Mrs. Sharon

The knocking came from the front door.

Did people in this world make social calls in the middle of the night?

Looking at the Crimson Moon in the sky outside, Angel hesitated over whether to open the door.

First, she needed a suitable weapon. She looked around, her gaze passing over the poker beside the fireplace, then the flowerpot by the study door, before returning to the desk in front of her as if drawn by some mysterious force.

Following the memories in her mind, she opened the desk drawer, took out a thick dictionary, then lifted the false bottom beneath it. Inside lay a neatly stacked bundle of banknotes, more than a dozen scattered coins, an expensive-looking pocket watch, a yellowed notebook, and a revolver resting quietly atop the notebook.

Ignoring everything else, Angel reached out and picked up the revolver. The wooden grip and metal frame gave her a long-missed sense of security.

Time was of the essence. She quickly swung out the cylinder and confirmed that all five chambers were loaded with live, unfired rounds. Then she ejected the bullets and estimated their weight and dimensions.

".45 caliber. This really isn't suitable for a woman; the recoil will probably be rather strong." Angel examined the bullet in her hand. "But the strength hidden in this female body is no less than that of an adult man. Holding this three-pound handgun one-handed doesn't take the slightest effort—it even feels easy." She reloaded the cylinder and rapidly shifted through several shooting stances. She found that this slender arm possessed astonishing strength, giving her greater confidence in the battle that might follow.

Knock, knock— The knocking sounded again. Angel no longer hesitated. She picked up the revolver and headed for the living room, taking the poker with her for good measure.

Skirting the bay window facing the street, she came to the front door. There was no sound on the other side, as though the visitor had grown tired of waiting and left.

Angel was not deceived by appearances. She recalled a basic ability possessed by "Assassins"—or rather, all Beyonders: Spirit Vision.

She pressed her tongue against her lower-left back molar and activated the Spirit Vision ability that had originally belonged to Cole Granger.

Beyonders who entered the Spirit Vision state could observe objects within their sight that possessed spirituality, including various Beyonder Items, materials rich in spirituality, and, naturally, living beings.

This spiritual radiance could even penetrate relatively thin obstacles.

Under Spirit Vision, aside from the faint spirituality emanating from her own body, the dim house contained only a muted white glow behind the door—one bright enough to seep through the crack beneath it.

After repeatedly confirming through Spirit Vision that the visitor was still standing outside, she quickly deactivated it. In merely a dozen seconds, Angel felt her spirituality nearing exhaustion. Her unstable body and mind were certainly factors, but the tremendous spiritual drain of Spirit Vision was obvious as well.

With her right hand, she held the gun against the edge of the doorframe; with her left, she gripped the poker. In a low voice, she asked, "Who is it?" If you don't answer within five seconds, I'll shoot, she silently added.

"It's me." A gentle voice came from beyond the door, carrying a soft, lingering tremble. It sounded like a young woman.

After thinking for a moment, Angel recalled the owner of that voice: Mrs. Sharon.

Sharon Khoy was Tingen City's most famous and beautiful widow, as well as the most sought-after lady in social circles. She had been Baron Khoy's second wife, but had unfortunately become his widow.

Mrs. Sharon was popular in both Tingen's business and political circles, not only because of her special status, but also because of her social dexterity and the "secret relationships" she maintained with numerous officials. But to Cole Granger, Mrs. Sharon's most special identity was as the mentor who had guided him into the Beyonder world and made him an "Assassin."

According to the memories in her mind, Mrs. Sharon herself was also a Beyonder. Like Cole, she had advanced from "Assassin," but Cole did not know exactly which Sequence she was at. He only knew that she was at least a Sequence 7 Witch.

Though she now knew who stood outside, Angel did not open the door. Instead, she cocked the hammer of her revolver, making no effort to conceal the sound of metal parts scraping as it carried through the door. "Please leave."

The person outside seemed completely unconcerned about having a gun pointed at her and calmly said:

"Heh, it sounds like you've successfully advanced. I told you that this advancement would be a rebirth for you in every sense. Once your condition stabilizes in a few days, I suggest we meet at the usual place. It will help you master the Potion's power."

"I put what you were looking for on the mailbox. That fellow offered a two-hundred-pound reward in the Tingen Morning Post. You can go collect it—it's my reward for your successful advancement."

"Oh, and I also brought you some women's clothes. You wouldn't want to go out in men's clothes after dawn, would you?"

After leaving behind those three strange remarks, the person outside fell silent. Angel activated Spirit Vision again, but found nothing.

Yet she did not dare relax in the slightest. She continued aiming her gun at the door until five minutes had passed without any movement outside, then cautiously put away her weapons.

She had guessed right.

