Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 36: Subtle Abnormalities
“The two of you really are very sweet together,” said Mr. Anti.
In front of him, the entire bedroom looked as though a hurricane had swept through. The large bed sat crooked and askew, the carpet had been kicked into folds, lamps and small pieces of furniture lay scattered on the floor, and here and there were traces of blood.
At the center of the disordered bed, “Young Master Karns” was lying on his back, his sleep-robe collar hanging wide open, his upper body covered in bite marks and claw scratches. His beautiful lover was sprawled over his chest, his long legs draped across the young master’s, both of them wearing that groggy haze of insufficient sleep.
A cat with a ribbon around its neck hopped onto the padded headboard and curled itself back into an oval.
“We suddenly felt like trying something more exciting. That’s a bit troublesome to do outside.”
Salaar raised himself slightly and said it in an especially smug tone. “Have the room cleaned before lunch. Change the fragrance to sweet fruit. My darling likes it.”
As he spoke, Salaar’s gaze stayed locked on Anti.
Even if that Dragon Fae was an assassin from the Karns family, there was still no way to say for certain whether Mr. Anti knew about it. He could indeed be collaborating with the Dragon Fae, but he might also simply be a pawn being used by the Karns family.
Unfortunately, Mr. Anti showed no special reaction.
“Someone will come clean the room at once,” he said. “It seems the two of you intend to take breakfast in the dining room. I’ll give instructions for Mr. Myss to be served something easy to digest.”
Salaar: “Did you, the master of the house, come all the way here at this ungodly hour just to play butler?”
“Next, I need to go to the Red Amber for work, and I won’t return until midnight.” Mr. Anti’s mood remained extraordinarily steady. “I merely heard that you came back early last night, so I came to greet you and say goodbye while I was at it.”
“Speaking of the Red Amber, I happen to have a fresh bit of news.”
Salaar reached out and stroked Myss’s long hair. The latter choked on a yawn and stiffened in silent resentment. “Mr. Iver from the Red Amber will be coming to visit this morning. He’s taking us to tour the Red Amber. I gave him a verbal promise last night, so I now count as half an employee of the Red Amber.”
“I specifically invited him to dine with us. Oh, and that will be in half an hour. Make breakfast more lavish and prepare two suitable formal outfits for us.”
“And don’t forget our little cat. Prepare the freshest goat’s milk, half-cooked egg yolk, and steamed fish for it.”
Even faced with such fussy and troublesome demands, Mr. Anti’s gaze stayed as placid as ever. “Understood.”
…The one who wasn’t placid was Myss.
For no other reason than that the formalwear Mr. Anti sent over was a huge nuisance.
The ranger outfit he had been wearing before had been loose and comfortable, like a warm nest. What now lay before him—
“What is this thing?” Myss said in disgust, tugging at a swath of silk.
The edges were covered in exaggerated ruffles and dense gold embroidery, the buttons were set with eye-searing gemstones, and the whole thing reminded him of that detestable Truman.
Fortunately, the servants had delivered more than one set of formal clothes. After picking through them, Salaar chose a restrained and elegant combination for Myss: a loose white shirt fastened with silver buttons, paired with a cobalt-blue cravat embroidered in gold thread. The trousers were a classic high-waisted cut, drawing in the hem of the shirt and making the waistline look clean and graceful.
Most importantly, this outfit was decorated only with white pearls and contained no gemstones.
The clothes Salaar chose for himself were much bolder.
He picked a deep V-neck dark blue shirt with laces, exposing most of his chest, and a belt slung low at an angle, decorated with openwork silver pieces. The brooch Myss had given him was pinned to his chest, and the entire look came across as free-spirited and dashing.
With a black outer coat thrown on casually over it, he transformed from a “gloomy scholar” into a “brooding artist.” Naturally, aside from that glass brooch and the hidden Red Amber badge, Salaar also wore no gemstones.
Fork resumed its disguise as a silver bracelet, while Knife once again became a snake-staff, held firmly in Salaar’s hand. The calico cat Cinnamon let out a little meow and expertly leapt onto Myss’s shoulder, puffing out its chest with imposing dignity.
Everything was ready. It was time to march into battle, or rather, to the breakfast table.
“I still like loose clothes better. Why are your pants so relaxed while mine aren’t?”
