Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 45: Flaw
“It has been pretty hard to get used to,” Myss shot back almost immediately. “Your body is too boring. There’s not even any fun in imagining ways for it to die.”
“Really? If just a few hours apart is already this unbearable, then if you ever kill me, we’ll be separated forever.” Snake-Salaar hissed.
“That’s different. What belongs to me should be destroyed by me personally. Having it stolen is another matter entirely.”
Myss snorted. “Forget that for now. How did you pull this off?”
“For safety’s sake, I didn’t permanently fix the communicator shell fragment into the badge. If you know where to apply the force, it’s easy enough to pry off.”
Snake-Salaar sounded a little slow and weak. “So before I was sealed into blood amber, I bit it off and hid it in my mouth.”
“My guess is that that ‘me’ will keep you close under watch. He has no need for communication, so he won’t notice the missing shell fragment any time soon.”
“Can you get out on your own?” Myss asked.
“No. Blood amber is more troublesome than I thought.”
Snake-Salaar sighed softly. “It took me hours just to carve out a little breathing room. I don’t know where I am. It’s very dark here, and the Perfected Creation’s presence is extremely strong.”
“I understand myself. If my body dared throw me in here, that means it has great confidence in the security of this place. Even if that thing discovers the shell fragment is gone, it still won’t risk putting me back out where I can be searched for.”
“So, Myss… cough… don’t come looking for me. Right now I’m not much use in a fight, and I can’t help you much. It’s enough if we can stay in contact…”
Myss raised an eyebrow. “What, do you think I need that snake brain of yours?”
Snake-Salaar: “…”
“I’ll kill whoever I want, and I’ll rescue whoever I want. You don’t get a say,” declared the Archdemon. “You say the Perfected Creation’s presence is strong over there? Good. It had better stay there and wait for me to beat it up.”
Snake-Salaar: “……..”
Snake-Salaar: “Looks like you really are in pretty good shape.”
“Not that good. I was still affected a little by the Perfected Creation. Just a tiny bit.” Myss grumbled under his breath. “Listen, I’ve got an operation planned for tomorrow. If it goes well, I’ll definitely find you. I’m absolutely going to snatch you back. Just wait and see.”
“Mm, I’ll wait and see.” A trace of laughter entered the fine little voice. “Do you mind telling me the plan?”
Three minutes later.
“You’ve lost your mind,” snake-Salaar said. “In theory it’s workable, but this method can only be used once…”
“If my ideas started sounding human, that would be madness.” Myss sounded supremely confident. “Just cooperate obediently. The one being rescued shouldn’t talk so much.”
“I’ll do my best.” Salaar laughed quietly. “All right, go eat your meal. It won’t be convenient to act on an empty stomach.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Yes, yes, Lord Myss.”
After the meal, taking advantage of the lunch break, Myss openly slipped away from “Salaar” for a short while and sent out that letter.
To his surprise, “Salaar” actually allowed it without interference of any kind. Salaar’s rationality really was impossible to get a handle on, Myss clicked his tongue to himself.
The cat army wouldn’t arrive until nine the next morning. Until then, he only needed to do one thing—
“Oh no, Cinnamon got loose,” Myss exclaimed in a tone so obviously fake it was almost insulting.
Cinnamon’s ears twitched, and it sprang up as if someone had bitten its backside, leaping straight into Salaar’s paint palette. Salaar steadied the palette, but not well enough to survive a full set of cat paw attacks—the paints all got mixed together, and some splattered onto the canvas.
The culprit held its tail high and scampered out the door, leaving behind a trail of colorful little footprints.
“Salaar”: “…”
He set down his brush in silence and looked at Myss.
Myss didn’t even bother meeting his eyes. The Archdemon sprang up in a flustered rush, chasing after the cat while trying and failing to hide the upward curl of his lips.
“Salaar” shook his head, carefully put away his painting tools, and followed him out.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and everyone in the employee area was working. The moment they saw one of the central topics of conversation suddenly shoot out of his room, the employees all stopped what they were doing and stood up to watch.
Cinnamon clearly understood the art of running through a crowd. At times it ducked under cabinets and tables; at others it sprang onto passing carts. Throughout it all, it didn’t knock over a single thing, moving like weightless, fluffy phantom.
