Chapter 11: The Art of Deception
The dust over the Suotou quarry did not settle for two full days.
When the local Spirit Hall branch finally mobilized its elite investigation team, they arrived expecting to find the corpse of a massive, rogue hundred-thousand-year Spirit Beast, or perhaps an ancient, unearthed treasure radiating immense power.
Instead, they found nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The Branch Master, a Rank 62 Spirit Emperor dressed in pristine white-and-gold robes, stood at the edge of what used to be the deepest ravine in the quarry. He stared down in complete silence, a cold bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.
The ravine was gone. In its place was a massive, perfectly spherical crater, nearly a hundred yards across.
But it wasn't just a hole in the ground. The sheer, apocalyptic heat of Mame's Beast Cero had instantly flash-melted thousands of tons of rock and Heavy Silver slag. The entire crater was lined with perfectly smooth, pitch-black, glassy obsidian. It reflected the morning sun like a dark, flawless mirror.
"Report," the Branch Master ordered, his voice trembling slightly.
A sensory-type Spirit Ancestor scrambled up the glassy slope, looking pale and nauseous. He held a high-tier Spirit Tool designed to measure residual soul power, but the dial was spinning erratically, unable to lock onto a signature.
"My Lord... it's impossible," the sensory master stammered. "There is no blood. There are no bones. There are no scattered spirit rings. Whatever caused this... it didn't leave a standard soul power signature behind. It feels... heavy. Like the air itself has been crushed. It doesn't match any known Spirit Beast on the continent's registry, nor any human technique."
The Branch Master clenched his jaw, his mind racing.
The local mercenary guilds and noble houses already knew something terrifying had happened here. The massive kinetic shockwaves had rattled tea cups inside the city walls for three days. The Spirit King who had fled the Conqueror's Pressure was currently sitting in a tavern, drinking himself into a stupor and babbling about a titan burying him under the ocean.
If Spirit Hall admitted the truth—that an unknown entity possessing god-like, unregistered power had casually vaporized a massive chunk of the landscape and simply vanished without a trace—it would cause mass panic. Worse, if the Supreme Pontiff in Spirit City caught wind that a local Branch Master had allowed such a singularity to operate in his territory unhindered, he would be stripped of his rank, or executed for incompetence.
Spirit Hall did not tolerate mysteries, and they certainly did not tolerate looking weak.
"Seal the perimeter," the Branch Master commanded coldly, turning his back on the glassy crater. "No civilian, mercenary, or unranked guild member is allowed within five miles of this quarry. Place the heavy guard regiments on the main roads."
"But My Lord, what do we tell the public?" his lieutenant asked nervously. "The city is already panicking. Rumors are spreading that the Star Dou Forest is expanding."
The Branch Master adjusted his golden collar, his face smoothing out into a mask of pious, arrogant authority.
"We tell them the truth that serves Spirit Hall," he stated. "We tell them that a highly dangerous Evil Spirit Master—a fugitive of the darkest order—attempted to conduct a forbidden, blood-sacrificial ritual in this ravine. However, thanks to the swift, decisive, and overwhelming power of our Suotou City Spirit Hall elites, the heretic was cornered and utterly eradicated before his ritual could threaten the city."
The lieutenant blinked, looking back down at the apocalyptic crater. It took a lot of mental gymnastics to claim Spirit Hall had caused that, but he knew better than to question a superior's spin. "Yes, My Lord. An Evil Spirit Master. Destroyed by your righteous hand."
"Draft the proclamation," the Branch Master ordered. "Have the town criers announce it in every major plaza before noon."
The Audience of One
By midday, Suotou City was ringing with the sound of brass bells and the booming voices of Spirit Hall heralds.
Mame was leaning casually against the wooden railing of a second-story balcony at The Sleeping Boar, a skewer of roasted spiced meat in his hand. He had slept for twelve hours straight, allowing his Zenkai Core to fully repair the muscular micro-tears from his three-day forging marathon. He felt lighter, faster, and infinitely more dangerous.
