Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 53: A Shattered Dream

When the Red Amber employee found the two of them, Myss and Salaar were eating dinner alone.

Antis’s hired cook had reached the end of his contract and had gone off to work for the next household. While Tass was calming himself down, there were also all sorts of inheritance matters to deal with—

Antis had died suddenly without leaving a written will. Fortunately, a spoken will made in full possession of one’s senses would also leave magical traces behind. Tass had to get it notarized by an official before he could formally take over the Crosien family’s estate.

Father Kalen was planning to help the cat Cinnamon find its little owner, so he too would be acting alone for a while.

With no one left to provide meals, Myss simply went out with Salaar to look for food. Considering that “The End of the World” still had a bit of lingering influence, Salaar chose a small restaurant in the lower district.

Just a few days ago, they had still been enjoying the refined, delicious dishes of the Red Amber. Now all they had was bread soaking in pea soup, meat gravy mashed potatoes mixed with chopped onions, and red currants to cut the richness.

Myss ate with great relish. Salaar couldn’t help but pause with his fork and knife and watch for quite a while.

Myss was always like this. High-end cuisine was tasty, but commoner food was fine too. As long as it didn’t taste too terrible, Myss never cared. Just like he didn’t care whether he slept on some dusty broken wooden bed in an inn or on Red Amber’s luxurious bed.

…Just like Myss didn’t care about humans.

Scintilla’s longing for her mother, the love that blossomed between Antis and Iver—none of it moved him in the slightest.

Even after Salaar had pointed out the love between those two, Myss’s reaction had remained utterly indifferent. He hadn’t even been interested in figuring out how everyone else had seen it.

Salaar had assumed Myss held love in contempt. Yet when it came to Salaar himself, this guy had actually weaponized that very concept, something Salaar had completely failed to anticipate.

Looking at those lips opening and closing, Salaar once again found himself thinking of that kiss on the forehead.

He touched his forehead instinctively. It felt as though a butterfly had flown into his stomach, and half his appetite vanished on the spot. Myss looked as though he had practically forgotten about the whole thing already, while Salaar was still stuck in place going in circles over it, which made him profoundly irritated.

Salaar understood his own heart reasonably well. His hostility hadn’t diminished in the slightest. But at the time…

“You’re not eating that?”

Seeing that Salaar hadn’t touched his utensils for so long, Myss reached over to paw at the Hero’s red currants, every bit the robber in spirit.

He had figured that since they were the same color as raspberries, they couldn’t possibly taste that bad. That was why he had deliberately saved them for last, planning to eat them all in one satisfying go.

Salaar gave a glance, and Knife flicked out its tongue and blocked Myss’s hand.

Of course, the Archdemon only became bolder when thwarted.

Myss hissed in a breath, shot Salaar a quick glance, and revealed an expression of absolute determination. The next second, Fork sprang out like a coiled spring and wrapped itself around Knife.

Myss feigned a grab, but what actually flew out was a net of black magical threads, sweeping Salaar’s little bowl of currants right over to himself.

Triumphantly, Myss raised his hand and dumped that half bowl of red currants straight into his mouth, crunching down.

…And then tears came flooding out all at once.

Myss’s expression became extraordinarily complicated, a mixture of shock, fury, and bewilderment. His features scrunched into a knot, and his whole body curled in on itself, as if he were trying to wring the taste of the currants out of himself.

The sourness was sharp and vicious, stabbing through his nose and mouth until he couldn’t stop the tears.

“Currants are sour to begin with. A place like this certainly wouldn’t go out of its way to pick out the sweet ones.”

Salaar twisted the knife a little deeper. “I did try to stop you.”

“Mmph—mmph mmph mmph!”

Myss replied indistinctly, frantically wiping away his tears. His red eyes turned even redder.

Salaar sighed, fished a raspberry candy out of his pocket, and casually tossed it over. Myss threw it into his mouth wrapper and all, crunching it to pieces.

After barely recovering, Myss chugged the rest of the pea soup in one gulp, then furiously attacked the remaining currants with his fork and knife, as if he could scare them into becoming sweeter.

Perhaps because he felt it was too humiliating to cry in front of his mortal enemy, Myss pretended nothing had happened, sniffling at lightning speed as though he were trying to launch surprise attacks on the air itself.

Salaar watched him with a half-smile, his gaze absolutely fixed on him, determined to stare him to death.

…It was the Red Amber employee who broke the bizarre atmosphere.

