Feeling a desire to be elsewhere, Reivan finished things off by putting forward his query.

"Freezing the semen...?" Professor Discrimen — who was actually no longer a professor in the academy but still went around and acted as if he still had the title — rubbed his chin contemplatively. Despite specializing in medical-related studies, he, like many other high scholars, had read all of the first king's notes.

He had probably memorized it all, even.

Reivan nodded. "Yes. Is there anything about that in the First King's notes?"

"I do not believe so, Your Highness. But now that you mention it, perhaps there is some sense in researching this topic..."

"I see... I'll have some people see to it, then. Perfect timing too."

Reivan had been visiting the Sol Sanctum infrequently to chat with the Saintess, and apparently, there were quite a number of couples divulging certain frustrations — like how they couldn't have a child because of someone's sterility, but at the same time, the couple loved each other too much to explore other ways for the woman to have a child.

Frey was greatly troubled by their woes, for she could not restore what was never there. Hence, although she never mentioned anyone specifically, she mentioned the problem to Reivan in the hopes that the royal family might have a solution hidden away.

'Why didn't I think of this when she mentioned it to me...? I guess I just had some brain fog.'

"This humble scholar is in awe of His Highness' intellect and consideration." Discrimen lowered his head a little with a look of respect on his face. "By the way, what urged you to come up with this...?"

"It's a secret."

"Eh, but it will be beneficial to the academic world if we can replicate the state of mind you were in when yo—"

"It's a secret, Professor."

"I see, I see... I won't ask, then."

Reivan cleared his throat and stood up, picking up the vial with the newest version of the virus in it while he was at it. "It's fine if I take this, right?"

"Hm? Of course, of course. Everything in here, including myself, is for the royal family to do as they please. I have other batches as well."

"Very good. The cure? May I have a sample?"

Discrimen hummed in thought for a bit before procuring another vial of transparent liquid from his storage ring. "This one should work, Your Highness."

Reivan frowned at his phrasing. "Should work? Are you not sure?"

"It is the same antidote for the previous iterations of the virus. This one should work just as well on the newest version since only minor adjustments were performed on the newest iteration."

'I find that extremely doubtful...'

Reivan sighed before shaking his head and putting everything down. "Please make sure. I want an antidote tested and proven to work by tomorrow. With these things, there is no such thing as too careful."

Discrimen seemed a bit dejected but still bowed. "Yes, Your Highness..."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll leave you to it, then. You don't have to see me out."

"I see. I'd have loved to pick your wonderful brain a little more, but I suppose you must be busy. Please stay safe and healthy, Your Highness."

'That last part seems strange, coming from a guy like this...'

Reivan inclined his head at the scholar in acknowledgment before turning around to leave.

----------------------------------------

"You're early, Your Highness."

"I told you I wouldn't be late." Reivan shrugged at Gwen as he sauntered over to his office chair. The sun hadn't even set, so he was very early for their minor operation. Still, he thought that it would be better to wait out the day in his office than anywhere else.

"Spending a portion of my day in a place rife with disease isn't my idea of fun." He plopped down on the soft cushion of his seat and leaned back with a smirk. "Relaxing here and enjoying the nice view provided by my pretty assistant sounds much better."

"I hope you sanitized yourself on your way out," Gwen said, completely ignoring his attempt at some light teasing.

Reivan shrugged again, though, for a different reason. "Of course. I'm not that dim."

"I see. Well, you can stay here all you want, Your Highness. Or you can help things along by inspecting the site using your other identity."

"You're really passive-aggressive, you know that? Did you get that from a certain someone? Fine, I'll make myself useful."

Gwen then handed over a list. "Please take note that none of the Ouroboros personnel in the warehouse has been informed of what is about to happen. They are the more... problematic members of the organization. Since we want this incident to look real — so as to improve your reputation and protect Ouroboros' reputation amongst criminal organizations — I'm trying to kill a third bird with our stone by picking out some unruly members to purge."

