Transmigration To Magus World-Chapter 63: Disguise

"No need to be nervous," Aizen said calmly, not paying much attention to Blackheart’s subtle movements.

Although Blackheart had trained for many years and was at the same mid-stage Bone Refining Realm as Aizen, their actual combat power differed significantly.

Even someone like Valentino would easily overpower Blackheart.

Aizen crouched down and began stripping the unconscious servant boy of his clothes.

"Um, senior brother, what are you doing?" Blackheart asked, slightly bewildered.

However, seeing that Aizen seemed to have a plan and not malicious intent, he relaxed a little.

After a short while, Aizen had changed into the servant boy’s tattered clothes, stowing his own gear safely and instructing Blackheart to hide the servant boy in the tavern’s wine cellar.

If he wasn’t concerned about the smell of blood drawing attention, Aizen would have killed the servant on the spot.

The reason was simple: this servant boy was too sharp.

He might be related to Blackheart and knew certain things, but sometimes it’s better not to know too much.

If, by chance, Marco and his entourage stopped here and the servant’s expression or actions gave away the plan, it would ruin everything. Although the chance of this happening was low, Aizen wanted to eliminate any risk.

Details determine success or failure.

Once preparations were complete, it wasn’t long before Aizen and Blackheart’s expressions shifted—they heard the faint sound of horse hooves and wagon wheels crunching along the rain-soaked ground, barely audible under the heavy downpour.

"They’re here."

A sly smile appeared on Aizen’s face, a smile that on him seemed as unnatural as a fig tree blossoming.

He adopted the mannerisms of the servant boy and went out to greet the guests, following the boy’s previous actions closely.

"Ah, dear guests! The rain is heavy, and the road is slippery ahead.

Please, come inside and rest!" Aizen called out, acting like a humble servant as a caravan came into view.

He approached, bowing respectfully with his head lowered.

In that brief moment, he counted the number of people in the caravan.

Apart from those inside the carriage, there were no fewer than six guards clad in rain cloaks, each with a somber expression.

Two of the guards stood out.

One carried a saber, his broad shoulders and calloused fingers a testament to his strength. His skin was as tough as old leather.

The other guard, empty-handed, had eyes like lightning that landed on Aizen, his gaze sharp enough to slice through someone’s throat.

These two guards were both at the late-stage Blood Refinement Realm, sitting atop their tall horses with a powerful, vigilant aura.

The carriage driver was an old man with gray hair, looking sleepy and frail, his clouded eyes barely seeming to see the road.

It was hard to believe that this frail-looking old man was also a late-stage Sorcery artist.

"Out of the way," the saber-wielding guard said, glaring coldly at Aizen with an air of intimidation.

Aizen quickly stepped back a couple of paces, stumbling slightly, his expression one of fear and nervousness.

"Hmph."

The two guards exchanged a glance, silently assessing the situation.

This young servant, though sturdy, appeared clumsy and had no calluses or hidden weapons. He seemed like an ordinary person.

Still, a tavern in the wilderness was no place to let one’s guard down.

While they hesitated, a voice filled with youthful arrogance called out from inside the carriage.

"Old Eight, Old Nine, hurry up and clear the way.

I’m so tired of being cooped up in this carriage!"

The two guards sighed and dismounted, responding respectfully. The saber-wielding guard threw his reins and a piece of silver to Aizen.

"Take care of the horses and make sure they’re well fed," he ordered.

Aizen quickly caught the silver, feigning excitement and greed, as if he were overwhelmed with gratitude. He took the reins, leading the horses to the stable with a seemingly clumsy demeanor.

The two guards walked into the tavern first, immediately spotting Blackheart coming out from behind the counter with a fawning smile.

The guards, with keen eyes, quickly sized up Blackheart, noting the calluses on his hands and the way he carried himself.

They could tell he was no ordinary person.

"You’ve trained?" the empty-handed guard asked, his voice sharp.

"Ah, yes, gentlemen," Blackheart replied, his tone respectful.

"Seven years ago, I practiced some farming techniques, and later, with some guidance, I learned basic staff techniques.

It’s given me some strength."

Blackheart’s lie was well-practiced, mixing just enough truth to make it believable.

"Hm."

The empty-handed guard snorted and, with lightning speed, grabbed Blackheart’s shoulder.

