5 Days Earlier (Completion of the first point)
Location: Inside the Mundand mansion, disguised as a menial servant
Clank!
"Dust the second floor after doing these dishes." Waiter bashed the sink with pile of plates, bossing around as if he were the manager of some famous company.
"Yes sir." Facade smiled like a saint, too bright to be argued with. It seemed natural, almost like it was a part of his nature—except for those who didn't notice his tightened fist.
Theeeee Heccckkkk?! These bastards—why should I do dishes for this damned Mundand Family?!
Rage continuously ate him from inside. Not only did it take more than a day to exchange intel with the council members, but Facade had to spend hours mingling with royal servants— just to strengthen the level of his fragile trust.
He clicked his tongue, reaching for the next set of left-over plates. But he stopped, suddenly noticing the greasy dishes. "Eww" That would be the most suitable response from someone beyond such petty chores... but still, it was a part of his job—no other way round.
Four days had already fled since his arrival, or rather, camouflage inside the Mundand's house. And within those days, Facade was barely triumphant in making his own grounds. Sweeping, dusting, cleaning—all the work that suited a perfect servant was his.
Facade might be a great spy inside the mansion, an Elite who's generally perfect when intended to. But everyone was certainly familiar of his one, simple flaw—laziness.
Aside from everyday fatigue and tiredness, Facade had always been a sloth, running away from any assigned labor. For instance, he was offered to become Dan's record manager in former days.
Compared to his current, heavy loaded job, that work was extremely simple— to read the files, to sign confirmed ones and deliver each document to targeted location. And yet he refused, or to be more precise, his laziness did.
How could've he bore the stress of going through each letter, especially when he can't even make out the words budged on signboards? And even if he did, what about the energy he'll loose just to walk each floor a day?—The answer was definitely a no.
Little did he know that being a spy was far more worse than reviewing a bunch of papers and taking a leisure walk.
Leisure walk.
Because now, it felt like those floors were just a stretch of ground, not a big deal compared to his current occupation— changing into various identities and different jobs, where you have to deal with nothing but physical efforts.
And why? Just to access information or rescue some VIP's stuck in odd situation. And today wasn't a different day—he was here, scrubbing and toiling till he get his chance to steal something valuable to Mundand's successor.
The act was obviously intentional, stealing the beautifully engraved ring in a manner that cautious eyes could nab. And so, a nearby waiter busted him amid the crime, throwing his microfiber cloth to one side when he seized Facade.
And so, he was presented before the Head of servants, pinning him down to an inquiry session.
"Tell me, why did you steal our mastership's ring?" Man was an aged figure, voice jarring as he locked his eyes. But Facade took an oblivious form, presenting feeble excuses when asked. "I just—its beauty made me touch it! How could I—I—dare to steal when I'm just a mere servant, sir?"
A complete lie. Though, he was certain his tone perfectly matched the scenario.
"Then how did you, a mere servant, even dared to observe it!?"
"I told you sir! It was unintended!"
A minute fled in cross-questioning—Facade answering in circles while butler supressing his rage.
Anyhow, matter boiled down to an accusation, ultimately labeling him as a theive.
The case further advanced to last stage, when Facade was finally brought before the successor of Mundand family.
"Why? Wasn't it enough what I was paying you?" the royal asked, filled with disappointment when informed about the robbery.
Finally...
Facade privately cheered at the accomplishment, the reason he slaved away his five consecutive days in house chores were getting paid off.
Even being amid the task, his weathered hands were eager to strangle his neck, stature nothing more than an atypical build.
Facade, who was akin to an actor playing on the stage, remained shamelessly kneeled on the ground.
"No, no, my majesty. It was enough… really." His strict pose swiftly broke into a normal, eerie one. Sighing out of minute tiredness, Facade stretched his sore back. "I just wanted to know if it's more valuable than the minerals."
"Minerals..." While he stared at Facade's reforming attitude, his mouth flung open in shock. "W-What minerals? What about minerals?" The royal's concern was instantly triggered by the word alone, cutting the topic into yet another freckle of concern.
It was rare—to hear 'mineral' spelled out of nowhere. They were considered as unique treasure beyond any rarity, meant money worth living two lives. No one in their right mind would grumble upon a stolen ring, losing the opportunity to have even the slightest hint of its whereabouts.
As Facade was on his knees, he, with a sudden jerk, dashed to whisper in the patriarch's ear before the guards could take any action. The patriarch's throat clenched with fear, his heart thumping as his servant uttered in silence.
"Guar—"
"The minerals." Facade cut his bark, continuing the sentence in calm. "I wanted to tell you directly but..." he sighed again. "I wouldn't have met you if I hadn't done all this crap."
The man's face went pale, almost frozen from shock. Facade was his servant, a mere menial servant that he had recently hired for his service, but to know that someone had invaded his abode? And what for, to tell him about the minerals? The setting seemed suspicious from his frame.
However, the patriarch surrendered his intellect over the love for fortune, throwing his palm upward to stop the armed guards from swarming all over the spacious floor. Facade didn't want to rush things either, still waiting to enjoy the looks blinded by wealth.
"Don't worry. I'll tell you. I just need privacy here." Facade snorted, backing some steps to provide room for the royal's lagged breaths. The patriarch waved his already-arose wrist, gesturing for the guards to leave them alone.
"You haven't asked me about this, have you?" Facade's finger swung to the direction of his face, while the remaining guards retreated in hush. "What about this?" The patriarch questioned. "I was sure to have your background check. Why should I ask you then?"
