“Fran calling Doro, please respond if you hear me.”
A companion’s call echoed in his ears. Alois pressed the communication button, his eyes never leaving the screen. “My name is not Doro. Thank you.”
“Doro is such a cute name. What don’t you like about it?”
“Everything!”
“Let’s duel!”
Alois instantly felt drained. This was the third time today.
Before he joined, there were four pilots on the Lady of the Night: three of them were triplet siblings, and the last one was Joanna. The captain was always busy with many affairs and rarely participated in training. So, most of the time, it was just the three siblings and Alois practicing under Leo’s guidance. The siblings, true to being from the same womb, were identical in appearance and personality. For example, this morning—
“Why are there only five pilots on the ship but over a dozen fighters?” “The captain likes to collect fighters.” “That’s quite a hobby…” “What, you have a problem with the captain? Let’s duel!”
And at noon—
“Titia is fine, but you two brothers look exactly the same. I can’t tell you apart.” “How do we look the same? Let’s duel!”
And just now… Alois instantly understood Leo’s eagerness to recruit a pilot.
The one proposing a duel was Titia, the youngest of the siblings. She had face blindness, unable to distinguish people other than herself and her brothers, relying on body features instead. Hence, she developed a habit of giving people nicknames. The first time she saw Alois, she confidently said, “No problem, I’ll definitely recognize you. You’re the most unremarkable person on the ship.”
Alois decided that if she failed to recognize him next time, he would challenge her to a duel on the spot.
Although the siblings had odd personalities, they were top-notch pilots. The previous two duels had ended with Alois being overwhelmingly defeated, making him deeply doubt his own abilities. If he lost again to Titia, he feared he would become the ship’s laughingstock by dinner.
“Come on, Doro, show me what you’ve got!” Titia piloted her beloved “Fran”, circling around Alois, continuously provoking him.
“My name is not Doro!” Doro was the name Titia had given Alois’s fighter. She also named her brothers’ fighters Rachel and Liz. Every fighter and shuttle on the Lady of the Night had been named by her. Naturally, Alois didn’t accept her naming style, which led to this duel.
Alois brightened the lights in the simulator cockpit, switching the operation mode to free combat. The Lady of the Night didn’t have Godot Type II fighters, so he had to adapt to the Federation-made Kant fighters. The operating system, vastly different from the Empire’s, initially gave Alois a headache. Fortunately, he quickly mastered the piloting techniques.
On the radar, the icons for Liz and Rachel disappeared, leaving only the red dot representing Fran flashing half a kilometer away.
Leo’s voice sounded. “Titia is tougher than her brothers. Be careful.”
“Of course.”
“Don’t lose too badly. Joshua is watching.”
A small window popped up, showing the training room. Several crew members were pointing and discussing the simulator battle, with the silver-haired assassin Joshua among them. He stood slightly to the back, holding a black cat, not watching the screen but talking to Ibb Descartes. Ibb was animated, smiling as if he had met a long-lost relative. Oh, he even took Schrödinger from Joshua, clumsily petting the cat.
…How infuriating!
Alois quickly closed the window, pulled up his fighter, and charged at Fran.
“The newbie is pretty fast!” Titia easily dodged. Alois changed direction and dived again, firing laser beams. Amidst the deadly weave of beams, Fran danced nimbly, evading leisurely. Alois understood why she was “tough”. Her brothers, though highly skilled, had predictable patterns. One could anticipate their attacks and retreats, cornering them with beams and missiles. But this approach didn’t work with Titia. He couldn’t fathom her intentions; she defended when she should attack and attacked when she should retreat.
She was utterly unpredictable, like a novice who knew nothing about aerial combat. Of course, Titia wasn’t a novice. This made her tactics especially terrifying. On the battlefield, not understanding the enemy’s intentions was the most frightening thing.
“Women are terrifying!” Alois distanced himself, trying to engage her in a prolonged battle, but Titia circled back, closing in while firing missiles. After destroying the missiles, he expected her to press the attack, but she suddenly held back, observing from a distance, plotting something.
