Sir! Don't close the net!

Valkyrie was caught in a pointless contradiction.

“That makes sense. Unfortunately, Lei, your idea is flawed,” Valkyrie pondered for a moment, then decisively abandoned the idea of ​​helping her resentful sister solve this problem. “Li Yili is ultimately just an ordinary person.”

"Tsk—" Valkyrie clicked her tongue in frustration, but couldn't find a word to refute her.

Li Yili pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply, "But continuing to go undercover is not a good idea either. Hesitation will only make things more and more complicated."

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow slightly, somewhat surprised.

Li Yili's intention was clearly to close the net.

"Are you sure?"

To be honest, Li Yili's current position is very delicate. Li Yili is now the minister of the Black Goat's offspring in the Life's Survival Branch, and her exposure is too high. It's not a position where she can just stop and be safe. Now is the least suitable time to close the net.

But from another perspective, the old days were not a charity. There are only two possibilities for Li Yili no longer being the minister of the Black Goat's Cub: either she has climbed higher or she has given up. So any time is the perfect opportunity to run away.

"What... is your reason for not wanting to continue being an undercover agent?" Valkyrie raised an eyebrow slightly.

According to her analysis, Li Yili's position as minister is quite secure. Everyone in the Black Goat's Cub trusts Li Yili, and the Flame Elf seems to have given up on thinking about what the Black Goat's Cub says.

Li Yili couldn't escape unscathed, but as long as the status quo was maintained, she could have anything she wanted in Instas. She had at least four divine protectors, including herself, who were protecting her openly and secretly. One of them was Nakya, who was completely under Li Yili's command.

She couldn't think of a reason not to continue being an undercover agent.

“If you don’t want to do it anymore, then you don’t want to do it anymore,” Valkyrie said, spreading her hands. “Being an undercover agent is a job that involves a lot of worrying, especially in a dangerous place like the Old Days. If it were me, I wouldn’t want to do it on the first day.”

“I just… don’t want to do it anymore,” Li Yili pinched the bridge of her nose and slumped into the sofa. “Think about it carefully, if you just want to live the last seventy years of your life in a wealthy way, you don’t necessarily have to go undercover as a black goat’s cub.”

That's true—

Valkyrie nodded.

"I imagine the Cult of Steam and Steel wouldn't mind spending a fortune to buy the submarine and all the blueprints in your head, and the Galar Horn..."

Walter

Hagi Kite paused, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"I would also be very happy to spend money to buy what you see on the surface of the Sea of ​​Dead."

Valkyrie immediately turned to face Valkyrie, and as her fingers slightly opened and closed, golden arcs of electricity leaped, instantly making the atmosphere extremely tense.

Valkyrie was about to lose her composure, cursing inwardly that daughters grow up and leave home, and that her brother was siding with outsiders. But she could only curse in her heart, because if she did, Valkyrie would definitely admit it. As a Valkyrie herself, she knew very well that the Valkyrie group was, in a sense, a bunch of super freeloaders, heartlessly asking for money, and not very loyal.

This is also the most direct reason why many people protested and ultimately, the Valkyrie, the strongest unit in the Galar Horn, was announced to no longer be manufactured.

“Let me make this clear first, you can’t pressure Sieg,” Valkyrie added, “that’s unethical.”

“Sieg… Sieg only reached the surface of the Sea of ​​the Dead,” Valkyr Iris raised her hand toward Li Yili, “The truly shameful things that exist on the surface of the Sea of ​​the Dead are only seen by you.”

Valkyrie glanced at Li Yili instinctively.

This certainly fits Li Yili's style.

“There’s nothing shameful about the Dead Man’s Sea,” Li Yili tilted her head. “In fact, it’s meant for humans to see.”

"I can only-"

"To meet someone."

Chapter 156 The Gradually Melting Face

"Bert is so slow..."