“A Kingdom Archmage wants to see us?” Salaar froze for a moment.

Of course, Kendrick Karns’s memories contained the concept of “Kingdom Archmage”. Usually shortened to “Archmage,” they stood at the pinnacle of all mages, strategic assets on the national level.

If his memory served him correctly, across all the countries currently in existence, there were only seven Kingdom Archmages in the world.

Under normal circumstances, Archmages pledged themselves to specific countries. Only the legendary mage Langhesia belonged to none, yet everyone still referred to him as a “Kingdom Archmage.”

Unless war on a massive scale broke out, royal families rarely asked Archmages to do much of anything. They mostly just did their utmost to keep them happy.

Those who liked power games could become great nobles with real authority. Those who liked religion could rise as high as Pope. Those who preferred study would either build their own towers or enter academic centers… Archmages varied wildly in temperament, and the factions they represented were equally diverse. They weren’t people one could deal with lightly.

And on top of that, the Divine Realm had barely been destroyed before an Archmage appeared out of nowhere demanding an audience with them. They had to be beyond cautious.

“Which one?” Salaar dropped the airy, dandified “Karns” persona.

“It is Professor Gentry, sir,” the Red Amber employee answered respectfully. “He has already been waiting in the reception room for quite some time. You—”

“My darling isn’t feeling very well. I have to take him to see a doctor.” Salaar decisively pointed at Myss, whose face was all scrunched up and still streaked with tears. “Please apologize to Mr. Gentry for me. We will absolutely pay him a visit first thing tomorrow morning.”

“But…”

Salaar said, “Don’t worry. If it’s the benevolent Professor Gentry, he won’t make things difficult for you.”

The Kingdom Archmage affiliated with Aufon, Gentry the “Colossal Elephant”.

His full name was Albert Gentry. His Magibase was a humungous elephant, and among the seven Archmages, he had the best temper.

Professor Gentry lived up to his name. He had no interest at all in court intrigue or religion, nor did he seclude himself entirely in research.

Instead, he taught history and archaeology at Aufon Royal University, and had founded an academic organization called the Society for Ruins Preservation. He lived by the principle of “half the year teaching, half the year adventuring,” so it was never strange to hear of him turning up somewhere unexpected.

The Aufon royal family, terrified that Professor Gentry might one day simply wander off to another country, had stuffed him with the title “Kingdom First-Class Investigator” and took care of all his expedition expenses.

The Archmage himself had responded quite cheerfully. Whenever trouble arose somewhere, he would proactively step in to help resolve it. His reputation was excellent.

Someone like that had to be approached with simple, straightforward courtesy. If they fawned too much, they would only irritate him.

…Besides, Kendrick Karns’s memories weren’t necessarily reliable.

Father Kalen had traveled far and wide, and the Dragon Fae Tass knew a great deal of noble secrets. Salaar decided to spend the night sorting through information first.

……

“If it’s Professor Gentry we’re talking about, it should be fine.”

Kalen and Tass had both given the same answer, which showed just how good this Archmage’s reputation truly was.

“Perhaps he noticed something. As far as I know, he’s also dealt with disasters caused by Abnormal Fruit before.”

While preparing fish paste meatballs for the cats, Father Kalen explained things to Myss and Salaar. “This time, if he’s appeared in Semper, it’s very likely because he’s investigating the anomaly caused by the Perfected Creation.”

“The anomaly in Semper can be talked up or down, but since it’s a city of art, the capital definitely must have noticed something was wrong.”

Myss drank his sweet fizzy jam soda. “So we solved the problem, and only then did he show up?”

Father Kalen looked at the two of them with a complicated expression. “Under normal circumstances, humans can’t beat a ‘god,’ even one that isn’t very smart.”

Myss considered this for a moment and gave a fair little hum.

Even with him and Salaar joining forces, the Perfected Creation had been difficult to deal with. If the two of them hadn’t come up with a desperate inspiration and used Iver’s final painting to deal with Antis’s heart, Myss might have had to lose control once again.

“So that means the Archmages know Abnormal Fruit exists?” Salaar’s attention, however, was on something else.

“They probably know a little, but there’s no unified view.” Father Kalen sighed. “It’s understandable. Abnormal Fruits have only appeared in recent years. Their origin is unknown, and their power is too great. On every level, they’re unsuitable for public discussion.”

As he finished speaking, he looked at Salaar with visible hesitation.

“Do you have any advice for tomorrow’s meeting, Father?” Salaar asked knowingly.

