John kept walking down the long stone hallway, boots scraping softly against the worn flagstones as he tried to get a feel for this temporary body. Torches flickered in iron brackets every ten paces, casting shaky orange light that made the tapestries on the walls look like they were breathing. He passed a narrow window slit and caught a glimpse of the courtyard below, the same one where everything had started going wrong weeks ago.
The memory made his stomach twist, but he pushed it down. Focus. He needed to move like he belonged here.
He whispered the question under his breath, barely moving his lips. "System… as Nohj, do I have an office or some quiet space I'm supposed to spend most of my time in?"
The answer came immediately, not as a glowing window this time but as a calm voice inside his head, giving directions like a helpful map. Third floor, west wing, past the old armory corridor, second door after the portrait of the previous duke. Simple enough. John nodded to himself and deactivated the shroud with a thought. The cognitive filter slipped away, leaving him fully visible. He also powered down the other abilities for now, no Chlorid gas leaking, no Burst ready to flash, no Combobulate aura humming.
He wanted to look normal, unremarkable, just an advisor doing his rounds. The body felt heavier without the divine edge, more grounded, like a man who had spent years walking these halls instead of floating through void palaces. His steps sounded different too, solid and deliberate instead of the light click of his old designer loafers.
The hallway curved gently, opening into a wider passage lined with tall wooden doors. Servants moved quietly in the distance, carrying trays and bundles of linen, their heads down. One girl passed close by, maybe eighteen, with a simple gray dress and her hair tied back in a tight braid. She carried a stack of folded papers, eyes fixed on the floor. John cleared his throat in that new gravelly voice and spoke before she could slip past.
"Girl," he said, trying to sound authoritative but not cruel. "Go find Lord Elrin. Tell him Advisor Nohj requests his immediate presence in my office. It concerns the latest prisoner reports."
The servant girl froze mid-step. Her eyes flicked up for half a second, wide with sudden fear, before dropping again. She clutched the papers tighter against her chest, knuckles whitening.
"Y-yes, sir. Right away, sir."
Her voice trembled just enough to show she wasn't used to being addressed directly by someone like him. She bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried off down the corridor, braid swinging, footsteps quick and nervous. John watched her go until she disappeared around the corner. Good. That should bring Elrin running without raising too many alarms. He took a slow breath, feeling the temporary body's lungs expand, and kept walking.
The office door appeared exactly where the system had said. Heavy oak, carved with simple scrollwork along the edges, brass handle polished from years of use. John pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was decently sized, nothing grand but comfortable for castle standards. Ten-foot ceilings gave it a sense of space without feeling empty. A iron chandelier hung from the center, holding a dozen thick candles that cast warm, flickering light across everything. Shelves lined two walls, filled with leather-bound books and rolled maps that looked well-used.
A large oak desk sat in the middle, covered with neat stacks of parchment, an inkwell, and a few quills. Two padded chairs faced each other across the desk, and a narrow window looked out over the inner bailey. Vaguely nice. Functional. The kind of room a mid-level advisor would have—respectable but not flashy enough to draw envy.
John closed the door behind him with a soft click and crossed to the desk. He sank into the chair, the wood creaking under his weight, and let his hands rest on the surface. The plan needed tightening. Chlorid was the key. He could release a controlled layer of the gas once Elrin was sitting across from him, odorless and colorless, spreading slow enough that the noble wouldn't notice until his head started swimming. Two minutes should be enough for it to take full effect—drowsiness, then limp collapse. After that, grab him, shroud up, and teleport straight back to the palace. Simple. Clean. No one would see a thing.
He rehearsed the opening lines in his head. Keep it vague at first. Mention the prisoner reports. Watch Elrin's face for that telltale drop. Then push harder. The gas would do the rest. John's fingers drummed on the desk, nerves still buzzing under the new skin. He was still the same guy inside—still the gooner who used to freeze when a real girl looked at him too long. The body helped, but the old flutter in his stomach hadn't gone anywhere.
Two minutes later the door opened without a knock. Elrin stepped inside wearing a tight black compression shirt that hugged his slender frame and baggy dark pants that somehow made his hips look even softer. His blond hair was pulled back in a loose tail, a few strands falling across his forehead. He looked annoyed, like he'd been pulled away from something important. He shut the door and dropped into the opposite chair, crossing one leg over the other.
"What is this about, Advisor?" Elrin asked, voice clipped. "I was in the middle of important matters. The prisoner reports can wait until tomorrow."
John leaned forward slightly, keeping his face neutral. "I noticed you've been handling the personal interrogations yourself lately. Without assistants. That's unusual for someone of your station."
Elrin's heart visibly dropped. His shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing in sudden defensiveness. Color crept up his neck, turning the tips of his ears pink.
"That is none of your concern. My methods are my own. The duke trusts me to extract what is needed."
John stood up slowly, chair scraping back. "Post-interview inspections showed no damage to the prisoners. No bruises, no marks. So what exactly were these interrogations involving, Lord Elrin?"
Elrin stuttered, panic flashing across his pretty face. "I—I don't have to explain myself to you. You're an advisor, not my keeper. This conversation is over." His voice rose, defensive and shaky, hands gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles whitened.
John grinned, the expression feeling strange on this older face. He stood there, casual, and released the Chlorid cloud with a quiet mental command. The gas poured out invisible and odorless, thick layers spreading through the room like slow fog. It drifted toward Elrin first, curling around his chair, seeping into his lungs with every breath. John kept talking, voice steady. "It's almost as if… you were having sex with the prisoners instead."
Elrin's face went scarlet. The blush spread from his ears down his neck, eyes dropping to the floor in humiliated panic. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.
"That's… that's ridiculous. You have no proof. My father will hear about this insult."
John's grin widened. The gas was working, Elrin's breathing had already grown shallower, eyelids fluttering. He stepped around the desk, grabbed Elrin by the front of his compression shirt, and lifted him straight out of the chair. The temporary body had real strength; Elrin dangled off the ground, feet kicking uselessly, eyes wide with sudden fear. The cloud thickened around them both, heavier now, flooding the noble's lungs while the lack of oxygen from the grip did the rest. Elrin's struggles weakened fast, arms going slack, head lolling. Too easy.
John held him there a moment longer, watching the blond head drop forward, the fight draining out of the once-arrogant lord. The plan had worked perfectly. Now all that was left was the grab and the return trip. Elrin's body went completely limp in his grip, breath shallow and even, ready to be taken.
Too Easy.