Myss stretched his legs awkwardly. If it weren’t for annoying human manners, he would much rather have gone out in sleepwear.
“Because you’re playing the model, and I’m playing the artist,” Salaar replied. “If you can paint in my place, I’m willing to wear tight trousers.”
Myss gave a snort and stepped out first.
……
Mr. Anti’s dining room was as perfect as Mr. Anti himself. Never mind the fresh flowers and spotless tablecloth, even the placement of the cutlery was extremely deliberate.
Kalen had gone to perform his morning prayers and was eating breakfast in his room, so only four place settings had been prepared at the table.
Myss sat pressed close to Salaar. The two of them crowded together at the host’s place and shared one set of utensils. On Myss’s left sat Mr. Anti; on his right sat Iver.
The breakfast spread was abundant: thin slices of tender venison, cured cod, fresh berries, and cheese. The pale fruit wine was at just the right temperature, and the white bread came with a bright, savory meat sauce.
“Long time no see, my Anti.”
Iver greeted him openly, his smile as moist and fresh as the flowers in the vase.
“Good morning, Mr. Iver,” Mr. Anti replied politely, his eyes lowered to the food.
Salaar casually cut a piece of venison and placed it in front of Myss. “So the two of you know each other.”
“Yes. We used to be very good friends.”
Iver elegantly speared a piece of cured cod. “Did you see the little dog in the yard? Its name is Pinecone. I gave it to him.”
Mr. Anti merely smiled and didn’t answer. His knife and fork moved soundlessly through the venison.
Myss suddenly had a strange feeling.
This man’s demands on “manners” bordered on the pathological. Compared with a flesh-and-blood human being, Mr. Anti was more like a carefully tuned mechanical pocket watch: refined, proper, carrying a human body temperature, yet utterly devoid of a human liveliness.
If Salaar were like this, then three hundred years of sealing probably would have been even harder for him to bear. It was hard to imagine that such a person had once been friends with someone as smooth-tongued as Iver.
Using Salaar as cover, Myss stole a glance at Iver. Iver’s Magibase was a golden retriever, quietly lying at its owner’s feet.
“…The two of you were more than just friends, weren’t you? After all, Iver has never called me ‘my Kendrick’.”
Salaar teased shamelessly, his knuckles brushing past the corner of Myss’s mouth in a suggestive gesture. “Everyone can relax. Look at me. I have no prejudice whatsoever against same-sex lovers.”
Myss had to draw on every scrap of self-control he had not to bite that hand.
“Haha, we really were just friends.” Iver laughed aloud. “I just like teasing him. Our perfect Mr. Anti is destined to marry a noble and beautiful wife, then have a pair of adorable children, one boy and one girl.”
“Just being friends with someone like me is already more than he can stand for very long. After all, my ancestors were slaves. He can’t accept that.”
Even Myss could tell that was a cutting remark. And yet Mr. Anti neither confirmed nor denied it. He simply continued eating breakfast in silence.
“I think we can go to the Red Amber together.”
That was the only thing he volunteered during the meal.
…And then Myss gained a profound personal understanding of what humans meant by “awkwardness.”
Inside the large carriage compartment, Anti sat primly dressed, dozing with his eyes closed. Iver sat with his arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, turning to look out the window.
The two of them radiated a terrifying atmosphere of silence, so much so that even Salaar had trouble playing “Karns.”
As a result, Salaar pretended to have developed an intense fascination with Myss’s braid, while Myss busied himself playing with Cinnamon’s fluffy tail. Only Cinnamon was completely carefree, sitting in a dignified little loaf on Myss’s lap.
That stiff air felt strangely familiar. When they had been traveling with Truman, the carriage had felt much the same.
This time, though, Father Kalen wasn’t here suffering alongside them. According to the plan they made at dawn, they were splitting up today.
The priest and the cats would investigate the deaths in the city, while Salaar and Myss would make the first move in probing the Red Amber. It was simply more efficient that way.
“By the way, what happened to that Truman? The one who got us thrown in jail,” Salaar asked Anti, making conversation where there was none. “He confessed yesterday, so there ought to be some outcome today.”
“Ah, that young man who swapped out the Saint’s Blood.”
Before Mr. Anti could speak, Iver cut in. “His family didn’t bail him out, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
“Pathetic wretch,” Salaar remarked indifferently.
