I Can Copy And Evolve Talents - Chapter 825

Chapter 825: There Is Someone Behind The Scenes
After finishing with his void summons, Northern did not return to the vicinity of Lithia—at least, not in mind.

Instead, his consciousness drifted to Verulania, the estate where the students were gathered. By the time he arrived, his clone was already inside, pretending to be asleep. Or was it actually asleep?

If Northern commanded it to rest, it probably would.

Taking control of his clone, he sat up and glanced out the window.

Tonight, the moonlight was especially bright. Both celestial bodies gazed upon him, as if the personification of the stars had borrowed a brilliant pair of goggles to survey the world.

A cold wind rushed through the open window, filling the room with an icy bite. He didn’t recall closing it—not since the last time he had stepped out to meet the mercenaries.

His thoughts wandered to them.

All of them were dead.

Except for Roma.

Roma, too, would have been dead if not for him. And for what?

A small frown settled on his face. He wasn’t the type to dwell on others once they were gone, but it seemed the infection that plagued Roma had somehow spread to him as well.

With a silent step, Northern leaped through the window, vanishing into the night. His figure blurred across the sky, a streak of motion, before he landed lightly in a familiar place.

The shop was just closing down.

A tall, slim man—his formal attire slightly disheveled, sleeves rolled up—was locking the double doors.

He turned, and upon seeing the figure before him, staggered back.

The young man standing in front of him wore a white mask, its foxy-shaped eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“I’m glad you remember.”

Northern’s voice was cold. Detached. Perhaps with a hint of demented glee.

The man trembled slightly, forcing a pleased smile.

“Oh! Young Drifter, you have returned. I did not expect you back so soon?!”

His grin widened, but it was strained—he was working hard to sell it.

“Returned?” Northern tilted his head slightly. “No, I haven’t returned yet.”

He stepped forward, his blue eyes gleaming wickedly beneath the mask.

“But I did reach Lithia… with the soul essence stimulants you gave me.”

Northern leaned in closer, his voice lowering.

“Isn’t that surprising?”

The man’s eyes widened—just for a moment—before he quickly schooled his expression. He grinned again, but anxiety was already pulling at the corners of his features, twisting them unnaturally.

“S-Surprising? No! Not at all!!” he stammered. “I had so much hope in you, Young Drifter! I needed you—”

Northern’s hand shot forward, seizing the man’s throat.

His grip tightened.

Slowly, he lifted him off the ground.

The man gasped, clawing at Northern’s wrist, his legs shaking as his face drained of color.

Northern’s voice was different now—colder, sharper, dangerous.

“Do you think I’m playing games with you?” he murmured. “What were you thinking? You sent me to a place where death was certain. Even if I entered, you knew I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

The man’s fingers dug into Northern’s arm, but it was useless. His vision blurred, black edges creeping in as his throat constricted.

Then—suddenly—Northern released him.

The man collapsed in a heap, gasping, coughing violently at his feet.

Northern watched him with quiet disdain.

“I’m listening,” he said darkly. “Weave me a tale of absurdity. The best you can find.”

The man, still panting, looked up at him.

His breath came in ragged bursts, his lungs trying to catch up with his fear. After a few moments, he managed to steady himself.

“I swear, sir… it is not a tale,” he rasped. “Nor is it absurd.”

Northern remained still, impassive.

The shopkeeper swallowed hard, feeling his face on the verge of breaking apart.

“The stimulants… they were very important,” he said. “I told you—I’m a broker. Someone offered me a certain prize to ensure they reached Lithia.”

His voice steadied slightly as he continued.

“The man came with the goods. He told me what was inside them. He explained their importance—and he enlightened me about the blockade.”

He exhaled shakily.

“And he insisted,” the shopkeeper added, voice lowering, “that I make sure everyone joined the caravan… especially those who were too curious about the blockade.”

Northern shifted slightly.

The cold light in his eyes gleamed brighter, and the air around the shopkeeper thickened with an unnatural chill. It wasn’t the winter night’s wind—this coldness felt like it could tear him apart.

Within his mind, Northern’s thoughts bubbled, his pupils subtly dilating.

Someone knew he would approach.

Someone had anticipated his movements but had chosen not to give the shopkeeper all the details.

His gaze darkened as he focused on the trembling man before him.

“And how many people came to you, curious about the blockade?”

The shopkeeper hesitated, glancing at Northern very briefly before averting his gaze.

It wasn’t his words that answered Northern—it was his silence.

“…Me only.”

The shopkeeper shuddered.

“I found it strange when you came inquiring, but at the same time… I was compelled to do as he said. To report to him.”

Northern materialized the Illusioned Hefter.

Without hesitation, he drove the blade into the shopkeeper’s hand, the steel sliding effortlessly through his muscles.

A muffled, guttural groan escaped the man’s lips as he writhed beneath him.

Pain shot through every fiber of his being, but Northern’s voice cut through it with eerie calm.

“So… who is this person?”

He knew the weight of this question. That was why he accompanied it with suffering—so the man would understand.

Killing him would be too easy.

And from the way the shopkeeper’s body convulsed, the message had been received.

His entire arm trembled as agony surged through him. He gritted his teeth, suppressing another cry, and forced his lips to move.

“The man… he called himself…”

The words stalled.

The shopkeeper’s expression twisted—his focus lost, as though he was reaching into an lightless plain of thought to grasp something that had never been there.

For a brief moment, the name had been at the edge of his memory. But now, as he tried to say it—it was gone.

Northern’s eyes narrowed.

“He called himself what?”

The man swallowed thickly, sweat beading on his forehead.

“He called himself…”

His voice faded. Again, nothing.

Northern watched him closely—not just his face, but his soul.

And that was why he knew—this wasn’t an act.

The man genuinely could not remember.

“What did his face look like?”

The shopkeeper frowned slightly, his gaze lowering as he struggled to recall.

But it was the same.

No—worse.

Not only could he not remember… it felt as though he had never known at all.