"Great idea. It's like killing four birds with one stone too, since we can send all the prisoners to the penitentiary. More human test rats."

"Precisely." Gwen nodded. "Please make sure these people are all there. And although they are unruly, should the boss arrive, I'm sure they'll obediently stay inside. When I show up, they just leer."

'Understandable.'

"Alright. I'll show up there."

"Safe tidings."

Reivan got up from his short reunion with his chair and jumped out of his window yet again.

'Man, who even needs doors?'

----------------------------------------

Night enveloped the settlement as Filth took faulty steps through the busy streets of Worgon Outpost, a thick black cloak adorning his body that would allow him to utilize his unique talent to turn undetectable — but only when most of his body was submerged in darkness. As he looked around, he couldn't help but note how much more prosperous Lageton was. But maybe that was because it was simply bigger than Worgon. Or because more of the republic's populace thought it was a good idea to move there.

'If all the fairy tales about Aizen are true, they sure as hell wouldn't move to some foreigner-filled shit hole at the edges of the nation.'

In which case, it made perfect sense why the kingdom wasn't too keen to develop the place. Why spend so much money improving a place that's mostly occupied by non-taxpaying people?

"Agh, fuck..." Filth winced in pain and almost grabbed his shoulder, stopping himself just in time before he made it worse. If he accidentally undid the first aid he'd performed on it, he wouldn't know what to do.

'It's not as if I did that much for it anyway.'

All he'd done was tie a strip of cloth that he'd ripped from his clothes to put pressure on the wound. Luckily, he'd only met a single monster on his suicidal voyage from some obscure island in the middle of nowhere to the coast of Lageton — the coastal republican city that stood as a counterpart to Worgon Outpost.

His raft had barely made it across, and Filth was lucky that security was lax enough for him to reach the city without anyone seeing him. Not that they would have seen anything except for a raft with nobody on it.

If only his luck was great enough for him to have avoided some dog-sized fish with rows of sharp teeth from taking a bite of him.

'I hope that thing gets a stomach ache...'

Back then, Filth truly had to admit that his existence was cursed when a fish testily bumped into his raft, momentarily dropping back his hood and exposing him.

If Filth hadn't fought off the monster and fixed his hood — and if a bigger monster hadn't eaten the fish monster he'd beaten back a few moments after he reactivated his invisibility — then perhaps he would be dead by now.

In any case, after an arduous voyage, he finally made it to the coast of Lageton. He had then scouted the place out in complete invisibility and somehow managed to return to the island without issue.

The entire mission had taken him a week and a half, much to Desporton's annoyance. In fact, the fat bastard had even seen fit to use Filth's slowness as a reason to renege on his promise of freedom. Now, Filth sported a fucked up shoulder and was stuck on special patrol duty — which basically meant he had to walk around the nearby streets until his feet bled, looking out for any danger.

Ouroboros — the big criminal organization that practically ran the streets of Lageton and Worgon Outpost — followed through on their deal. Desporton and his crew paid a portion of their cargo so that the rest of it could be smuggled into Worgon and sold for dozens of times the capital used to procure it.

In a perfect world, it should have ended there. But then Desporton, the fat sack of lard, once again displayed his paranoia in an annoying way. He insisted on personally going with the shipment, stating how valuable it was.

Filth knew that Desporton just wanted a free ride to Aizen for him and his crew. Once there, perhaps they would carve out a small place for themselves in the alleys of Worgon.

'Cheap motherfucker. And those stupid Ouroboros guys... They shouldn't have mentioned that a separate payment was required since they smuggled people into Worgon on a separate ship. You idiots awakened this bastard's miserliness!'

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Not that Filth had the guts to say all that to their faces, of course. He had only observed the Ouroboros goons for a short while, but he could tell they were professional users of violence. Unlike the rabble that Desporton had as lackeys, even the lowliest Ouroboros grunts looked trained for roughhousing. Filth would undoubtedly get the shit beaten out of him if he overstepped his bounds.

Even Desporton was a little more restrained when he interacted with them.

