Chapter 67

Chapter 67
## Chapter 67

Customization (3)

“Ah… As I suspected, this is top-tier pepper, matching the rumors perfectly. Its processing is exceptionally pristine as well.”

“The feedback from those who have utilized it has been highly positive. Word is that even the nobility and high-ranking figures are thoroughly pleased.”

“Securing steady sales for this commodity will yield substantial profit margins, not to mention how excellent it will be for forging powerful alliances.”

Hubert’s commercial enterprise was progressing flawlessly.

The pepper supply he carried within his subspace magic tool drained away in a mere moment, despite the steep premium he demanded for it.

Initiating connections in the foundational phases of his pepper venture by delivering choice samples to a massive merchant collective nearby had proved to be a brilliant strategic move.

‘Naturally, I also leveraged Harley’s presence to deter them from attempting anything reckless.’

The formal statement of gratitude delivered to the mercenary guild by way of the Church played a monumental role in elevating Harley’s renown.

While this surging fame inevitably drew an increased number of instigators looking to test his mettle, it ultimately served as a highly effective form of public promotion.

‘Those challengers must have possessed considerable reputations themselves to dare provoke Harley, given his terrifying physique. Yet he utterly dismantled them using nothing but his bare fists… ’

Harley had truly transformed into a prominent figure across the mercenary circles of Tarak.

Consequently, Hubert’s Trading Company, which maintained an exclusive partnership with him, captured its own share of the spotlight.

‘Superb inventory, justifiable rates, tactical marketing centered on restricted availability, and absolute trustworthiness backed by a renowned figure’s reputation. A failure under these circumstances would be downright impossible.’

Furthermore, Harley’s shadow shielded the business from malicious external meddling.

Preeminent organizations like the grand merchant syndicates maintained deeply rooted ties within the Church.

Through these clandestine networks, they discovered that Harley was genuinely favored by the uppermost echelons of the clergy, causing them to wisely abandon any thoughts of sabotaging Hubert’s Trading Company.

It was entirely counterproductive for them to risk antagonizing the holy order merely to swallow a burgeoning small enterprise.

As for the ignorant fools who lacked access to that caliber of intelligence…

“Agh… M-mercy… spare me…”

Within the shadows of a murky rear alleyway.

Several burly, aggressive ruffians were scattered across the cobblestones like discarded debris.

“Harley, this wretch is begging for clemency.”

A towering man with heavy facial tattoos, built like an absolute monolith, hoisted a gasping thug aloft by his shirt collar, giving him a rough shake before addressing his companion.

“Clemency? These worthless dogs dared to mock us, and now they expect leniency?”

“Wretches of this sort must be completely broken from the very start to guarantee they never attempt to rise up again. Allow me to demonstrate the proper method.”

The initial response to the giant’s words didn’t originate from Harley, but rather from a pair of heavily tattooed brawlers standing nearby.

These were southern warriors who had previously locked horns with him in combat, but had since forged a bond as close as blood brothers.

The trio consisted of Luwang, the most colossal among them; Dao, who bore a distinct scar slicing past his eyelid; and Turaba, whose countenance was heavily shrouded in thick facial hair.

At present, they were providing muscle for Harley, systematically weeding out the local syndicates that attempted to disrupt the operations of Hubert’s Trading Company.

‘To be fair, I am hardly exploiting their labor for nothing. The revenue flowing in is immense, meaning there is absolutely no reason for me to act like a miser.’

Securing a reliable, easily managed contingent of enforcers was highly advantageous.

It was even more ideal when their enthusiastic participation could be guaranteed through a modest distribution of coin.

“Say, now that I reflect on it, hasn’t Harley’s countenance shifted slightly of late?”

“You noticed it as well? I’ve been under the impression that his expression seems far more approachable recently.”

“Could it simply be a result of the camaraderie we’ve developed?”

“Is that all it is?”

The casual observation arose naturally as the group trekked toward a local establishment to enjoy a round of drinks after wrapping up their duties, yet the remark caused Harley a wave of inward self-consciousness.

‘I have been implementing minute alterations progressively to ensure they remained oblivious… ’

The underlying architecture of his face was indeed shifting in subtle increments from its original state.

Encountering three authentic natives of the southern lands provided him with the perfect blueprint to organically integrate their distinct physical traits.

Harley’s somewhat unnatural facial features were being meticulously recalibrated day by day to perfectly mirror the physiological hallmarks of the southern race.

“Bwahaha! It merely signifies that our bonds have grown that profound! We are truly indistinguishable from real brothers at this point!”

Harley roared with boisterous laughter, smoothly steering the dialogue away from his appearance without raising suspicion.

Upon stepping into the tavern, they immersed themselves in a spirited exchange, boisterously conversing over a myriad of random topics.

The vast majority of their banter centered on the customs of the southern territory, offering incredibly enlightening perspectives through the raw, unfiltered tales of the native warriors.

“…Which is precisely why obtaining an authentic body marking beyond the southern borders is an arduous task. The overwhelming majority of tribal shamans refuse to migrate away from our lands.”

“You might cross paths with one on rare occasions in foreign territories, but securing a new inscription requires you to demonstrate your worthiness and offer a suitable tribute.”

Amidst their continuous dialogue, the subject of ‘tattoos’ emerged, a topic they revisited with great frequency.

“Occasionally, half-witted fools attempt to acquire inscriptions far beyond their station, and while a shaman will typically drive them away in disgrace…”

“There will always be arrogant individuals who persist in forcing their own desires.”

There were historical instances where desperate men coerced shamans into applying markings through overt intimidation, intense persuasion, heavy bribery, or elaborate trickery.

