A luxurious inn stood about a kilometer from the auction hall. Its guests, all impeccably dressed, came and went beneath gilded chandeliers. Staying here was perfectly ordinary for someone of Cavendish’s status.

On the way, Raymond repeatedly invited Cavendish to dinner, only to be refused. The fat bastard then stuck me with the bill—and shot me a venomous glare before leaving.

Cavendish occupied a presidential suite on the top floor. He led me straight to the bedroom, sealed it with a soundproofing barrier, then examined me with amused curiosity. "Enough, my lady. Remove that hideous robe and mask."

*Huh? Can alchemists see through clothes?* I couldn’t admit it. Deepening my voice, I rasped, "Master, I’m a man. Scars from a childhood fire make me unfit to be seen."

Cavendish snorted. "A man? Hah. This old man smelled your fragrance the moment you entered. It’s the pure, heady scent only a maiden as exquisite as rose wine could possess."

*Seriously? Are you and that hippo both bloodhounds? Why can’t I smell it myself?!*

When I stayed silent, his expression turned icy. "We Mages are devotees of Truth. To hide your true face is to betray Her path. I refuse to associate with such deceit. Leave."

*Sigh.* Begging for favors sucked. Resigned, I shed the oversized robe over my dress, removed the mask, and smoothed my messy short hair with small hands.

Instantly, the ever-composed Cavendish began breathing slightly heavily. His eyes locked onto me. "A masterpiece. Truly the Alchemist God’s gift—a blessing from the Goddess of Truth herself."

*Is my face really that stunning? Or have I stared in mirrors too long?* Business first. "Master, now you see why I hide my face?"

"I do not. Beauty is Truth’s gift to women. If every lovely maiden on this continent veiled herself, life would be utterly dull."

*Why does this fifty-something alchemist sound like a brothel regular?*

"Master, did you summon me just to see my face?"

"Of course! We alchemists burn with childlike curiosity for nature’s wonders. Ah—you needed an alchemical skin, yes? I’ll craft one free of charge. Flawless appearance, masks your scent, alters skin tone. Even your mother won’t recognize you. But we alchemists believe in equivalent exchange. What will you offer in return?"

His lecherous gaze made my stomach flip. "Y-you’re not asking me to sleep with you, are you?"

Cavendish burst into laughter. "Hah! Truth’s followers speak plainly! Though past fifty, I take vitality tonics yearly. My vigor surpasses young men—I’ll give you ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams. If we cooperate well, we could become long-term magic bed buddies. Then, not just alchemical skins—even premium beauty elixirs will be yours for free."

I shook my head like a rattle. *Master, I know you’re vigorous, but we can’t be bed buddies. At most, we could be… pillow duelists.*

Yet again, my gender was mistaken. To avoid offending him, I confessed: "Master… I’m actually male. I truly can’t… accompany you to bed. Perhaps I could help in other ways—"

He scoffed. "Hah! Do you take me for blind? Such a ridiculous lie!"

"I really have a—"

Fed up with my stubbornness, Cavendish’s eyes gleamed. "You doubt my prowess? Then witness my divine instrument firsthand!"

*Divine instrument?!*

Before my brain caught up, the master sprang from the bed. In one second, he stood naked. A monstrous 35-centimeter appendage reared before me, swaying with unnatural flexibility. A faint *hissing* filled the air.

*Damn. He’s got the goods.* Compared to that, I was an infant. But as a straight man, I felt zero interest. I kept shaking my head. "Master, please put it away. I *am* male. I can’t… do that with you."

Cavendish’s face darkened. "You claim manhood, yet Truth’s disciples trust evidence, not words. Produce your proof."

*He wants me to drop my pants?!* My pride rebelled. Worse—what if seeing my dick excited him *more*? Rumor said masters had… peculiar tastes.

As I froze, Cavendish cackled, advancing. His "divine instrument" writhed like a serpent. "Come. Let our bodies intertwine to uncover cosmic Truth. I’ll deepen your understanding… in my own special way!"

*Shit—he’s forcing himself?!* I conjured a Great Fireball, aiming at the wall. "Stop! One step closer, and I blow a hole through this wall! I may lose a fight, but I’ll make sure *everyone* knows what a lecherous old coot you are!"

Cavendish’s face turned stormy. He couldn’t risk it. As a Mage, a brawl would alert the entire district. His reputation would shatter—and the Mages Association strictly forbade duels between colleagues.

He halted, resorting to threats. "Fool! Rejecting such mutual benefit betrays Truth’s creed! I’ll blacklist you in the Alchemists Guild. No alchemist will ever take your commissions—gold or not!"

*This bastard!* Playing nice after rejection? He preached virtue but treated women like trash. One tantrum, and he’d ruin careers. A textbook pervert-professor.

I itched to kick his balls into orbit. But he was a renowned Archmage; I was a nobody. He was Level 6; I was Level 3. No contest. *Fine. I’ll retreat.* I needed his help, but my dignity wasn’t negotiable.

Silently, I pulled on the black robe, masked my face, and headed for the door.

Cavendish’s icy voice followed me. "A mere Level 3 Mage—your so-called Archmage mentor’s existence unverified—dares defy me? Your arrogance will draw the Goddess of Truth’s divine punishment!"

Fury choked me. I barely suppressed it, slamming the door behind me. *Just wait. When my magic matures, I’ll personally chop off that pride-and-joy of his.*

The alchemical skin route was dead. Next stop: the Bloody Rose Tavern. Three days had passed—it was time to dig for illusion magic leads.