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Chapter 162 Mime Problem

Zephyrion's eyes narrowed slightly. "I see. That would explain why our enchanters could never replicate them before."

"That's right," Arlon said. "Your best enchanters have likely tried and failed for centuries. But with the right help..." He trailed off.

Zephyrion studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze assessing Arlon's choice of words.

He was a man who didn't waste time, and Arlon knew that dangling the solution in front of him without fully revealing it would only make him more interested.

But the truth was, no one could create enchanted weapons the way the Endgame sets were made. No one except for Arlon himself.

And he could only do it because of the guidelines Karmel had given him.

He fully intended to use that to his advantage.

"We can discuss this further later," Arlon said. "There's something more urgent I need to ask about."

Zephyrion leaned back in his chair. "Go on."

"Did you find the Mimes hiding in Kelta?"

The room's atmosphere shifted slightly, turning heavier. It was time to move on to the more serious matters.

Zephyrion's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn't answer. Then, after a brief silence, he nodded.

"Yes," he said, his tone lower than before. "We did."

And from the way he said it, Arlon could tell—this wasn't going to be good news.

Zephyrion exhaled heavily, running a clawed hand through his mane. His golden eyes burned with frustration.

"I did as you suggested," he said, voice measured but firm. "The Mimes remain in Kelta. We have not exposed them, nor have we acted aggressively against them.

Instead, we have been feeding them controlled information, waiting for them to reveal their true intentions."

Arlon nodded. "And?"

Zephyrion leaned forward, his elbows resting on the heavy wooden table. "They've changed."

"Changed how?"

Zephyrion's brow furrowed. "Some of them have been switching identities more frequently than before.

Normally, a Mime replaces a person and maintains that persona for as long as possible—weeks, months, sometimes even years.

But lately, we've noticed some of them taking on multiple roles within days, even hours."

Arlon's expression darkened. That was new. "They're testing something," he muttered.@@@@

"That's what I thought," Zephyrion said. "It's as if they're refining their method, seeing how long they can remain undiscovered before slipping into a new identity."

Zephyrion's expression remained unreadable. "You're that confident?"

"Syme isn't your problem," Arlon said simply.

One thing Arlon knew was that Syme was no one's problem but Keldars'.

Zephyrion studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. But that doesn't solve my problem with the Mimes."

Arlon exhaled. "The situation with the Mimes is delicate. If we try to root them out now, we'll lose our chance to mislead them. But I understand your frustration—you can't allow them to roam freely, either."

Zephyrion grunted. "Exactly. Keeping them in place was a good strategy at first, but now it feels like I'm letting them run unchecked in my city."

Arlon nodded. "Then let's refine the strategy. Instead of just feeding them false information, we start manipulating their movements.

Force them into positions where they have to act, but make them think it's their own decision."

Zephyrion raised an eyebrow. "You want to push them into making mistakes?"

"Exactly," Arlon said. "If they're changing identities more often, they're feeling pressure from somewhere. Let's increase that pressure. The more we control their options, the more likely they are to slip up."

Zephyrion considered this, his claws drumming against the table. "You have something specific in mind?"

"I do," Arlon said. "But it's going to take careful coordination."

Zephyrion let out a slow breath, his claws drumming against the table. "Tell me what you need."

Arlon's smirk didn't fade. "Let's start by making them think we've found something—something they'll be desperate to suppress."

Zephyrion crossed his arms. "And you have something specific in mind?"

Arlon nodded. "Nyx."

Zephyrion's expression darkened immediately. His gaze sharpened, the tension in the room shifting.

Arlon exhaled. "Not like that."

"You want to use her as bait," Zephyrion said bluntly, his voice edged with disapproval.

"Yes," Arlon admitted, "but we're not actually putting her in harm's way. The Mimes—and by extension, the Keldars—want her.

That means they're watching for any signs of movement. If we create a controlled situation where it appears she's being relocated or studied, they will react."

Zephyrion remained silent for a moment, his golden eyes locked onto Arlon's.

It was the gaze of a warrior who had led armies, who had seen countless battles, who had made difficult decisions time and time again.

Then, after a long pause, he asked, "How do you intend to do this without endangering her?"

Arlon leaned forward. "We won't actually move her. Instead, we'll fabricate reports—ones that will be easy for the Mimes to intercept—claiming that Nyx is being transferred under strict supervision. We'll assign one of the suspected Mimes as part of the escort team."