The Perfect Disguise

The city of Eldrinvar was one of the most important settlements on the southernmost edge of the elven continent. Home to nearly two million high elves, it was a thriving trade hub. However, due to its location, the natural aura in the city was weak.

Despite its proximity to the Dark Forest, Eldrinvar had always been peaceful. The people living there had never witnessed war. The Dark Forest was an empty, desolate land where nothing could survive for long. Cities bordering it never feared invasion, as no creature could pass through. Unlike oceans, where ships could still bring danger, the forest was an impassable void.

The citizens of Eldrinvar only knew vague legends about the forest's origins. The most common rumor was that a demonic infection had turned it into a poisoned wasteland. However, no one truly understood what had happened. Even the strongest elf in the city, a Mythic-ranked warrior, lacked the qualifications to know the truth.

But the high-ranking officials in the capital knew exactly why the forest remained uninhabited.

The Dark Forest was not always a land of death. Once, it had been vibrant and full of life, home to countless wood elves. But five thousand years ago, everything changed. A dark force emerged at the forest's center, slowly expanding outward. The elven empire fought desperately to contain it but ultimately failed—for the source of this darkness was no ordinary threat. It was an Absolute-ranked being, the Demon King of Weirdness.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the elves attempted to seal the space itself, but their efforts were in vain. This was the most powerful demonic infection in the history of the elven kingdom. Normally, Demon Kings could not exert their full power in this world, which was why past infections could be sealed away. But this time, something had changed. This Demon King of Weirdness had found a way to unleash its absolute power without restriction.

Terrified, the elves sought aid from the other races—humans, orcs, and others. They gathered their strongest warriors and mages to confront the darkness. Yet, despite their combined efforts, nothing they did had any effect.

Years passed. The darkness, which had once spread like an unstoppable plague, suddenly stopped growing. No monsters emerged from it. No demons invaded. The forest simply fell into an eerie silence.

After centuries of observation, the extreme-ranked ancestors of the elven empire came to a shocking conclusion: the demonic invasion had somehow failed. The aura of the Demon King of Weirdness had disappeared, and the infection had seemingly eradicated itself.

A grand council was held to discuss this phenomenon, and after much debate, they settled on one possible explanation—the Will of the World itself had intervened.

The Will of the World was an enigmatic force. While high-ranking mages could vaguely perceive and manipulate its influence, its true nature remained unknown. It was an Absolute-ranked existence with an almost limitless source of power. Even Demon Kings struggled to contend with its might. Extreme-ranked mages, despite their formidable abilities, could barely comprehend its workings, let alone challenge it.

Centuries passed, and the Dark Forest remained unchanged—a cursed land, untouched by time. However, like all demonic infections, it had left a lasting scar. The forest had become poisoned, its very air laced with death. Anything that entered, whether beast or man, would perish within hours. Even Super and Extreme-ranked individuals were not immune.

The Dark Forest was now a forbidden zone. Few dared step inside, cross its borders, fly over it, or even attempt teleportation through its space. However, the edges of the forest were clearly marked. As long as one remained outside those boundaries, they were safe.

When the infection first took hold, all elves—wood elves, high elves, and dark elves alike—fled in terror. But as time passed and the cursed borders were defined, new elven tribes began to settle around the forest's edges.

The city of Eldrinvar was one such settlement, established nearly three thousand years ago.

Despite its ominous neighbor, Eldrinvar thrived. Its economy revolved around harvesting the dark-element materials found within the forest. Though stepping inside meant certain death, adventurers and merchants still sought ways to extract its riches. They discovered that the forest contained an unbelievable concentration of dark and poisonous elemental resources—an opportunity too lucrative to ignore.

And where there was wealth, there were those willing to take risks.

Using clones, mechanical constructs, and other creative methods, many found ways to mine the outskirts of the forest. The Empire, however, took a cautious approach. They allowed lower-ranking individuals to harvest them—treating the process as an experiment to gauge its safety.

Thousands of years passed, and mining operations flourished. Businesses dedicated solely to extracting dark-element materials emerged, and cities sprang up around the industry. To prevent conflict, the empire divided the resources into regulated shares, ensuring that each city and business had its own designated portion.

At first, the empire allowed the free market to dictate everything. But once it was confirmed that the materials were safe for use, laws were passed, and regulations were put in place. Today, disputes over resources are settled in imperial courts rather than through violence.

Elves, after all, were not a warlike people. Especially the high elves—who considered themselves far too dignified to lower themselves to mere brawling.

...

Sylvara was a Mythic-ranked mage. Though she had lived for over a thousand years, she looked no older than twenty. She resided in the city of Eldrinvar, serving as its presiding judge.