Alois was nearly driven mad by her antics. “So annoying!” He decided to take the initiative, chasing Titia’s tail relentlessly. Fran swiftly moved behind him, seemingly to attack from the rear, but when Alois turned, Fran had vanished.
Titia was playing hide and seek. She waited for her opponent to lose patience and expose a weakness. If he had the patience to outlast her, Alois, with more ammo, would undoubtedly win. But the earlier chase had drained too much energy. A red light flashed on the screen, indicating low ammo. In a real space battle, he would return to the mothership for resupply. However, this was a duel mode. The simulated space didn’t even include a mothership.
Titia probably noticed his predicament. She glided side to side, seemingly mocking his impatience, then launched dozens of missiles, turning the Kant fighter into space dust.
The lights in the simulator cockpit brightened, and the screen displayed a giant, bloody “OVER”. Leo, barely stifling laughter, said, “I told you not to lose too badly… haha.”
“Shut up!” Alois slammed the controls.
“Can’t handle losing, huh…” Leo cut the communication, feeling defeated.
The hatch opened, and white light flooded in. The siblings’ laughter echoed in the training room. Seeing Alois climb out, Titia’s brothers each patted his shoulders. “Good job, kid,” they said in unison. “Lasting 10 minutes against Titia is rare.”
“…Thanks.” Alois insincerely accepted the compliment.
Leo powered down the simulator. “Today’s training ends here. See you all tomorrow.”
The spectators dispersed in small groups. From afar, Joshua called out, “Hey, Alois.”
The young man ran over but avoided eye contact. “Uh… let’s go back. Let’s go back.” He pretended to look around, trying to hide his embarrassment from the defeat.
“Joshua, can I take the cat back?” Ibb, excited about playing with the cat, asked. “I have some dried fish. It might like them.” Seeing Joshua hesitate, he added, “I’ll return it to you tonight.”
Arnie suddenly felt his ears getting a little warm.
He straightened up in Oscar’s arms, gripping his shoulder to look outside, but saw nothing except trees and forest paths.
Charlie turned to look as well. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Arnie said, shrinking back into his arms a little sulkily.
Wind and Green led them, this time without mounts. Arnie, being small and slow, was carried by Charlie all the way—ever since being taken by Atta, Arnie had been clinging to Charlie, so he was quite used to it.
The seer’s residence was a bit of a distance from the Nawen tribe’s settlement. Before setting off, Charlie thought they might be blindfolded to keep the location secret, but Wind and Green seemed completely unfazed, apparently unafraid that they might remember the route to the seer.
Maybe because the forest itself was a giant maze, the Nawen tribe was confident about this? Charlie thought. If so, the terrain might neutralize the advantage of Lemena’s knights once they enter the forest. If these people were stubborn and unwilling to let Arnie return home safely, he might need to find a way to guide Alfred and the others…
Arnie, looking up and seeing Charlie’s expression, patted his arm seriously. “It’s okay.”
Charlie pinched his cheek but said nothing.
Green glanced back at the two of them, her eyes curious—she had never left the forest, and it was her first time seeing outsiders.
The seer seemed very interested in these two outsiders but hadn’t revealed much information. After meeting them yesterday, Green, like the other tribesmen, had taken a liking to the big-eyed, fair-skinned Arnie.
However, this delicate child wasn’t very willing to talk to people. Aside from his servant, only Wind could exchange a few words with him. He ignored everyone else. But his pride didn’t make him unlikeable because he was so young.
The seer’s residence wasn’t in the trees. They walked around the roots of several massive ancient trees and found a recessed tunnel in the center, guarded by two armed men. Seeing Wind and Green approach, they silently stepped aside.
Charlie felt like he was entering the base of a tree. The tunnel occasionally had thick tree roots exposed to the air. It was dimly lit but not damp, with glowing moss on the ground providing enough light to see the way. Arnie, seeing various colored mushrooms in the tunnel, was curious and wanted to touch them but was stopped by Charlie.
This time, Arnie didn’t insist because he could sense that Oscar was slightly tense.
Logically, a seer, akin to a mage or astrologer, wouldn’t give off a violent impression. But for some reason, Oscar was very cautious, more so than when facing the hostile Atta and his group.