After finishing the cake and clearing the table, Sieg kept standing on tiptoe at the door. Bert hadn't returned yet, and Sieg couldn't help but worry. But then he thought that there was no need to worry about Bert at all. Although the Maws district was known as the dumping ground of Instas, the public security was still okay.

They live a very low-key life and have never offended anyone.

Zig raised his hand to scratch the back of his head, closed the door, looked around his not-so-spacious home where he had lived for more than ten years, and rolled up his sleeves.

Although it's their home, the older Bert has always been in charge of both the internal and external affairs. Recently, Bert has been busy with work and training every day, neglecting the cleaning. As a result, a lot of dust has accumulated in the corners of the house.

It's time to give their home, which has been with them for so many years, a thorough cleaning from top to bottom.

"You're Bert Slow, right?"

Bert, carrying an empty trash can, stopped in front of the shop where he usually bought masks and potions. He turned to look at the middle-aged man sitting behind the counter, somewhat surprised. "You know me?"

In Instas, remembering someone is an extremely simple yet incredible thing, because everyone wears the same few generic faces. As long as they are wearing masks, they can definitely call each other by name. Similarly, as long as they take off their masks, they are the most unfamiliar acquaintances.

The Wishing Bottle event did indeed spark a trend of going maskless for two days in the first few days, but it exposed many problems within those two days. The perfect social circle they had built with masks completely collapsed. They were like outsiders who had just arrived in Instasus, not recognizing anyone. As for work, apart from Sheep Village Logistics and Fire Elf Steel Mill, the other jobs already had very strict requirements due to the nearly thirty-year-old mask system. If it were just one or two people, those companies might have made an exception and given the "newcomers" a chance to learn.

But all the residents of Instas are newcomers. Giving everyone the opportunity to learn and grow would paralyze the entire city. In the end, everyone is a newcomer, so where would the experienced mentors come from to guide the newcomers?

The result was that everyone went around in circles, those who needed to wear masks continued to wear them, and those who finished their work took off their masks to collect their receipts.

Instas not only circulates work-related masks, but also many masks representing people who are good at interpersonal relationships. Many citizens rely on the noble character and pleasant eloquence represented by those masks.

Instas seems to have changed, yet it seems to have remained completely unchanged.

It's strange that someone could recognize him by his name just by looking at his face, especially someone who sells potions and masks in the Maws district and comes into contact with countless people every day.

While surprised, Bert also felt somewhat ashamed.

The other person called out his name, but he had no idea who this middle-aged man, whom he saw almost every day, was.

“Hello—” Bert nodded somewhat awkwardly.

The middle-aged man put down his newspaper, his gaze sweeping over Bert with a deep look. He suddenly sighed and looked back at the newspaper. "Zig Slow is your brother, isn't he?"

Bert suddenly understood.

While Bert Slow may not be famous, Sieg Slow is undoubtedly a celebrity in Instas, especially now that Sieg has successfully reached the Sea of ​​the Dead and returned safely. It seems that the older brother has also become famous by riding on his younger brother's fame.

But the middle-aged man's next words stunned Bert.

"You shouldn't have left Qige like this."

"Huh?" Bert looked at the middle-aged man with a face full of question marks.

Although the Sloan family was born in the Maws district, known as the Instass junkyard, he never gave up on himself and always worked hard, especially on Zig. He always thought he would never be associated with the adjective "laissez-faire".

Speaking of...

Shouldn't we praise their family's education at this time?

The middle-aged man's next words infuriated Bert.

"Instas, it's been thirty years since..."

"His appearance would make him the most outstanding person; you shouldn't have let Sieg become the person all the residents of Instas aspire to be."

"Why?! Zieg worked so hard, he just got his reward for his hard work!" Bert suppressed his anger, clutching the empty trash can tightly in his hand.

“Yes, now this reward… no longer belongs to him,” the middle-aged man put down his newspaper, loosened his collar, and slowly removed the mask from his face, “but belongs to all the residents of Instas. Oh, by the way, I haven’t introduced myself yet, my name is…”

McCarthy.

