I walked toward the door, but stopped at the threshold. The interface was spamming me with warnings now.
[WARNING: Holy Energy Proximity High.]
[System Recommendation: Flee. Flee immediately. Run, you idiot.]
I swiped the notification away.
"Sylvia," I said, my hand on the doorknob.
"Yes, Duke Arthur?"
"If I explode into a pile of goo during this meeting," I said seriously, "I need you to take the ledger from the safe and burn it. Not for legal reasons, but because my handwriting in the margins is embarrassing."
She didn't blink. "Understood. Shall I prepare tea for the Inquisitor?"
"Yes. The expensive stuff. And put a dash of the 'calming herbs' in it. The ones we use for the berserker mercenaries."
"Sir, that’s technically a sedative heavy enough to knock out an ogre."
"Malakor is a big guy," I said, opening the door.
The hallway stretched out before me, lined with portraits of ancestors I wasn't related to. At the end of the hall, the double doors to the Grand Banquet Hall were waiting. I could feel the pressure radiating from there—a hum of white, sterile magic that made my skin itch.
I took a deep breath. I checked my mana reserves. I had enough juice to keep this human disguise holding together for maybe an hour, provided I didn't take any damage or use any high-tier skills.
An hour to outsmart a mind-reading zealot who executed people for looking at him wrong.
I adjusted my collar, forcing my posture into the arrogant slouch of a hereditary noble.
"Time to go to work," I whispered to the empty air. "Let's show him the Q3 projections."
I pushed off the doorframe and strode down the hall, my footsteps echoing like gunshots. The ticker floated beside my head, mocking me one last time.
[Objective: Survive the Audit.]
[Reward: Not dying painfully.]
[Accept?]
"Accept," I muttered.
I smiled. It was the fake, plastic smile of a CEO who knows the company is bankrupt but just bought a new yacht anyway.
Showtime.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.