Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 3: Escape
At midnight, the two men, each holding a candlestick, sighed in the secret chamber.
Myss didn’t understand human magical theory, but he could gauge the residual strength of the magic at the scene.
As he had expected, the strength was nearly zero. A minor noble who couldn’t do magic could never yank his spirit out of his body. It would be like an ant trying with all its might to move an elephant.
Yet here they were, which meant Lord Karns had definitely done something out of the ordinary.
Wonderful, Myss thought through gritted teeth. He had found no clues at all, so he would have to tolerate Salaar living to see tomorrow’s sun.
Salaar frowned and tried to decipher the scattered arrays. He cocked his head this way and that, looked left and right, then turned to Myss in frustration. “See anything?”
Myss’s reply wasn’t especially friendly. “Take a guess.”
“My guess is no, because you don’t look happy in the least,” Salaar said. “Cheer up, because I haven’t found anything either.”
From Myss’s expression, it told him the Archdemon didn’t believe a single word.
“Is it so hard to be straightforward? We have known each other for more than three centuries, and I have never stabbed you in the back,” Salaar said, giving the candlestick a wag.
Myss: “That is because you cannot tell where my back even is.”
Salaar: “…Fair point.”
“Do you have any clues in his memories?” Myss paused and forced himself to ask patiently. “You inherited that guy’s body, after all.”
Salaar shook his head. “I only know his experiences. I don’t know his thoughts and feelings.”
“Besides, he tried all sorts of quack remedies and ruined his brain. His memories are riddled with hallucinations.”
As he spoke, he crouched to examine the bones in the chamber. Corpses in varying states of decay were piled in a corner like garbage, emitting a grotesque stench that filled the air.
Sacrifice a beautiful virgin to summon a demon, and the demon will grant your every wish.
All for an absurd rumor, Lord Karns had beggared himself and sacrificed slave after slave. The former owners of their bodies had been one of a fool and one of a lunatic. In a way, fate had been quite fair.
In the end, Salaar dug a handful of incomplete letters out of the bone pile.
Most were orders and receipts exchanged with slave traders, and a few were from the young master’s pen pal. Those were filled with wild magical theories and read like patients swapping notes.
“Ridiculous,” Salaar concluded helplessly. “The little lord’s memories are a mess, the ritual site was wrecked by our fight, and even these letters are incomplete.”
“If we want to figure out the so-called summoning ritual, we will have to visit his deranged pen pal.”
However, there was still a hard fight waiting for them outside the chamber—
A few minutes later, the two stood on opposite sides of the bed, glaring at each other on guard.
Yes, they were both tired and both wanted to sleep on the soft bed. Even if it was covered in clutter and its comfort level was highly questionable, it still beat a floor full of dust and hair.
“Since you like bathing so much, you should sleep in the bathtub,” Myss said, feeling very justified.
Salaar: “And you won’t even take a bath. I thought you didn’t care about such trifles.”
“I care about whatever I choose to care about, and right now I care about the bed more than anything in the world.” Myss plopped down on it and shooed Salaar away with a flicking gesture.
“Fine, if you insist.”
Salaar thought for a moment and replied with sincerity.
“But when I don’t sleep well, I tend to sleepwalk, and when I sleepwalk, I like to splash people with water. You will understand, right?”
Myss: “You bas…”
He had begun to speak when he suddenly looked toward the window in confusion.
Hostility.
A group of people was approaching fast, brimming with hostile intent.
“I will go outside and check. You go wait in the butler’s room,” Salaar said, having sensed it as well. “Move!”
……
In the butler’s room, Old Aiken ladled out a fragrant creamy stew and opened a bottle of red wine for himself.
The day had finally come.
He had been sent out to buy food, and the moment he stepped outside he received a message from the Karns family. They wanted him to get Kendrick Karns killed as soon as possible, preferably by hiring bandits so the whole thing would look like an accident.
If Old Aiken did a clean job, he would be recalled to the royal capital.
He knew it. That little madman would be abandoned sooner or later.
Old Aiken immediately took out a few gemstones he had skimmed to pay for wine and went to a bandit gang near Ring Town.
There were twelve bandits in all, and among them was a mage with a modestly nasty reputation. Poor Young Lord Karns couldn’t do magic. Killing him would be easier than wringing a chicken’s neck.
Afterward they would burn the manor and destroy all evidence, and Old Aiken’s task would be complete. Thinking of the bright future awaiting him in the capital, he didn’t even plan to ask for a share of the loot.
“Good heavens, you really hate your lord.”
After accepting the commission, the mage lamented. “I have heard the rumors… Seems he’s not ‘a monster who bathes in blood’, just a boring lunatic.”
