.
The ambush became a counter-ambush.
Under normal circumstances, two low-ranked operatives and one mid-ranked captain would not survive a direct confrontation with a Witch of that caliber.
Miles survived for one reason.
The pacifier Rowan had given him.
The moment danger appeared, Miles activated it.
A burst of searing soul-flame struck Sharon directly.
Her attempt to attack collapsed.
Dunn, Miles, and Cohen killed her together.
Before the idol was locked away in the Night Watchers' vault, Miles secretly brought it into the gray fog.
Rowan took the figurine.
"Well done."
Without hesitation, he began divining.
...
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