“Sacrifice?” Silva repeated, her expression growing concerned. “Does that mean self-sacrifice or sacrificing others?”

“Who knows,” Monty mysteriously replied. Naturally, he wouldn’t tell Silva. He wasn’t aware of Emma’s relationship with her. It could be on the level of familial or Silva could be taking advantage of Emma. He didn’t know, so he wasn’t willing to risk it.

Silva pouted, her short stature magnifying a feeling of childishness. A sudden thought emerged within Monty’s mind. He felt the urge to open up to her, to explain himself and be truthful with her. “Why don’t I tell her, it’s not like it matters that much. She already knows the name of the rune anyway,” he thought to himself. Opening his mouth, Monty prepared to speak. He wanted to drag this out a little longer, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

Monty’s cheeks lifted into a disdainful sneer, “A meager trick like this won’t affect me.”

Silva’s smile warped into disbelief.

Then, the room shattered. Like shards of glass, the floor, furniture, desserts, and Silva herself exploded and dissolved out of existence, revealing the true world. The room itself remained unchanged, yet it was different. Monty had been trapped in an illusion.

He shook his head, perhaps clearing the numbness that filled his mind or perhaps in disdain towards the imposter. A terrifying ability for sure, but only when performed by someone competent. Impersonation was a task that required perfection, where even the smallest flaw would reveal the truth.

A retched gag resounded through the shop. Coughing up blood, an unknown woman had taken the place of Silva. She was average in appearance; having brown hair and eyes, she was as ordinary as one could be. Monty walked towards her as she looked at him in apprehension.

The illusionist's skin was as white as chalk, losing any resemblance of healthiness. Staring into her bloodshot eyes, Monty knew her injuries were severe. This was the price she paid for having her illusion broken.

The woman collapsed on the floor. Monty noticed that the shop hadn’t changed in appearance, meaning he had been trapped sometime after he entered the building. This meant she possessed a room-type rune.

Taking out his grey knife, Monty walked up to the woman and grabbed her leg. Before she could do anything, he lifted it up and slid his knife along her Achilles tendon. Monty then dropped it, the severed tendon bleeding slowly. The woman cried out as Monty moved to her other leg. Although doing this wouldn’t fully prevent her from moving, it was enough for the moment. He had to be quick, it was unknown if the woman was by herself.

Leaving her alone, Monty looked over to Emma. “Still unconscious. I better take a look at Silva then,” he thought, heading to the back of the store.

Shortly arriving in the back room, he spotted the real Silva sprawled on the cold floor. Mien-wise, there was no difference between the real and the copy. They both had a flair of arrogance and disdain for the world around them. But the fake had made a mistake. It was only when Monty claimed he was a traveler that he realized she was an imposter.

Of course, there was nothing blatantly wrong with the woman’s reaction. Travelers always had a story and it usually wasn’t a pleasant one. They were criminals, exiled from their plateau because even the lowest didn’t want them. One had to be wary of these kinds of people.

Flinching and putting up her defenses, there was nothing unnatural about that. What had alerted Monty was her eyes. It was a moment of scrutiny, of curiosity and sympathy. Her eyes had shown an emotion other than indifference.

It could be called a break in character, of a person being unable to mimic the role of another. The woman was human, therefore she couldn’t be a different human. This was why Monty disdained mages with low-glyph illusion runes. The runes simply didn’t have the capability to fix such errors.

Monty didn’t know the real Silva Sorrento; he didn’t know if she would have been curious about his “story” or if she wouldn’t care at all. What he did know was that the fake he knew was arrogant. She was confident in herself, and her actions reflected that. From barging in and punching him to the pseudo-interrogation about his identity, she didn’t show a single sign of restraint.

Yet at that point, despite her unsated curiosity, she hadn’t asked why he was here. She hadn’t asked “Why the Greyson Plateau?” or “Why had you begun traveling?” or “Why would your original plateau let a valuable talent like yourself leave?”

It was that restraint that caused her cover to be blown. She had acted as herself instead of her persona. Monty had realized it was sympathy, maybe she even respected him. But how could Silva sympathize with his story? She had been treated well all her life, being born with great talent and receiving the attention of his Majesty, Erwin Kallias at a young age.

It was impossible; therefore that Silva was a fake.

These thoughts swarmed in Monty’s mind at the time. He picked out other, smaller details, that while insignificant individually, added up to a dubious whole. Things such as her entering through the front door instead of the back didn’t seem like much, perhaps they really weren’t much, but Monty was pedantic like that.

Despite missing details at times, he paid attention to detail. Despite spending so much time planning, he panicked when Emma obtained her third rune. Maybe it was because he missed clues and made mistakes that the coincidences he did notice held a much greater impression on him. That was caution, and Monty was a cautious person.

“What to do, what to do,” he murmured to himself, thinking about the real Silva’s induced slumber. Monty guessed that she had walked into the illusion as well, causing her to collapse on the spot. He had to deal with her soon as the illusion had already been broken.

Monty was indecisive in this case. Such a situation could only spell trouble for him, regardless of his course of action. Feeling slightly indignant, he picked her up and barely managed to hoist her onto his back. It was a good thing she was short; he didn’t know if he would have the strength to carry her if she was his height.

