How Many More Side Effects Do You Want?

The night grew even deeper.

In the distance, firelight bright enough to illuminate half the night sky danced wildly.

It was the sign that the Spark Festival revelry was about to reach its final climax.

Elias stepped onto the soil, which was covered in a layer of slimy, decaying leaves.

Leaning on his iron shovel, he gazed at the earthen pit before him.

Through his efforts as a human excavator, the grave belonging to "John" had finally been unearthed.

The deserted environment of the Lily of the Valley Convent made Elias’s work tonight incredibly smooth.

He didn't even need to wait for the bells of the Great Blackout to ring.

He could get his hands on the goods right now.

Then, he could use the cover of the Great Blackout to stroll away in plain sight.

It was simply perfect.

Assuming, of course, there were no accidents.

With that thought, Elias leaped down into the freshly dug pit.

The space was very cramped.

The scent of cold earth mixed with an unknown fishy smell bored into his nostrils.

This wooden box beneath his feet...

Calling it a "coffin" was actually being generous.

A few rough wooden boards had been slapped together with rusted iron nails; they hadn't even bothered with sanding or polishing.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Elias shook his head and reached out to knock on the paper-thin coffin lid, which produced a cheap, hollow sound.

"This coffin they found for you isn't much to look at, John."

He turned back to look at the ghost floating in mid-air, his tone full of mockery.

"The quality of this wood is probably worse than the salted fish crates at the Hastings Port docks."

"Given the habits of the police at Old Palace Yard, having anything at all is pretty good!"

There was no change in expression on John’s translucent face.

"Stop the nonsense and open the coffin,” he urged impatiently, drifting restlessly in the air.

"It’ll be trouble if someone comes back!"

In the depths of his mind, Old Ed’s voice also popped out immediately.

"He’s got a point."

"Hurry up and get to work!"

"This place makes me feel very uncomfortable."

Elias understood immediately and tightened his grip on the shovel's handle.

He precisely wedged the edge of the shovel into the gap of the coffin lid.

If it were an ordinary person, it would probably take half an hour of prying.

The boards were thin, but they’d used a lot of nails!

He could have smashed it open with a punch, but he was afraid John wouldn't appreciate it.

So, he decided to use a normal method.

Elias took a deep breath, and the muscles in his arms suddenly tightened.

There was a tooth-aching crack.

With a gentle lift, the ceiling of John’s "home" went spinning off into the mud nearby.

However.

The moment the ceiling departed, an indescribable foulness rushed toward him!

It was a secret recipe of rotting flesh, liquefied organs, cheap embalming fluid, and underground mold.

Even through the thick mask on his face, Elias could clearly feel this stench delivering a ruthless elbow strike to his fragile olfactory nerves.

He instinctively leaned back, nearly vomiting his last night's dinner into someone else's grave.

Feeding John snacks like this would be a bit untoward after all.

"Buddy, you've fermented,” Elias complained in agony, tears nearly stinging his eyes from the fumes.

"I can't quite handle this smell."

But complaints were just complaints.

The work still had to be done.

While he was complaining to John, his gaze swept down past the edge of the coffin to the face of the corpse.

What he saw was a face completely different from the John floating beside him.

The complaints in his mouth stalled.

His gaze flickered between the corpse in the coffin and the John floating in the air, switching back and forth three times.

Wait!

Why was the neck rotted, but the face wasn't?!

Elias leaned in slightly closer.

The parts of the corpse below the neck were highly decomposed; he could even see grayish-white bone and curled flesh.

But this face above the neck was perfectly intact!

The skin even retained a hint of elasticity and luster, without any cadaveric spots.

There was only one explanation for this macabre phenomenon that defied biological common sense—

This must be a containment object!

"The hat on my head—remember to take it with you."

As if reading Elias’s thoughts, John introduced it.

Then, he pointed a finger at the head of the corpse.

Only then did Elias notice that sitting squarely atop that eerie face was a black, old-fashioned derby hat.

"Spy's Derby Hat."

John introduced it in a flat tone, as if peddling a second-hand item.

Elias, however, was thinking of a certain blue robotic cat who liked to pull treasures out of his belly pouch.

"Put it on and continuously inject spirituality, and it can allow you to randomly change into a different human face every day."

Elias raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, so the appearance isn't fixed."

"It cannot be removed by anyone other than the wearer."

This function sounded quite suitable for hiding one's identity.

"When you wear it, your voice, body odor, and even the surface characteristics of your spiritual fluctuations will change accordingly,” John continued to add.

"But it must not exceed four hours."

John’s tone shifted, becoming serious.

"Otherwise, you will face seven days of spiritual resistance."

"Meaning, it will no longer absorb any spirituality."

A cooldown period as long as seven days, which meant it would turn into a completely ordinary derby hat.

Why did this thing have a cooldown?

"Of course, if you want it to have a fixed appearance, that’s also very simple."

John’s voice rang out again.

"This containment object is capable of copying the appearance of others."

Elias’s eyes lit up.

This function was practical!

A custom model was always better than a blind box!

"You just need to ensure a supply of spirituality and let the other person wear the hat for a while."

"It will copy the person's face."

"And retain it permanently."

After hearing these descriptions, Elias didn't immediately jump for joy; instead, he grew wary.

There was no such thing as a free lunch.

For a containment object of this level with such heaven-defying effects, how could there be no price?

"So, what is the price?” Elias asked in a low voice.

The cost for a containment object of this level probably wouldn't be cheap.

"First, the continuous injection of spirituality is quite high,” John said.

"An average person simply can't handle that kind of consumption."

"So it’s best to carry a bottle of spirit restoration potion at all times..."

At this point, John’s voice suddenly paused.

"Oh, I forgot. You don't need that."

John spoke with a blank expression, but his tone was thick with jealousy.

To this, Elias expressed his displeasure.

Because John was stealing all his lines!

"Next."

The ghost of the Storm Thief continued his explanation.

"The hat can only copy each face once, and it can store a maximum of four faces, automatically overwriting them when exceeded."

"If a face is overwritten, it cannot be copied again next time."

Elias listened and remained silent for two seconds.

That was it?

He tilted his head, looking at John as if he were an idiot.

This counted as a side effect?

It was just a small amount of memory.

What a fuss over nothing.

Did this even deserve to be called a 'price' in the supernatural world?

It wasn't even as expensive as the price of RAM before he transmigrated.

"Finally, legend has it that this hat was created by a certain spy."

John’s voice finally dropped, carrying a hint of warning.

"And because this hat subsequently passed through the hands of many spy-related practitioners, some of their residual obsessions were left behind."

Spies? And 'related practitioners'?

The combination of those two terms was quite abstract.

But...

Obsessions.

Hearing this word, Elias’s attention focused.

"These obsessions will ultimately manifest in the form of a True Dream."

John stared at Elias.

"After you wake up, you might not recognize yourself."

Elias didn't speak.

This did sound somewhat dangerous.

He really needed to be careful when using it.

In the supernatural world, not recognizing yourself meant cognitive collapse, which meant you weren't far from going mad.

"Is there anything else?"

He blinked his eyes and continued to press for more.

"?"

Hearing this, John looked at him with a slightly surprised sideways glance.

"That’s not enough?"

"How many more side effects do you want?"