Chapter 163: _The Art Of Misdirection

Phoenix Flight HQ

"Phew. House hunting has never felt more exhausting." Devon rubbed the back of his neck as he and Ambrose moved past the lobby doors side by side. "And I wonder why..."

He took a glance behind them. Because trailing a few feet too close for comfort was none other than Valentine. The SS-Rank had followed them for the remainder of their house-hunting trip.

Devon tried staying cool whenever they made a stop at any of the four houses they saw today. And to be fair, Valentine was mostly quiet, observing in that creepy way that made his skin crawl.

Yet it didn’t erase how close he stuck to Ambrose. The way he stared at him beneath those sunglasses. It made Devon equal parts irritated and... no.

The other thing can’t be jealousy. Right?

"I say it was quite fun." Valentine blurted behind them, his smile almost blissful. "So which one are you two rascals going for? The suburban one was cool... But that penthouse? Exquisite. I can see myself living there."

The fire Esper exchanged a glance with Ambrose who could only sigh in defeat. It seems they weren’t going to get rid of the guy anytime soon.

"Who’s that?" At a corner of the lobby, two Hunters stretched their necks trying to get a better view of the tall mysterious man walking with Hunter Devon and Ambrose. "I’ve seen him somewhere before."

"Wait... the Phoenix-Talon joint Gala! I could’ve sworn I saw him talking with Hunter Devon and Hunter Viktor." The eyes of the other one blew wide. "He must be someone special."

"What’s he doing here though?"

Ambrose caught a few of these whispers but barely focused on any of them. Without looking back, he could already imagine Valentine grinning from the corner of his mouth.

This better not start another rumour.

Fortunately, the walk down the hallway leading to his suite was much quieter. The moment Ambrose opened the door, Valentine arched a brow.

"Hm." He had his arms behind his back as he took slow, deliberate steps into the living room. "The living spaces here don’t look bad at all. Remind me why you plan to move out again?"

Of course, the question was ignored as Ambrose locked the door behind them while Devon waltzed to the kitchen to get a drink, giving them some space.

"Can we just skip to the part where you help me?" The Guide huffed, folding his arms in front of his chest.

Valentine’s lips twitched as he took off his sunglasses. "Well. That’s no way to speak to someone willing to help you. Don’t you think so?"

"You literally said I owe you. I think that makes us even."

"Except I can decide to call this whole thing off completely and walk out of that door." Valentine’s head tilted. "After all... I’m already a black sheep to this country’s Hunters Federation. Why should I worsen my rep by helping you?"

Ambrose’s teeth ground against each other so hard he thought they’d shatter. Still, he managed to force a smile. "Touche."

There was an unreadable glint in the Necromancer’s eyes before he strode casually to one of the sofas. "Now that we understand ourselves perfectly." He crashed onto one of them, crossing one leg over the other. "Tell me, Ambrose. How good are you at lying?"

The question took Ambrose off guard. He blinked once, then twice before the words registered in his head fully. "What?"

"Lies. I’m simply asking how good you think you are at them."

Ambrose’s face flushed redder than a tomato. His head swerved subconsciously to Devon—the one man he’s lied to the most since transmigration.

[Two stars for self-awareness.]

Seeing that Devon didn’t even pay an ounce of attention to them—too focused on mixing a drink—Ambrose turned his gaze back to Valentine.

"How is this question supposed to help me in any way?"

Valentine didn’t answer. Instead, he shone his teeth with something oddly akin to pride. "There it is." He pointed a finger at the Guide. "Right there. You’re so well-versed in the art of misdirection. Shifting topics before the other party gets too close to striking the truth."

The blush on Ambrose’s cheeks only worsened.

Was that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?

"Sit." Valentine didn’t tease him further, gesturing at the sofa opposite him. "To answer your question—yes. All I’m about to tell you will help you avoid getting controlled by the President’s Sovereign Tongue if it ever comes to it."

Ambrose bit on his gums as he dragged himself to the sofa. The moment he sat, Valentine went on.

"Sovereign Tongue, when used on a weaker human, gets them to answer the user with the truth." A pause. "What many don’t realise is that there are many ways to avoid giving up vital information without actually lying."

"For example. He comes up to you and asks if you’re beyond a C-Rank Guide. Instead of ’yes, I am’ and then proceeding to give up all your secrets—you could go with this: ’Most might say that... but my means aren’t conventional’."

Silence.

From the kitchen island, Devon was halfway into squeezing some lemons into his drink when he paused with a frown. A similar look to what was on Ambrose’s face now.

"First off," the Guide shook his head. "That sounds... dumb. Won’t it just force him to push harder until I have no way to evade the question?"

"Not if you’re prepared mentally to answer every probable question he might have." Valentine leaned in from the other sofa, pinning those crimson orbs on Ambrose. "And there’s another thing with Sovereign Tongue. It works best against objects and people that follow this universe’s conventional natural laws."

The implications behind those words were already settling in Ambrose’s head before Valentine rose to his feet.

The SS-Rank broke the distance between them in a few strides, lowering himself to Ambrose’s level.

"You, Ambrose Hale... are an anomaly." He kept his voice low, making sure Devon didn’t overhear. "From the first day I sensed your soul, I’ve known there’s something oddly unique about your existence. Although I can’t wrap my fingers around what that could be."

Ambrose’s throat constricted as Valentine lifted a finger to his face. "This already gives you a head start against Josiah’s ability. And it creates room for another way I can help you."

At this point, Devon had his eyes narrowed. He didn’t like how close Valentine’s face was to Ambrose’s. His fingers tightened around his glass but he didn’t interfere.

If this would indeed ’help’ Ambrose and keep him from spiralling into more paranoia... then so be it.

"A Necrotic Mark?" Ambrose—unaware of the S-Rank’s blooming agitation behind him— furrowed his brows when Valentine revealed what he planned to place on him. "That... sounds kinda creepy. How would it help?"

Valentine’s fingers twirled calmly before Ambrose, all while aether energy sparked between them. "My Necrotic Marks have a variety of uses. But the one with the most importance to you... would be its ability to increase your soul’s phantom energies while also isolating it in a way that distorts the natural laws around it."

Ambrose’s eyes fixed on Valentine’s fingers. "So in other words... my chances of avoiding Sovereign Tongue would be multiplied."

"Indeed. Of course, you can decide not to use it and bank on your—"

"Let’s do it." His hands curled and uncurled with hesitation. But he meant it, staring straight into Valentine’s eyes. "I’ll take the mark. Anything to stop Josiah from digging up my secrets."

Surprise flickered on the Necromancer’s face for a fleeting second. Then he blinked it back, slowly bringing his fingers to Ambrose’s forehead.

Once his fingertips made contact with his skin, he muttered. "There’s no going back from this. Just so you—"

"I don’t care." Ambrose seized his wrist, his expression daring. "As long as it won’t harm me in any way, do it. I—"

[Physical contact with SS-Rank target detected.]

[ALERT: New Side mission generated.]

[OBJECTIVE: Create a permanent link with the target, Valentine Lockwood, during the creation of the Necrotic Mark.]

[REWARDS: +5000 EP points, +500 HP and Death Sense’s range gets boosted to one kilometre.]

[PENALTY: If unsuccessful, the host will get a soul backlash that could either be excruciatingly painful at the least or leave the host in a vegetative-like state. Permanently.]

Ambrose’s grip around Valentine’s wrist faltered the second he saw those system screens flashing above. His breath hitched, fear coiling around his heart like chains.

’Fuck my luck...’