Bert slowly opened his eyes wide, and slammed the empty trash can in his hand heavily to the ground.

"Tick-"

A drop of white, viscous liquid landed in the center of the clean floor, obscuring Zig's face, which was faintly reflected on the floor, which had been wiped so clean it could be used as a mirror.

Zig was taken aback and casually picked up a rag to wipe away the white, viscous liquid. Just as he was about to get up, a few more drops of the viscous liquid dripped down.

Zig wiped it harder, but more viscous liquid dripped down. Even Zig got a little angry and immediately looked up to find the leak, but the area above him was pitch black, and not even light could get through, let alone leak. In fact, after living there for so many years, they had never encountered a single leak.

Where did all this disgusting liquid come from?

Zig felt a stickiness on his face and, thinking it was sweat, instinctively raised his hand to wipe it.

The white, viscous liquid immediately dripped down his fingers.

Zig was stunned, staring blankly at the sticky liquid on his fingers. His expression stiffened as he opened his mouth, his hands trembling as he wiped his face. What appeared in the center of his palms was a pool of disgusting, sticky liquid.

These liquids... came from his face.

"It's a lie, a lie... What is this?"

Zieg strode to the full-length mirror where Bert usually tidied his clothes. To prevent dust from settling on it, Bert would cover it with a black cloth after use. But Zieg didn't care about getting the cloth dirty and pulled it off.

Sunlight streamed through the window and fell on the mirror, the shifting light reflecting Zig's current appearance, his current face.

Like an ice cream melting due to high temperature, his facial features were constantly oozing a white, viscous liquid, and in the process, his facial features were gradually losing their original appearance.

"Ah... ah—"

Having never witnessed such a scene before, Sieg was immediately overwhelmed by fear. He grabbed a black cloth, wrapped it around himself, smashed open the door, and rushed out. There were quite a few people walking on the road, and Sieg remembered their kind faces, so he immediately chased after them. Just as he was about to call for help, he heard a conversation that sent a chill down his spine.

"Speaking of which, we should be able to buy Sieg Slow's face tomorrow, right?"

"Absolutely."

“Great, tomorrow will be Sieg Slow.”

"Yes, that way we can all go to the sea and meet our gods."

Chapter 157 I'm Off

"You're Maika... no, what happened to your face?"

Bert racked his brains but couldn't find a suitable word to describe the middle-aged man in front of him, or rather... McCarthy.

McCarthy's face was less a face and more a... puddle of a face.

McCarthy still had facial features, but they looked like mud stuck to his face, as if they could be wiped away with a gentle touch. Bert couldn't even describe McCarthy as ugly.

Because he often stood in front of the mirror wearing a McCarthy mask, he once joked that he might know McCarthy's facial features better than McCarthy himself, and therefore he could indeed see familiar parts in that pool of facial features.

The person sitting in this shop selling masks and potions, who had been there since he could remember, really seemed to be McCarthy.

"Does it matter to you what my face looks like now? Aren't you all having a lot of fun with your youthful faces?"

McCarthy seemed to be sneering, but his face was so distorted that Bert could only infer his expression from his tone of voice.

“They use my face when it brings profit, and they throw it all away when things are bad,” McCarthy said, lifting his newspaper and no longer looking at Bert. “Does it matter what McCarthy looks like now? Just now… you doubted that I’m not McCarthy at all, right?”

Bert opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words to refute McCarthy, because his first instinct upon seeing that face was to refute it.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re not the first to have doubts,” McCarthy laughed self-deprecatingly. “Just think about it, how could the future of that salesman who understands homebuyers’ needs best and has the most dreams be like this?”

"Why...why did it turn out like this..."

“What’s so strange about it? When you use my face, is it because you want to give those who are lost a home? All you want is money. No matter how magical the potion or how realistic the mask, it won’t give you any consideration for others.”

McCarthy turned the newspaper to the next page, seemingly tired, and didn't even want to look at Bert again.