My Creations Followed Me to Another World-Chapter 19: Incognito Infiltration

They were a mile from the walls of Aethelburg.

Dante had insisted they pull the cart off the King’s Road, hiding it behind a small and dense copse of pine trees.

The King’s Road itself was getting... crowded. They had been passed by three merchant caravans, a squad of armed soldiers on horseback, and a very fancy carriage, all in the last hour.

This was like the main server. And Oakhaven had just been the tutorial island, apparently.

Dante stood, his arms crossed, staring at the distant stone walls of the capital.

He was silent. But his mind was roaring.

Alistair’s words echoed in his head on a loop.

"A Class-3 Unregistered Anomaly."

"A beacon of pure Chaos."

"They will feel her from a mile away."

He looked at his party.

Hana was calmly re-braiding Shivvy’s hair, her Mom energy was peaceful.

And then there was Rin-Rin.

She was supposed to be incognito. Like, yeah, she was wearing her deep-blue mysterious traveler’s cloak.

But the "mysterious" plan was failing.

She was bored. And when Rin-Rin was bored, she hummed.

It was a synth-pop J-Pop song, and Dante was 99% sure it was magical. The pine needles on the trees around her were vibrating in time with the beat.

At this point, they were walking into a city with magic police who could detect her. This entire plan was stupid.

It was suicide.

"Halt," Dante said, his voice flat.

Hana stopped her braiding. Rin-Rin stopped her humming.

"Producer-sama?" Rin-Rin said, poking her head out of the hood. "Are we there? Is this the venue? Why is it full of trees?"

"We’re stopping," Dante said. "The plan is bad. You, Rin-Rin, you’re too loud."

Rin-Rin’s face went from bored to offended in a millisecond.

"Huh? How dare you, Producer-samaI am not loud! I am artistically expressive! My fans are waiting!"

"The fans at the gate are Mage-Adepts," Dante shot back, his voice sharp with stress.

"They’re critics, Rin-Rin, and they’re going to hate your art. Worst, they’re going to arrest us."

He turned, his brain in overdrive.

This was a crisis. He couldn’t send his star into a "press conference" that was actually an inquisition.

’I needed a different kind of talent.’

He opened his [System].

[Level 3 Creator]

[Max Mana: 30/30]

[Regen: +12/hr (Buffed)]

[Summon Slots: 3/3]

His current party was in those slots.

[Hana (Lv 45 Farmer)]: [Upkeep: 2/hr].[Shivvy (Lv 3 Rogue)]: [Upkeep: 1/hr].[Rin-Rin (Lv 20 Idol)]: [Upkeep: 3/hr].

’I had to make a swap.’

Because... he needed to get into the city, past the gate, without being seen.

He opened "The List."

And...

’Found her.’

[Subject 47 (Level 50 Infiltrator)]

[Cost: 15 Mana]

[Upkeep: 4 Mana/Hour]

He did the math. His new party’s upkeep would be Hana (2) + Shivvy (1) + 47 (4) = 7 Mana/Hour.

His regen was 12/hr.

He would still be net-positive. He could run this stealth party indefinitely.

Yeah, it was a perfect plan.

Except...

"Rin-Rin," he said, his voice flat. "I’m going to benching you."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Hana stopped braiding. Shivvy froze.

Rin-Rin’s face, peeking out of the hood, crumbled.

"E... eh...?" she whispered. "Producer-sama... that’s... that’s not funny..."

"It’s a stealth mission, you know," Dante said, his voice hard. He was her manager, and this was a firing.

"You’re too loud for this kind of mission. I’m benching you for the gate."

Her face went through a five-second, high-speed-chase of theatrical emotions.

Shock. ("...benching?")

Denial. ("...me?")

Betrayal. ("...before my DEBUT?")

And then... pure Idol-Rage.

"YOU’RE BENCHING ME?!" she screamed, throwing her hood back. The mysterious cloak was gone. "MY DEBUT! MY CAPITAL PERFORMANCE! THE AETHELBURG GIG! YOU’RE BENCHING THE STAR?! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!"

"It’s just for the gate, Rin-Rin!"

"I AM NOT AN OPENING ACT! I AM NOT A B-SIDE, PRODUCER-SAMA! I AM THE STAR!" she stomped her platform boot, the ground shaking slightly. "YOU CAN’T DO THIS! I’LL... I’LL TALK TO MY AGENT! OH, WAIT—"

Dante was done. His hand was already up.

"It’s not a discussion!" he yelled over her. "It’s a management decision! You’re benched! DISMISS!"

"—YOU’RE A TYRANT, PRODUCER-SAMA! A HATER! A—"

She vanished.

Mid-rant. She was just gone.

A furious pink glittery poof was all that remained, the glitter settling on the pine needles.

The silence that descended was profound.

Hana sighed. A long maternal sigh.

"Oh, dear."

Shivvy, who had been hiding behind Hana during the yelling, peeked out.

She looked... relieved.

Dante’s [Mana] was still [30/30]. He hadn’t spent anything, just swapped an active slot.

’Wait... no, that’s wrong. Dismissing refunds the upkeep. Summoning costs.’