That was right. Tonight the little lunatic would die screaming.
By the look of the time, the bandits would be arriving soon. Old Aiken decided to fetch a bit more cheese to go with his wine and celebrate properly.
As he stood up, a prickling sensation ran across the nape of his neck. He felt as if a beast had fixed him in its sights. He turned his head slowly and saw a pair of blood-red eyes.
It was the slave who should have been dead.
The slave wore an ill-fitting ceremonial robe, his gray hair hanging loose. The face was still stunningly beautiful, but Old Aiken had no mind to admire it.
Something was wrong.
Those blood-red pupils stared at him, and that wasn’t at all how one looked at one’s own kind, or even at an ant. When humans look at ants, they feel some curiosity or some arrogance, and at the very least there is a sense of appraisal.
But those eyes held nothing. It was as if… he was nothing more than a speck of dust floating in the air. Old Aiken shuddered.
The slave from before had reminded him of a gentle lamb. The being before him now, wearing a lamb’s hide and baring a mouthful of fangs, was something else entirely, completely alien.
The excessive beauty of that face only deepened the sense of estrangement, making one’s whole body go cold.
Old Aiken tried to say something, but no sound came out. He collapsed to the floor with a thump and shook uncontrollably.
Myss: “…”
He had done nothing, yet the old butler already looked half dead. And that wasn’t even the strangest part. On the butler’s left shoulder Myss saw a hamster.
Yes, a hamster. A half transparent, sparsely furred, fat hamster. It was larger than normal, and a strange fleshy growth bulged on its head like a cork.
“No…” it squealed in a thin voice, trembling so hard it almost left afterimages. “No… don’t…”
There had been nothing like this in the slave’s memories.
Myss instinctively reached for it. It felt like a lump of warm water, and it was as solid as such. He hadn’t even applied force before it broke apart between his fingers.
At the same time, Old Aiken shattered as well.
The old butler’s face flushed purple red, a gurgling sound rose in his throat, and thick bloody bubbles surged from all his orifices. The instant the hamster vanished, Old Aiken exploded on the spot into minced meat.
Myss wiped the flecks of flesh from his face and fell silent.
So much for that bath.
“There are twelve attackers. We…” Salaar arrived a moment later and found Old Aiken evenly smeared across the floor. He quietly swallowed the rest of his sentence.
Myss turned to look at him, waiting for the great hero’s possible condemnation or fury.
Nothing came. Salaar’s gaze skimmed over the body—if a pool of mincemeat still counted as a body—his expression stayed as calm as ever, as if a sight like this were the most ordinary thing.
“What happened?” Salaar asked.
“He had a strange hamster growing on him, and I pinched it.”
Unsure how else to respond, Myss simply told the truth.
Salaar studied him, not with the sort of inquiry that asks, “what is the mechanism,” but the sort that asks, “what nonsense are you spouting.” He didn’t dwell on it. He lifted his hand and tossed Myss a fork. Bits of sausage still clung to the tines.
Myss: “?”
“A weapon,” Salaar said.
Myss looked at the sharp ritual dagger in Salaar’s hand, then at his own fork. “?”
Salaar added helpfully, “Your magic isn’t very stable. Best not to use it if you can help it.”
No, you know that is not what I was asking.
Unfortunately, there was no time to bicker. Myss clenched the fork and turned toward the intruders at the door.
At the sight of the carnage inside, the bandit leader took two steps back on the spot. The mage swung his staff and stepped to the front.
“Who are you?” He narrowed his eyes at the two men beside the mincemeat.
Both had striking looks and solid builds, and they wore identical strange long robes. The gray-haired young man was covered in blood. The black-haired young man… The black-haired young man kept his eyes tightly shut, apparently blind.
According to Old Aiken, “Lord Karns” was as skinny as a rack of bones. Neither of these two matched the description, so they were likely outsiders.
Could that fool Old Aiken have placed the job twice, so that these people snatched it first?
But he hadn’t heard of any other assassins nearby, much less ones this conspicuous.
While the mage was still calculating, the black-haired young man took a step forward and pointed at the heap of mincemeat. “Please head back, everyone. Lord Karns has already been taken care of by us.”
“What?” the mage protested. “Fuck, we clearly agreed on a time—”
Myss almost blurted the same question along with him and barely held it back.
A look of understanding flickered across Salaar’s face.
These people were here for Lord Karns, who was hiding his identity. They had rushed straight to the butler’s room the moment they arrived. It was obvious who they had “agreed” with.
“Did Old Aiken not tell you? First come, first served.”
Salaar smiled. With that face, he looked like a real demon.
“He should have just left Ring Town. You can still catch him and demand an explanation.”