“Since Professor Gentry specifically named the two of you, it’s best not to pretend to know nothing. If possible, don’t fully expose your abilities, either. Professor Gentry will definitely report this matter upward.”

Father Kalen carefully chose his words. “The two of you are handling the Abnormal Fruit with me, and you can always leave if you change your mind. But if the Aufon royal family learns about you two…”

“Thank you for the advice.” Salaar smiled.

He hadn’t intended to reveal his full strength anyway, though his reason was a little more practical. He happened to be carrying a lively Chaos Archdemon on him.

At the moment, said Archdemon had drunk his fill of fizzy soda and was beginning to nod off, clearly about to fall asleep. Judging from that, tomorrow’s conversation would probably have to be handled by Salaar alone.

Yes. Even for a famous Kingdom Archmage, Myss had no interest at all.

“Brush your teeth before bed,” Salaar said, patting Myss awake.

“I have… annihilation magic…” Myss said, giving an enormous yawn as he drifted half-asleep.

Salaar said, “If you accidentally annihilate yourself into a toothless old man, I’m not healing you.”

Myss glared at him resentfully, then staggered off to brush his teeth before crawling back into bed, muttering all the while.

From those discontented mutters, Salaar caught the smell of mint toothpaste… Whether Myss had chosen it unconsciously or whether it was simply coincidence, who knew.

That night, Salaar suffered a rare bout of insomnia.

As usual, Myss was sprawled across Salaar’s chest, body curled in comfort, soft cheek pressed against his heart. Myss smacked his lips contentedly in his sleep. His breath smelled faintly of mint, and his exhalations were as warm as his skin.

Salaar felt the places brushed by that breath grow itchy, with a prickling sort of strange sensation.

…And again, he couldn’t help looking at Myss’s lips.

That damn kiss on the forehead surfaced once more in his mind. It was like one of those mortifying memories that lodged in the heart and refused to go away, popping up uninvited the moment his guard slipped.

“Don’t think about it,” Knife whispered at his ear. “The more you think about it, the less you’ll forget it.”

“Even if I don’t think about it, I won’t forget. You know I have a good memory,” Salaar whispered back, trying to keep the rise and fall of his chest gentle.

“What’s the point of dwelling on such things? The Night Scourge must be brought to an end,” Knife said earnestly.

“I know.” Salaar cut him off. “I’m not thinking about Myss. I just can’t make sense of my own emotions.”

Knife thought about it for a while with its tiny snake brain. “It must be this young body affecting you. That’s normal. When your last body was young, your situation was actually unusual…”

It didn’t continue.

Perhaps, Salaar thought.

For the previous three hundred years, he had scarcely had any desires at all. His body had merely been one tool among many for gripping a weapon.

Not even physical desires of that sort. He could eat salted grilled mushrooms for three hundred years and not think it was especially painful, and interacting with people… also…

He drifted into sleep amid exhaustion and drowsiness.

That night, Salaar’s dreams were a tangled mess, as if his brain had come down with a fever.

He dreamed of the darkness from long ago.

He had chosen an empty house as his “home.”

Inside it there was only a bed made of discarded clothes, a few books worn thin from rereading, and an alchemical lamp for light. The lamp gave off a faint warm glow, trying to imitate the sun.

Unfortunately, it had been used too long, and its radiance couldn’t even compare with moonlight. It could barely illuminate the pages of a book.

Outside the house, there was only endless, freezing darkness.

Inside the seal, only he remained, together with the being known as the Chaos Archdemon. Nearby there were no wandering beasts or monsters, not even a single insect.

In that darkness there was only the Archdemon’s ceaseless, regular heartbeat, along with the large and small tentacles coiling across the ground.

Yet even so, Salaar had carved a window into the wall.

Other than darkness and the sound of that heartbeat, the window could bring him nothing. Still, he made it.

It was the first time he hadn’t quite understood his own emotions. Back then, however, he hadn’t thought too deeply about it.

At the time, Salaar rummaged through a pile of junk and found a chipped bowl and a thin length of enchanted cord. By the window, he kidnapped two tiny tentacles.

He tied them together into the shape of a blade of grass, fixed them into the bowl, and pretended they were a potted plant.

The tiny tentacles wriggled in displeasure, straining toward the outside of the window. At the time, Salaar had been convinced that was simply instinctive resistance.

“From now on, you’re my potted plant.”

Salaar put the “plant” on the windowsill and picked up an empty cup, pretending to water it.