“There is a profound underlying purpose behind the requirement to validate one’s worthiness.”

These markings were far grander than mere pigments embedded within human flesh.

They represented a distinct discipline of esoteric mysticism, intertwining an individual’s vital essence, internal mana, and accumulated karmic weight to forge a permanent anchor upon their physical vessel.

‘In essence, it acts as a localized biological magic array designed to fortify the physical form?’

An incompatible tattoo forced upon an unworthy vessel would not only severely curtail the individual’s remaining years but would trigger a cascade of debilitating afflictions—including muscle degradation, a steep drop in physical endurance, premature decrepitude, and severe baldness.

“For that very reason, back in our homeland, you aren’t even acknowledged as a true combatant if your skin is bare. It indicates you haven’t even met the basic thresholds required to withstand a foundational ‘Warrior’s Tattoo’.”

That fundamental cultural law was the precise reason they had initially picked a fight with Harley, who had boldly introduced himself as a ‘southern warrior’.

His exposed skin featured nothing more than rudimentary, superficial markings, entirely devoid of genuine mystical tattoos.

‘It is an unavoidable predicament for the time being. I can only hope to acquire an authentic inscription before my eventual journey to the south.’

He drained a massive swig of liquor from his tankard in a characteristically rugged display, smacking his lips in satisfaction.

—

While Hubert and Harley remained deeply immersed in managing their daily operational affairs, Harris—who had only recently integrated into their ranks within Tarak—had been enduring a solitary, exhausting struggle for several consecutive days.

“Ngh… I can distinctly perceive a faint presence… and yet…”

Harris, inhabiting the physical vessel of the Elf avatar, remained confined within the hidden sanctuary that Hubert had purchased, engaging in unbroken daily meditation in a desperate bid to bridge communication with the elemental spirits.

He harbored immense expectations regarding his potential evolution into a High Elf, yet his circumstances had stagnated entirely since receiving the divine notification stating that the World Tree was observing his progress.

‘This undeniable sensation corresponds to raw natural energy, but what is the exact methodology for establishing a spirit pact? Could it be that my inherent alignment is still insufficient?’

Natural energy—which comprised environmental mana meticulously strained through organic elements such as flora and subsequently distilled—served as the indispensable fuel source required to manifest spirit contracts.

Given his foundational attributes coupled with the passive enhancements provided by the “Child of the World Tree” trait and his enchanted wristlet, his alignment should have been more than adequate, yet the secret to unlocking the path of a Spirit Summoner eluded him completely.

“Would it be wiser to venture into an expansive woodland teeming with denser concentrations of natural energy to resume my efforts…?”

He had strictly confined his movements to this sanctuary to safeguard the secret of his Elven heritage, but his current stagnation dictated that he finally venture out into the wider world.

‘I can easily conceal my identity by tugging my cowl low to obscure my pointed ears. My original strategy was to remain entirely out of sight until a spirit pact was solidified, but… ’

Members of the Elven race, an exceedingly scarce demographic across the expanse of the Ion Continent, were perpetually magnetised toward various forms of exploitation and peril.

Indeed, Cecily, the prospective High Elf candidate, had fallen into the horrific hands of human traffickers due to that exact vulnerability.

‘Indeed, a fate identical to Cecily’s… Wait a moment… ’

The High Elf Rapori, the rescued candidate Cecily, and the delegation of nearly twenty Elven diplomats.

They were all currently residing as guests within the grand architecture of the Roselia Cathedral.

Meanwhile, the specialized Heresy Inquisitors operating within the borders of the Talia Kingdom had successfully located the abandoned refuge utilized by the Immortal King deep within the wilderness of the monster forest, confirming that the entity had occupied that location until mere moments before launching his violent infiltration of the holy sanctuary.

The investigative forces remained entirely baffled as to how the entity had deduced the exact window when the cathedral’s magical wards dropped to their weakest state…

‘However, the holy order never cast their suspicions upon the Elven delegation from the very beginning.’

The Church had merely deployed an analytical task force to reconstruct the sequence of events, meaning they continued to treat the visiting Elves with utmost deference and honor.

‘Word has it they are finalizing their arrangements to depart for their homeland shortly, now that their primary objectives are concluded… ’

Wouldn’t it be infinitely more practical to solicit direct guidance from seasoned members of his own lineage rather than blindly groping in the dark by himself?

It would be an unmissable stroke of fortune if he could secure some fundamental pointers from their scholars before their delegation departed.

‘Excellent. That is a highly logical course of action.’

Harris scrambled to his feet without a moment’s delay, throwing his heavy traveling robe over his shoulders.

With an aura of quiet resolve, he began navigating the thoroughfares leading directly toward the central temple of Tarak.

As he closed the distance to his destination, a colossal silhouette materialized from the mouth of an intersecting passage.

It was a massive, imposing frame that stood in stark contrast to Harris’s lean, delicate posture.

Harley, advancing with a deliberately menacing stride, seamlessly fell into step beside him as they walked toward the religious sanctuary.

He had explicitly excused himself from the boisterous drinking bout with his southern companions for the sole purpose of assisting Harris.

Moving in perfect unison, the two individuals arrived at the steps of the grand temple.

“Ah? Is that not Master Harley? What grand purpose brings you to our gates today… Do you require assistance with an official matter?”

The heavily armored holy warrior standing watch at the temple threshold immediately identified Harley, whose unmistakable, striking visage essentially functioned as a flawless security clearance, and addressed him politely.

“Bwahaha—! I happen to require a bit of clerical assistance. Would it be possible for you to convey a message to the personnel inside?”

The narrative Harley presented was straightforward and calculated.