Down in the bustling street below, a Spirit Hall herald in silver armor was standing on a wooden crate, shouting from a scroll.
"...and let it be known to all citizens of Suotou City! The explosive tremors of the past three days were the desperate, dying flails of a Rank 70 Evil Spirit Master! He sought to enact a foul ritual in the abandoned quarry, but the glorious elites of Spirit Hall intervened! The dark cultivator has been cleansed from this world by holy fire, leaving nothing but ash!"
The crowd of merchants, blacksmiths, and commoners erupted into cheers, clapping their hands and praising the protection of Spirit Hall.
Up on the balcony, Mame took a slow bite of his meat skewer and chuckled.
"An Evil Spirit Master, huh?" Mame murmured, shaking his head. "They looked at a crater made by a localized nuclear-ki explosion and decided to take credit for it. Classic."
It was pathetic, really. It perfectly encapsulated why the power structures of this era were doomed to fail. They were so obsessed with maintaining their face and projecting absolute authority that they would rather lie to themselves than investigate an anomaly. They were blind to the shifting of the tectonic plates beneath their feet.
"Go ahead and celebrate your 'victory,'" Mame whispered to the cheering crowd below, his pitch-black eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "Keep looking for Evil Spirit Masters in the dirt. You won't even notice the meteor until it hits you."
He tossed the empty wooden skewer into a nearby bin and turned back into his room.
The heavy lifting in the shadows was done. His multiversal foundation was secure, safely tucked away inside a spatially expanding ring, and Spirit Hall had conveniently cordoned off the crime scene to protect his lie for him.
He had eight days left until the continent-wide contracts from the guilds arrived. It was time to switch gears. It was time to stop acting like a ghost, and start acting like a prodigy.
If he remembered the timeline correctly, a certain blue-haired boy and a soft-bone rabbit were about to walk through the gates of Suotou City, looking for a rundown village masquerading as an elite academy.
Mame walked over to his mirror, tying his wild, black-and-purple hair back with a simple black ribbon.
"Time to go to the Rose Hotel," Mame smiled, his Saiyan blood thrumming with anticipation. "Let's see just how fragile the original script really is."
The Rose Hotel stood out in Suotou City like a peacock in a flock of pigeons.
Its architecture was elegant, painted in soft hues of crimson and gold, and the overwhelming scent of blooming roses perfumed the street for a block in every direction. It was famous for being a high-end luxury establishment, catering mostly to wealthy couples and eccentric nobles.
To the original timeline's Tang San, it was just the only inn with a vacancy. To Mame, it was the stage where the Shrek Academy's golden generation would officially collide.
When the glass doors of the Rose Hotel swung open, the murmuring chatter in the lobby instantly died down.
Mame walked in. He wasn't wearing his pitch-black assassin gear, nor his ragged border-town clothes. He wore a set of immaculate, flowing silver-white robes tailored from the finest silk he could source in the city. The fabric shimmered like moonlight, adorned with subtle, silver-thread embroidery that practically screamed generational wealth. His wild, black-and-purple hair was neatly tied back with a silk ribbon, and his tail was perfectly concealed beneath a wide, structured sash.
He didn't look like an eleven-year-old boy. With his heightened physical development from his Saiyan biology, he easily passed for an aristocratic teenager of thirteen or fourteen, exuding an aura of absolute, untouchable privilege.
He walked up to the polished mahogany reception desk, his footsteps entirely silent.
The hotel manager, a well-groomed man in a sharp suit, immediately snapped to attention, recognizing the sheer weight of the wealth standing before him.
"Welcome, young master, to the Rose Hotel," the manager greeted with a deep, practiced bow. "How may we serve you today?"
Mame looked around the lobby, his pitch-black eyes taking in the plush velvet sofas and crystal chandeliers with mild, feigned boredom. "I am new to Suotou City. Tell me, is this the best establishment in the city?"
The manager offered a smooth, humble-brag smile. "Well, young master, we certainly do not claim to be the absolute best... but we are widely considered by the nobility to be one of the finest and most exclusive in the region. Our suites are unparalleled."