Myss stayed close behind it, letting out little cries as he ran. He kept himself at just the right distance—always about to catch up, never quite doing so—his expression full of sheer delight.
The afternoon sunlight had taken on a honeyed tint. It poured in through vast floor-to-ceiling windows, bright gold washing over every room.
The cat ran forward on its riotously colored little footprints, while Myss followed behind with light, quick steps, the balls of his feet brushing the thick carpets and drawing fresh tracks through them.
It would be more accurate to say he was joyfully running with the cat than merely chasing it.
“Salaar” followed behind like a shadow. Several times he tried using defensive magic to force Cinnamon to stop. Every time, the spell was shattered the instant it appeared by a strand of black magic.
Whenever that happened, Myss would turn his head and pull a face at “Salaar.” A look of brazen amusement danced across his features; he looked utterly delighted.
And so Myss ran lightly onward. His shadow swept past framed hallway paintings, vase after vase of fresh flowers, and glance after glance full of contempt or disdain, rushing deeper into the ever-brighter sunlight.
“Salaar” continued the pursuit as well, his face expressionless, impossible to read.
Myss ran through the first floor’s dining hall, appraisal room, and reception lounge.
The first floor was too close to the exhibition halls, so it had been designated as a transition level. Almost no creative employees worked there.
No one came out to stop him.
The guards saw that he was only chasing a cat and hadn’t knocked over or damaged any property, so they took it as an act of “making amends,” and their expressions were almost pleased.
Myss ran through the second floor’s painting and sculpture work areas, artifact-making area, textile and tailoring area, and materials storehouse.
Most people were concentrated on the second floor, and his and Salaar’s studio was there too. Cinnamon slipped deftly between pairs of human feet, and still no one bothered to stop it.
Either they were shielding their precious work from possible cat collateral damage, or they were looking down on Myss with disdain, terrified of becoming associated with someone so “degrading.”
Myss ran through the third floor’s jewelry design area, finishing and mounting area, and artwork packaging area.
There he saw Truman again. The moment Truman caught sight of Myss charging through, his whole body visibly shook.
His workstation was tucked away in the most remote spot of the entire area. Clearly, smearing Myss’s name had done nothing to improve this “thief’s” treatment.
When Truman saw “Salaar” following behind Myss, he perked up and tried to help catch Cinnamon. But the cat merely ran over his shoe, left a brilliantly colored pawprint there, and escaped without even letting Truman touch the tip of its tail.
During working hours, the fourth floor’s residential section, lounges, and reading rooms were completely empty. Even the servants responsible for cleaning were absent.
Like a lively fish darting through still water, Myss ran on and on without tiring, until—
“The fifth floor is off limits.”
The guards at the stairwell stopped him.
The entrance to the stairs leading up to the fifth floor wasn’t particularly obvious. Two guards stood watch at the steps. The location was extremely hidden. If he hadn’t just plowed through the place like Cinnamon, Myss probably never would have noticed the corner at all.
The two guards weren’t weak. Their Magibases were a pair of large Dobermans. They wore the specially made defensive Red Amber badges, and on their belts hung a row of delicate protective magic artifacts, giving off strong yet tightly controlled magical fluctuations.
Unless he intended to ambush them with lethal force, it would be very hard to take them down quickly. Forcing his way through wasn’t a good idea.
Myss withdrew his gaze and lifted his chin. “My cat ran up there.”
“Rest assured, there’s a sealed security door above. I can bring it back down for you.”
One of the guards spoke with polished courtesy. Sure enough, he soon returned carrying a panting Cinnamon in his arms.
Cinnamon stretched out its paw pads and mewed insistently, clearly with a great deal to say.
“Such tight security?” Myss arched a brow. “Well, that tracks. I haven’t seen the display halls or the vaults yet. I guess all the valuable things are on the fifth floor.”
The guard responded with a flawless smile and no answer.
Myss clicked his tongue.
Then, carrying the warm cat in his arms and the freshly completed “Red Amber map” in his head, he left in satisfaction.
“Did you enjoy your terrain survey?”
Back in the studio, “Salaar” asked him. He was patiently cleaning the spilled paint from all over the floor, with not the slightest trace of impatience on his face.
“I’m pretty happy, since you didn’t start any trouble for me for once.”
Myss said it carelessly, his tone full of that easy satisfaction unique to the victor.