'A shame we never got to see their supposedly hot boss...'

Filth had heard tell of the lady — who apparently always wore a mask. Masks didn't cover her tits or ass though, so fantasies of bedding her were a frequent topic amongst the grunts he spied on. Not that any of them had a chance, of course. The woman was way above their leagues if she was the top dog of such a massive criminal enterprise.

Still, Filth was just like any other man; he was somewhat dejected at being unable to feast his eyes on some eye candy.

'Oh, shit...'

Filth reflexively stopped and tightened his thick cloak around himself when he saw a pair of uniformed guardsmen round the corner. He understood that the kingdom's enforcers — peacekeepers, they were apparently called — didn't patrol nearly as much in Worgon as they did in other cities. In fact, they practically never patrolled Worgon at all. At most, there were small booths with a peacekeeper or two inside placed in somewhat prosperous areas.

Meeting a patrol was an anomaly.

It seemed the locals around him agreed since all eyes were on the uniformed men.

'Those guys are bad news...'

There were trash goons like the ones Desporton had in his posse. And then there were Ouroboros grunts that made those idiots seem like children.

Then there were these guys, who made those grunts look like unborn babies in comparison.

'Shit, shit, shit...'

Filth depended on a plethora of skills to survive his life as a disposable slave. One of those was a keen sense of danger.

And these peacemakers were ringing bells in his head to get the hell away from them as fast as possible.

'Can... Can they see me? Surely not, right...?'

Filth had never tried his unique gift out on stronger people. And if all had gone well, Filth would have been glad to never have had the opportunity to do so.

'Don't run... Don't run...'

If they could see him, running right now would be incredibly suspicious. He was already highly dubious for wearing such a thick cloak, and he would just draw more attention to himself by running the moment law enforcers show up.

And so, the best course of action here was to blend in with the crowd and not do anything to draw attention to himself.

The peacekeepers nonchalantly strode forward as their gaze scanned their surroundings. Anyone in their path wisely scrambled to give way after a single gaze.

'Right... I guess this is as best a chance as I can get...'

Tonight, he would test his power's limits. If only a little. Really, just a little.

'Stay calm... Don't piss your pants...'

Filth stood in the peacekeepers' path. Everybody else had long cleared out of the way by now, so if they could see him, there would be some kind of reaction to his noticeable actions. But even if they could, he wasn't really doing anything wrong by standing there, so he could still talk his way out somehow. Probably.

They were a mere twenty steps away from him...

Ten steps...

Five steps...

Three steps...

Filth hastily stepped sideways to avoid colliding with the peacekeepers, who had neither looked at him nor slowed down to avoid crashing through him. Feeling slightly more courageous, Filth ran up to the peacekeepers and did a few bunny hops right beside them.

'Depths beyond... They really can't see me...'

This was a huge discovery for him. If even these peacekeepers couldn't see him, then Filth's gift was more impressive than he could have initially imagined. The places he could infiltrate had just increased exponentially.

And with it, his worth.

Perhaps now, his masters would treat him with slightly more care.

'Wait a minute. No, I absolutely shouldn't tell them...'

Filth realized that if he was too valuable, his master would never free him — even though he already somewhat knew how low the odds were.

As he was caught in a dilemma, Filth followed the peacekeepers to see where they were going. If this was just a usual patrol, then he would at least know a portion of their patrol routes. And if they were heading to some secret base or something, then he would discover a spot to stay very far away from.

'They sure are quiet...'

The two peacekeepers didn't talk at all. Not to the people they passed by, not to the few who called out to them, and not even to each other. They gave off a sharp and somber air, just like an executioner's axe. Filth found himself increasing his distance even though he'd already confirmed they couldn't see him.

'Hm? Isn't this...'

After following them for twenty minutes, Filth noticed that they were headed to the warehouse district.

The warehouse district where the illegal cargo they were smuggling into Aizen was being loaded into.

'Oh. Oh, shit...'