In Cole Granger's memories, he and Mrs. Sharon had gotten along quite well. Especially after he became an Instigator, perhaps because she felt Cole's rapidly growing strength was worth investing in, Mrs. Sharon had taken their relationship a step further. Well, that kind of relationship.

From Angel's perspective as an observer, she could almost certainly conclude that Mrs. Sharon had used the Charm ability of an Instigator or an even higher Sequence. But Cole Granger himself had undoubtedly been toyed with by Mrs. Sharon.

Not until the eve of advancing to Witch had he learned that the Potion would turn him into a woman. Only then did he awaken as if from a dream, resolutely refusing Mrs. Sharon's request and declaring that he would never drink the Potion.

Of course, Angel's presence here showed that Cole's so-called "never" had not been all that firm.

Based on the relationship between the two in her memories, Angel had successfully played the part of a woman whose emotions were unstable after a successful advancement. She kept Mrs. Sharon outside and successfully muddled through this meeting.

She had a premonition that if she opened the door and the two met face-to-face, things would definitely take a turn for the worse.

After confirming that Mrs. Sharon had left, Angel opened the front door and poked her head out to look around. Seeing no one on the street, she quickly reached out and took the package from the mailbox beside the door, then immediately shut and locked the door.

Could there be some trap or curse?

Angel stared at the package on the table, deep in thought.

She poked the package with the poker. The cloth covering its outer layer collapsed easily, and whatever was inside did not seem to be hard.

The heart that had calmed down after acquiring a weapon began to stir again. Angel knew clearly that this was a change brought about by contacting Mrs. Sharon—the anxiety caused by the disparity in their strength. Even her gentle words had carried some inexplicable effect.

It made her realize that "language" could also be a weapon for Beyonders.

Setting the poker aside, she raised the gun in one hand and lifted the cloth covering the package with the other. An exquisite badge rolled onto the tabletop, while several neatly folded garments lay beneath it.

Had she really come just to deliver clothes?

She placed the revolver within easy reach, picked up one piece of clothing from the table, and shook it open. It turned out to be a surprisingly conservative dress. The rest were women's dresses as well, along with several sets of undergarments and two pairs of flat shoes.

"At least they aren't high heels..." Angel consoled herself. "And the clothes aren't revealing either." Even though she had inexplicably become a woman, she still could not accept clothes that exposed too much.

Setting down the women's clothes, she picked up the badge that had slipped aside when she opened the package and carefully examined its appearance.

It was a brass badge about half a palm wide, shaped like a symmetrical octagon and heavy in the hand. At the center of one side was an amethyst the size of a broad bean, shaped like a teardrop. Under the combined illumination of the red moonlight and yellow lamplight, it reflected a strange glow. The other side was engraved with the words, "To Quentin Cohen—Azik Eggers." On closer inspection, there was another line of flowing small print beneath them: "Carry it close at all times. Remember."

So it had been a gift from someone else. No wonder the owner had offered two hundred pounds for it. Judging by the craftsmanship and the cheap amethyst alone, she could probably buy one at a roadside gift shop for ten pounds, perhaps paying a little extra for the engraving.

After confirming that it was merely an ordinary commemorative badge, Angel lost interest in it. She casually tossed the "two hundred pounds" aside. Since Mrs. Sharon had said she could claim the reward with it, Angel did not mind trying when she had the time.

With the "Mrs. Sharon crisis" over, she began considering her current situation again.

Whenever she thought of how she had been a man in his thirties, only to suddenly arrive in another world as a young woman with a string of murder cases hanging over her head, Angel's head throbbed painfully. She almost wanted to put the revolver to her temple and pull the trigger, just to see whether she could return to her original world.

But her intuition told her it was not as simple as dying the same way she had arrived. Her death back on Earth must have triggered some extremely special mechanism, allowing her soul to come to this world and possess the likewise-dead Cole Granger, then transform into her current form under the effects of the Witch Potion.

Wait, Cole Granger was male, while I now have a female body. What do those murder cases he committed have to do with me? No matter what, they can't pin them on me, can they?

Having thought it through, Angel immediately breathed a sigh of relief. At least she no longer needed to worry about being hunted by the authorities. Being wanted would not only make it impossible for her to move about the city, but would also put enormous psychological pressure on her as a former Templar Knight, even if she truly had not committed those crimes.

But even if she did not have to worry about being implicated in Cole Granger's crimes, Angel still needed a legal identity. Her former male identity could no longer be used, even if it was not wanted.

She wondered if forged documents could solve the problem. After all, this world had no internet or databases. As long as the documents looked convincing enough, it should be easy to pass them off.

