CHAPTER 177: FACELESS IMPOSTER VS ALICE [1]

Amelia stood frozen for a heartbeat, her breath caught in her throat as Alice disappeared into the corridor.

Her first instinct was to run after her—to call her back, to drag her away from danger. But her legs refused to move.

Sweat slid down her temple as she pressed her hand against her chest, trying to calm the frantic pounding beneath her ribs.

’Why... why is she always like this?’

Alice, charging ahead, fearless, unshakable... like some knight carved out of the stories Amelia had adored as a child.

A sharp ache twisted in her chest, one she couldn’t quite name.

Jealousy? Admiration? Fear?

All tangled together until she couldn’t separate them anymore.

Her lips trembled as she bit back the words she wanted to scream—Stay with me, don’t leave me behind. But Alice wasn’t the type to listen. Not when it came to protecting others.

Amelia exhaled shakily and forced her thoughts into order. This wasn’t the time to drown in feelings.

If Alice insisted on walking into danger, then Amelia would have to keep up. She couldn’t protect Alice directly—not with her magic—but there were other ways.

Her eyes narrowed. Julies Evans... no, that Faceless Imposter.

He was part of this. And that phantom thief was the that drunken she saw with him.

Well....All was going according to plan but she didn’t expected it that Alice would throw herself to stop them.

----

The back halls of the auction house were starkly different from the grandeur of the main chamber.

Gone were the velvet curtains and polished chandeliers—instead, narrow corridors stretched ahead, dimly lit by sputtering lanterns. The air carried a faint, acrid smell of smoke from the chaos outside.

Alice’s footsteps were steady, resolute, echoing softly against stone. Every instinct told her she was closing in.

The storeroom. The true heart of this place. Where relics worth kingdoms were locked away behind reinforced doors and enchanted seals.

She halted at the first corner, lowering her stance.

"...Tch."

Two guards in the Frost House’s colors lay crumpled on the floor. Still breathing, but unconscious. The wards carved into the walls nearby flickered weakly, as if smothered by an unseen hand.

"They were prepared for this," Alice muttered under her breath. Her grip on the sword tightened.

’I can’t waste any more time.’

Alice dashed down the corridor, her boots ringing against the stone floor. The noise of chaos behind her grew faint as she pushed forward, single-minded, until the storeroom door came into view.

Within minutes, she was there.

A soldier stood near the entrance, helmet pulled low, his arms full of boxes. Behind him, a wagon already half-filled with what she recognized as auction goods—jewels, scrolls, and sealed crates—gleamed under the torchlight.

The sight froze her blood.

"Ma’am, this area is off-limits. Please return due to the emergency," the soldier barked, voice too stiff, too rehearsed.

Alice didn’t lower her sword. Instead, she leveled it directly at him, her tone like ice. "Identify yourself."

The soldier flinched, dropping his bundle with a clatter. "Eek! I—I was ordered to move the goods after the phantom thief appeared! My seniors tasked me with this job!" His voice trembled, threaded with fear.

But Alice only narrowed her eyes, lips curving in disdain. "How absurd."

She took a step forward, steel glinting under the torchlight. "I won’t ask twice. Reveal your true identity."

Her mind worked quickly, dissecting the lie with ease. The auction house was in chaos, yes, but since when did a commander entrust priceless treasures to a single soldier? No witnesses, no chain of accountability, no oversight? It was laughable.

She thought back on the past week, tailing smugglers and cutthroats at her father’s orders. In the underworld, she had seen greed consume men at the faintest whiff of gold. No one would refuse wealth if there was no one to watch.

That was why commanders paired soldiers together. To bind them with camaraderie, to keep them in check. Never alone.

This wasn’t protocol. This was theater.

"Phantom Thief is said to work alone," Alice said sharply, her gaze fixed on him. "Seems the newspapers don’t always print the truth."

The soldier stiffened but offered no response.

She tilted her head, voice dripping with mockery, each word deliberate. "Refusing to answer someone who is both a commander and a noble... hardly the way of a Northern soldier. Will you give me your answer, or shall I carve it from you?"

Silence.

And then—

"Heh."

A low chuckle spilled from under the helmet.

"You see right through me, Lady," the man said, his tone suddenly smooth, mocking, nothing like the trembling fool from moments before.

The shift in presence was palpable. The fear was gone, replaced by something darker, something playful.

Alice tensed, adjusting her grip on the hilt.

The soldier straightened, one hand reaching up. With a deliberate motion, he lifted his helmet.

Alice’s breath caught.

There was no face.

No eyes, no mouth, no nose—nothing but smooth, blank skin where a face should have been.

A faceless man.

Her blade steadied, and her voice dropped low. "...So you show yourself at last."

Alice’s grip tightened on her sword, though her face betrayed nothing. "So, this is the ’Faceless Imposter’ I’ve heard whispers of. A phantom without a name or identity."

The featureless man tilted his head, as if amused. "And yet, here I stand, noticed by the ever-perceptive Lady Alice. Truly, your reputation doesn’t disappoint."

"Flattery won’t save you," she replied coolly. "Nor will your little tricks. You’ve taken advantage of the chaos to plunder what doesn’t belong to you. Is that your trade? Hiding behind masks and false orders?"

A low chuckle echoed from the blank visage, eerie precisely because there were no lips to shape it.

"And what of you? A duchess, heir to a great house, playing guard dog for merchants and nobles who gorge themselves on wealth stolen from the weak. Tell me, Lady, whose hands are dirtier?"

Alice’s eyes narrowed. "At least my house doesn’t shroud itself in lies. We build with our own strength. You? You survive only by wearing borrowed faces."

The Imposter spread his arms, mockingly. "Borrowed faces, stolen fortunes, whispered rumors... call it what you like. But in the end, I move freely where others stumble over chains of duty and honor."

"Honor," Alice said, her voice firm, "is the only thing that separates men from beasts. Without it, you are nothing more than a demon waiting to be cut down."

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackle of torchlight.

Then the faceless man tilted his head again, almost curiously. "Bold words, Lady. But tell me..." His tone slithered, probing. "When your honor clashes with your lord’s safety, which will you choose? The duchess or the protector?"

Alice’s heart clenched, but her sword didn’t waver. "...Both. Because if I fail in one, I fail in the other."

The Imposter laughed again, richer this time, like a man savoring a fine wine. "How delightfully stubborn. No wonder Julies lingers around you like a moth to flame."

Her eyes flickered at the mention of the name—but she masked it quickly. "Keep my servent name out of your mouth. You’ll answer only for your crimes here."

"Ah," the faceless one purred, "Look’s like you are quite fond of this servent of yours."

"How did you know the name of my attendant?"

"Haha... What a stupid question. I am demon after all and I have to keep eye on Duke family of north, that includes you and your servent and everyone else in the family."

At those words of the demon, Alice narrowed her eyes dengerously.