Filth's neck burned from the heat of his collar. Now that he knew about information that could prove vital for Desporton, he couldn't not inform the treacherous sack of fat. He broke into a run, past the peacekeepers and deeper into the district.

Lighting was sparse, so there were only a few lanterns to illuminate his path, but Filth was used to the darkness — he was practically born in it. The dim lighting was the least of his worries.

'Fuck, why are there so many...'

There had to be around fifty warehouses in the district, each was spaced uniformly from each other. It was like a maze of sorts, and Filth thought of the very real possibility of getting lost.

'Whoah! Found it!'

Fortunately, he wasn't some dimwit. He had vaguely remembered an especially run-down warehouse close to the one Desporton was using, so he utilized that as a landmark.

'Fuck. They're almost done. We can't just retreat now... Not that that's my problem.'

Filth hastily ran inside, dancing past the slaves and lackeys lugging cargo from here to there. He cared not for how big of a loss his trashy master would take, but he at least had to do his best to deliver the information — else, Filth could say goodbye to his shitty life.

'Not that that's bad, to be honest...'

Although Filth wasn't the fastest runner, he eventually made it to the very back of the warehouse, where a small room could be seen. This was the only enclosure within the warehouse and was probably meant to house guards or especially valuable goods and documents. Or maybe it was a pseudo-office where merchants could make deals and sign papers.

'Hell if I know.'

The point was that Desporton was likely resting there, even though he hadn't done a lick of work. All Filth had to do would be to divulge the information that the peacekeepers might be on to their operation, and then the pricking pain on his neck that urged him to hurry up and do his job would abate.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans though.

"ATTACK! ENEMY ATTA—"

The grating roar from what was probably one of Desporton's goons was abruptly cut off when the words turned into hysterical screaming.

'Oh, shit.'

Filth immediately knew that he was too late to do anything. To emphasize this further, his collar had stopped burning since the information he possessed was no longer relevant. It was a small mercy that it didn't strangle him because he'd tried his best to deliver the news. In light of this, Filth tightened his cloak to make extra sure that he wouldn't waste his chance.

For now, he would just try his best to survive. Just as he always did.

And the best way to do that was to not get into a fight at all.

'Well then... I guess this master's fucked now too. I wonder how he'll end up... With any hope, horribly.'

"Men! We're under attack! Anyone who can fight, come to me!"

Just as he found a hiding spot in the tight space between two massive crates, Filth looked to the source of the call to arms and saw Veryon — Desporton's favorite combat slave and a top-grade asshole. Just because he'd apparently unlocked his qi, he thought he was hot shit and threw his weight around. Most of this weight-throwing was done at Filth's expense, and it didn't take long for the arrogant combat slave to shoot up Filth's list of people he longed to kill.

Not that he could, of course. Veryon could single-handedly handle Filth and every single other slave or lackey in Desporton's crew. It was also why Desporton gave Veryon such favorable treatment.

'I don't think that's going to help too much in this case, though...'

Veryon and a few other combat slaves grouped up and drew their weapons as torches from afar were steadily snuffed out, enveloping the warehouse in creeping darkness. Pained cries, probably belonging to people from their side, continuously rang out from all around them.

Soon enough, the cause — or one of the causes — made their appearance.

'A... girl? No, a woman.'

And it was an incredibly beautiful woman too. Like nothing Filth had ever seen. He didn't even think he could imagine someone looking better.

Her complexion, a canvas of soft white, bore not a single imperfection, resembling delicate porcelain untainted by the world. Silky black strands cascaded in a meticulously tied ponytail, unveiling the graceful curve of her neck — an embodiment of elegance. Dark eyes, deep and alluring, held an uncanny magnetism, as though capable of drawing the very essence from any beholder.

The woman's figure — wrapped in some sort of black uniform — though not seductive or lascivious, still emanated feminine charm. Her expression remained impassive as she stood amidst the darkness, like a goddess that had descended into the realm of men.