Besides a false identity, she needed to find a new residence as soon as possible and completely bid farewell to the identity of "Cole Granger." That way, even if his past crimes were eventually discovered, the police would find only this empty residence and a Cole Granger who had vanished without a trace.

Once she was settled, she could think of a way to return home. This was also a world with Beyonder Abilities, so the chances of returning to her homeland were still quite high.

Right, she also had to clean up the traces of the ritual in the basement, so the police would not connect Cole Granger's change of identity to the Potion...

After arranging those matters in order of priority, Angel was immediately filled with energy. She found a Bucket, mop, and brush in the washroom, then went to the basement and scrubbed away the strange radial bloodstains. She also rearranged the table, candlesticks, and other furniture, while tossing the cauldron used to brew the Potion into the kitchen, striving to ensure that no one could connect the place to anything supernatural.

Though the scrubbed floor still carried a faint bloody stench, mixed with the basement's damp air, it was no longer so conspicuous. Angel decided that she would later go out and buy some cheap meat close to expiration, then pretend to forget it in a basement corner. Before long, the smell of rot would completely cover the scent of blood.

After taking the Bucket and mop back to the washroom and cleaning them, Angel changed out of the clothes soaked in sweat and dirty water, took a quick shower, and put on the women's clothes Mrs. Sharon had sent.

"I have to say, this body's looks and figure are far better than any female celebrity I've seen on television or online." Angel fumbled with the unfamiliar women's undergarments. Looking at the graceful body in the mirror, she inevitably drifted into fantasy.

Before she knew it, she had stood before the washroom mirror for a quarter of an hour.

"This is too terrifying. Even I can't resist it. If other men saw me..." Angel shuddered and snapped awake. She hurriedly fastened the top button of her dress as well, concealing the pale skin between her collarbones and neck. Then she casually drew a cross over her chest, asking forgiveness for her confusion.

Next, she needed to solve her hunger problem while also scouting the area around her residence—two tasks that could be handled together, because Angel had discovered that although there was a kitchen here, it was completely unusable.

She had already inspected the kitchen. It seemed that Cole Granger, who had originally lived here, had no habit of cooking for himself. The cookware bore no trace of oil or smoke. The stove could still be lit, but unfortunately, the seasonings were no longer usable. The salt had become damp and clumped together, the black pepper jar contained little white specks that were probably mold, and even the lard had grown a strange layer of fuzz. Only half a can of tea leaves had survived by staying dry.

After dumping all the spoiled seasonings into the trash, Angel decided to go out and find something to eat.

Perhaps because her soul and body were fusing ever more tightly, Angel had constantly recalled fragments of memory from midnight until this morning. Most were common knowledge unrelated to specific personal memories, such as how to use the gas meter, the exchange rates between Gold Pounds, soli, and pennies—there were pennies here too—the fact that a year also had 365 or 366 days, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, and so on.

There were also a few vague memories regarding Cole Granger's background, but most had happened recently. The older the memories became, the blurrier they were, until no amount of effort could recall them.

"I'll go to the restaurant he visited often first. It's reasonably priced, and the food is good." Angel opened the desk drawer and selected a ten-pound note from the neatly stacked banknotes in the false bottom. After hesitating for a moment, she put it back and instead took three one-pound notes, two five-soli notes, and a small handful of copper pennies.

The Gold Pound in this world had far greater purchasing power than the British pound on Earth. Taking large banknotes out to buy things would be inconvenient and unsafe.

Still, Cole really had been rich. There were probably no fewer than three hundred pounds in that drawer alone. It seemed that he had made quite a haul before the assassin washed his hands of the trade. Looking at the ill-gotten banknotes of various denominations in the drawer, Angel lost the last trace of guilt she felt over casually taking someone else's money.

Before leaving, she made a simple holster from strips of an old bedsheet, tied the revolver to her right thigh, and lowered her loose skirt. From the outside, nothing could be seen.

Stuffing the banknotes and coins into her pockets, Angel left through the back door. She passed through the sparsely populated rear alley, took a long detour, and returned to the main street.

The house that temporarily belonged to her was located at 6 Daffodil Street in Tingen City. It was one unit in a row of connected houses, with a hipped roof and gray-blue exterior. Though it had only two stories, its chimney stood so high that it was no lower than the three-story buildings beside it.

It was eight in the morning, one of the busiest times of day. Peddlers crowded the streets, hawking their wares, while shops put up their signs and waited for customers.

Drawing in air mixed with the fragrance of bread, the aroma of grease, and the sharp sting of spices, Angel finally felt as though she had returned to the human world. The anxiety she had felt after inexplicably crossing into this world was temporarily suppressed, while her long-empty stomach began to cramp, reminding her what she needed to do most right now.