Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 49: Your Foolish Friend
The day after Father’s funeral, day one.
Antis had considered making everything public. But at Father’s funeral, quite a few powerful “clients” had come. They mourned the old taxidermist’s death, while their words carried just the right amount of warning beneath the surface.
Ultimately, Antis could only bury the specimens in the hidden room, divide up most of the inheritance he had received, and secretly compensate the victims’ surviving family members.
Without Father, the estate felt especially empty. Antis brought Pinecone back to the house and built it a doghouse in the yard.
The day after Father’s funeral, day two.
Antis felt like a child who had suddenly been given both money and freedom. He wanted to do everything yet had no idea where to begin.
If he failed to get up on time, or if his footsteps sounded too loud as he walked, no furious rebuke came. If he was half a minute late to a meal, or let his knife and fork strike the dishes, there was no longer any whipping magic lashing across his back.
And yet, Antis discovered that he was like a fruit shaped inside a mold.
Even though Father was dead, Father’s ghost still followed behind him. His voice still clung to Antis’s ears.
Antis continued his old habits with painstaking exactness, more precise than the second hand of a clock. The moment he slowed by even half a beat, his heart would spasm with pain, making him miserable.
The day after Father’s funeral, day three.
Antis realized with a start that, compared to before, his life had become neither more miserable nor happier.
He only found himself thinking about Iver more often. Iver had also attended Father’s funeral, mourning the death of this patron, completely unaware of the danger he himself had been in.
In Iver’s eyes, Father must have been the only noble who had acknowledged his paintings and been willing to sponsor him. It was the first time Antis had ever seen Iver that sad.
Antis thought that this still wasn’t the time to tell Iver the truth.
Iver’s paintings were attracting more and more attention. He could… He could wait until Iver achieved success, until their relationship grew better, and then speak that cruel truth aloud.
The day after Father’s funeral, day four.
Iver invited Antis out to relax.
Antis was shocked to discover that his heart was beating rapidly with joy. Before this, he had thought Iver was merely showing courtesy to “a patron’s son.”
He had never expected that after Father’s death, Iver would still be willing to contact him. Contact him. Him, a man who followed rules to the letter, who barely had any personality at all. And Iver still hadn’t gotten tired of him.
No, calm down, Antis. Perhaps Iver simply still needed your sponsorship.
Antis changed into his finest formalwear and went to the little tavern they frequented most often. Iver looked much the same as usual, except this time he was carefully watching Antis’s expression.
“You don’t need to worry about money. I’ll continue sponsoring your work.” After hesitating again and again, Antis decided to bring it up first.
“No, no, I don’t need your sponsorship, Anti. My paintings have been selling pretty well lately.” Iver shook his head. “I’m just worried about you. Did I ask you out too early? But leaving you all alone didn’t seem right either.”
“I’m fine,” Antis replied politely.
Iver looked at him with those moist eyes, his gaze still full of concern.
Antis straightened his back even more and secretly adjusted his crooked bow tie, like a plant enjoying the sunlight.
“Well, all right.” Iver scratched his head. “How should I put this… this is probably your first time living on your own. If there’s anything you’re not used to, you can ask me anytime.”
“Can I ask about anything?” Antis said.
“Of course.”
“Why did you ask me out?” Antis asked.
Iver stared at him, then laughed helplessly. “Good heavens, Anti, you really are ruthless. I thought we were friends.”
“But as a person, I have no interesting qualities at all,” Antis said, the words spilling out like beans from a sack.
“My life never changes. It’s hard to find anything to talk about. I’m bad with words. I can’t make you laugh. I have too many shortcomings.”
Iver raised a brow. “Being loved doesn’t require qualifications.”
“I don’t understand.” Antis said honestly, “Only perfect people deserve acknowledgment. That’s how the world has always worked.”
“Haa.” Iver rubbed at his temple. “Listen carefully, Anti. As long as people are alive, they’ll produce flaws of all sizes. If you want to make absolutely no mistakes, the only way is to do nothing at all.”