Blackheart was startled and attempted to dodge, but couldn’t avoid the grip.

"Hey, gentlemen, please...!" Blackheart feigned fear, his hands moving to pry off the guard’s hand.

The guard tightened his grip, causing Blackheart to let out a scream.

"Stop, please! I meant no offense!"

The guard’s sharp eyes narrowed.

"Words are fine, but whether you’re wise enough to heed them is another matter. This place is close to Heavenly demon clan territory.

If anything suspicious happens while we’re here, you can look forward to arranging your own burial."

"Yes, yes..." Blackheart stammered, his voice trembling. "I would never dare offend such esteemed guests."

"Good. See that you don’t."

More people entered the tavern, led by a young man with red lips and white teeth, a small mark on his forehead, and a cocky expression.

He was grinning arrogantly.

After he stepped into the tavern, a servant put away his oiled-paper umbrella, another wiped down a chair with his sleeve, and two beautiful attendants draped a luxurious fur cloak over his shoulders.

The young man sat down grandly, and the guard finally released Blackheart.

Blackheart clutched his shoulder, grimacing in pain, but managed a forced smile as he cast a fearful look at the young man.

"Bring us your best wine. If it’s not good, I’ll burn this place down. And bring some dishes to go with it," the young man ordered arrogantly.

Blackheart’s face fell, although he was only pretending, "Ah, young master... this humble tavern..."

Before he could finish, he was kicked by the saber-wielding guard, who sent him sprawling onto the ground with a heavy blow.

At that moment, Aizen entered the tavern, and Blackheart landed right at his feet. Aizen put on a frightened look, retreating a few steps and almost stumbling, as if genuinely terrified.

In reality, the kick was forceful, but Blackheart could have withstood it. However, he didn’t dare tense his muscles to lessen the impact, worried that the guards might notice his Sorcery prowess.

Aizen, on the other hand, played his part to perfection, his fear so convincing that he looked like a natural-born actor.

Even the old driver, who had been observing closely, gradually lowered his guard.

"Stop talking and go do your job," the saber-wielding guard spat, his tone as menacing as a thug’

Chapter 63: Disguise 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

"No need to be nervous," Aizen said calmly, not paying much attention to Blackheart’s subtle movements.

Although Blackheart had trained for many years and was at the same mid-stage Bone Refining Realm as Aizen, their actual combat power differed significantly.

Even someone like Valentino would easily overpower Blackheart.

Aizen crouched down and began stripping the unconscious servant boy of his clothes.

"Um, senior brother, what are you doing?" Blackheart asked, slightly bewildered.

However, seeing that Aizen seemed to have a plan and not malicious intent, he relaxed a little.

After a short while, Aizen had changed into the servant boy’s tattered clothes, stowing his own gear safely and instructing Blackheart to hide the servant boy in the tavern’s wine cellar.

If he wasn’t concerned about the smell of blood drawing attention, Aizen would have killed the servant on the spot.

The reason was simple: this servant boy was too sharp.

He might be related to Blackheart and knew certain things, but sometimes it’s better not to know too much.

If, by chance, Marco and his entourage stopped here and the servant’s expression or actions gave away the plan, it would ruin everything. Although the chance of this happening was low, Aizen wanted to eliminate any risk.

Details determine success or failure.

Once preparations were complete, it wasn’t long before Aizen and Blackheart’s expressions shifted—they heard the faint sound of horse hooves and wagon wheels crunching along the rain-soaked ground, barely audible under the heavy downpour.

"They’re here."

A sly smile appeared on Aizen’s face, a smile that on him seemed as unnatural as a fig tree blossoming.

He adopted the mannerisms of the servant boy and went out to greet the guests, following the boy’s previous actions closely.

"Ah, dear guests! The rain is heavy, and the road is slippery ahead.

Please, come inside and rest!" Aizen called out, acting like a humble servant as a caravan came into view.

He approached, bowing respectfully with his head lowered.

In that brief moment, he counted the number of people in the caravan.

Apart from those inside the carriage, there were no fewer than six guards clad in rain cloaks, each with a somber expression.

Two of the guards stood out.

One carried a saber, his broad shoulders and calloused fingers a testament to his strength. His skin was as tough as old leather.