Within the grasp of her slender hand, an ornate saber hung poised, a silent testament to the impending fate of those who dared to hinder her path. It awaited its moment, an instrument ready to harvest the lives of those deemed unworthy in the eyes of an enigmatic, otherworldly judge.

Filth found his heartbeat quicken and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of what could very well be a divine entity. He couldn't help but think that women who could start wars with their beauty were actually real.

"Helen! Remember, don't kill them."

The goddess rolled her eyes and answered in a beautiful voice tinged with a bit of exasperation. "I know. Stop nagging."

"I wasn't nagging... You literally killed two people already!" the previous voice called out again, somewhat angry. "Don't be so wasteful, for crying out loud... Do you know how rare criminals are? We have to make full use of them when they turn up."

Before Filth could even search for the source of the second voice, the dark-haired goddess' body blurred, and she was suddenly right in the middle of Veryon and his goons.

"Wha—" Veryon tried to jump back, startled by her sudden appearance. But his short leap soon turned into a plummet as his legs vanished from under him.

His screams didn't affect the reaper who had taken the form of a beautiful young woman though. She stomped on Veryon's head, robbing him of consciousness but leaving him with a bloody forehead.

"Happy?" she asked out loud. Her entire arm turned into a blur, and a moment later, none of the other combat slaves around her had legs. "They're really weak... I shouldn't have come."

Another figure dropped down from somewhere, walking right up to the goddess-like woman. The man shrugged and crossed his arms. "That's why I didn't invite you."

"But you've been avoiding me recently."

"...No, I wasn't. I've just been busy..."

"Lies."

"Tsk. Damn your intuition... Anyway, since you're here already, hunt down the ones deeper in. The peacekeepers can take care of the ones here. Plus the cleanup."

"Mm. You can do it faster though."

"There are probably a bunch of naked female slaves in that room over there. It'd be better for a woman to go first. I'm sure they're not particularly keen on being touched by a man, even though that man wants to help."

"Good point." Nodding in agreement, the goddess vanished in a burst of wind. Simultaneously, the door to the room was sent flying.

"Hey! Stop damaging the warehouse!" The newcomer yelled even as he casually waved a hand, suspending the door in mid-air. He then took a seat atop a nearby crate as the door slowly descended. "So damned fast... I wonder if I even have anything that can hit her..."

'That's... I know that guy...'

Greyish ivory hair that had a glowing sheen, making it appear like true silver. Bright golden irises that practically glowed in the dark. And slight droopy eyes that gave his handsome chiseled face a touch of softness.

'The Second Prince of Aizen...'

While they were in Lageton, Filth and Desporton's crew had been shown a few portraits of people they ought to know while they were in Aizen. Obviously, a few of those portraits were of the royal family — though most of the illustrations were actually for prominent people and Ouroboros executives stationed in Worgon Outpost itself.

'Shit.'

Logic dictated that a prince would always have a small army with him. Aside from peacekeepers, there were probably some knights around too. Hell, the ridiculously beautiful lady who just destroyed Veryon and Desporton's goons was likely a knight.

At worst, there was an Ascendant somewhere in the dark.

'If they can see me, I'm fucked.'

One thing was for sure though, if Filth stayed here, he was done for.

He could barely understand the two since they were talking too fast, but he managed to catch some things. Like how criminals were being kept alive for some reason.

Filth didn't know why they were doing that when Aizen was notorious for instantly executing any wrongdoers, but he didn't want to stick around like a dumbass to find out. In any case, the prince's words gave Filth a foreboding feeling that getting killed was probably a better fate than getting caught alive.

Sadly, he was just a lowly slave. And he couldn't even make a simple decision that would save his life. His collar would kill him before he got too far.

'But... But if they can't see me...'

Then all he had to do was wait.

'No. That's not it... If they catch Desporton alive, then the slave collar won't... Damnit. What do I do...'

Filth bit his lip, struggling with what to do. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. But when he opened them, he froze.

'...!'

Taking a moment to remind himself that his ability should still be at full blast, Filth gulped down a mouthful of saliva.

The second prince was staring right at him.