The bandits looked at each other and reached a consensus in seconds.
“To hell with explanations!” one of them shouted. “Kill them, and the manor is ours!”
The two pretty boys had odd tricks, but there were only two of them. With fat prey delivered to their mouths, why would they not bite?
Salaar let out a soft sigh. “What a pity. I did give you a chance.”
Though he said it, he didn’t sound the least regretful.
Myss blinked.
Deep in the slave’s memories, the bards’ saccharine hymns still floated into view—
[Saint Salaar is noble and pure. He will protect every living kin.]
Salaar flickered behind the shouting bandit and slit his throat without a sound. The entire motion was smooth and cold, like raindrops sliding down a windowpane.
He didn’t look as if he enjoyed killing, yet he showed not the slightest hesitation. He hadn’t even used magic.
[Saint Salaar pities the world. He will pardon every sin.]
The ritual dagger opened a third throat, and the bandits finally reacted. They surged forward, trying to pin down this “assassin renowned for his agility”.
The leader had just reached out when Salaar seized his wrist. With a crack, the bones in the man’s wrist were crushed by pure force.
[Though Saint Salaar’s body is gone, he keeps his watch from the skies.]
[The sun and moon, twin lanterns set, are his unblinking eyes.]
From start to finish, Salaar kept his eyes closed.
The mage reacted more cleverly.
Realizing Salaar was formidable, he directed several comrades to charge at Myss, who was watching from the side. Myss was spattered with bits of flesh, and they guessed he had “worn himself out in the fight”.
Maybe Salaar’s recommendation had its logic. Myss raised the fork with a sigh.
The silver tines stabbed into the first charging bandit’s shoulder. The man screamed, and only a little blood came out.
Myss: “…” What the fuck? He had been played!
He steadied his breathing. Dusky power ran down the fork and drilled into the man’s body.
It was as if black mold had infected him. Darkness raced over his skin from head to toe. In less than two seconds his body collapsed like flowing sand and vanished into the air.
Myss flicked the fork. The tip grazed two more bandits. Residual power stuck to their skin. Before panic could rise, they went through the same black infection and their bodies disintegrated entirely.
Three sets of clothes fluttered to the floor. The whole process was silent and uncanny.
The mage ripped open a spell scroll on the spot and raised a magic shield, barely saving his life. He stared at Myss in horror and even forgot to blink.
“You didn’t chant, and you didn’t use any magic weapons,” he groaned. “How did you… What are you…”
Myss didn’t care what he was babbling. He poked the shield and popped it as if it were an oversized soap bubble.
In the spray of gleaming motes, the mage stood frozen and drenched in cold sweat.
Myss lifted the fork to send him on his way, but before the bent tip could fall, a hand slapped around his wrist.
It was Salaar.
A glance toward the doorway showed that the other bandits were all dead. They lay sprawled, blood pooling into a scarlet lake. Salaar’s palm was warm and dry without a drop of blood on it.
Myss raised an eyebrow and said with a touch of irony, “What, I’m not allowed to kill?”
“That is not it. Leave one alive so we can find their base,” Salaar said.
Myss: “…Base?”
Salaar: “Yes. A base delivered to our door, perfect for robbing.”
“…Robbing?” Myss repeated blankly.
“Unless you want to wear Old Aiken’s clothes. Little Karns rarely went out, so his wardrobe holds only ceremonial robes. We also lack cash, supplies, and identification. I’m guessing their base has all of that.”
Salaar opened his eyes again. His lapis lazuli pupils glittered.
Myss lowered the fork in silence.
He could now be sure those poems about Saint Salaar were bullshit. This kid was absolutely a walking scourge.
On the other side, the mage finally came back to himself when he saw those signature eyes. “Those eyes… You are Old Aiken’s master, Kendrick Karns?”
Salaar: “Not for long. I don’t like names that are too long*.”
*Clarity: In Chinese, Kendrick Karns is (肯德里克 ·卡恩斯). Given naming convention in China, which is usually only 2-3 characters long, this is quite long, though by western standard, it isn’t.
“That old bastard lied through his teeth.”
The mage licked his dry lips and tried to curry favor. “He wanted to use us to murder you. I knew it. How could a descendant of Saint Salaar kill indiscriminately…”
He pretended he had not heard the part about “robbing”.
How does a menace like this still have living descendants? Myss immediately looked at Salaar in curiosity.
Salaar’s smile faded.
The author has something to say:
“What does it feel like to be slandered in front of your future partner?”
Kinky Thoughts:
The title of this chapter is “The golden cicada sheds its shell” (金蝉脱壳). It’s an idiom referring to creating or using a false appearance to escape, so that the other party can’t detect you in time.
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