"Who knows..." Facade chuckled in response, completely enjoying the pettiness of the man standing before him.
Another task that bothered Facade in his everyday missions, was the black coverage swathing all over his body, except for his dove-grey hair. While deducting his gloved hands and covered bottom, it was impossible to fool around with a concealed face.
His veil wasn't a mask that resembled an everyday facepiece, neither could he say that it was impossible to show his true face, let alone, look at himself. That would make anyone extremely suspicious before Facade could even lay the roots.
But he had already resolved this problem by taking an identity of someone whose face was charred beyond recognition, totally burned by fire. There were several identities stricken by the same kindred outcome, all handled by Facade to carry out different missions.
'My face was burned in a lab accident. If you want me to roam around without my mask, I'll gladly remove it.'
He always introduced his attached veil as his 'mask.' Still, if someone felt his presence peculiar in any sense, pushing him enough to show what persists beneath his black mannequin-like mask, Facade would straightaway put offense in place of peaceful negotiation.
That was the reason why Facade fails his espionage mission most of the time, reluctant to take part in any similar expeditions. But to fulfil his share of work in EAR wasn't optional; instead, it was a direct heed to all the chosen candidates.
"Call me Facade." He introduced his true name, yet the patriarch was totally uninterested to listen to something insignificant to him. "I'm here to tell you that there'll be infiltration."
"Infiltration?" The royal's corrupted thought punched the reasoning when he heard something uncommon, overwhelmed by the setback of arranged invasion. "Yes, and about the minerals, it's in the secret route.
"You know, the ba—"
"It's there!??" Eyes almost popping out in astonishment, the royal shuffled forward. "And... how do you know about the bakery?" His movements became sluggish, the back of his hand brushing past his chin in distress.
Oh, how do I know? I could ask the same of you, you rotten brat.
Facade thought, not sure as to how the royal knew about the route of the bakery. It could be because of intersection built deep inside the bakery route or, was it just a mere coincidence? Facade wasn't confident about either.
"Just listen, don't ask. Affix the IR trackers in the first half of the passage. The moment you get reported of someone's trespassing, send a team to immediately mine out your riches. But be sure they are within the bakery's zone. And make sure…" He flicked his finger in a circle, "…the screws are tight."
"What?" The man's voice trembled, gold weighing heavier than breath.
"You don't know what screws are?" Facade retorted.
"No, I—" The royal presence was washed away with puzzlement, confused by the things that conveyed no sense.
Why would he embed IR trackers, and for whom? For the people who'll infiltrate his esteemed household? Why was the man in black mask telling him all that?
He would probably demand something in return, without a doubt.
The patriarch's thoughts spilled out of curiosity, bracing himself to spare even a penny from his golden heap. "What do you want?" He asked at last.
"Me?" Facade dusted his shaggy cloak, looking down on the tainted nobility. "I just wanted you to repor—never mind. Make no legal papers for mining. It's all that I want in return."
What!? He had given something worthy all for nothing but a mere chore?
The patriarch's skin crawled with perplexity, aware that the situation contained a degree of threat, something that had to be an unannounced blow. Only those who had false intentions demands nothing in return of something, that was how the nobility survive the droughts.
His bejeweled hand quietly slipped under his lavish gown, reaching for his hidden dagger for fighting unpredictable assault.
"I'm talking sense here. Have I threatened you in any sense?" Facade's eyes that were fixed upon the crawling hand, hinted the royal's motives, unwilling to constrain it by brute force. "I'll let you know one thing." He remained still. "The dagger won't do much, well, actually, nothing to me."
A gasp escaped the patriarch's lips, figure instantly tensing up from Facade's unexpected statement.
H-How could he see? I was too wary to make any noise!
The royal almost startled from the tossing facts, unable to make out how the completely masked man saw through his movements. "But this, mister royalty." Facade, who was oblivion to what was swishing inside the nobility's consciousness, rattled his hand in his side-pockets. When his finger finally caressed the edge of a visiting card, he pulled it out, instantly tossing it on the patriarch's way.
"This will finish you off." The eyes that were blanketed with ignorance went dilated with anxiety.
"The Forces? You're threatening me. Me!? What do you think—"
"You're dead if you ask me more." Voice strained as always, Facade totally dropped his reluctant style to a sinister pitch. His legs functioned on their own, instinctively finding himself circling around an affluent individual.
A gap of silence filled the room for minutes, the noble figure before him shrouded in a blend of shock and awe.
"I—I'll do anything." The patriarch finally shattered the muteness with his apprehensive manner, quietly chocking his temper. "But please…" Facade stood before the luxurious back of the patriarch's gown, heavily embroidered with gold and silver, when the royalty gradually kneeled on the polished marble. "Please." He bent his head in subservience, reluctant to pledge his services to a mere stranger.
He was aware of what could happen if he hadn't regarded the matter akin to a brittle glass.
A complete destruction.
Facade had always doubted how a lowly peasant like the so-called patriarch reached the ranks of royalty, but it would be foolish to think that one couldn't approach fame and fortune unlawfully, especially not when a person is someone who could sell his soul before eminence.
"That's more like it." Facade halted right in front of the man knelt in plead, carrying nothing but to nod in agreement. Smirk covered his feeble lips, witnessing the nobility's last golden moments in scornful regard, sure that he'd be the one to destroy his dignified glory in just two days.