Chapter 113: Another Eye - VIII

While Clementine returned to the Vielour Family’s compound, I brought Kuvie and Reazue into the complex, shifting labyrinth of the Living City’s Layers Beneath.

I was looking for a specific place and person.

A rather prominent fraudster capable of forging us the complete fake identity package, from a fake face to a fake badge, or fake bloodlines—he had it. Furthermore, this person was connected to me through one of <Fate’s> threads.

However, this thread was originally supposed to go around an unfathomable distance, connecting to other people and places first before eventually making it to this particular individual. It snaked around the human kingdoms multiple times, tracing back several routes I once passed through.

Meeting him now wasn’t a part of <Fate’s> arrangements, but did that mean I cared?

I was still testing the limits of my defiance. How many consequences could I bear unscathed?

With [Absolute Awareness], I more or less knew how bad a certain consequence would be for the defiant actions I had already taken. On the other hand, predicting any consequences without doing anything was impossible.

That line was distinctly present in the limitations of my gift.

’Perhaps that would be the point where Absolute Prophecy would come in, no?’

The moment I made this internal statement, I felt something in my gut—something that screamed: "Yeah. It’s not a part of what you can do."

Anyways.

This person was actually someone I’d encountered in the past. He was a familiar face—one who shouldn’t be so deep into the empire.

I couldn’t help but be stunned. First, he did not heed my warning and got kicked out of Laquer. He then became homeless, and I found him barely scraping by.

After working him to the bone to create the <Counterfeit Sword of Light>, he should’ve been living the good life in the <Blacksmith’s Guild’s> towers.

How did he mess it all up and end up all the way here, dabbling in fraud once again?

It was frankly quite dumbfounding, disappointing, and amazing all at the same time.

"I gave you so much gold and even supplied you with a spot in a prestigious organization. Your future was supposed to be bright. What the hell happened, Gron?"

***

Gron Gaven’s life so far had been... tumultuous.

If only he had listened to that one young man from more than a year ago...

Alas...

He would have graduated from the Academy of Laquer, saved his father from his debts, and used his achievements to become a famous blacksmith. He would’ve been rich and powerful.

If only...

Ah, but he did get a second chance.

That young man had reappeared again, tasking him with creating a powerful and intricate counterfeit sword.

From that young man, Gron came to own the <Blacksmith’s Intradermal Needles>, which had been by his side ever since then.

It was his trusted partner.

The reason for all of his successes.

Because of that young man and this artifact set, Gron became a part of the famous <Blacksmith’s Guild> that had branches in every human kingdom. Despite having records of being kicked out of the Academy of Laquer, he did not find any difficulty blending into a guild filled with craftsmen.

Until... of course... Gron fell to his old habits.

He began creating fake artifacts. Weapons, armor, badges, and accessories.

Anything and everything—he could make a fake out of. As long as he had the time and the materials, he could create fakes of varying accuracy.

Some were basically indistinguishable from the original—like the <Counterfeit Sword of Light>. Others would lose their effects after a set interval of time.

While other, more insidious fakes could damage their owners through self-destruction...

Thus.

Gron was hunted down by the various kingdoms for the damage and chaos he’d wrought upon the market.

Many had died because of his fakes, and even a kingdom’s crown prince had died from a counterfeit spatial ring he’d made.

Greed consumed him so much that his bottom line vanished.

So, he ran. His father had been implicated—killed in the chaos. In sorrow, he fled from humanity. A caravan of bizarre species picked him up, and Gron roamed eastward, eventually arriving in the depths of Walvaskaz.

He wanted to turn over a new leaf and start anew... but his habits kept coming back.

Now, he ran a workshop that forged fake identities with the new skills and artifacts he’d picked up on the way. Though his name wasn’t well known, he had a few loyal customers coming in now and again.

Here, in the depths of the Living City of Hispe, Gron was eeking out a living in one small corner of the world.

"Ah... I regret it! I regret it all. If only I could start over!"

Gron groaned as he covered his face. Despite earning another pouch filled with silver, he wasn’t happy being cooped up in this small hidey hole he’d dug for himself.

Having hit his twenties and travelled the world, he carried himself with a bit more stability. The trauma from losing all that was left of his home and family was still an open wound on his heart.

But he had to keep going.

His father’s last words still rang in his ear: "You’re destined for greatness—no matter where that may be."

However, the son who heard those words didn’t agree. One bad choice would always cause him to spiral.

A small temptation would be enough for him to stake it all.

The thrill of fraud was abundant in this world—it was a waste not to enjoy it.

"Ugh..."

Gron couldn’t accept this part of him.

No... He refused to accept it. Having been raised as a law-abiding citizen in the peaceful capital, Gron saw himself as a good student and a better son.

The reality that he was this... this criminal...

He could not reconcile it with the image he had of himself. It felt so appalling to him that he was some kind of delinquent—that he was a criminal who caused the death of a member of some royal family. A malicious saboteur who enjoyed creating unreliable fakes.

...At least, until recently.

It was after encountering a mother and daughter pair, desperate to escape from terrifying pursuers, that Gron understood how forgery and fraud were not completely evil. Because he helped them don new identities and hide their faces, they were still alive and well.

Whoever pursued them had lost track of the scent.

Finally, Gron had done something that aligned with his ideals. As long as he used his talents for the proper reasons, perhaps he wouldn’t have to live in the dark, hiding like a rat every single day.

Unfortunately—

That realization made his regrets even worse.

"Gods, damn it all." Gron cursed, slamming his head on the table in frustration. He was about to close up for the day to wallow in his misery a little more...

When suddenly—

"Oh? Hello, old friend. What a coincidence meeting you here, no?"

A familiar voice rang in his ear.