Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 121: A Clever Disguise

Dust swirled in the air, and the sound of galloping hooves echoed as the rider raced over a hundred miles. Suddenly, a figure appeared on the road ahead.

Aizen was not surprised. He pulled his reins and dismounted.

A sharp-looking man dressed in a black robe and wearing a black headscarf approached him. After clasping his fists in a respectful salute, the man handed over a bundle he had been carrying.

Inside the bundle was a set of plain clothes and an unremarkable travel permit.

Aizen slung the bundle over his shoulder and nodded slightly. He patted the Flame-Tail Horse, handed the reins to the man, and watched as the stranger mounted the horse and rode off in the opposite direction—away from Great Plain City.

Aizen veered onto a side path and changed into the plain clothes. Slinging a sheathed narrow blade and carrying the rest of the bundle, he now looked like an impoverished wanderer from the Magus World.

The Cold Moon Treasure Blade was too conspicuous. Before departing, he had buried it along with the belt holding his golden elixir in a secluded valley.

The narrow blade, in contrast, was unremarkable—a blade just over two feet long with a plain black scabbard and hilt. It looked so ordinary that it did not even qualify as a noteworthy weapon.

With this blade, coarse clothes, straw sandals, and a headband woven from grass fibers, Aizen now appeared utterly ordinary.

He set out along the official road. Great Plain City was still several hundred miles away. If he could encounter a merchant caravan along the way, it would make things much easier.

With a new travel permit and a fresh identity, he was prepared to slip back into the city unnoticed.

Evening at Great Plain City’s Eastern Dock

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its light over the sea, where the waves shimmered like fish scales. The vast stone dock, constructed from enormous boulders, was crowded with cargo ships.

The sea breeze carried a unique salty tang but was not too cold. Many sturdy sailors and dockworkers, bare-chested, shouted and worked tirelessly under the moonlight.

Their muscular bodies glistened with sweat, steaming in the cool air. The heat and energy of the bustling dock seemed to banish the chill of the season.

Supervisors strolled around, barking orders or offering encouragement. Merchants gathered on the ships, chatting, smoking opium, drinking, and laughing. A few scantily clad women of modest looks kept them company.

Aizen hefted the last sack of goods from the ship’s deck. Under the watchful eyes of two supervisors and a merchant, he carried it to the designated spot on the dock and stacked it neatly with the rest.

"Is this the new guy? Looks pretty sturdy..."

One of the merchants took a drag from his pipe and grinned, revealing a set of yellowed teeth.

"Yeah, not bad. I checked his background—he came into the city with Morgan Old The Third’s caravan. Quiet, but he knows the rules. Paid some tea money, so I gave him a job," a supervisor responded with a chuckle.

"Keep a close eye on newcomers from outside the city these days. Things are a bit tense, and the higher-ups are preparing to crack down hard," the merchant said with a curt nod, offering a formal reminder before losing interest.

Aizen stacked the thirty-pound sack of goods with the others, feeling the sticky residue from the cargo seeping through his clothes and making his skin itch.

The sacks were all filled with sea salt.

This coastal city relied on the sea, and sea salt was a staple commodity. Though abundant and cheap in Great Plain City, merchants bought it in bulk to sell in distant regions where the price could multiply several times—or even tenfold.

If transported to far-off southern or western regions, the profit could be astronomical, increasing the value by a hundredfold or more.

Of course, such long-distance transport was risky and expensive. The weight of the salt made it costly to move, and encountering bandits along the way could lead to devastating losses.

Bandits rarely target salt specifically, but leaving empty-handed is never an option. If not salt, money will suffice. If there’s no money, taking lives or capturing a few people as slaves is always an alternative.

Aizen removed his coarse jacket and gave it a firm shake, dislodging the grains of salt embedded in the fabric.

This was the fifth day since he had left Great Plain City.

The delay in his return was deliberate, a strategy to avoid drawing attention. His ostentatious departure from the city five days ago had undoubtedly attracted the notice of the Overseas Hundred Alliances, the forces at Turtle Rock Ridge, and possibly even the government.

Those factions had informants scattered across the city, and his actions would have heightened their vigilance. If he had circled back immediately, the heightened alertness and scrutiny would have made blending in impossible.

Now that five days had passed, the tension in the city had eased, and the watchful eyes were less focused.

That morning, after meeting his contact and changing clothes, Aizen had used a new travel permit to blend into a merchant caravan passing through the area.

For a small fee of ten copper coins, he secured a ride, easily slipping into the city. Once inside, he meandered through less conspicuous routes before joining the ranks of dock laborers.

His choice to labor at the docks was also calculated—an attempt to avoid suspicion. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

As a newcomer, heading straight to an inn might go unnoticed for a short time, but an extended stay would inevitably raise questions. Any move he made later would be under scrutiny, complicating his plans.

Every trade has its hidden rules and hierarchies. In Great Plain City, the relationships between the government and the major factions were complex and tenuous.

For a new arrival, diving headfirst into action without first establishing a foothold was a surefire way to get crushed.

On the Docks....

"Here, your pay. This is for food. Tonight, sleep in the common shelter and don’t wander off."

A supervisor with a long face, small eyes, and pustules on his skin handed Aizen a string of copper coins and a rock-hard steamed bun.

Aizen accepted them silently, his expression blank. He nodded repeatedly before turning to follow the others leaving the dock for the day.

The long-faced supervisor watched Aizen’s retreating figure, clicked his tongue, and turned away.

The newcomer was someone to keep an eye on, but Aizen’s dull, slow-witted demeanor hardly aroused any suspicion.

Keeping tabs on such a simpleton felt like a waste of mental energy.

The Common Shelter

The so-called "common shelter" was a massive wooden shed near the docks. Its walls were patched together with old, tattered burlap sacks, serving as makeshift windbreaks.

The burlap, worn and full of holes, let in gusts of salty sea air that carried the distinct scent of the ocean.

There were several such shelters, all meant to house dock laborers. Inside, the beds were nothing more than piles of straw, offering minimal comfort.

Aizen devoured the hard steamed bun in large bites and followed the group into the shelter. He blended in seamlessly, an unremarkable figure among the laborers.

The shelter’s conditions were harsh, but for Aizen, remaining inconspicuous was worth the discomfort. This low-profile life was a critical step in his broader plan.