The other guard, empty-handed, had eyes like lightning that landed on Aizen, his gaze sharp enough to slice through someone’s throat.

These two guards were both at the late-stage Blood Refinement Realm, sitting atop their tall horses with a powerful, vigilant aura.

The carriage driver was an old man with gray hair, looking sleepy and frail, his clouded eyes barely seeming to see the road.

It was hard to believe that this frail-looking old man was also a late-stage Sorcery artist.

"Out of the way," the saber-wielding guard said, glaring coldly at Aizen with an air of intimidation.

Aizen quickly stepped back a couple of paces, stumbling slightly, his expression one of fear and nervousness.

"Hmph."

The two guards exchanged a glance, silently assessing the situation.

This young servant, though sturdy, appeared clumsy and had no calluses or hidden weapons. He seemed like an ordinary person.

Still, a tavern in the wilderness was no place to let one’s guard down.

While they hesitated, a voice filled with youthful arrogance called out from inside the carriage.

"Old Eight, Old Nine, hurry up and clear the way.

I’m so tired of being cooped up in this carriage!"

The two guards sighed and dismounted, responding respectfully. The saber-wielding guard threw his reins and a piece of silver to Aizen.

"Take care of the horses and make sure they’re well fed," he ordered.

Aizen quickly caught the silver, feigning excitement and greed, as if he were overwhelmed with gratitude. He took the reins, leading the horses to the stable with a seemingly clumsy demeanor.

The two guards walked into the tavern first, immediately spotting Blackheart coming out from behind the counter with a fawning smile.

The guards, with keen eyes, quickly sized up Blackheart, noting the calluses on his hands and the way he carried himself.

They could tell he was no ordinary person.

"You’ve trained?" the empty-handed guard asked, his voice sharp.

"Ah, yes, gentlemen," Blackheart replied, his tone respectful.

"Seven years ago, I practiced some farming techniques, and later, with some guidance, I learned basic staff techniques.

It’s given me some strength."

Blackheart’s lie was well-practiced, mixing just enough truth to make it believable.

"Hm."

The empty-handed guard snorted and, with lightning speed, grabbed Blackheart’s shoulder.

Blackheart was startled and attempted to dodge, but couldn’t avoid the grip.

"Hey, gentlemen, please...!" Blackheart feigned fear, his hands moving to pry off the guard’s hand.

The guard tightened his grip, causing Blackheart to let out a scream.

"Stop, please! I meant no offense!"

The guard’s sharp eyes narrowed.

"Words are fine, but whether you’re wise enough to heed them is another matter. This place is close to Heavenly demon clan territory.

If anything suspicious happens while we’re here, you can look forward to arranging your own burial."

"Yes, yes..." Blackheart stammered, his voice trembling. "I would never dare offend such esteemed guests."

"Good. See that you don’t."

More people entered the tavern, led by a young man with red lips and white teeth, a small mark on his forehead, and a cocky expression.

He was grinning arrogantly.

After he stepped into the tavern, a servant put away his oiled-paper umbrella, another wiped down a chair with his sleeve, and two beautiful attendants draped a luxurious fur cloak over his shoulders.

The young man sat down grandly, and the guard finally released Blackheart.

Blackheart clutched his shoulder, grimacing in pain, but managed a forced smile as he cast a fearful look at the young man.

"Bring us your best wine. If it’s not good, I’ll burn this place down. And bring some dishes to go with it," the young man ordered arrogantly.

Blackheart’s face fell, although he was only pretending, "Ah, young master... this humble tavern..."

Before he could finish, he was kicked by the saber-wielding guard, who sent him sprawling onto the ground with a heavy blow.

At that moment, Aizen entered the tavern, and Blackheart landed right at his feet. Aizen put on a frightened look, retreating a few steps and almost stumbling, as if genuinely terrified.

In reality, the kick was forceful, but Blackheart could have withstood it. However, he didn’t dare tense his muscles to lessen the impact, worried that the guards might notice his Sorcery prowess.

Aizen, on the other hand, played his part to perfection, his fear so convincing that he looked like a natural-born actor.

Even the old driver, who had been observing closely, gradually lowered his guard.

"Stop talking and go do your job," the saber-wielding guard spat, his tone as menacing as a thug’