"Good," Mame said smoothly. "I require a room."
"Excellent. We have a magnificent suite on the top floor—"
"No," Mame interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "I don't care for climbing stairs, and I have no patience for waiting on attendants to fetch me from the upper levels. I want a room on the ground floor. Right here, near the reception."
The manager blinked, completely caught off guard. "Near the reception? But young master, the ground floor rooms are usually reserved for the staff, or for guests who require immediate accessibility. They are nice, but they aren't our luxury suites. It can also get quite noisy with the foot traffic in the lobby."
That's exactly the point, Mame thought, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He wanted a front-row seat to the inevitable brawl that was going to happen right here in this room.
"I said what I said," Mame replied, his voice cooling just enough to make the manager sweat. "I will take the room nearest the lobby. However, since it is not a luxury suite, I expect it to be treated like one. Have it completely remodeled and refurnished by tomorrow afternoon. Strip the bedding, bring in fresh silk, and ensure it is immaculate."
Before the manager could protest the absurdity of remodeling a room in twenty-four hours, Mame reached into his sleeve.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Five solid gold spirit coins dropped onto the polished mahogany desk. It was an astronomical sum—enough to buy a small house in the outer city, let alone rent a ground-floor hotel room.
The manager's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He stared at the gold, swallowing hard. "I... yes. Yes, of course, young master! It will be remodeled immediately. Whatever you require!"
"Keep the change for your trouble," Mame said casually, turning on his heel. "I will return tomorrow to claim it."
Without another word, the silver-robed noble swept out of the hotel, leaving the manager frantically scooping up the gold.
The Checkout
Ten minutes later, in a secluded alleyway three blocks down, Mame channeled a tiny fraction of his void essence. Space folded around him, and the extravagant silver-white robes vanished into his spatial ring, instantly replaced by his everyday attire: a set of practical, high-quality dark grey robes with deep blue accents.
It was comfortable, durable, and didn't draw the desperate attention of every thief in the district.
He walked the rest of the way back to the middle-class district, finally arriving at The Sleeping Boar inn.
The innkeeper looked up from his ledger as Mame approached the counter. "Ah, young master! You're back early. Do you require your evening meal brought up to Room 402?"
"No," Mame said, placing his room key on the counter. "I'm checking out."
The innkeeper looked stunned. "Checking out? But sir, you paid for three full months in advance! You've barely been here a week!"
"My business in this district concluded faster than I anticipated," Mame replied simply.
The honest innkeeper immediately opened his strongbox, pulling out the heavy pouch of gold spirit coins Mame had given him days ago. He began to rapidly count out the coins to refund the unused months. "Right away, sir. We only charge for the nights you stayed. Here is the remainder of your—"
Mame reached out and placed his hand over the innkeeper's, stopping him halfway through the count.
Mame scooped up exactly half of the gold coins and placed them into his own spatial ring. He pushed the remaining half—still a massive sum for a modest inn—back across the counter.
"Take this," Mame instructed.
"Sir? I can't possibly—"
"You can, and you will," Mame interrupted, his tone firm but appreciative. "You followed my directions perfectly. You left my meals at the door, you kept the cleaning staff out of my room, and you didn't ask questions. In my experience, absolute discretion is rare, and it is worth paying for. Consider it a tip for excellent service."
The innkeeper stared at the gold, his eyes watering slightly with gratitude. For a man running a middle-class establishment, a tip like this could feed his family for years. "Thank you, young master. Truly. If you ever find yourself back in this district, The Sleeping Boar will always have a room for you."
Mame gave a polite nod, adjusted his dark grey cloak, and walked out the door.
He took a deep breath of the city air. The heavy lifting was done. His multiversal foundation was secure, the continent's Heavy Silver was locked down, and his new stage was set at the Rose Hotel.
"Alright, Tang San," Mame whispered, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he looked toward the city gates. "Let's see what happens when a Singularity crashes your story."