As a judge commissioned by the empire, Sylvara was more than just a legal authority—she was the de facto ruler of the entire district. She held the power to appoint mayors, police chiefs, inspectors, and other officials in Eldrinvar and its surrounding cities. Not only did she oversee the enforcement of imperial laws, but she also had the authority to pass local laws at her own discretion. Every trade guild, mining operation, and resident paid taxes, a portion of which went directly into her pocket.

The elven empire's system of governance differed greatly from that of humans. While humans typically had kings and queens, the elven empire was ruled by a Council of Elders. This council divided the empire into various territories and appointed a presiding judge to govern each one.

Though they were called judges, these officials were effectively monarchs. They held near-absolute authority within their jurisdictions, with only the Council of Elders having the power to appoint or remove them.

Such a system would be impossible in human societies—granting so much independent power to so many individuals would inevitably lead to endless conflict and civil war. But elves, especially high elves, were among the most lawful species in the world. They adhered strictly to their codes and traditions, never violating the rules. Even when disputes arose between two judges, the matter was simply assigned to an impartial third party who would issue a ruling. The verdict was always respected without bloodshed.

To be appointed as a presiding judge was an extraordinary honor, one that few could achieve. Sylvara took great pride in her position, even if her district was considered rural and weak, lacking truly powerful individuals.

The dark and poison-element trade was difficult, but it was the region's lifeblood. Unfortunately, supply far exceeded demand, driving prices down. Nowadays, most dark and poison-element resources were exported. However, due to the elven empire's strict trade regulations with the Flicker Empire, only a randomly selected few trade groups were permitted to export their goods.

Though her domain was not the wealthiest or the most powerful, Sylvara ruled it with dignity and authority, her influence stretching across every corner of her jurisdiction.

...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Come in!" Sylvara called out without looking up, her quill gliding across the parchment.

She was buried in paperwork, signing document after document. As the sole presiding judge responsible for millions of people, her workload was overwhelming. While much of the actual work was handled by her clerks, imperial law required that all official documents be personally reviewed and signed by the judge in charge—by hand, not by magic or any other "extraordinary means."

Sylvara could have easily used a spell to speed up the process. No one would have noticed. But the thought never even crossed her mind. She was a judge of the elven empire, bound by law and tradition. Even if the law was inconvenient or irrational, she would follow it to the letter.

The door creaked open.

A man stepped inside.

He had striking red hair and vivid green pupils, his delicate features framed by a pair of pointed elven ears. Dressed in luxurious, meticulously tailored robes, he radiated an air of nobility.

Sylvara glanced up, her brows furrowing slightly.

"Hmm? I don't recall seeing you before. Did we have an appointment?" she asked, trying to place the unfamiliar face.

The man didn't answer. Instead, his lips curled into a smirk.

"System, this is my target," Edric whispered.

Sylvara's eyes widened.

"What are you—?!"

She collapsed mid-sentence, her vision fading into darkness. Then, as if she had never existed, she vanished.

Edric, on the other hand, began to change.

His body shifted—his frame grew slender, his features softened, his hair lengthened, and his clothes altered to fit his new form. Even his voice, height, and aura transformed, until he was no longer Edric—but Sylvara herself.

Then came the flood of memories.

He saw her life, her achievements, her knowledge. He felt her emotions, her attachments, her regrets, her triumphs. Everything Sylvara had ever seen, done, or known became his.

Edric—now Sylvara—slowly sat in the judge's chair, letting the memories settle.

After a few moments, he exhaled and muttered, "I would have lost myself if it weren't for my [Mental Fortitude] skill…"

The [Mental Fortitude] skill reinforced one's mind, making it nearly impervious to external influence or mental corruption. Without it, he might have struggled to retain his true identity amid Sylvara's overwhelming memories.

"Good," he thought, a smirk forming. "Now, I am the ruler of Eldrinvar and its surrounding cities."

Last time, when he had targeted Sylvara with [Disguise], the system had given an error, stating he was too far away. That left him no choice but to come here in person. It had been an inconvenience—but a minor one. He had simply brainwashed everyone he encountered along the way.

Now, as Sylvara, he could take root in this city with ease.

He turned his gaze to the towering stacks of documents waiting to be signed and chuckled.

"She actually wasted time signing these by hand because of some law? How foolish."

With a flick of his fingers, he silently cast a spell. In an instant, every single document was signed in perfect, flowing script.

There was no risk—every document that reached the presiding judge's desk had already been reviewed countless times. He had no reason to worry about signing something problematic by accident.

"Good. Signing time is over. Now, on to more interesting matters."

Reaching into Sylvara's desk, he pulled out a stack of ancient tomes.

As a Mythic-ranked mage, the real Sylvara had access to priceless magical knowledge. Now, all of it belonged to him.

Edric leaned back in the chair, flipping open a book with a satisfied smirk.

Even though he had inherited all of her memories, she didn't actually remember every single magical tome word for word; it was still necessary to read the books himself.