Hitman with a Badass System-Chapter 1433: Plan to piss off Seraphene Royally

Meanwhile, Michael and Gaya waited for nightfall in Alyndra's room. Alyndra, blissfully unaware of the charade, slept soundly on the bed, her mind conjuring a dream of a passionate night with Michael and Gaya—a fantasy far removed from the reality of the crumpled sheets and strategically placed water stains Michael had orchestrated.

As twilight deepened and the artificial sun of Luxor dimmed, the Silver Citadel's lobby transformed. If the daytime was bustling, the night was electric. The central orb, which had mimicked sunlight during the day, now pulsed with a soft, silvery light, casting an ethereal glow over the polished marble floors and the intricate carvings on the walls. The shops, though closed for the night, emanated a soft, inviting light from within, their wares gleaming through the windows, tempting passersby with their beauty and luxury.

But it was the people that truly brought the lobby to life. Elves, dressed in their finest attire, strolled through the hall, their laughter echoing through the vast space. They were different at night—more relaxed, more open, more alive. Food stalls, absent during the day, now lined the edges of the lobby, their aromas filling the air with a tantalizing mix of sweet and savory scents. There were stalls selling spiced meats, exotic fruits, delicate pastries, and glowing drinks that fizzed and popped in their crystal glasses.

Back in Alyndra's room, Michael, his preparations complete, nudged Gaya. "Showtime," he murmured, gesturing towards the sleeping elf. "Make it convincing."

Gaya, with a mischievous grin, climbed onto the bed, snuggling up beside Alyndra, messing up her hair, and ruffling the already disheveled sheets even more. She even picked up the water jar and splashed some water onto the bed.

After giving a nod to Gaya over his shoulder, Michael opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, where Alyndra's guards stood watch.

"Where is the Young Mistress?" the lead guard asked, his gaze suspicious, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Sleeping," Michael replied, his voice casual and unbothered. "She is tired. We both are. I am just going for a walk to clear my head."

The lead guard, his eyes narrowing, pushed past Michael, entering the room. He took one look at the state of the bed, at the rumpled sheets, the wetness, the scattered clothes, the water stains, and his face contorted in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

"That bed has seen more action than a battlefield," he muttered, shaking his head. He then turned back to Michael, his expression unreadable.

"Go," he said with a flat and emotionless tone.

"But do not get lost. I am not going to explain to the Young Mistress how her little man-slut wandered off."

As Michael made his way down the hall, he could hear the guards' muffled conversation behind him.

"Did you see that bed, man? It is like a warzone in there."

"By the light, that woman is a wild one."

"And the human, too. Can you believe it? She must have the stamina of a war horse,"

"I would not want to be the poor bastard who disappoints her, though."

"You know what they say, money cannot buy taste, but it certainly pays for a lot of distractions."

The insult, though predictable, was intentional, but Michael did not rise to the bait. He simply nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, and continued down the hall, leaving the guards to their gossiping. He descended the grand staircase, reaching the now-bustling lobby, his senses on high alert.

The aroma of something delicious wafted through the air, drawing him towards one of the food stalls. It was a kebab stand, run by a halfling, his face beaming, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he assembled the savory treats. The stall itself was a simple affair, a wooden cart adorned with colorful carvings and glowing runes that kept the food warm. But the smell emanating from it was anything but simple. It was a heady mix of spices, herbs, and roasting meat, an aroma that made Michael's stomach rumble in anticipation.

Skewers of meat, glistening with fat and spices, rotated slowly over a bed of glowing coals. Chunks of lamb, beef, and something exotic sizzled invitingly, their juices dripping onto the hot coals below, sending up plumes of fragrant smoke. Peering through the open serving window, standing slightly to the side of the stall, Michael noticed something interesting. From his vantage point, he could see a portion of the fourth floor. The open architecture of the Citadel, its tiered levels connected by sweeping staircases and open balconies, made it possible. It was a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, he could spot the spy from here.

"One kebab, please," Michael requested of the halfling, his gaze fixed on the fourth floor.

"Two gold pieces," the halfling replied cheerfully, his hands already assembling the kebab. Two gold pieces for a kebab? It was highway robbery, but then again, this was Luxor, this was the Silver Citadel, and everything was expensive. Michael, however, did not care. He paid the halfling, accepting the kebab with a nod. He took a bite, his senses assaulted by a burst of flavor; it was delicious. But his focus was not on the food; it was on the fourth floor and the spy he was hunting.

