Crossing the barren Tanzan Desert, a range of towering mountains rose before Rick and his companions, with Ison City nestled deep within.
Compared to Kester City and Terry County, Ison City lacked their bustling economy and dense populations. Yet it was common knowledge that Ison's lord reigned as the mightiest among the Three Cities of the Forest Domain—even the branch chiefs of the Insect Hunter Association here deferred to this formidable ruler. This made Ison City a place shrouded in legend.
Since setting foot here, Rick had heard endless rumors about the city lord. Even the arrogant Shust and Balzac spoke of this legendary figure with evident respect.
Free from Lav's haphazard guidance, they now traveled the trade route to Ison City. Unlike other paths, trade routes were safe passages funded by merchant guilds for caravans. Guilds held absolute authority here: no lord could levy taxes, no army—even in times of war—could block caravans, not even city lords.
This made trade routes the lifeline connecting cities. Aside from poachers, nearly all wandering hunters and illegal merchants sought shelter here, and Rick was no exception.
The trade route boasted beautiful scenery. They trekked 800 miles through mountains and valleys without incident—a calm journey that left Rick, accustomed to danger, ill at ease. Shust even mocked him for being a skittish hare.
Rick's reaction was understandable. As a rookie insect hunter, his experiences had been nothing but life-or-death ordeals. He'd grown used to peril, so peace felt unnatural.
As Ison City drew near, the four walked along the century-old trade road, where illegal merchants now set up stalls. These vendors didn't belong to the guild. According to the Century Pact signed during the Hundred Cities War, guilds held commercial monopolies—private trading was illegal.
But profit knew no bounds. Where there was gain, laws were ignored, especially as the Pact's authority waned. City lords turned a blind eye.
As wanted criminals themselves, Rick's group had no qualms browsing the stalls. Shust even found several treasures—had the eggs not needed cashing in, he would've armed himself like a mobile, poisoned arsenal.
Broke as they were, only Rick bought a bug-carapace mask. Paired with his combat suit, he looked every bit a ninja.
"Lav gave you that one-year pardon. Why buy a mask?" Anna asked, puzzled to see Rick spend his last coins on it.
"I don't want every stroll to turn into a wanted poster comparison. Besides, this is Ison City. To trade eggs at the Insect Guild, I need a new identity. I missed my Kester Guild annual fee—wonder if that big-eyed clerk got her pay docked." Rick grinned, rubbing his nose.
"A mask isn't enough. Need my help?" Shust leaned in.
"You mean... disguising?" Rick stared in surprise—he never knew Shust had this skill.
"Of course. Don't forget my old line of work—simple disguises are child's play." Shust stroked his tiny mustache, already pondering what hideous look to give Rick.
"Good. Let's find a hidden spot."
The four left the trade road for a secluded area, where Shust produced bottles and jars from who-knew-where and began preparing. Soon he mixed a vial of light green liquid, swirling it. "Since you bought that mask, I think making your face uglier is better. Agree?"
"No problem." Rick never cared about looks. Anna beside him wanted to protest, but after a thought, she giggled and kept quiet.
"Glad you don't mind." Shust wiped Rick's face with water. "This potion is a toxin, but my blend has no side effects. It's the most direct disguise—completely realistic. No one but us will know you're disguised."
"You seem familiar with toxins. Found a cure for your own?" Rick asked casually.
"If even that bug expert Lav can't help, what can I do? Just carry embryo fluid around." Shust unscrewed the cap after cleaning Rick's face. "It'll sting. Bear with it."
"Sure, I—ow!～～" Rick regretted speaking. This wasn't "a sting"—it was excruciating! The skin smeared with toxin burned like it had been branded, making him want to peel it off. "Dammit! What the hell is this?!" He couldn't open his eyes, feeling as if splashed with sulfuric acid.
"Relax, it'll pass." Shust watched nonchalantly, almost enjoying the sight. Anna beside him was petrified, hands over her mouth.
"You're a psycho," Balzac commented dryly, arms crossed.
"Exactly why I'm better than you." Shust patted Rick's now bark-like face. "How's it feel?"
"The pain's gone, but... strange. Can't seem to smile."
"You'd be a ghost if you could smile like that." Shivering, Anna fetched a mirror for Rick.
He took it and froze. What the hell was that?
Once, Rick had been at least a clean-cut lad, if not drop-dead handsome. Now, thanks to Shust, his face looked eighty years older, skin as dry and hard as tree bark, the whole visage like it had been carved from gnarled roots.
"Dammit, this is too much! How can I show my face in public looking like this?" Rick tossed the mirror away, unable to bear another glance.
"Relax, the look is abrupt today, but after a couple days, the skin will adjust—though only slightly. Besides, if I didn't do this, that mask would be useless."
"Now it's my fault?" Rick gaped. He'd bought the mask on a whim, never expecting Shust to turn his face into a chunk of dead wood.
"Will there be side effects when it wears off?" Rick asked glumly, dreading the thought of meeting Lav like this.
"Shouldn't be... but no guarantees."
"..."
Rick realized he'd been conned. Shust, poisoned himself, was getting others to share his misery for balance—and Rick was the fool.
"Never letting you touch anything on me again."
Grimacing, Rick pulled on the mask that exposed his eyes and lower face. Strangely, the mask gave him a handsome, mysterious edge, easing his dismay slightly.
After this detour, the four resumed their journey. Rick had no mood for roadside stalls now; they made straight for Ison City.