Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 8: Death Scene

“Are you blind?” a roar came from behind him.

How could anyone ask such a stupid question? Myss turned around and regarded the speaker with his fresh, warm eyes. Only then did he realize he seemed to have bumped someone’s shoulder.

The person he’d hit was a middle-aged man in fine clothes. The instant he saw Myss’s face, his anger miraculously disappeared.

“I mean, you should watch where you’re going, young man.” The man’s tone suddenly softened.

“……” Myss rifled through his memory and chose the word that would end the conversation fastest. “Sorry.”

Taking offense is a kind of caring, and he couldn’t care less about the humanoid in front of him.

But the man had no intention of leaving. Smiling, he stepped half a pace closer. “If you’re really sorry, how about having a drink with me?”

Myss decisively sidestepped him and headed straight for the inn’s dining room. Whatever. It wasn’t as if he’d killed the man on the spot; he had already apologized.

The man’s expression soured, and he reached out to grab Myss.

“Please stop, Lord Covington!”

A young girl hurried over, the broom still in her right hand. Myss remembered her; she was the one who had upgraded them to a suite for free. She looked no more than sixteen.

“Please don’t start anything inside the inn,” the girl said anxiously. “If you’re unhappy, we can comp you a…”

“Out!” Covington shoved her aside with contempt. The girl gave a little yelp and nearly lost her footing.

“I need to teach that brat some manners,” Covington shouted. “A rude, arrogant ranger has offended a nobleman, a royal investigator, a universally recognized gentleman—”

Myss stopped and looked back in puzzlement. “Where are the other two?”

The girl couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Covington’s face lengthened and he punched her in the nose. The faint smell of blood instantly wafted in the air. The commotion brought out another employee, an older man. At the sight of him, the girl cupped her swelling nose and whispered, “Uncle.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow her sobs.

“I apologize, Lord Covington. We are truly very sorry,” her uncle said, bowing low without asking a thing.

“You certainly should be sorry,” Covington said coldly.

He pointed at Myss and launched in, “That ranger seduced a young girl and lured her to a nighttime tryst—I saw it all! That’s illicit relations!”

Faced with the charge falling out of the sky, the girl froze in fright.

She pressed her nose tight; blood dripped between her fingers. Her uncle turned pale and looked at Myss, nearly in despair.

They could all guess what would come next—the ranger could roam the world, so Myss could easily offend him and walk away. Convington would then make the charges stick and bar Myss from entering Rosha ever again. As for whether this would implicate the mere girl, Lord Convington couldn’t care less.

However, Myss didn’t leave immediately.

Illicit relations—Myss had heard of it. The slave traders had said unmarried men and women were forbidden from having intimate physical relations.

It was a delicate offense that people usually didn’t bring it to light, just as no one questioned what a slave owner did to his own slaves. But once the charge stuck, both parties would be imprisoned.

He didn’t care about that; no human prison could hold him. But this man claimed to be a royal investigator. He might know something useful.

Myss thought for a moment, then walked up to Covington. “Looks like you really do want to have a drink with me.”

He stood very close. Covington flushed, still speaking loudly. “I mean, if you come with me to make a confession… since you and that girl didn’t have time to do anything, I’ll let it slide…”

“Then let’s go,” Myss said.

The girl gave a sob; she seemed to have misunderstood, her eyes full of apology. Myss didn’t acknowledge her look and just followed casually behind Covington.

Covington’s room was at the other end of the corridor. It was a single suite furnished with luxury.

The lighting was warm, the flowers in the vase were still beaded with dew, and the table was piled with refreshments and fruit. Beside a silver bowl of whipped cream, Myss spotted fresh raspberries.

“You shouldn’t have made this so complicated,” Covington said as he drew the curtains, his voice a mix of annoyance and self-satisfaction. He puffed out his chest, turned with great presence, and then—

He discovered Myss eating his late-night snack.

Myss sat properly at the table, focused on dipping raspberries in cream, as if Covington were nothing more than a squeaky clothes rack.

Convington: “……” 

His face flushed again, his chest heaving violently. “Don’t play dumb. I only have to say the word to have you locked up in Rosha for half a year!”

Only half a year? Myss couldn’t help laughing.

The one who had locked him up for three hundred years hadn’t been this arrogant. He wondered whether Salaar had finished that bag of croutons; his own midnight snack was far more sumptuous.

At that laugh, Covington’s tone softened again. “Listen, as long as you behave…”

“Mm-hmm, I’m listening,” Myss said offhandedly, then steered the topic. “If you really are a royal investigator, you should know Rosha pretty well.

Are there any lunatics in town who like to tinker with magic? Or other abnormal people?”

He asked so naturally that Covington was thrown for a loop. “You mean that demon…”

Halfway through, he snapped back to himself. Damn it, the other’s attitude was like placating a wailing child. 

“Boy, what’s that tone?!” Covington roared.

Myss didn’t answer—he had finished the raspberries and cream and was busy enjoying a plate of roast quail with sauce.

Veins bulged at Covington’s temples. He whipped out his staff and muttered under his breath for quite a while. A chain of blue light sprang from the staff’s tip and quickly wrapped Myss’s wrists and ankles.

“I didn’t want to be this rough.” He gritted his teeth. “If only you would… you…”

Myss easily crushed the chains and kicked them aside. “‘That demon’? And then what?”

Covington choked. It was as if he suddenly sobered up; a fine sweat broke out on his forehead.

Myss had used no magical artifacts and didn’t chant any incantations.

Mages would spend their lives trying to shorten casting time. Covington had heard of mages who cast with extreme speed; without exception, they were powerful figures.

And this kid was young and arrogant. Could he be the prized disciple of some archmage?

“That demon, well,” Covington replied dryly. “That’s classified. I can’t disclose it…”

But if he didn’t talk… he was in the wrong right now, and if this guy went back and complained, his career could be finished.