“If you ask me, life is like painting. It’s impossible for every single detail to be perfect. As long as you paint those few strokes filled with your heart, it’s already a beautiful painting.”
Antis looked at him, only half comprehending.
“Take you, for example. You care about small animals on your own initiative. You’re not greedy for money, power, or beauty. You have a precious sense of justice.”
“Of course, every noble pretends to be that sort of person. But you’re different. You’re not pretending. Do you know the look in your eyes when you look at a puppy? That kind of softness can’t be faked. And the way you look at people too…”
By the last part, Iver paused slightly and said no more.
Antis still looked at Iver in that half-comprehending way. Iver always said things Antis had never thought about before.
The feeling was truly peculiar. It was as if Iver had peeled open the flesh of a fruit deformed by its mold and found the pit named “Antis” inside, a heart Antis himself had never understood.
He felt both uneasy and buoyant at once and could only sip his apple wine little by little.
When the drink was nearly gone, he summoned his courage, or perhaps the magic of alcohol did it for him and extended an invitation to Iver.
“D-do… Do you want to watch me make a specimen?”
Antis spoke extremely slowly, like a shellfish cautiously opening its shell.
“For the next few days, I’ll be doing commission work at the Red Amber. If… I mean if… you’re still interested…”
A slight change came over Iver’s expression, as if a shadow had passed over it. But that shadow disappeared almost at once, replaced by a bright smile.
“I’ve got something to do in the next few days. Is Sunday okay?”
“Then Sunday it is.”
Even after he returned home, Antis couldn’t come back down from the faint intoxicated feeling that had lingered after that conversation.
His heart still beat furiously, so hard that he couldn’t bear silence or idleness. Antis trimmed the entire yard, scrubbed the floors of the whole house, and also wrote Tass a letter.
[You were right. I should have the courage to cast off Father’s ghost. I believe everything will get better, my friend.]
Today, he had actually invited Iver. He had voluntarily bared to Iver a side of himself that was “less than perfect.”
[I have seen a sliver of hope. If I can summon the courage to make a greater change, I will definitely tell you.]
Only today did he realize that Tass and Iver weren’t the same kind of “friend.”
Antis held Tass in high regards, and receiving a letter from Tass also made him very happy. But that was a happiness that came from the “mind.” His heartbeat always remained steady.
Iver… Iver was different. He couldn’t put the difference into words. He only knew that if it was that person, then that person would definitely bring even more change into his life.
When facing Iver, his heart would always tighten because of nervousness, ache because he was not perfect enough, and slam hard against his chest, like a different kind of whipping.
Only, this whipping brought no pain. It brought numbness and joy.
[Your foolish friend, Antis.]
Even if he was terribly obtuse, he would still figure out this strange difference.
Because their future was full of hope, and they still had long lives ahead of them.
After writing the letter, Antis sealed it as usual, preparing to take it to the Red Amber for delivery.
The Red Amber’s mail service was the best in Semper. Tass would receive it sooner that way.
The day after Father’s funeral, day seven.
Antis checked the studio several times over, making sure all the instruments were neatly arranged and the labels on every bottle of medicine were turned outward in perfect alignment. He had even aired out the room and placed pouches of mildly fragrant herbs near the medicine cabinet so the smell in the room wouldn’t be too unpleasant.
He had even chosen the gentlest commission possible. A beloved golden retriever had died of old age, and its owner had paid a high price to commission him to turn the dog into a specimen, so their beloved pet could keep them company.
Iver arrived on time, brisk and energetic as ever, dressed far more formally than usual. He seemed to have just returned from outside the city, carrying a small leather bag in his left hand and a huge bouquet of flowers in his right.
Antis had never seen such beautiful flowers in his life. The blossoms were enormous, and the petals so dazzlingly colorful that the many hues bewildered his eyes.
“Look! Look at this. It’s for you.”
Iver handed the bouquet over eagerly. “I bought it on the other side of the mountain. Semper doesn’t have flowers like this. Their blooming period is absurdly short. Once they’re picked, they only stay open for a single day.”