Salaar looked at him with those blood amber eyes. “I simply wanted to know how you intended to get past the defenses. After all, when we were inside the seal, you never attempted anything similar.”
Myss’s hand paused in the middle of stroking the cat.
He was just about to answer, then realized that it was a probing question—he certainly couldn’t say, “I discovered your power can actually hurt me, and my true body can’t take risks.”
Come to think of it, both the Fallen Child and the Perfected Creation were, in a certain sense, able to harm him as well… Things were becoming more interesting by the moment.
In the end, he simply snorted through his nose and went on petting the cat in silence.
……
That evening, at “Salaar’s” explicit insistence, Myss grudgingly moved back into the painter’s suite.
“There won’t be another disturbance like that tonight. We both know those methods are ineffective against you.”
“Salaar” changed into sleepwear with practiced ease. “Still, from now on we’ll be living here together. You’d best get used to it sooner rather than later.”
Myss immediately turned his back on him. He headed straight for the bathroom and locked the door with a sharp click.
The Archdemon turned the bath’s mood music up to its loudest setting, cupped the communicator shell fragment in both hands, and buried himself in a mountain of foam.
“I moved back into the painter’s room,” he muttered to snake-Salaar. “What about you? Still alive?”
“For the time being, I have no intention of dying before you.”
Snake-Salaar’s voice still sounded weak. “Fortunately, Knife is an alchemical creature. It doesn’t need to eat or relieve itself. Otherwise things would be slightly awkward.”
Myss chuckled softly, then quickly filled Salaar in on everything he had discovered during the day. For the first time, he realized he actually had rather a lot to say.
“It’s not safe for me to stay here too long. You remember to tell Kalen about the layout of the collection hall later,” Myss said. “I absolutely have to get out of this damn place. It’s only the second day, and I’m already sick of it.”
Snake-Salaar was silent for a moment. “I know.”
“I’m sleeping in the bathtub tonight. The water stays warm anyway,” Myss continued angrily. “I don’t want to stay in the same space as that thing. Those eyes are unbearable.”
“No. That would ruin your skin, and if you fall asleep you could drown,” snake-Salaar said softly. “If you’re sleeping at night, you shouldn’t have to see the eyes.”
“No, still no.” Myss grumbled on. “He smells like the Perfected Creation’s magic. I hate that smell.”
As he spoke, he also washed Cinnamon’s fur.
Cinnamon had gotten plenty of paint and dust on itself. At the moment it lay obediently in the foam, eyes blissfully narrowed, making loud purring sounds.
“You love the feeling of superiority that comes from looking down on someone so much, I thought you’d keep using ‘me’ as a cushion,’ snake-Salaar remarked.
“What’s the point in winning against an empty shell? That isn’t the real you.”
Typical Knife’s brain to ask such a stupidly simple question. Myss sighed with exaggerated weariness and blew out a few fat soap bubbles.
There was a perfectly decent chaise longue in the room. In a little while, he would simply shove that thing over there and take the double bed for himself.
Yes. That was what he would do.
……
Tass painfully poked his head out of the gem in the wax seal and emerged from the envelope.
The rot across his body still showed no sign of improving. Without Salaar’s treatment, the injuries had spread several times farther than they had in the daytime. The decaying flesh gave off a sweet, rotting scent of pus, and the pain made his vision blacken at the edges.
Myss had said that Mr. Anti’s Magibase still existed… In truth, Tass didn’t know whether that was true or not. He only knew that if he was going to hold out in this hell, he needed some sliver of hope to cling to.
From what he had observed, the mail collection room had a dedicated storage room inside it, layered over with one protective spell after another.
The storage room was even bigger than the reception room outside. Countless letters and documents had been sorted into categories and placed into boxes, then stacked neatly on shelves. Each box bore a label with its time range and person in charge. Everything was arranged with impeccable perfection.
Sometimes, “perfection” did have its advantages, Tass thought bitterly.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time.
At dawn, the attendant at the front desk would change shifts and send out the checked letters. Tass would be able to escape the room through the jewelry on the attendant’s body.
If he missed this chance, he would be trapped inside this room for an entire day with no food or water. Leaving aside whether that would delay the investigation, it was doubtful whether he could endure it at all.