Emotions were contagious. Arnie, sensing this, warily glanced at Green, who was watching him, then turned his head and remained still.
Green looked a little disappointed, but they soon followed the light out of the tunnel. The exit opened into a small valley. Most of the sky was covered by large tree branches, but gaps allowed sunlight to filter through, making the flowers, fruit trees, and grass in the valley look bright and lively. The scattered dome-shaped wooden houses looked like giant mushrooms sprouting from the ground, giving a somewhat cute appearance.
The atmosphere here was very different from the settlement—outside, the treehouses, the connecting bridges in the air, and the armed Nawen tribesmen exuded a sense of constant readiness for battle. Although they lived in the forest, they weren’t its masters. Large predators posed a threat to their survival, and the warnings about Arnie’s safety in the forest weren’t mere politeness.
But here, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. Though they couldn’t move freely, Charlie guessed there were no large beasts in this small valley, as it seemed to be a haven for all the Nawen tribe’s children.
They wore light, simple clothes, laughing and playing. A few young people dressed like Green watched over them but didn’t join in their games or restrain them.
Wind and Green’s expressions softened as they entered the valley. Green led them to the largest two-story house, walking up to the porch and speaking softly through the door.
The door opened, and someone carrying a baby a few months old came out, looking at them curiously.
“Wind.” The person greeted him.
Wind smiled at him.
“This is Grass.” He lifted the baby a little higher. “He just got his name.”
Green signaled Charlie and Arnie to follow her inside, leaving Wind to converse outside.
“He’s waiting for you,” Green said, puzzled why the seer had specifically requested to see the servant as well. She scrutinized him, trying to see what was so special about him.
The house had no foyer. The entrance led straight into a circular living room. Green stayed outside, closing the door behind them.
Charlie put Arnie down, and they both looked around the room.
For someone of high status, this house was surprisingly simple. Though it was fully furnished, even the cushions on the birchwood ladder were ordinary handmade blankets, with no gold or silver ornaments in sight.
Even Kurt’s residence in the Green Forest was more elaborate than this.
The living room was empty, but there was a partitioned area with a smooth, arched wooden door that had a wooden handle on it.
Charlie held Arnie’s hand and walked to the partition, knocking lightly on the door.
“Come in,” someone said from inside.
Charlie pressed the handle, opening the door to a small sunroom. A very thin man sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a mess of books.
“Welcome,” he said. “I am Spring, the seer of the Nawen tribe.”
Spring didn’t look very healthy—he was extremely thin. His long, white, dull hair made him look elderly, but his demeanor was youthful, and his eyes hinted at the handsomeness of his younger days.
Charlie sighed inwardly and, instead of stepping forward, bowed to him from where he stood.
“Hello,” he said. “Please forgive me for not being able to introduce myself.”
He could feel the powerful magic beneath Spring’s calm exterior. Regardless of his status, this strength alone deserved respect. He didn’t want to use a pseudonym to deceive the other party, yet he had reasons to hide his identity, so he could only apologize.
“No problem,” Spring said, looking at him. “I can sense your conflict… Was your appearance here a mistake or a choice?”
Charlie once again felt that rare sensation of being seen through. This man, sitting deep in the forest, seemed to know everything about him with just one glance.
“Both a mistake and a choice,” Charlie said softly.
Spring nodded and turned to Arnie.
“Arnie, come closer,” he said kindly.
Arnie looked at Charlie, and seeing him nod, took a few steps forward.
“Are you a seer?” Arnie asked. “Like an astrologer?”
“Astrologers and seers aren’t the same,” Spring replied gently. “But when it comes to prophecy, astrologers, diviners, and seers all touch upon the future, each in their own way.”
Charlie felt that Spring’s tone was strange when he mentioned the “future”, but he wondered if he was being paranoid.
Arnie stared at Spring, finding him odd—like a very old plant, he seemed to have no scent or breath, yet had slight emotional reactions. One could tell he was alive, knew he was breathing, but couldn’t clearly sense it.
“Are you human?” Arnie asked bluntly.
