“Sigh… Still, I can only hope those with sense will step in to stop things.”
If they had any brains, they wouldn’t want to add another enemy to their list.
Though Schrantz was technically a vassal of House Endran, it had remained neutral in the war between the two ducal houses.
But if Schrantz turned hostile from the north, the balance between Duke Endran and Duke Eaton would collapse.
Surely, they wouldn’t want that either.
Ian pressed for more information.
Some of it was useless—details he hadn’t even asked for—but there were a few valuable nuggets.
Like the fact that spies sent by nobles aligned with the Third Prince had infiltrated among the refugees, just as he had.
“So, who are they?”
“Even I don’t… know that much…”
It seemed he wouldn’t get anything further.
The man’s eyelids grew heavy, his speech slurring—the potion’s effects were wearing off.
Ian rang a small bell beside him.
“Yes, young master… Should we wake him?”
The shadow operative glanced at the bucket of water prepared in advance, ready to dump it on Tyler the moment Ian gave the order.
But Ian shook his head.
“Leave him. That’s not why I called you.”
No matter what they did, he wouldn’t wake up anyway.
The Slave Mushroom’s effects lasted about an hour.
Once it wore off, the victim would collapse into a forced slumber—a side effect.
Once in that state, nothing short of death (or waking naturally) would rouse them.
“I suppose this is far enough.”
Ian stood.
He’d gotten all the useful intel he could, and that was enough.
Of course, this was just one man’s testimony. The truth might differ.
‘But he’s one of the shadows watching the Second Prince from the dark. His guesses are reliable.’
If the royal family truly intended outright hostility, Ian wouldn’t have stayed idle.
‘If they’re just keeping an eye on things… I can understand that.’
In their shoes, he’d have planted spies too.
As long as they stayed observers, he had no reason to treat them as outright enemies.
“Bind his hands and feet, gag him, and keep him under strict watch. No matter what he says when he wakes, don’t release him—not even if he begs to use the bathroom. Oh, and feed him well. Let him rest. I’ll need him later.”
“Understood.”
The shadows dragged the unconscious Tyler away.
With that, Ian and Nea left the warehouse, breathing in the fresh air as they boarded the carriage.
Time to return.
Ian climbed into the waiting carriage, and Nea followed.
“Things are about to get busy back home.”
“Yes. A real storm of work. I’ll gather the elders and start rooting out the spies in Schrantz.”
“Good.”
For now, they might just be watching.
But spies were like timed bombs—you never knew when, how, or what they’d do next.
Surveillance could turn to assassination, kidnapping, or sabotage in a heartbeat.
Now that he knew they were here, he had no intention of letting them roam free.
He’d round them all up and send them to the rehabilitation program.
“But, young master.”
“Hm?”
“Are you planning to take him as a vassal?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Just a hunch. You interrogated him personally, ordered him to be treated well, mentioned needing him tomorrow… It’s different from how you handle other spies.”
Normally, Ian had captured spies investigated, then shipped them off to Ansen once squeezed dry.
But this time, he’d taken personal interest—even ensuring Tyler’s comfort.
That could only mean one thing.
“But… is that even possible?”
Bribing a spy was hard enough.
But recruiting one? Especially a shadow operative serving the royal family?
These were men who lived and breathed loyalty—to their masters, to their nation.
They’d dirty their hands and shed blood without hesitation for duty.
Tyler wouldn’t be any different.
Persuading someone like that seemed nearly impossible.
“I have an idea. But I can’t guarantee it’ll work.”
For once, even Ian didn’t sound confident.
That alone told Nea how difficult this would be.
“You’ve always done the impossible, young master. You’ll succeed this time too.”
Hadn’t he always achieved what others thought unthinkable?
She had no doubt he’d pull it off again.
Yet, despite her encouragement, Ian still seemed uncertain.
“So… how do you plan to persuade him?”
“What if I do… nothing?”
“Huh?”
She’d heard many baffling statements from Ian over the years.
But this one took the crown.
‘What the hell was that potion?’
The question had been hurting Tyler’s mind for days.
The true nature of that potion he’d been forced to drink was utterly baffling.
Even now, days later, he could vividly recall himself answering Ian’s questions with complete honesty—revealing his affiliation, his mission, even the reason for infiltrating Schrantz. Everything had spilled from his lips against his will.
‘What the hell did they make me drink?’
Over a decade in the field, Tyler had built up a resistance to every known truth serum. He had trained extensively—learning to feign submission, to feed false information while pretending to crack under interrogation. It was a last-resort tactic, meant to mislead enemies and inflict damage even in defeat.
Yet this time, every word he had spoken was the truth.
‘Could it have been… Slave Mushrooms?’
The legendary fungus whispered about in intelligence circles—the kind that could force even the most tight-lipped operative to spill everything, even things they hadn’t been asked.
But he shook his head.
Slave Mushrooms weren’t something you could just acquire.
Every intelligence agency was desperate to get their hands on them, yet in his twenty years as a Shadow Corps operative, he had never seen one. Neither had his seniors, nor even his retired commander—who, in forty years of service, had only encountered them once, and even that had been pure luck.
They were that rare.
Even if you somehow found one, refining it into a usable serum required specialized alchemical knowledge. Most nations had banned its use entirely, and cultivating it was impossible—discovering it in the wild was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of fortune.
And even if by some miracle someone stumbled upon it, they wouldn’t recognize it. Ordinary people would walk right past it.
‘So how the hell did this territory manage to brew it into a serum?’
That made even less sense than the potion’s existence.
At this point, it was more plausible that they had used some unknown Northern ingredient to create a new kind of truth serum.
But that wasn’t the real problem.
‘Whether it was Slave Mushrooms or something else… I’m screwed.’
He had spilled top-secret intelligence—his identity, his mission, everything.
Even if he escaped, how could he possibly explain this in his report?
‘And lying isn’t an option.’
Not just out of duty.
The Shadow Corps had ways of detecting deception.
The commander always kept a truth-detecting artifact nearby during debriefings. If Tyler tried to falsify his report, he’d be exposed immediately.
Then would come the interrogations. The torture. Until every last detail of the truth was ripped from him.
‘But if I tell the truth…’
Not only had he betrayed himself, he had exposed the existence of the Shadow Corps.
That left only one possible outcome.
Complete eradication.
No loose ends. No survivors.
There was no other way.
