"Even if you don’t create a barrier around Duke, he will survive with the number of artifacts on him but make sure to protect yourself and the Sword Saint," said Ashok.
"What kind of unforeseeable circumstances will occur?" the Head Butler inquired, his brow furrowed in apprehension.
"For if everything unfolds according to your plan, there should be no room for such eventualities."
"Why are you questioning everything? First the Sword Saint, and now you," Ashok muttered, rolling his eyes.
"If you’ve got so many questions, don’t follow my advice. Worst case, you die; best case, you’re half-dead. You’ve already lived your life—why bother caring so much?"
The Head Butler fell silent, clearly taken aback by Ashok’s sharp words. Meanwhile, Cassius couldn’t help but sneer inwardly, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Stop standing there like a statue," Ashok said, waving his hand in a dismissive shooing motion. "Go call the maid, and make sure to not lose control over your emotions. If you do then..." Ashok left the rest unsaid.
The Head Butler’s eyebrows twitched, but he held his tongue.
With a quick, stiff nod, he followed the plan and exited the room, clearly trying to keep his composure despite the irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
As the gates closed behind the Head Butler, Ashok reached for the Transformation scroll. He closed his eyes, and in an instant, Leon from the game appeared in his mind.
He recalled every intricate detail.
Each memory was as vivid as if he were reliving the game itself, down to the smallest flaw.
With his high-quality PC setup, the image of the Hero of Light was rendered with perfect clarity, every detail sharp and vivid.
Ashok was the kind of person who didn’t forget easily—not even the smallest detail.
How could he forget Leon, one of the characters, that he’d nurtured and molded over the years?
Once he finished, Ashok tore the scroll in half with a swift motion.
Immediately, a glowing blue magic circle appeared above his head, casting an eerie light across the room.
The circle descended slowly, encircling his body, and Duke and Cassius watched intently, their eyes filled with curiosity.
They were eager to see the result of Ashok’s reckless confidence.
After all, Ashok had ignored the instructions of the spell, completely unfazed by the risks.
In a matter of moments, Ashok’s hair, his face, his height, and even his entire body structure shifted, transforming before their eyes.
The magic circle pulsed around him, reshaping him into something entirely different from before.
As Ashok opened his eyes, he was met with the stunned expressions of Duke and Cassius.
Their faces were a mix of disbelief and awe, clearly taken aback by the sheer speed and scale of the transformation.
[False Monarch: Sealed]
Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.
The Complete Transformation scroll was one of the most difficult spells to use.
The only spell more powerful than this was the legendary Poly Morph of the mythical dragons—a transformation so advanced that it was whispered to be capable of altering the very fabric of one’s being.
With this alone, it was clear just how immense the difficulty of the spell was.
To achieve the best results from the spell, you need an in-depth and complete understanding of someone’s body.
Or else, the spell could easily go awry, leaving you with a grotesque, deformed form, the most common and unfortunate outcome.
That’s why most people preferred the Normal Transformation scroll, which used an image as a medium.
It only altered the face, making it a much simpler and safer option. The risk of failure was nearly none.
The Duke sat frozen, his eyes wide with shock. He felt as if he were staring at the Hero himself, not Ashok.
The transformation was so complete, so flawless, that for a moment, he couldn’t tell the difference.
The reason behind was also a testament to Ashok’s overwhelming charisma, which made him look in his best presentable state every time.
The Duke couldn’t help but ask, his voice filled with curiosity and disbelief, "Did you know the Hero... personally?"
"You shouldn’t imagine such things, my lord," Ashok replied smoothly, his voice now far more refined, with an air of politeness that contrasted sharply with his usual blunt tone.
His posture had shifted too—gone was the arrogance, replaced by an almost deferential respect.
’Ah! I hate being this polite and what the heck is ’my lord’’ thought Ashok, missing his trait that had almost become second nature.
He had grown accustomed to it, even finding amusement in mocking the two High Rankers. But now, his fun felt abruptly cut short.
His imagination, too perfect, had not only altered his voice but also his way of speech, leaving him feeling estranged from himself.