He checked his bar.

[30/30].

Dismissing... must have... ah, he didn’t care. The point was, she was gone.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Okay. New plan. Let’s bring another talent’."

He looked at Hana and Shivvy.

"Stay back."

He focused his will.

Summon: Subject 47.

[Mana: 30/30] -> [15/30].

The shadows underneath the mule cart, which had just been... shadows... suddenly thickened.

They gathered. Then resolved.

A figure unfolded from the darkness.

Subject 47 was there.

She rose to her full height, her sleek dark-grey stealth suit making zero sound. Her black visor swiveled, analyzing the new environment.

Shivvy squeaked and buried her face in Hana’s apron.

47 was infinitely scarier to her than the pink screaming one.

Hana, to her credit, just nodded politely at the new, terrifying, void-creature.

"Hello, dear."

47’s head snapped to Hana. She scanned her.

[Status: Non-Combatant. Support. Neutral.]

She scanned Shivvy.

[Status: Non-Combatant. Stealth-Capable. Frightened.]

Finally, her black-visored gaze landed on Dante.

She didn’t speak. She just waited.

[Handler. Awaiting tasking.]

The telepathic voice in Dante’s head was a relief.

"47," Dante said, his voice crisp. He was a Handler now, not a Producer.

"We have a problem."

He pointed through the trees. At the massive stone walls.

"Aethelburg. The capital. The main gate is a Hard Checkpoint. Magic-Detection is active. We need to get inside. Silently. No detections."

"Get us in," he finished.

47’s visor scanned the wall, a mile away.

[Acknowledged. Infiltration. Four assets. Proceeding.]

She immediately formulated a plan.

She turned, her movements fluid and silent, and glided into the woods, paralleling the road.

"Okay, team," Dante muttered, grabbing the mule’s (now very nervous) harness. "Let’s... uh... follow the ghost-ninja."

***

47 did not go to the main gate. That was for suckers.

She led them on a 40-minute trek around the wall, through the suburbs of the capital.

A sprawling, muddy, and loud shantytown full of farmers, merchants, and refugees.

They garnered stares.

But here, their weirdness was just another weirdness.

47’s stealth suit looked like very strange expensive leather. Hana looked like a farmer. Shivvy looked like a refugee. And Dante looked... like what... he didn’t even knew anymore.

They were just another strange troupe in a city full of them.

47 led them past the shantytown, past the secondary gates, down to the river that cut the city in half.

And there, at the water’s edge, she stopped.

The river was wide, brown, and fast. It flowed under the city wall in a dark 30-foot-high archway.

But that wasn’t their target.

Next to it, just above the water line, was a smaller arch.

It was a sewer grate.

A 10-foot-wide, iron-barred archway, caked in rust and filth. A foul-smelling stream of... something... trickled out of it, staining the river a sickly brown.

Hana’s hand flew to her nose.

"Oh... Creator... the smell..."

Shivvy was gagging.

And Dante looked horrified.

But 47 was unfazed. She was a Level 50 pro. She glided over the slick, mossy stones. And inspected the grate.

Her telepathic voice was flat.

[Handler. Service-level access. Sub-optimal, but viable. Lock is [Rusted (Severe)]. Hinges are [Compromised].]

She produced a crowbar.

’I didn’t even know where she’d been hiding it.’

She jammed it into the lock mechanism. She put her weight on it.

There was a loud CRRRRUUUNCH of rusted metal giving way.

And seconds later, the lock was broken.

47 put her shoulder to the grate. It groaned, and swung open six feet.

A wave of extremely bad smell, a mixture of human waste, spoiled food, and death, came out, so thick Dante could taste it.

47 was wearing a "stealth suit" that appeared to be sealed. She walked into the tunnel, which was ankle-deep and filled with grey filth.

She stopped. She turned around. Her black visor was unreadable.

[Path is clear. Proceed, Handler.]

Dante stared into the black tunnel.

He stared at his mule, which was violently refusing to go near the water.

He stared at Shivvy, who was crying, silent tears of pure disgust rolling down her face.

And then... he looked at Hana.

Hana was not looking at the sewer.

She was looking at him.

Her kind, gentle, Mom face was... gone.

It had been replaced by quiet and furious rage.

The kind of rage reserved for a child who has just tracked mud all over a clean floor, but magnified by a thousand.

"My husband," she said, her voice a low, vibrating hiss that was infinitely more terrifying than Rin-Rin’s loudest shriek.

"The... filth."

She pointed a accusatory finger at the sewer.

"The bacteria. The disease. We are not buffed against typhoid. You are going to get cholera. Shivvy," her voice cracked with pure, maternal fury, "is going to get sewer-lung! This is unacceptable! We are not...!"

"Hana!" Dante cut her off, his voice a desperate whisper. "It’s either this... or the magic police! They arrest people! We have to!"

He looked at the disgusting tunnel.

He looked at his angry Mom.

He looked at his crying Shivvy.

He looked at his ghost-ninja, who was waiting, patiently, in the human poop.

’Yeah, my intel run was success.’

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He took the first step into the sewer.

They were in.

And it was disgusting.