Charlie: “……”
He almost forgot that this kid, despite his cute appearance, had a knack for saying unpleasant things.
“I am human.” Spring wasn’t angry, seeming to understand Arnie perfectly. “A bit different from ordinary people, but still human.”
He continued, “You are also a bit different from ordinary people, aren’t you?”
Arnie remained silent.
Spring reached out and placed his hand above Arnie’s head without touching his hair, as if stroking him from a distance.
“Your hair and eyes are beautiful. Thirteen hundred years ago, there was a branch of elves with this hair color. They migrated from the north, delicate and sensitive, skilled in calculation and craftsmanship.”
“You have their blood,” Spring said. “So the Nawen tribe will never harm you. They acted recklessly, and I apologize to you.”
Arnie didn’t expect an apology here. He didn’t respond but instead asked, “How do you know I have elven blood? It’s been many, many years.”
“Bloodlines thin out but never truly disappear,” Spring said softly. “Most people…like your ancestors, live and die without showing any traces. You are a fortunate accident. This blessing may be difficult for even your descendants to inherit.”
“Since you’re here, would you like to see something left by another ancestor? Deep in the forest,” Spring said. “Though most of it was taken away, some remnants remain. If anyone is worthy of seeing those remnants now, it is you.”
Charlie finally interjected, “Didn’t the hidden realms of the elves begin to disappear after they left? The beauty of their domains was largely due to elven magic. Without that magic, even the most wondrous places would eventually return to their natural state.”
He knew Arnie was a very curious child and was worried that Spring might easily lure him into the forest depths. This seer was very powerful, and Charlie didn’t want to follow his lead, fearing he might not be able to protect Arnie if something went wrong.
“They sealed off a small part of their territory, and the Nawen tribe promised to guard the entrance for a thousand years,” Spring said calmly.
Charlie’s expression remained unchanged, but inside he was shocked because of the immense implications of that statement.
The elves had left the continent decisively, reportedly leaving none behind. And indeed, no records of elves had surfaced since then. But Spring said the elves had entrusted them to guard a door for a thousand years. If they intended to leave forever, why leave a door? Did they plan to return one day, or were there elves who had never left the continent?
But he couldn’t ask further. As the seer of the Nawen tribe, Spring was undoubtedly aligned with the elves. Charlie believed that if he showed any intention of probing into the elves’ existence, Spring would likely ensure he never left the forest alive.
Arnie hesitated, then looked back at Charlie.
Both Charlie and Spring were watching him.
The small child stood on the floor, his face showing a rare expression of indecision.
The Duchess of Dwight, Emma, came from a very old noble family in the south—one that had existed even longer than the Empire’s history.
Indeed, these old nobles were continually weakened by new families with each shift in power. The radical members who resisted often met their end violently, while others chose to keep a low profile.
The Empire’s center had always been in the north, and Emma’s family, adept at avoiding crises, managed to survive.
But survival was all it was. Old noble families found it difficult to hold any sway in the Empire’s political circles, and decline was inevitable. During Emma’s girlhood before her marriage, for several years, she and her sisters had to stay up late sewing their own dresses and hats so they wouldn’t have to wear old clothes to social events. Despite being noble ladies, they skillfully dismantled old garments and remade them into new ones to maintain their dignity. This hardship became history once Emma got married, but she never felt ashamed of her past. Especially in front of her children, she focused on honestly teaching them the family history and where their mother came from.
“Elven bloodline” was also part of this history education. Though it sounded grand, tracing it seriously would reveal that Emma’s ancestor was a half-elf born from a love affair between an elf and a human.
This identity alone indicated it happened a long time ago, as intermarriages between elves and other races were very rare in the continent’s history, and elves had left the continent centuries ago. Over such a long time, any bloodline would be diluted to almost nothing.
Indeed, the elven bloodline left little trace in Emma’s family history. Only the original half-elf had distinct elven features, and his direct descendants inherited extraordinary beauty. Beyond that, the bloodline legend remained just a legend.
Arnie’s obviously superior appearance compared to his parents and sister reminded Emma of this matter, but good looks alone didn’t mean much—Arnie was very smart, but the adults didn’t find any magical talents or special abilities in him. Emma believed if that extremely diluted bloodline miraculously manifested in Arnie after so many generations, it was likely only in his appearance.