“It took me half a day to get back. They’ll stay open for another half day, plus the whole night.”
“I can turn them into specimens,” Antis said.
“Ah, no need to force it. I don’t want to mess up your plans.” Iver said lightly, “Withered flowers have their own beauty too. Some people even paint withered flowers on purpose.”
Antis found a long-necked flask and set the bouquet inside for the time being.
He secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He was better at making animal specimens. He had never handled flowers like these before. If he forced himself and failed, he might embarrass himself in front of Iver.
When Iver saw the old golden retriever’s corpse, something shifted in his gaze.
Antis held his breath. He barely dared move too heavily, afraid Iver would feel disgusted toward the corpse.
“A lucky creature.” Iver smiled. “Its coat is beautiful, and it’s plump too. It must have received a lot of love, and in the end it probably didn’t suffer much.”
“Yes.” Antis relaxed a little. “Its owner couldn’t bear to part with it. That’s why they commissioned me.”
“Death is definitely very… difficult.” Iver said softly, touching the cold, stiff body of the dog. “But since you work in this line of business, it should be easier for you to accept death, right?”
“Yes,” Antis said.
It was the perfect answer. It couldn’t be faulted.
“See? I’ve found another one of your good points. You’re very open about things like that.” Iver smiled. “I thought you’d be the particularly obsessive type. I didn’t expect you’d see it so lightly.”
Yes. I even hired someone to kill my father, and his death didn’t move me in the slightest.
Antis lowered his head and began handling the hound’s slightly decayed internal organs.
Usually, this was the part people found the hardest to accept. As he guided the murky fluids away, he snuck glances at Iver from the corner of his eye.
Iver quietly watched that dead flesh and blood pass away. There was no disgust on his face. Only a faint melancholy, as if what was swiftly flowing away wasn’t bodily fluid, but something else.
“…What does your ideal family look like?”
Iver suddenly asked out of nowhere.
Rarely for him, he didn’t look at Antis. He kept his gaze fixed on the dead hound instead.
An ideal family?
“A wife of noble birth, with a gentle and quiet temperament. Husband and wife devoted only to each other. Then two healthy, clever children, preferably a boy and a girl,” Antis answered reflexively.
His mother had died giving birth to him, making him the family’s only son. A wife not strong enough, too few descendants. His father had believed that to be a kind of disgrace.
So Father had told him again and again what a “perfect family” should be. The standard answer to this question had practically been carved into Antis’s mind.
At least this answer has no flaws, Antis thought.
At last, Iver turned to look at him. His gaze was dimmer than before, strangely similar to the dead dog’s.
“Perfect indeed. Just as expected of our Mr. Anti.” Iver stepped back half a pace, his voice still light. “Actually, I came today because I wanted to tell you something too. I’m planning to leave Semper.”
Antis’s hand tilted. The cutting magic nearly sliced his own finger.
He stared blankly at Iver, as if he had suddenly lost the ability to understand language.
“People should aim higher, right? I’m planning to try my luck in another country.”
Iver shrugged. “Semper is fine, but the aesthetic tastes of the Kingdom of Aufon are still too conservative. Atla’s romantic style suits me better.”
Antis’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. “But you… financially…”
“Don’t worry about me. Even in conservative Aufon, I managed to find an investor like your father.”
Iver smiled. “Besides, I won’t leave immediately. Two more months, maybe. I still have some commissions to finish, and it’s a good chance to save up a bit more money.”
No.
A buzzing rose in Anti’s ears. His heart felt as heavy as if it had been filled with lead, so heavy it nearly stopped.
“My father never recognized you. It was all a misunderstanding. Things won’t go that smoothly…”
His ears were full of the sound of blood roaring backward. He barely knew what he was saying. “He liked collecting beautiful young people. He originally meant to kill you… Your ancestors were slaves, not even as good as commoners. If you disappeared, no one would care…”
Aside from the part about hiring someone to kill his father, Antis told him everything.
As he listened to Antis’s broken, stumbling explanation, the light in Iver’s eyes went completely out. Those golden eyes became like extinguished charcoal, losing their warmth bit by bit.