“But he isn’t in prison anymore either.” Iver smiled. “The Red Amber vouched for him and took him away last night.”
“…You what?” Salaar uttered incredulously.
Even Myss, who had been busy playing with the cat, turned his head and stared at Iver in surprise.
“Believe it or not, that boy has excellent taste in gemstones. Lady Avril happens to be one of our long-standing clients. After negotiations on our part, she agreed to let him make amends by crafting a brand-new set of jewelry for her.”
Myss cast a look of pity toward Salaar. You hauled me around through all this trouble just to get the Red Amber’s attention. Look at miraculous Truman over there. He didn’t do a thing, and the Red Amber pulled him out on its own.
“Is it, forgive me, only because he has ‘good taste’?” Salaar said, avoiding Myss’s stare and sounding genuinely stunned. “I thought the Red Amber had high standards.”
“Haha, Lady Avril told us herself that the substitute ring was good enough to pass for the real thing. If she hadn’t set tracking magic on the genuine ring ahead of time, even she wouldn’t have seen the difference.”
Iver spoke in a measured tone. “Apparently the imitation gemstone was chosen personally by ‘Truman.’ Maybe he has no sense at all when it comes to schemes, but he really does have top-tier craftsman’s taste. The Manning family has held its position in the capital for generations because of its jewelry business. It’s not surprising he inherited that talent.”
It seems we’re destined to cross paths with that powder-faced idiot again, Myss thought, burying his nose in Cinnamon’s soft fur. Cinnamon let out a soft little purr and pressed a paw pad against Myss’s forehead.
The carriage rolled onward with a creaking rhythm, and quite a few people noticed Salaar and Myss inside.
Whether it was the aftershock of “The End of the World” or not, glances shot in one after another like arrows, carrying a heat that felt distinctly uncomfortable.
Salaar had no choice but to lower the carriage curtain, cutting off those feverish stares. Iver gazed fixedly at the two of them, the smile at the corner of his mouth growing slightly wider.
“Oh, the people of Sepati have an especially intense longing for beauty.” His voice was slow and soothing. “Believe me, you’ll get used to it.”
At his side, Mr. Anti remained utterly silent
Fortunately, the Red Amber Collection Hall wasn’t far from Mr. Anti’s residence, so this exhausting journey soon came to an end.
The Red Amber Collection Hall was a freestanding stone building located in the central district of Sepanti City.
The building was much larger than Myss had expected. The main entrance was grand and beautiful, without the gaudy decadence of a place given over to indulgence. At the moment, the great doors of the Red Amber were shut tight, with a “Closed” sign written in gold ink hanging outside.
Iver led them to a narrow side door, saying it was the entrance used by employees.
…The instant they stepped into the Red Amber Collection Hall, even Myss nearly let out an audible gasp of awe.
The interior of the collection hall looked even more vast than the outside. The enormous space seemed capable of swallowing all amazement whole.
The walls were all painted a dark red that was neither too vivid nor too dull, and they were covered with huge paintings. Beautiful sculptures and vessels stood along the walls, while brilliant lights illuminated rows upon rows of jewels.
The lofty ceiling was covered in an elaborate mural of the cycle of the four seasons, and the floor was polished marble bright enough to reflect a person’s face, overlaid with finely patterned handwoven carpets.
Lord Archdemon had no understanding of human aesthetics, but the force of those colors went beyond “beauty” and pierced straight through him. An ordinary person might very well have their soul seized away on the spot.
Myss instinctively glanced at Salaar.
Oh, as expected, his mortal enemy hadn’t been captivated by the artwork at all. He was openly looking at Myss instead.
“That’s enough. I know those things are valuable. I’m not going to touch them,” Myss muttered.
“Mm-hmm.” Salaar chuckled softly.
At the moment, there were no outsiders in the collection hall. Everyone coming and going was an employee of the place. Each one was handsome or proper-looking, dressed impeccably, and looked no different from nobles at a ball.
Whenever they noticed Myss and Salaar arriving, the people passing by all nodded in greeting, their smiles as perfectly measured as Mr. Anti’s.
Mr. Anti straightened his collar, bowed to Salaar, and then simply disappeared down the corridor.
“Welcome to the Red Amber Collection Hall.” Iver drew his gaze back from Anti, the smile on his face never changing in the slightest. “As agreed, today the two of you may wander the exhibition area for three hours, and I will accompany you the entire time.”