And good looks seemed to have no other use except aiding in romantic success later in life, so Emma never emphasized this point. Arnie merely recorded it as ordinary knowledge. If not for being kidnapped into the forest this time, he might not have remembered it at all.
“That makes sense,” Charlie said, not looking particularly surprised.
Arnie wasn’t just outstanding in appearance; his sharp insight was truly extraordinary. But now, his lack of expression could be dismissed with phrases like “he’s just a different child”. When he grew up, this ability to understand people would be skillfully utilized—by then, he would be “Dwight”, mature enough to hide his true self behind a rigid mask.
Only after many confrontations where Charlie was nearly cornered by Dwight did he realize the young Duke was anything but ordinary. Prepared with this mindset, he felt a “so that’s how it is” sensation when Arnie casually mentioned it.
Arnie watched him for a while, finding that Oscar wasn’t startled by this matter, feeling both relieved and indignant.
“What makes sense?” he asked.
It explains your abnormal behaviors as you grew up. Charlie wouldn’t say that. Instead, he said, “You’re so smart. That’s what makes sense. Elves are knowledgeable and eager to learn, and you must have inherited that trait.”
Arnie believed it and became happy again.
“The seer might still look for you tomorrow,” Charlie said as he lifted Arnie from the chair to the bed.
Arnie was somewhat interested in the forest’s seer. He refused tonight because he felt Oscar seemed disapproving—but now it seemed he wasn’t opposed.
“Father will come to save me,” Arnie said. “And Alfred will surely come after… I want to wait for them.”
Who knew if the seer here would use some strange magic? What if they cursed him to threaten Lemena? In the face of life and death, curiosity was insignificant. Arnie understood the priority.
“It won’t be long,” Charlie comforted him. “Their big birds are fast, but the knights’ horses aren’t slow either.”
……
“Chieftain.” Shan walked briskly across the high, suspended wooden corridor, entering the brightly lit conference room. Everyone at the long table turned to look at him.
Shan brought a reply from the Imperial Capital.
The Nawen chieftain read it quickly in the light and sighed.
“What is it?” someone asked urgently.
“The Emperor denies that Duke Dwight has taken the secret treasure, and because of the Duke’s son being taken…” He paused. “His wording is severe.”
Several people passed around the letter, looking as grim as the chieftain.
They were originally victims, but due to the rash actions of a few young people, they were now at fault. Regardless, attacking such a young child was hard to forgive. Atta and the others hadn’t realized their impulsiveness could bring disaster to the tribe.
“Was the second letter sent out?” the Nawen chieftain asked wearily.
“It was sent out at dusk,” Wind replied. He placed a jar on the table, and someone brought a shallow basin.
Wind poured the jar’s water into the basin. The clear water spread across the bottom, slowly rotating, as if an invisible finger was stirring the surface.
“I obtained a bit more…” Wind said softly. As the water moved slower, an image appeared on the surface.
A fair, handsome boy was being held in someone’s arms, holding a fresh green grass stem with a beautiful butterfly perched on its tip. He was gazing curiously at the butterfly, looking like he wanted to reach out and touch it.
The man holding him didn’t have his whole face visible due to the height difference, but he was wearing a Brandenburg uniform, and like the child, his exposed skin was clean, with no signs of injury.
Most importantly, the expression of the child in his arms was relaxed and even joyful.
The image lasted for about fifteen seconds before disappearing.
“The image waterfall can only be maintained for this long,” Wind said, touching the now calm water surface where nothing remained.
“That’s enough,” the Nawen chieftain said.
They sent this image to both the Imperial Capital and Duke Dwight, along with the second letter. The Nawen chieftain knew that it was extremely unwise for a single tribe to provoke a Duke or even the Emperor of the Empire, but at this point, all he could do was try his best to make amends. Treating the Duke’s son well was the first step.
They even shamelessly denied the kidnapping, presenting the Duke’s son as a guest of the forest—after all, the forest also belonged to the Empire, so strictly speaking, they didn’t have much leverage.