It’s over.
At last, Antis realized what he had done. He had made another mistake. He had known perfectly well that now wasn’t the time…
He stretched out a hand in vain, as if he wanted to snatch his words back out of the air. Iver instinctively raised a hand to block him, and the limp little leather bag dropped to the floor, its contents scattering everywhere.
Antis hurriedly bent down to pick them up. The instant he saw what was inside, he froze as though struck by lightning.
“Perhaps this will answer part of your question.”
Iver’s tone had turned hollow. “You said your father wanted to act against me. Maybe that’s because I’m about to lose my value.”
“As you can see, I have Malignant Magibase Rejection Syndrome. I have less than three months left.”
Of course Antis knew that illness.
It only appeared in exceptionally gifted children, children who could use magic even before receiving a Magibase. After they did receive a Magibase, there was a small chance they would develop rejection symptoms.
Antis himself had once been one of those “exceptionally gifted children.” The moment he received his Magibase, Father had already had a physician examine him.
The disease was terrifying. In the early stages, it was completely silent. Patients could live exactly like healthy people.
But somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, their Magibase would suddenly go out of control, and the symptoms would worsen at frightening speed.
Within three months, the patient’s mouth would twist, the eyes would deform, and they would lose the ability to care for themselves. Very soon afterward, even breathing and heartbeat would stop, ending in a miserable and painful death.
Up to now, not only was there no cure, mages had only just managed to understand the cause. The patient’s body suddenly began to have an allergic reaction to the Magibase, throwing the entire magical circuit into chaos.
“Goodbye, Antis Crosien.” Iver packed up the diagnostic documents with a stiff face. “Since things have come to this, let’s at least say farewell with dignity.”
Then he left without turning back.
Under the sunlight, the bouquet in the flask had begun to wither slightly. The dog’s corpse lay there in silence, giving off a faint bloody smell.
Another “exceptionally gifted child,” Myss thought.
Scintilla had been one. Who would have thought Antis and Iver were too? In this world, geniuses seemed awfully prone to all kinds of problems.
Come to think of it, Salaar and his army had been geniuses too. Salaar definitely had problems. There was something wrong with his head.
After slandering his enemy a bit, Myss swept impatiently through the memories that followed.
One moment Antis had stood atop a mountain of hope, the next he had been thrown into an abyss of despair. He was always emotionally thin to begin with, and he was in no shape to withstand that kind of overwhelming storm.
In near-suffocating regret, he no longer dared face Iver, afraid he would make yet more mistakes.
He had to make up for it. He had to come up with the most perfect remedy, a way to save Iver. How could everything possibly end like this?
If Iver’s body could no longer bear a Magibase, then Antis would build him a new body. A more perfect body.
He was extraordinarily good at this, even better than his father had ever been. He would succeed.
Antis exhausted everything he knew and began constructing a perfect body.
At the same time, he wrote to every scholar he could think of, asking about magical vessels. When it came time to choose a pen name, he only hesitated for a few seconds before decisively choosing “Flaw.”
Iver had once said that the only way to make absolutely no mistakes was to “do nothing” at all.
Antis had no intention of doing nothing. For that person, he had once already stained his life with the flaw of murder. This time, even if he created tens of thousands of flaws, he only needed one success… Just one success.
Using the finest alchemical adhesives mixed with the expensive bone powder of ferocious beasts, he made a flawless skeleton.
He bought the supple hide of rare magical creatures and hand-painted magical runes onto it, fashioning internal organs capable of digesting food.
He bought long hair from the most beautiful girl in the city, dyed it to match Iver’s, and made smooth, supple strands.
……
He carefully cut the golden wings from leopard butterflies and made a pair of champagne-gold eyes. Only that delicate iridescence from butterfly wings could possibly match Iver’s smiling eyes.
At last, Antis completed a beautiful body, one exactly the same as Iver.
It would never fall ill, never grow old. It was stronger, more flexible, and more powerful than a human body. It was almost perfect, lacking only the final component.
