As I followed after the man, pushing through the crowds as he made turn after turn, I more and more understood just how screwed I was.

The blessing effectively communicated what I was allowed to do and what I wasn’t, causing a powerful disgust if my intent was sinful. But it did more than just that, too. It was a mortal compass in its truest form—and as such, I could consult it and get a vague explanation as to why my actions were bad.

It was pretty obvious, actually. The only reason I didn’t realize it immediately was that my thought process had clearly changed.

I was aware that that man was evil—I knew he was up to no good, and I, who had the power to do something about it, consciously decided to let him go for selfish reasons.

I wanted to argue that my reasons were pretty solid. There was little I could do without putting myself in the spotlight, and I had no way to prove that this man was evil. If I assaulted him in broad daylight, what was I supposed to tell the guards, “Oh, sorry, officer, this man gave me bad vibes”?

Maybe that would work. Perhaps I could prove I had a skill to tell evil beings apart from neutral and good ones. Perchance they’d just take my word for it. But I didn’t know. And action without adequate wisdom and planning was something we usually referred to as a fucking mistake.

Sadly, my arguments held no weight. Just as I couldn’t argue with a bullet flying at my head, I couldn’t change the fact that I was being forced to act regardless of whether I wanted to or not.

And I needed to act fast. My hesitation alone was enough to worsen the sickness in my gut. This man could be on a mission to find another victim, and the longer I waited, the greater the risk that someone would get hurt due to my inaction.

My mind rushed, and several plans quickly manifested themselves.

There was option one—report the man to the guards. But I couldn’t prove that this man had done anything wrong. And according to the blessing, If I decided on this option just to avoid risking my privacy, it would count as a sin. I thought that was stupid as all hell, but again, my opinion meant nothing.

Then, there was option two—follow the man to an abandoned alley and kill him. It was frighteningly easy to resolve myself to do this. But it hedged on this man going to a place out of sight, and with a town like this, where the streets were packed, and the homes were built quite close together, I wasn’t even sure whether there were any desolate streets in the first place.

Which led me to the third option—kill the man in plain sight. Obviously, this would get me in trouble. So what if I tried doing it stealthily, maybe by throwing a rock at the back of his head from a place where nobody would spot me doing it? Ignoring the fact that this might not even be enough to kill him, my blessing immediately warned me that this would be a sin.

Why? Because it would spread fear and panic. Without an evident culprit and any evidence that this man deserved to die, the people would become uneasy, and civil unrest would spread throughout the town. According to the blessing, intentionally causing civil unrest was a big no-no because that was something we called terrorism. And terrorism was especially bad because scared people did terrible things.

As one option after another slipped through my fingers, it became increasingly apparent that doing this without getting myself into trouble would be pretty hard.

Suddenly, I remembered something. I brought up the description of a particular title.

[Traitor of Hell]

[Evil] by nature, yet [Good] by choice. You have rejected your path and severed ties with Hell. You have lost your immunity to [Unholy Magic]. All [Evil] creatures will feel hostile toward you.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

All evil creatures will feel hostile toward me… huh? Now that I thought about it, the man did push me quite hard. Had my title caused that reaction?

An idea popped into my mind. A grin appeared on my mouth, and I removed it, adopting a slightly nervous expression. Never did I feel so thankful that I had lost my sense of shame.

I hunched my back and made myself look as tiny as possible.

It all came so easily to me. Within a second, I was a shivering, anxious kid gathering the strength to confront a big bad man.

“H-hey!” I shouted. “Hey! Y-you! I’m talking to you… B-baldy!” I called pathetically.

The man froze, turning his muscular frame to face me. “… What?” he asked coldly.

“You…” I started hesitantly. “You pushed me over!” I squeaked like a miserable pushover.

The people around us turned to look at the commotion, and the man looked around nervously, clearly uncomfortable at the attention he was receiving.

“And I saw you pushing an old woman around!” I added fuel to the flame, feigning having been encouraged by the gathering crowd. “You should apologize!”

“What did you just say?” the man spat angrily as he approached me. I could feel his malice, my title amplifying his hostility several times over, the sight of me alone enough to make a vein bulge on his forehead. “Apologize?” he asked. “For what? Maybe eat something once in a while, and you won’t fall over like a dry beanstalk,” he mocked as he got closer and flicked my forehead.

It didn’t hurt at all, but I still reeled back as if he’d mortally wounded me. “Ow!” I shouted. “You… You hit me! This man is assaulting me!” I yelled, making my voice as whiny and annoying as possible.

“You—” the man’s face morphed into the picture of rage. It was clear as day that he wasn’t looking to attract too much attention, but my title was making it difficult for him to hold himself back. “Go home and suck your mom's tit, you little shit, and leave me alone,” he said, turning around.

“Apologize!” I insisted, rushing forward and pushing the man. My push was feeble, barely moving him.

He raised his hand, and for a long moment, it looked like he wanted to slap the living shit out of me, but he restrained himself just in time. He pushed my forehead instead, waving a finger at me threateningly. “I’m warning you, kid. I’m going to fucking kill you.” He turned back around again.

I could sense it. All he needed was a little push.

I growled like a chihuahua, throwing myself at the man’s back. “I said you should apologize!” I launched a fist, punching the man in the back. I put no strength into it, so it did nothing… other than push the man over the edge.

“That’s it,” he said, wheeling on me. His hand gripped my hair, and he launched a fist at my stomach. The strike didn’t hurt even a little bit, but I still reeled, coughing as my face turned red and my back hunched.

The people around us appeared frightened. An old man rushed over, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Bruno!” he said, recognizing the bald man. “What the hell are you doing to that kid!?” he interrogated.

“Shut up!” Bruno retorted as he punched me in the stomach again.

I fell to the ground, screaming pathetically, and the man kicked me, launching me maybe 5 meters across the paved walkway.

Suddenly, I noticed quite the problem. The man wasn’t doing any damage to me.

Then, at that thought, I had another. I felt a small response from my [Shapeshifting] skill, its whisper crawling along the back of my neck. What was my body anyway?

From the blood coursing through my veins to the flesh covering my bones, my form was nothing but a ruse—a tool of deceit. My body responded to the demand to blend in and the need to play a role.

With a burst of prickling pain, a large bruise appeared on my chest, and a moment later, I coughed out a lungful of blood. “Mommy…!” I called, whimpering. “Mommy!” I screamed, sobbing as my shivering form crumpled around the fake injury.

“You bastard!” the old man yelled. “You’re gonna kill the poor boy!”

The bulky man’s eyes were bloodshot as he stared at me. His gaze held a regret at his action and the attention it attracted, and with each passing second, his entire body language looked more and more like that of a cornered animal.

“Someone call the guards!” the old man shouted, and Bruno turned reflexively, raising an arm.

The sense of disgust screamed in my gut as danger signs flashed in my mind, and my pupils shrank. The man was trying to attack the geezer, and whatever happened as a result would be my fault.

In an instant, I pulled a hand-sized rock out of my inventory and threw it at the man’s head.

The stone landed with quite a bit of force, immediately dazing Bruno and drawing a stream of blood that flowed down his face.

“What’s happening!?” an authoritative voice shouted as three armored figures rushed into the street, holding gleaming swords.