The tentacle bundle shrank into a knot, looking like two tiny fists.

At the time, he had also thought that was some sort of avoidance instinct. Looking back now, it was probably Myss secretly swearing at him.

He rubbed the little knot of tentacles with his fingertips. They felt soft, a little resilient, not especially wet—almost like an animal’s paw pads.

The tentacles that fought him outside were different. They were thick and tall, and a brush from them could scrape a bloody strip of skin right off him.

“Today I went to fight your true body again,” he told the potted plant. “My leg got hurt. It hurt a lot.”

His leg had already healed, but he wanted to say it anyway.

The tentacle knot didn’t untie itself. Instead, it pattered against the rim of the bowl, almost in rhythm with the great being’s heartbeat outside. In that tomb-like place, it gave off a life all its own.

“The truth is, I know I’m not Its opponent. But I have to keep fighting. I have to understand everything about It…”

Salaar sighed and leaned against the windowsill. His back was to the weak light, and he looked out at the endless blackness beyond the window.

“…Tell me, does It hurt that much too?”

After saying it aloud, he laughed at himself.

“No, probably not.”

Salaar answered himself loudly, waving his fists to imitate the motions of the two tentacle bundles.

“Pain is a warning. It tells the body to avoid danger. I know there’s nothing in this world that can threaten It.”

“I’ve never even disturbed Its heartbeat. Not once. Sometimes I wonder whether Its gaze is merely my illusion… What do you think?”

Tap.

Salaar had leaned too close, and one of the tentacle bundles smacked him on the tip of his nose. It was so small that it hit with less force than a scrap of paper.

“But when I die, It’ll definitely notice the difference.” 

Salaar pinched the wriggling bundle and rubbed it hard a couple of times. “Plants know when the sky clears up. It will also know when the seal breaks.”

“Tell me, by the time my mission ends… will It know? …Will It know I was ever here?”

The next moment, all the darkness shattered.

The barren black became green grass. The junk pile turned into thick clusters of flowers.

Under brilliant sunlight, Myss came rushing at Salaar. He rose hard onto his toes and pressed both hands down firmly on Salaar’s shoulders, branding a kiss onto the center of his brow.

Myss’s movements were too rushed, and his hair brushed across Salaar’s skin, tickling him.

“I’ll stain your love!”

After the kiss, Myss sprang lightly back, but his eyes remained locked tightly on him—like he meant to look all the way to the end of the world, as though in this full, vibrant world, only Salaar existed.

Myss’s heart was beating fast, far faster than usual, likely out of excitement or nervousness.

The place between Salaar’s brows where he had been kissed felt as though someone had pressed a branding iron to it, boiling his brain through the skull.

…Salaar jolted awake from the dream.

His brain felt as though it were boiling again, stirring tightness into his chest and setting his throat burning with thirst.

Instinctively he sat up and reached for the water jug at the bedside. That movement woke Myss as well. Myss opened his eyes and looked at him with annoyance.

That same direct gaze again, stripping away everything else.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Salaar said, though in truth he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain.

Myss gave a sleepy hum. “Hurry up.”

He shifted his position while he spoke, trying not to let the warmth escape from beneath the blankets, and his thigh brushed against Salaar without meaning to—

“?”

Myss stopped moving and touched Salaar’s lower abdomen. “What’s going on with you?”

…His cushion had changed shape, becoming a bit… lumpy.

Myss understood that humans could have this sort of special physical reaction. Young men even had it every morning.

Myss himself, however, had no similar urges. His true body lacked any reproductive instinct, and this fleshly vessel obediently remained only a meat tube, never causing him trouble.

Salaar had never shown such a reaction either. Myss had always firmly believed that either his mind had aged too much or his body was simply defective, that in short, something was wrong with him.

For all that he thought so in private, the Archdemon had never actually used the issue to attack his mortal enemy.

Just as he himself wasn’t bothered by being cursed as a “male whore,” the Great Hero wouldn’t have cared about such mockery either. Myss had even seen Salaar old enough to look like rotten wood, so what was there left to say?

Seeing Salaar’s hand freeze halfway to the water jug, Myss blinked drowsily and decided to bring this conversation to a close as quickly as possible.

“I don’t mean anything by it. You’re poking me,” he said with near sincerity.

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The author has something to say:

Not having instincts isn’t a good thing either, Lord Archdemon. [dog-face emoji]

At least Mr. Hero still has room to argue. When it comes to you, there’s not even an excuse left. [doge with rose]

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