“It takes a few days to get from Lemena to here,” the Nawen chieftain sighed. “The Brandenburg Knights will certainly come to rescue their master. Before that, we must keep a low profile and try to meet the demands of the Duke’s son as much as possible.”
“The seer wants to see him,” Wind reported today’s events to the chieftain. “The seer hasn’t gone out for years. Did he sense something?”
The forest’s preferential treatment of the Duke’s son was no secret among the Nawen tribe. Even if it wasn’t out of guilt, the other tribespeople were also kind to the little boy. Wind had the most contact with him and could feel that the child had a natural affinity with nature.
Very much like an elf.
“Green told me about it,” the chieftain, a calm middle-aged man with little trace of age on his face, said. He looked at Wind levelly and asked, “The servant of the Duke’s son, what do you think of him?”
Wind was momentarily taken aback. “That ‘Oscar’? He is…”
He recalled that he didn’t have much of an impression of the man. His main focus was on Dwight’s son, but the servant had never shown anything special since arriving. His expression and tone were always neutral, and everything he did was centered around his master, the Duke’s son.
The only time he showed personal emotion was when he directly refused to let the Duke’s son be taken to see the seer.
Other than that, he was like an omnipresent breeze, leaving no trace of himself.
The chieftain watched Wind’s expression. “The seer also wants to see him—the seer sensed the arrival of Dwight’s son but also believes the man beside him is worth attention.”
This was what Green had conveyed to the chieftain. According to the chieftain’s understanding, it meant there was something off about Dwight’s son’s servant. Although no one could see anything special about the unremarkable man, the seer held a high status and great power within their tribe and wouldn’t make such statements without reason.
Someone hesitated. “Perhaps the imperial cavalry is approaching the forest. Should we try to please the Duke’s son and send him back, showing that this was a misunderstanding?”
“What about our treasure?” someone angrily retorted. “It’s still missing. If this continues, our heritage will be lost. Is that what you want?”
“That’s not what I mean. But if everyone dies, who will protect our heritage?!”
“Perhaps this incident is a revelation, making us reconsider the meaning of staying in the forest.”
“Enough.” The Nawen chieftain interrupted the increasingly divergent discussion. “I will meet with the seer tomorrow and take… them along. It’s best if the seer can perform a divination.”
His brows furrowed deeply. “If things are heading in the worst direction, we need to prepare quickly before the Brandenburg Knights arrive.”
No one in the conference room knew that the Brandenburg Knights had already entered the forest.
Nightfall didn’t greatly hinder Alfred and his companions. The real challenge was finding traces of the Nawen tribe in the vast forest—an endeavor akin to finding a needle in a haystack.
The local guide had given them a general direction. The three of them couldn’t comb through the entire forest, but Brandenburg had its own methods.
“Southeast,” Shel whispered. “The signal is getting stronger. We’re getting closer.”
He held a palm-sized metal box, its needle resembling that of a nautical compass, with a similar function but more precise. The needle tip was made of a rare mineral that reacted to magic and pointed toward objects made of the same material—Arnie’s earring was made of this mineral. Once within range, the needle would guide them to their target.
Each member of the Dwight family had such a personalized magical item. The Duke and Duchess wore rings, while Priscilla and Arnie each had earrings that never left their bodies, even when bathing or sleeping.
Alfred also watched the box in Shel’s hand, his eyes gleaming like a wolf ready to strike.
Spin said, “Control all your crazy thoughts. We’re not here to kill and burn. You should see your face right now.”
“I understand,” Alfred said in a deep voice. “I’ll save my anger for Alger. That guy must be crazy to think he could steal someone else’s treasure and present it to His Majesty the Emperor in exchange for a title and wealth.”
“Isn’t it more likely he did it out of jealousy towards Brandenburg? Trying to both bypass the Duke and frame him is even more despicable.” Shel snapped the lid shut with a pop. “When His Majesty the Emperor finds the Nawen tribe’s items in the tribute pile, I don’t think they’ll be unreasonable.”
Alfred snorted through his nose.