Antis couldn’t produce a suitable magical vessel.
Without a proper magical vessel to serve as the core, the body was nothing but an ornament, unable to move freely.
Without that prerequisite, he couldn’t design replacement magical circuits, nor did he have any idea how to transfer Iver’s Magibase…
Antis, gaunt and filthy, sat collapsed in his chaotic house.
In front of him, “Iver” wore an unchanging smile, with not a shred of light in its eyes.
Suddenly, an envelope materialized out of the darkness, dropping from thin air to land at “Iver’s” feet. In the middle of the envelope, crimson sealing wax reflected the sunlight.
Antis tore it open almost instinctively.
He had long since lost count of how many nights he had gone without sleep. He could no longer tell dream from reality.
[Create a heart that never stops beating and use it as the core. Then you can keep Mr. Iver by your side.
Mr. Antis, you are a true genius. When the time is right, I will provide the final assistance.
—V.O.R]
Antis nearly clawed the letter to pieces. After many days, his heart once again began pounding violently, so hard the blood it pumped almost knocked him unconscious.
Without even tidying his appearance, he immediately wrote back in a desperate rush and sent it along with the other letters of plea he had already written to the Red Amber.
When the employees of the Red Amber saw him in that state, face covered in stubble and eyes ringed dark with exhaustion, they whispered among themselves. Antis didn’t have the energy to care.
[There’s no perpetual-motion machine in this world, and there is no heart that can beat forever. Materials decay. Magic fades. Even the finest specimen cannot reach eternity.
I have never seen delivery magic like yours. Your power must be extraordinarily strong. I beg you, please give me a clearer explanation.]
His wording was chaotic, his handwriting crooked and messy. He didn’t even know what address to write on the envelope and could only invent one at random.
And yet, the moment he returned home from the Red Amber, another letter was already waiting at the feet of that body.
[Of course, creations can only approach eternity without ever reaching it, just as humans can only keep approaching perfection.
You need only design an outstanding enough vessel, and I will provide the power source to match it.
—V.O.R]
…He no longer needed to worry about the power source?
Before, he had needed to create a heart that could beat on its own.
Now he only had to design a model of a heart, one that merely had to work in theory. The difficulty was on an entirely different level.
Antis drew in a trembling breath.
Whether V.O.R was serious or simply toying with him, this was his final lifeline.
What followed were several more sleepless days.
Antis waited in terror for the possible news of Iver’s death while desperately working out a design. He poured bitter stimulant potions down his throat. In the chaos of his muddled mind, madness surged again and again. Very soon, he would be able to…
And then, just as he was like this, there came a knock at his door. The sound pierced through the sharp ringing in his ears and almost shocked him awake.
“It’s me. Iver.”
A familiar voice called out, weak but steady.
“Antis, we need to talk.”
The author has something to say:
I actually wanted to write this arc all in one go, but I couldn’t finish it. [crying]
So now the Archdemon is accidentally observing “educational material” about human love. [doge]
But judging from Myss’s personality, his humanity probably works like this:
Teacher Salaar: “Class, how do you interpret the line ‘There was a loquat tree in the courtyard… now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy’*?”
*Clarity: The full line is: “There’s a loquat tree in the courtyard, which my wife planted the year she died. Now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy”. This comes from Gui You Guang’s work “Xiangjixuan Chronicles”. You can understand the implicit meaning behind it, one of grief and love, missing the person… but for Myss who doesn’t really understand human emotions… Well… (see below).
Student Myss: “It means there are loquats to eat every year.”
Kinky Thoughts:
I was not expecting this arc to follow in this direction but… Damn… Nian Zhong, please do me a solid and give these two a happy ending. Poor Antis… and Iver.
Oof the way when Iver asked about Antis’s view on a “perfect family” and Antis’s answer, that was basically an inadvertent rejection to Iver. Man, that was gut punching.
…I want to read a full story about Antis and Iver and their lives as artists in the Red Amber. It’s giving me golden retriever x emotionally stunted/robotic pairing vibes.
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