“The employee area is relatively restricted. You’ll have to sign the contract before you can enter. I hope you understand.”
“Mm. If my darling enjoys himself, I’ll sign sooner.” Salaar said lazily, then steered the subject elsewhere as if casually. “But when you say the employee area is restricted, does that mean once the two of us go in, we won’t be able to come out again to enjoy ourselves?”
“In principle, yes.” Iver put on a regretful expression. “Before the contract term ends, we cannot tolerate our employees coming to harm, nor can we bear the risk of details about their works leaking out.”
“I know that’s hard to endure, so rest assured, we’ll provide very generous compensation.”
Myss scrunched up his face. “Mr. Anti can clearly go out.”
He had had enough of being locked up, whether in that pitch-black seal or in the glaring red cage before him.
“The only reason Antis Crosien is allowed to leave as an exception is to receive Mr. Karns. Otherwise, even with his flawless record, he wouldn’t be permitted to go out.”
Iver explained patiently.
“All right,” Salaar said, smoothly guiding the conversation elsewhere again. “Then what about letters? Surely you don’t ban people from writing letters too?”
“Nothing that extreme. As long as they don’t mention work-related matters, letters and parcels are fine. We have designated agents to receive them, along with special detection magic that can inspect them without opening them.” Iver smiled. “Believe me, the privacy of correspondence here is very well protected.”
In other words, security was tight. They weren’t going to be able to sneak in and rummage around.
Myss and Salaar exchanged a glance.
Salaar: “Oh right, I just remembered. A friend of mine has a pen pal here. The name was… let me think… something like ‘Flaw.’”
“Ahahaha!”
Iver burst into laughter as though he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. “Heavens, your friend must have met an impostor. There’s absolutely no one at the Red Amber who would use a name like that!”
“Flaw, Blemish, Imperfection… Those are all words the whole of Sepanti despises. Just as a gourmet wouldn’t use ‘maggot’ as a pen name, no artist at the Red Amber would ever call themselves ‘Flaw.’”
“Perhaps it’s some rebellious, unconventional artist,” Salaar said.
“In that case, one of us ‘Gold Prospectors’ would never have discovered them,” Iver said, still smiling as he shook his head. “All right, enough of that. Please come this way. This is the hall for landscapes…”
The collections of the Red Amber Collection Hall’s were astonishing indeed, and Salaar looked with a fair amount of focus.
Myss, however, couldn’t hold out. Lord Archdemon didn’t have much of a human artistic soul, and once the initial novelty wore off, he started yawning nonstop.
If Cinnamon’s lively bouncing about had not been so refreshing, Myss would definitely have found a bench and taken a nap. After two and a half hours of wandering, he finally couldn’t stand it anymore and returned fully to his role as a “spoiled lover.”
“Hey. I’m hungry. I need something to eat.”
Iver responded with perfect courtesy. “I’ll take the two of you to the VIP dining room at once.”
“I want to go outside and get some air,” Myss insisted. “I hate being shut up in this damned place.”
Hearing the keyword “shut up,” Salaar gave a visible start and immediately turned syrupy-sweet. “Is that so, darling? Then let’s go get some air by the river. You worked hard last night.”
“You know it,” Myss retorted entirely without modesty.
Iver touched his chin. “Mm, I wouldn’t personally recommend it, but if the two of you insist…”
“In any case, I’ll wait here. You’re welcome to come sign the contract at any time.”
He shrugged and made an inviting gesture.
……
Very soon, Myss understood exactly what Iver had meant by “I wouldn’t personally recommend it.”
Even wearing a mask, he could feel people’s gazes sticking to him from all directions. Those gazes clung like spider silk, making his whole body uncomfortable.
“Heavens, you two are the artist and model from ‘The End of the World’!”
They had barely sat down in a small restaurant when they were swarmed by waiters. “That painting is so beautiful. Could you sign something for us?”
Even the chef burst out from the back kitchen, brandishing a sharp little knife. “Use this, please! Sign it on me!”
Identical smiles were plastered across all their faces—ingratiating, bashful, and held at exactly the right distance. A perfectly polite smile no one could possibly dislike.
Salaar grabbed Myss and bolted. Cinnamon was nearly flung off and had to cling tightly to Myss’s shirt with its claws.