Re-entering the main room, Monty lay Silva down on a table. Anyone looking through the windows wouldn’t see the anomalies within the shop. Finishing the burdensome transportation, Monty placed his hands on his knees, panting. Only a full minute later did he manage to straighten his back.

Pulling out his knife yet again, Monty walked over to the illusionist. Seeing her now, Monty was tempted into thinking she was a ghost. The woman had used her clothes to bandage her ankles and while being unable to heal her internal injuries, propped herself up against a chair.

“This could be problematic. It seems I was right,” Monty frowned, rubbing his chin with his empty hand.

Thinking back, had to have been a reason for the woman’s sympathy for his story of being a traveler. The emotion was strong enough for her facade to break because of it. Although Monty didn’t know her goals, he was certain is she had a reason for creating an illusion now instead of earlier or later. A room-type rune that ensnared anyone who entered its territory. Such a powerful ability had a very high mana cost. It couldn’t be maintained indefinitely.

Being that Monty hadn’t told anyone he was targeting Emma, he doubted the illusionist was targeting him. Emma had been sold to him recently and besides the Greyson’s, no one should know that she escaped. If the Greyson’s found her, they would’ve simply asked Silva to hand her over. She was lost property, after all.

But the illusionist had opted for a covert operation, questioning Monty about himself and Emma’s runic powers rather than directly killing him even though she had the opportunity. The woman was gathering intelligence.

This made Monty ask himself, “Who wanted information from Silva, operated secretly, possessed many powerful runes, and had a soft-spot for travelers?” There was only one person, or rather one organization that fit this description.

The Silver Tooth Cult.

Monty was confident in his assumption. It was only them, a misfit band of zealots, each independent yet unified, that would do something like this. Watching the woman struggle to drag out the dagger strapped to her leg only cemented Monty’s belief. Such firm determination could only belong to those who had experienced great difficulties.

He kicked the dagger out of her hand. Before properly interrogating her, there was no way he would let her die. The woman glared at Monty, her eyes simmering in hate and angst. Monty merely scoffed and walked to the front door. He flipped the sign hanging on it, displaying to the public that the shop was now closed.

Turning back to the cultist, Monty couldn’t help but smile. Truthfully, he was thankful that the Cult gave him an informant. Such people were hard to come by. The only issue was how long it would take to obtain anything useful. Not wanting to waste time, he got to work.

Twenty minutes later.

Tick, tick, tick. A bloody nail skittered across the hardwood floor, haphazardly thrown by Monty. It was the woman’s last one. By this point, the majority of her skin appeared flayed, as if she had been whipped fiercely. However, the cuts were all pink and fresh; the woman had run out of blood to bleed long ago. It made one wonder what kind of drug was fed to her, forcing her to stay alive.

Stretching out his arms, Monty felt half pleased and half disappointed. His effort wasn’t squandered, but the gains were lacking compared to the source.

“Cultists truly are the most demanding to deal with, does believing in a god make such a difference?” Monty thought to himself, feeling curious. It had only been when he dug out her eye that she spoke of herself, her goals, and her target. Even then, he was unable to obtain the detailed plans of the Cult.

Such loyalty was the dream of any organization, yet the Cult amassed such a following simply by preaching. Monty felt he might as well as become a priest, as not many were as qualified to talk about a god as him. Rubbing his chin, the idea appeared more and more attractive to him.

Monty suddenly laughed, causing the moribund illusionist to raise her head. Her eyes had lost any semblance of spirit, reflecting only fear of the man in front of her. She would have trembled if she had the energy, but alas, medicine could only do so much. Releasing a ragged breath, the woman died just like that, relieved she would escape and proud she kept the Cult’s true secrets.

Monty could only shake his head at the slight smile that tugged at her lips. He naturally knew the thoughts going through her head and in truth he understood her. But Monty himself could never sacrifice himself for a greater cause. Such causes didn’t exist.

There were no righteous causes, just as there were no evil causes. These were all merely mundane ideas humans came up with to better their lives. Some of those ideas benefited more humans, therefore they were righteous, while some benefited less, therefore they were selfish.

But selfishness was human nature. To prioritize oneself was as natural as eating meat. Killing animals, there was nothing wrong with this, yet humans, in their arrogance, don’t realize that there is no difference between killing animals, killing plants, and killing humans. This was selfishness.

To work together and form strong bonds, this could only lead to development for both parties. But no two parties were the same, one would eventually become tempted by benefit and create conflict. Honor, loyalty, morals, these were nothing but concepts made by humans for the sake of humans. This was also selfishness.

The Silver Tooth Cult opposed the Kingdom's royal family for the sake of the common man, preaching equality and treating humans equally. Wanting to discard the old and replace it with the new. Both parties were selfish, and neither was wrong. Nature was like that; the stronger party was righteous while the weaker could sigh indignantly. The cult didn't have the manpower, meaning they were wrong. This was the truth.

Recalling his line of thought regarding becoming a priest, Monty realized this was acting for the greater good. Creating a cult would help most of those involved, not just himself. Benefiting others and the world, this was true selflessness.

Therefore, he was selfish.