Reciting “Flaw’s” mail dates under his breath, Tass located the corresponding box. It too had quite a few spells laid over it, all of which he quietly and effortlessly moved aside.
The box was rather heavy. Besides the letter records, it also contained a good number of packages wrapped in parchment. Tass gave them a cursory glance. Most seemed to be items that had failed to be delivered and had never been reclaimed.
“Flaw,” “Flaw”… there!
Sender pseudonym: Flaw
Sender’s real name: Antis Crosien
Type of mail request: Plea for help
The moment he saw that name, Tass felt as though he had fallen into an ice pit.
“Flaw” was Antis. The handwriting in the signature was unmistakably Antis’s, the Antis he knew.
…How could that be?
Even with the limitations of the situation, snake-Salaar had only recited the content to him. But the tone and style of that plea-for-help letter sounded nothing like the rigid Antis in his memories.
Tass stretched out a trembling hand and began turning through the records one by one in chronological order.
Plea for help. Plea for help. Plea for help. Still plea for help.
Among the strange recipients, Tass found a few familiar names: scholars with notable achievements in the field of “Magibase vessels.”
Unfortunately, there were only records here, not the actual letters. Tass had no way of knowing what exactly Antis had written, nor what those scholars had written back.
Tass numbly flipped to the very end.
The third-to-last letter had been sent to “Patience.” The second-to-last and the very last had been sent to someone named “V.O.R.” There were no corresponding reply records for Antis’s last three sent letters.
After that, Antis never sent another letter again.
From madly sending letters to total silence, Antis had remained active for less than two months.
Ironically, in this little box Tass found a record of a letter whose recipient had been himself.
It was the earliest one. Antis hadn’t used a pseudonym, so the record had been filed separately. In the field for type of mail request, it said simply: “Friend.”
Tass remembered that letter. Antis had written that he had been rather busy recently and might need to reduce contact for a while, so Tass shouldn’t worry.
The rest had been a few dry greetings and an update on recent circumstances, all as dry as a report form. But at the end, he had unusually added a short passage—
[You were right. I should be brave enough to cast off my father’s ghost. I believe things will improve, my friend.]
[I have seen a sliver of hope. If I can find the courage to make a greater change, I will certainly tell you.]
[Your foolish friend, Antis.]
After those two months of silence, Antis had begun writing to him again. His letters had never changed after that. The format was always identical, the small talk always the same tired topics, even the times he sent them remained almost fixed.
Antis never mentioned “that sliver of hope” again.
Perhaps from that moment on, his friend had already ceased to be… the friend Tass knew.
Tass wiped at his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether it was seepage from his wounds or quiet tears; both tasted like blood.
Focus, Tass. This is absolutely not the time to fall apart.
The Dragon Fae jabbed hard at a wound on his arm, then shook his head violently.
Now that he thought about it, Antis had once sent out desperate cries for help.
If Antis’s human body had been in danger, or if he had suffered some injustice, Antis absolutely would have asked him for help. Which meant the thing Antis wanted help with belonged to a field Tass was utterly powerless in.
As a Dragon Fae assassin highly skilled in magic, the areas in which Tass was “powerless” were extremely limited.
For example: interpersonal relationships, romantic entanglements, or… illness.
…Creak.
Tass was still thinking furiously when the door behind him suddenly opened.
“I knew it was you.”
The newcomer spoke softly.
The author has something to say:
Today I found that a comment about shipping had been reported as “unrelated to the text” and deleted, and honestly, I’m pretty angry about it. So let me make this clear.
It’s normal to disagree with someone else’s interpretation, CP, or character reading. As I said before, as long as it’s not the kind of anti-ship / ship-breaking / self-insert-fantasy mudslinging comment, I’m fine with it. If something is genuinely unrelated to the text, I’ll reply to it myself or delete it myself if I see it.
→ I strongly do not recommend arguing under someone else’s comment—or even reporting their comment—just because you disagree with their character interpretation or what they find cute. ←
The comment section is not, and should not be, a place where only one voice is allowed. As the author, even I don’t think everyone has to enjoy the story or CP in exactly the same way.
Honestly, people read web novels to have fun. No one opens the comments section because they want to watch people fight, and no one likes feeling like they have to weigh every word of a comment in case they get attacked or deleted.
That’s enough already.
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