The moment the two of them left, everyone reverted to normal. The chef put his hat back on, the waiters smoothed their hair, and everyone resumed being perfectly composed.
Watching from the corner of his eye, Salaar fell silent.
“Myss…do you feel like something’s wrong?”
Myss shook his head.
Truth be told, he had been startled too. But he hadn’t detected anything strange like “Mina’s magical red threads.” Everything looked completely normal.
“All right. Maybe they just… really love art,” Salaar ventured, though he sounded doubtful even to himself.
But when they tried the next restaurant, the situation was exactly the same.
This time even the owner came running out. Waving a canvas and brush, he begged Salaar to paint a few strokes on the spot, promising to hang the result in the most prominent place.
While Myss was secretly laughing at Salaar, the owner had the audacity to stretch out a pair of scissors toward the ends of Myss’s pale hair.
If Salaar hadn’t been quick enough, Fork would have bitten the owner’s nose right off.
…After fleeing that place too, both of them fell silent.
Those spiderweb-like gazes were everywhere. Myss was almost beginning to feel confused. Barely one night had passed, and every person in Sepanti now knew “The End of the World”. He and Salaar had become more popular than the king and queen.
Merely walking down the street, their presence seemed to become like a wind passing over a sea of wheat, causing gaze after gaze to bow toward them. And yet every single person remained exquisitely polite. The moment Myss or Salaar showed the slightest sign of refusal, the people backed off faster than they themselves moved. No one forced them to do anything.
Stranger still, those gazes weren’t envy, admiration, or jealousy.
They were something more basic, akin to the instinctive need to breathe or eat, like moths at night chasing light.
After a while, Myss was exhausted. Salaar had successfully stepped into the spotlight, yes, but the spotlight was roasting them dry.
The Dragon Fae hadn’t shown up yet, but the citizens of Sepanti were already sniping at them from all directions. So last night’s spectacle really hadn’t been a coincidence. There was something wrong with everyone here.
Lord Archdemon scratched at his head in bewilderment, nearly ruining the hairstyle Salaar had carefully arranged for him. This time he deliberately focused his senses but still detected no abnormal magical fluctuation at all.
“Salaar… I’m really hungry.”
Having failed to think of anything, Myss said it miserably. Even Cinnamon let out two dissatisfied meows.
A young mortal body got hungry fast, especially after they had spent half the day running around without so much as a drink of water. It was already past lunchtime by now. Myss’s stomach was growling and snarling, and even Salaar was beginning to feel lightheaded.
With the strange events in Rosha fresh in mind, even though the locals hadn’t actually done anything too excessive, neither of them dared eat the things handed to them by these people.
“We’re going to find Father Kalen.” Salaar’s patience was clearly worn down. “Change of plans. We need to enter the Red Amber early—”
“Hiss!” Cinnamon suddenly let out a sharp hiss.
Salaar dodged on instinct, and a streak of light flashed past, slicing open the side of his neck.
“How sly. You even brought a cat!”
The Dragon Fae hovered in midair, his delicate face twisted in irritation. Yet he only complained aloud and made no attempt to attack Cinnamon.
Myss stepped in front of Salaar. Fork coiled on the back of his hand, poised to strike.
The moment the Dragon Fae saw Myss, a very obvious trace of fear crossed his face. He clicked his tongue and vanished in a blur, diving into the pendant worn by a child passing nearby.
The child was wearing one of Sepanti’s very fashionable “multicolored discs,” a pendant set with scraps of gemstones in every color imaginable. Myss had no idea which one the Dragon Fae had entered.
“Little one, could we take a look at your pendant?” Salaar called the child over in a warm voice.
Surely a child would not be too fanatical about art.
The child, who couldn’t have been more than ten, looked up at him and suddenly smiled.
Ingratiating, bashful, and held at exactly the right distance. A perfectly polite smile no one could possibly dislike.
“Of course, sir,” the child said obediently. “As long as that big brother model gives me one strand of hair. If you do, I’ll be very happy, and so will Mama and Papa!”
“Can he?”
“Can he?”
“Can he?”
The author has something to say:
Salaar: Absolutely not.
Good news: becoming famous worked very well.
Bad news: becoming famous worked too well.
I think everyone’s been pretty sharp about it. There is something jussst a bit off with the people in this city. [dog head emoji]
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