"Wow! Even the voice and way of speech have changed. You must have a real talent for this spell," Cassius mocked, a sly grin spreading across his face.
His eyes sparkled with amusement as he observed Ashok’s discomfort, clearly enjoying the irony of the situation.
"You should hide Sword Saint, the Head Butler must be arriving with the witch," said Leon.
Cassius quickly scanned the room, his eyes darting across the gleaming walls and a few pieces of furniture.
There was no place to hide—everything was too open, too exposed in the bright, well-lit space.
"Over there, Sword Saint," Leon said, his voice steady, as he pointed toward the open mouth of the Head of the Hydra.
"You can’t mean—" Cassius started, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
Leon simply let out a kind smile and nodded, his calm demeanor unwavering.
Cassius glanced at Duke, silently hoping for some interference, but before he could voice his doubts, Leon spoke first.
"My lord, the perfume... while the Sword Saint hides," he said smoothly not letting Cassius interfere.
Leon applied the perfume as he watched Cassius reluctantly squeeze into the mouth of the Hydra statue, his expression a mix of annoyance and uncertainty.
Moments later, the sound of knocking echoed through the room, followed by the familiar voice of the Head Butler asking for permission.
Leon and the Duke exchanged a brief but knowing glance, both silently acknowledging the tension of the moment.
Without a word, they nodded to each other, and the Duke, his expression as cold and composed as ever, turned toward the door.
"Come in," he commanded in his deep, unwavering voice.
.....
The Duke now turned his gaze to the Head Butler, who, with a bow, handed over two vials of healing potion to Leon.
’Everything went according to his words,’ the Duke thought, his mind racing. To think that the unforeseeable circumstance Ashok had warned about turned out to be the interference of a great witch.
The Duke surveyed the wreckage around him. Debris and destruction were everywhere, and even the head of the beast, aside from the resilient Hydra, was riddled with fractures.
If not for the Barrier erected by the Head Butler in the center of the room, the Duke could only imagine the extent of the devastation from that single, overpowering attack.
For now, more important than the state of the room was the choice Ashok was making.
He had already instructed them not to interfere once the plan was set in motion, and the Duke, despite his growing concerns, stood firmly by Ashok’s word.
But somewhere deep in his mind, the Duke was prepared to give orders to capture Ashok and kill the witch, the moment he sensed any sign of betrayal.
Despite standing by his word, a part of him couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Ashok—this demon in disguise—might have his own agenda.
Leon carefully placed one of the vials on the floor, its contents shimmering softly in the light.
He then brought the other vial closer to the witch’s face, holding it just inches from her.
The great witch, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and approval, smiled widely. "You’re making the right choice, kid,"
"Would you mind opening your mouth a little wider? It’s hard to feed the potion to Miss Witch this way," Leon said in his polite tone, offering a kind smile that contrasted sharply with the situation.
The witch slowly tilted her head back, her lips curling into a bemused smirk. She opened her mouth just a little wider.
Instead of using the corkscrew and carefully pouring the potion, Leon’s expression remained calm as he abruptly shoved the entire glass vial into the witch’s open mouth.
The great witch closed her eyes, bracing herself for the taste of the high-grade potion she had expected.
But instead, she was met with an unexpected cold, a suffocating sensation flooding her mouth as the potion’s contents didn’t go as planned. Her breath caught for a moment, a surge of alarm rippling through her.
Before she could react, she felt a warm, firm hand gently holding her chin.
Her eyes slowly shifted downward, meeting Leon’s silver eyes, where a kind smile lingered.
For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. But before she could fully process the shift in tension, the next instant—
SLAM!
With a swift, calculated motion, Leon slammed the witch’s head using his chin on the wall.
He hadn’t unleashed his full strength of Drank, but the force was still sufficient to shatter the witch’s jaw and crack open the glass vial nestled within her mouth.
The healing potion, mingled with the witch’s blood and shards of broken glass, slid down her throat.
The mixture of curative elixir and jagged fragments added a sinister twist to its supposed healing properties, creating a scene both gruesome and strangely ironic as the potion took effect within the witch’s body.