“Can I just stick this anywhere?” Wang Yue muttered to herself. Pinching the Chameleon Key between her fingers, she slowly pressed it into the center of her palm.
Under the influence of transcendent power, her skin and flesh parted of their own accord, gently swallowing the key before sealing shut. There was no pain, only a faint, chilly sensation.
She gave the key a ninety-degree turn.
Click.
With a sound so faint it was nearly imperceptible, the precise construct known as a “human” underwent a chain reaction of structural changes, falling into place like a row of toppling dominoes.
Before Wang Yue’s eyes, crimson fissures spider-webbed across the fair skin of her arm with lightning speed. These scale-like patterns were remarkably rhythmic, possessing a regulated, almost mechanical precision.
The structural transformation continued.
Once the fissures covered her entire body, her skin behaved like a forest canopy caught in a sudden shift of wind. Every “leaf” flipped over with a sharp shhhpt sound, transforming her entire surface into vibrant, granular scales.
“Whoa!” Wang Yue gasped in amazement.
If she hadn’t researched this beforehand, she would have been terrified.
This was a layer of chameleon skin composed of tiny circular granules and triangles. The texture was bumpy yet smooth, and the colors were a chaotic, vivid mess—looking like a canvas where a mad painter had recklessly splattered his palette.
Beyond the epidermal changes, three bony ridges erupted from her head and shoulders. Her fingers fused together in groups of twos and threes, forming a structure optimized for gripping. The pads of her fingers split into lamellae similar to a gecko’s toes, allowing her to scale walls with ease.
Then there were the eyes—bulbous, dorky spheres protected by tough, leathery skin. They were deeply recessed into massive sockets over ten centimeters in diameter, rotating entirely independent of one another.
Finally, her Demon Tail transformed into a thick, fleshy, prehensile chameleon tail.
This Special Grade Relic wasn’t spirit-bound. Once the Chameleon Mode was activated, the key could be removed and used by someone else. Theoretically, one could create an entire nest of chameleons this way.
Once she grew accustomed to the Chameleon Key’s basic form, Wang Yue focused her mind. She quietly faded from view, leaving only her floating school uniform and her shoes and socks resting on the floor.
Environmental Mimicry.
While mimicking the surrounding colors could fool the average person’s eyes, it rarely worked against the truly powerful. Humans or monsters with high visual resolution could track the displacement of dust or light to see through a “fake” invisibility.
However, it would be effective at a distance or outside a direct line of sight, as this chameleon skin possessed the ability to absorb reflection waves and block sensory detection. It was essentially the biological equivalent of stealth aircraft coating; as long as she wasn’t spotted by the naked eye, it was nearly impossible to detect her through sensory-type abilities alone.
But the Chameleon Key was a Special Grade Relic, after all. Its utility went beyond mere camouflage.
Wang Yue activated its ultimate function: Spatial Zipper.
This time, she vanished completely—clothes and all.
According to her research in the library, the “Spatial Zipper” wasn’t mimicry or invisibility. It created a spatial fold that the user could curl up inside. Once the “chameleon” tucked themselves in, the spatial fold would zip shut, leaving a perfectly seamless void. Even instruments used to monitor spatial topography would find no trace of her.
It was, for all intents and purposes, vanishing from the world.
Beyond hiding, the Spatial Zipper could be used to evade fatal attacks. For instance, if a high-speed train were bearing down on her, Wang Yue could simply step into a spatial fold to dodge the impact.
The only drawback was that she couldn’t move once inside the fold.
Therefore, she knew she must never use it directly in front of an enemy. They could simply camp the exit, and if the enemy brought out a weapon capable of piercing space, she would be in serious trouble.
Of course, such situations were rare.
Wang Yue pressed the Chameleon Key into her palm once more, gave it a turn, and returned her body to its original state. She picked up the cold tea on the table, drained it in one gulp, and fell into thought.
Why had the Church sent a Special Grade Relic directly to her?
It didn’t make sense.
Every Special Grade Relic was a treasure capable of defying logic and upending common sense—tools and weapons that could change the tides of a conflict in an instant. By Wang Yue’s reasoning, the Bishop should have provided minor assistance first. Only after seeing tangible results and evaluating her performance should they have decided to increase their investment.
Investing so heavily before seeing any results could only mean one thing: the Bishop was getting desperate.
It wasn’t a matter of being unwilling to cut their losses on a “sunk cost,” because the Bishop still didn’t know that Argus’s Gaze no longer belonged to him.
The Church wanted the Academy’s secrets.
So, what exactly is the Academy hiding?
Wang Yue decided to use the Chameleon Key to find the truth. Curiosity demanded satisfaction; even without the Church’s pressure, she would have tried to uncover the truth eventually.
However, even if she found the truth, she would keep it to herself.
As for the Church’s side, Wang Yue began weaving a story. A tale of deities, eternal life, power, miracles, conquest, and treasure… it would be a narrative filled with subtext designed to hook their greed—cold and calculated, just enough to trick those fools into pouring in more resources.