As Michael continued to scan the higher floors, the halfling, noticing his focused gaze, chuckled. He looked at Michael, who was human, and likely mistook him for a poor chap who must have come here for some business from an elf. It was like this in Luxor; other race people would become friends, their common factor being their shared dislike for elves and their arrogance. So when they saw another race other than elves, they got bonded over their shared hatred of elves.

"Never seen you around here," he remarked, his voice friendly and inquisitive. "We do not get many humans around here."

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Michael turned his attention to the halfling, offering a slight smile. "Yeah," he confirmed casually.

"Business or pleasure?" the halfling asked, skewering chunks of meat and onions onto a kebab stick with practiced ease.

"You could say both," Michael replied, his gaze drifting back towards the upper floors.

"Looking to buy, huh?" the halfling guessed. "What are you looking for up there?"

"Just wondering how much a place up there would cost," Michael lied smoothly, his eyes still scanning the fourth floor.

The halfling chuckled, shaking his head. "Buddy, you cannot buy anything up there. Only elves can own property in the Silver Citadel. And as I can see, you do not have pointy ears, so you are shit out of luck."

Just then, the door to the suspected spy hub opened, and the same elf Michael had seen earlier stepped out. Michael's eyes widened slightly. He quickly sat down on a nearby bench, feigning exhaustion.

"I will doze off a bit," he told the halfling, his voice a low murmur. "Tired."

Without waiting for the halfling's response, he closed his eyes and, focusing his will, cast Transference of Consciousness. His consciousness leaped across the distance, slipping into the elf's mind, and taking control of his body.

On the fourth floor, the elf froze, his movements jerky and unnatural as Michael's consciousness took hold. He looked down at his hands, flexing his new fingers, then glanced back towards the lobby, towards the bench where his other body sat, seemingly dozing. A smirk touched his lips as he turned back towards the spy hub, its door still slightly ajar. He started walking towards the door, his movements becoming smoother and more natural as he adjusted to the new body.

Finally Michael, still controlling Eldoran's body, twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. The size of the room hit him like a fucking brick. He had expected a small office, maybe a hidden chamber, but this was a vast hall. It hummed with energy, a palpable mix of magic and something akin to technology. Large crystals, pulsing with a soft, blue light, lined the walls, their facets glittering in the dimness. Golden wires, thin as spider silk, snaked between them, connecting them to smaller crystals, to mirrors, to devices Michael could not even begin to name. It was like a data center from back on Earth, but infused with pure magic. Elves, their robes embroidered with intricate runes, moved through the hall, their footsteps silent on the polished floor. They carried parchments, scribbled notes, and whispered urgent messages to each other. Above them, holographic images, conjured from the crystals, flickered and shifted, displaying scenes from across the realm.

A young elven woman, her brow furrowed in concentration, approached him, her gaze sharp and inquisitive. "Eldoran?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion. "What the hell are you still doing here? You were supposed to be observing Alyndra and those humans. We need to know who the fuck they are."

Michael's internal eyebrows shot up. These elves were getting suspicious, and they were lucky as shit they had no real idea who he and Gaya were. If they had uploaded their feeds to those damn crystals, Seraphene would have recognized him instantly. He forced a casual smile onto Eldoran's face, deciding to lie and throw them off the scent.

"They are just playthings," he said,

"Alyndra's latest conquests. Apparently, they came from Nimbosia. Travelers,"

The elven woman's eyebrows rose. "That was remarkably fast, Eldoran," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You just left the room."

"I am good at my fucking job," Michael said, grinning.

The young woman rolled her eyes. "If you say so, Eldoran," she said, her voice flat and unconvinced.

"Just make sure it is the truth. If what you say is the truth, we do not need to waste time putting their faces into the crystals, because we have more pressing matters."

"Like what?" Michael asked.

The young woman leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Lady Seraphene, she is coming here. Tomorrow. Personally."

The moment the words escaped her mouth, Michael raised Eldoran's eyebrows in a show of surprise. But inside, a sardonic smile formed. If he destroyed this spy hub and took the stored information before Seraphene arrived, that would piss her off royally. The thought brought a surge of satisfaction. She was a strong ally of Andohr, that meddling prick, and anything that inconvenienced her was a win in his book.