Chapter 317: Shapeshifter Potion

The next morning, Helag took a carriage to the Mozambi slums in the west.

Living in the east, he was quite far from the slums.

He switched carriages three times, not because the drivers were unwilling to go the distance, but because Helag didn’t want to be easily traced from the east to the slums.

Such a direct route would make it too easy for someone to track his origin.

To be cautious, Helag changed carriages at intervals, ensuring each new driver wouldn’t know where he came from.

Carriages couldn’t speed through Silvermoon City, so it took four hours to reach the vicinity of the Mozambi slums.

Upon disembarking, Helag immediately noticed the stark contrast with the rest of Silvermoon City.

Elsewhere, even in the residential areas, the streets were clean and orderly.

Buildings were tall and clean, presenting a pleasant view.

But here, even before entering the slums, trash littered the ground.

The wind blew garbage across the streets.

A faint, sometimes strong stench lingered in the air.

There were few tall buildings, mostly low structures.

The few tall buildings were dilapidated.

Helag felt like he’d stepped into a landfill.

The area was clearly neglected, either intentionally or due to a lack of maintenance.

The people’s demeanor was also different from other parts of Silvermoon City.

Helag observed that many wore perpetual frowns, their foreheads seemingly permanently creased.

Such expressions indicated years of hardship, not temporary woes.

Many carried trash on their backs, some to sell, others for personal use.

The Mozambi slums bordered Silvermoon City’s largest landfill.

This explained the ubiquitous garbage.

Daily, trash was dumped here, and many residents scavenged to survive.

Helag noted that most people were emaciated, with no healthy complexions in sight.

Many had distended bellies, indicating severe illness linked to poor diet and hygiene.

Such conditions only arose when basic sanitation was lacking.

Walking the streets, Helag felt the people’s eyes on him.

He realized he stood out too much here.

His clean, expensive clothes and healthy appearance marked him as an outsider.

A normal person here was abnormal.

Helag understood that investigating here as he was would be impossible.

He was too conspicuous, and word would quickly spread within the slums.

Deciding to leave, Helag called back the departing carriage and left.

The driver, though puzzled, didn’t question a paying customer, assuming the gentleman was curious but regretted visiting upon seeing the trash.

Occasionally, curious residents from other parts of Silvermoon City ventured here, only to regret it.

The smell alone was unbearable for many.

Helag planned to return better prepared.

Beyond changing clothes, he intended to alter his appearance, avoiding his current look.

He considered the risk if many Abyssal cultists were in the slums.

If noticed by them, they could easily trace his identity, leading to trouble.

Helag didn’t want to put himself in danger; constant vigilance wasn’t feasible.

Once targeted, it would be a significant hassle.

Helag was fine, but with Reese in his life, he had to consider her safety.

He couldn’t risk involving Reese and needed to ensure her security.

Back home, Helag began preparing a potion called Shapeshifter.

This first-level potion allowed the drinker to assume any desired appearance.

However, it couldn’t change gender.

Men could only become men, and women only women.

For Helag, potion-making was straightforward, and Shapeshifter’s ingredients were common.

Five hours later, Helag held a bottle of purple liquid—the Shapeshifter potion.

“What will you look like?” Reese asked curiously.

“Whatever. I won’t drink it at home, so you won’t see the change,” Helag smiled.

Changing at home would leave traces.

He’d wait until reaching the city center, find a secluded spot, and drink the potion.

Then, no one would recognize him or trace his origin.

“Too bad,” Reese said, slightly disappointed, then began disguising Helag.

To blend in with the slums, Reese bought some worn, smelly second-hand clothes.

Helag didn’t mind, happy to fit the part.

After Reese’s makeover, Helag’s complexion turned sallow, like someone malnourished.

Disguised, Helag set out for the slums again.

Passing through the city center, he stopped at an inn to drink the Shapeshifter potion.

His body transformed, becoming shorter, with altered features.

Helag checked his reflection, touching his face, having chosen a random visage from memory.

The face was from his past life, a man named Leonardo, if he remembered correctly.

With the potion consumed, Helag donned new clothes and discreetly left the inn.

He hailed a carriage, the driver eyeing him skeptically. “To Mozambi? That’ll cost you.”

“Here,” Helag hesitated, then handed over five dirty silver coins.