“The Demon of Rosha” was a thorny case. He had already been anxious to the point of life and death, and his migraines were getting worse by the day. Damn it, how was he supposed to clean up this mess?

Maybe he should confess to this kid, say he had been under too much pressure lately and that was why he had done something so ridiculous…

From the bottom of his heart he wanted to get out of this hellhole…

…He was homesick…

“Mom…” Covington let out a faint, abrupt cry.

Myss found himself standing up without realizing it.

He smelled the fragrance again. It came from Covington a few steps away, even sweeter and richer than the woman in the bookstore.

Myss knew it was just beneath Covington’s skin, seeping out as a warm aroma. It was like freshly baked butter cookies slipped into a paper bag; all he had to do was tear the wrapping and devour it.

Maybe he could eat Covington and see what would happen.

But a part of his mind—the part Salaar had nagged ragged—told him not to. Covington’s status was troublesome. If he ate him on a whim, they could forget about a quiet investigation afterward.

Fine. The priority was to ask about the demon.

Lord Karns had tried to summon a demon, and a demon had actually appeared in the city of his pen pal. What were the odds? The “demon” was almost certainly connected to that mysterious correspondent.

Myss was still thinking when that wonderful scent suddenly weakened.

Covington gave a bewildered burp, his limbs twitching like an insect’s. A moment later his staff clattered to the floor, and his arms and legs bent rapidly, folding unnaturally across his chest.

Covington was obese and this posture didn’t suit him. Yet his bones curved stubbornly, sinking his head and limbs deep into his own flesh. His skin sealed over as swiftly as honey, drawing out flesh-red threads.

A translucent wild rabbit poked its head from the back of his neck, but it had barely emerged halfway before it snapped back, as if yanked to where it came from.

Like that, Covington arched high and began to float, his whole body congealing into a flesh-colored egg, or a chrysalis.

His heartbeat grew fainter and fainter until it vanished into the silent room. The fragrance vanished with it, slipping away and leaving only a tasteless husk behind.

At the instant Covington died, a hoarse caw of a crow sounded outside the window.

The transformation was so swift that Myss hadn’t even finished his roast quail. With the quail bone between his teeth, he regarded the corpse in displeasure.

How did this guy transform at the drop of a hat and then die in such a grotesque shape—

Bang!

Covington’s door flew open. Salaar rushed into the room, then fell silent.

Why did the scene look so familiar? He had just finished appraising the Old Aiken mincemeat, and now he was greeted by Lord Covington’s corpse.

The body was curled like an embryo, bobbing in the air like a nightmare. In the dim light, the space right around it warped slightly; something was clearly off.

Salaar threw a cup at the corpse. The little wineglass passed straight through, as if it were only a phantom.

“Believe it or not, this time it wasn’t me.”

Myss picked up a bowl of custard from the table. After saying it, curiosity struck him. “Did you come to save him?”

“More or less.” Salaar sighed. “That little girl is very brave. She hesitated for a bit, then still ran to find me and said my companion was in trouble… Speaking of which, why did you go with him?”

He didn’t think Myss had been trying to help the girl.

Chewing custard, Myss said, “He claimed to be a royal investigator, so I wanted to pry some things out of him. I wasn’t planning to kill him.”

“But he’s dead,” Salaar said. “You say it wasn’t you, and I believe you. Others may not see it that way.”

“‘You believe me’?” Myss couldn’t help repeating. Was this guy really that trusting?

“All right, my Demon Lord, there’s no need to lie about something like this.” Salaar snatched the custard from his hand. “We can discuss details later. For now let us leave—”

Crash!

Another huge sound, this time from the window.

Countless shards of glass crashed to the floor as a pitch-black figure hurtled into the room.

The man was swathed in a tattered cloak and stood nearly two meters tall. He wore a top hat and a mask that looked like a bird’s beak.

With his heavy breathing, a choking herbal smell spread through the room. Three to five crows settled at his feet, cawing at the top of their lungs.

Myss tensed at once. A rainstorm of power slammed into his brain. Without a doubt, another predator had stepped into his territory.

At the same time, dozens of chaotic footsteps sounded outside the door, clearly rushing towards them.

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The author has something to say:

The beaked mask is a plague doctor’s mask!

Salaar: My friend, why does anyone who is alone with you end up dead? Am I the only survivor?

I am planning a new novel—if you are interested, little angels, click on it and bookmark it.

A Crime Unworthy of Death

Original • Pure Romance (BL) • Modern and Contemporary • Fantasy

Childhood friends (?) becomes sworn enemies

Tags: strong x strong, soul swap, twist of fate, supernatural abilities

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Kinky Thoughts:

Summary for Nian Zhong next upcoming novel:

On the night of their decisive victory, General Luo Xia was mysteriously attacked and his consciousness slipped into a parallel world.

In this unlucky timeline, they failed to stop the apocalypse, the base was destroyed by enemy espers, his special-ops unit never even existed, and he lost contact with all his subordinates. His childhood best friend and brother-in-arms, General Yi Beiwang, had no memory of him at all.

Then Luo Xia discovered that in this worldline the enemy organization’s world-ending boss—whose identity was shrouded in mystery and “deserves a thousand deaths”… seemed to be himself.

Grim, justice-obsessed gong × adaptable, sly shou

Post-apocalyptic espers. A story where he tragically becomes the enemy boss and, while being hunted by his comrade (?).

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A note: The title is based off the idiom “Deserving of (ten) a thousand deaths” (罪该万死), which refers to a crime that is so great, even a thousand deaths won’t be enough to atone for it.

In this case, one word is replaced to make it “Undeserving of death” (罪该不死), which basically means the opposite, where the crime doesn’t deserve death.

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