Under the blazing noon sun, the gray-white stone walls of Norwede seemed bleached, their sharpness softened by the glare. Only the shadows preserved the cool severity of the blue stone.

The iron-bound gates stood open, with four guards stationed beneath the shade, inspecting those entering the city.

The flow of people was already considerable here, and at last Dylan had been permitted to put on his shirt and trousers again.

But his face, as he gazed at the gate from afar, was anything but cheerful.

The boss had just warned him: “There’s a magic array running at the gate.”

Placed at a city entrance, it could only be some kind of detection spell.

Low-level, perhaps, but more than enough to pierce his flimsy 【Mimicry】.

Keeping a detection array active wasn’t cheap. Since when had nobles been this willing to spend?

He hadn’t stopped to gather information after leaving the dungeon.

Had something happened recently that he didn’t know about?

In any case, he couldn’t go in.

Casting a glance at the merchant whose name he had already forgotten, Dylan casually offered an excuse.

“It’s safe enough here. I’ve got other business—I won’t be accompanying you into the city.”

The merchant looked mildly surprised. “Does Sir Dylan have pressing matters? I had hoped to thank you properly inside the city.”

Dylan didn’t even bother fabricating an excuse. He waved his hand, turned his horse, and rode off.

“Could it be that Sir Dylan doesn’t dare to enter the city?”

Dylan yanked his reins, turning to glare at the man.

What did he mean by that?

Had he been exposed?

Dylan’s mind was already racing through the consequences of silencing the merchant here and now.

But the merchant continued as if oblivious to his reaction. “Or is it that you fear I might trouble you with my gratitude, delay you from your journey?”

Dylan’s knuckles whitened on the reins. After a long moment, he rasped, “Just joking. I truly have other matters. Best not waste more time.”

Then he spurred his horse, riding away almost in flight.

The merchant narrowed his eyes, watching Dylan’s retreating back.

Dylan rode along the small road for a long time, until the city walls were out of sight and the traffic of travelers had thinned.

But when he glanced back—

That same figure was following him.

The merchant again!

By now Dylan knew something was wrong. But he couldn’t fathom the purpose.

If the man had uncovered his disguise, he should have reported him to the guards.

Why trail him alone? Didn’t he fear being silenced?

Such abnormal behavior could only mean trouble. Dylan had no wish to face him.

So he fled, riding until the sun was setting and his horse lathered and gasping.

Finally, he no longer saw the merchant behind him.

Even so, he wasn’t reassured. He led his horse into the woods, deeper and deeper until no road was visible.

Only then did he pause.

He had just begun unpacking his gear when a pebble struck his face.

Startled, Dylan turned—his 【Mimicry】 slipping in the process—only to see the merchant once more. A chill ran down his spine.

This was no ordinary merchant.

Only the familiar pack on the ground lent him the faintest comfort.

But why wasn’t the boss making a move?

Did he have to start the fight himself?

Dylan drew his sword, bracing for a deadly clash.

“Ah, I knew it!” the merchant exclaimed, joy brimming in his voice. “Don’t be nervous—don’t be nervous. I’m one of your own!”

Before Dylan’s eyes, the man’s head bulged like a water balloon, shifting into different faces one after another—even Dylan’s own.

When the transformations ended, the merchant grinned. “See? Now you understand.”

Understand what?

That he was a monster?

Wait. One of his own?

Dylan touched his own mycelium-covered face, suddenly thoughtful.

Seeing this, the merchant assumed comprehension, and sat down on a stone with great ease.

“Ha! To meet one of ours in a place like this—rare fortune indeed.”

All formality vanished from his posture.

“Let me reintroduce myself. I’m Kroloro. And you are?”

Dylan, though wary, shouldered his pack again.

“Dylan.”

“You’re a parasitic type, right? I’ve seen your kind. I mean your true name, not the name of this body.”

“Dylan.”

“…Alright then.” Kroloro sighed, exasperated. “Your disguise might be weak, but your lips are sealed tight.”

“My disguise—what flaw?” Dylan genuinely wanted to know. His journey was far from over. If anyone could pierce his cover, he was doomed.

Kroloro clapped him on the shoulder, adopting the tone of an elder guiding a junior.

“Brother, your 【Mimicry】 collapses at the first injury—definitely under level five. But more than that—it’s your behavior!

Who rides bare-chested in broad daylight, eh?

The moment I saw you, I suspected.

Then, at the city gate, you noticed the detection array. Your panicked retreat was too obvious.

And when I tested you with a simple line, you betrayed yourself instantly.

What kind of training did they give you?”

“Training?”

Dylan recalled the boss’s words:

“There. You look human enough. Should be fine.”

Kroloro sucked in a sharp breath. “That bad? No acting lessons? No counter-intel drills? They just shoved you out here with low-level mimicry? Which faction do you belong to? That’s sending you to your death!”

“Which faction…”

Dylan fell silent again, and Kroloro shook his head in admiration.

“I get it, I get it. Can’t reveal such things.

But brother, you must understand—loyalty alone won’t keep you alive.

We spies survive by quick wit and improvisation.

If your handlers gave you nothing, then even by demon standards, they’ve been terribly cruel.”

Kroloro stroked his chin, deep in thought, occasionally glancing at Dylan with eyes full of sympathy and reminiscence.

Dylan, meanwhile, was completely lost for words. The silence stretched.

Inside the fungal net—

“Boss, what do we do?”

“What do you mean? Isn’t this great?”

Lin Jun had thought at first the doppelgänger meant to copy Dylan after exposing him. He hadn’t expected this outcome.

“But I’m not a demon spy!”

“You’re a mushroom spy. Close enough.”

“…”

Dylan reflected on his time since being parasitized.

Gathering intel for the boss, spreading “strategy guides,” setting up signs to lure adventurers, liaising with pro-mushroom sympathizers among humans…

Come to think of it, he really was a spy.

Meanwhile, Kroloro seemed to have made up his mind.

“Brother Dylan, I know you’re still cautious.

But meeting a junior like you out here, only to watch you walk to your death—I couldn’t bear it.

I happen to be free of assignments at the moment. Let me accompany you awhile, teach you a few things.”

Dylan stared in disbelief.

Were demons… always this warmhearted?

Kroloro, seeing his doubt, didn’t press.

Instead, like an old friend, he sat down beside Dylan, unscrewed his flask, and drank.

Now that he was closer, Dylan noticed it at last.

The flask was filled with mana potion.