The author has something to say:
This storyline was initially intended to be darker but writing it that way tends to drag it out, and in the end, I wanted a bit of lightness. Life doesn’t need so many conspiracies.
The Duchess thought her son’s good looks would make him a playboy, but alas, things didn’t go as planned.
Nol instinctively wanted to refuse. But as the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back.
Given the current circumstances, there was no better spy than Painter. Enbillick wouldn’t be foolish enough to trust Painter, but given his nature, he wouldn’t easily strike against Painter, who bore an oracle.
They must understand the significance of Star Stealer Sol’s wife and children.
“Going alone? I don’t approve.” Teest’s head squeezed closer to the fire circle.
Painter: “I can’t believe the great Mad Monk is worried about my safety.”
“This guy might not tell us all the information.” Ignoring Painter, Teest’s arm casually hooked around Nol. “Besides, letting him go alone, Star Stealer Sol might tamper with something.”
“But the ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ can’t be used.” Nol frowned.
Painter’s strength was already at the top of the pyramid. Sending others along would be pointless.
He and Teest were too powerful. Getting close to Star Stealer Sol could easily alert him. No matter how strong ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ was, it was a system-awarded item—not powerful enough to single-handedly tackle a god’s avatar.
Another head squeezed in. Perradat, possessing Lilith, said in a tone filled with disdain, “Want to hide your presence? Just use an avatar—now you two are in your true forms. Just create a super weak avatar and recall it when done.”
“If it’s a weak avatar, I’m confident in concealing you. Star Stealer Sol definitely won’t discover you.”
Two gods squeezed into a fire circle, discussing back and forth.
Mr. Painter, the former Pope, watched this… This not-so-sacred scene made his heart suddenly fill with faint weariness.
The God of Creation obediently created gold to buy ingredients, and the newly minted local god wasn’t quite right in the head—these two were in a thick atmosphere of blooming romance.
Behind the Goddess of Life and the Eternal Son was a mercenary middle-aged man, and his archenemy—the defeated in the two gods battle, the God of Fate, Perradat—was holding half a piece of sugar cake, waving her arms, and speaking sarcastically.
What about the mortal world? The would-be Pope of the Temple of Life was still a young man full of thoughts of the Goddess. The Pope of the Eternal Church was as passive as a dead fish, only reactive when prodded by Teest.
Indeed, Teest’s concerns had merit. Were it not for Star Stealer Sol’s inhumane behavior, Enbillick might even seem like the most reliable option.
The future of Tahe was truly worrying.
Painter ignored the chattering gods and poured himself another cup of tea.
Hmm, the tea is a bit cold. He wondered when the General’s promised lunch would be served. He was so hungry…
Just as Painter was about to nod off, the gods’ discussion finally reached a conclusion.
With two ‘pops’, two… things crossed through the fire circle, jumping to the side of the teacup. Simultaneously, the fire circle extinguished, and the noisy voices abruptly stopped.
Painter lowered his gaze, his face twitching twice.
Two walnut-sized furballs stopped next to his teacup. One was black and the other white, with medium-length soft fur. Hidden among the dense fluff were mung bean-sized round eyes. These things seemed weightless, bouncing around like soap bubbles.
They had no magical aura and looked like ambiguous tourist souvenirs when still.
Painter: “……”
This couldn’t be…
[This is our first time creating avatars. It’s a bit rough.] The black furball made an effort to bow, uncertain if it was nodding or saluting. [Enbillick knows all our identities and appearances. A new image is safer.]
Nol’s voice directly resonated in Painter’s mind.
Teest directly jumped into Painter’s dessert plate, opening a mouth hidden under the fluff to crunch on a cookie.
[I advise you not to get any other ideas—if these two avatars are destroyed, the loss to Nol and me is less than a hair. Our consciousness will return to our true forms and wake up at our base.]
Curious, Painter reached out to pick up Teest, who was munching on a cookie. The latter promptly spun around, chomping down on Painter’s finger. Painter’s fingertip soon sported two rows of fine, dense bite marks, and a bead of blood slowly emerged.
The touch was quite soft, seemingly pocketable.
“Are the people from Paradise gone?” The General timely returned to the room, followed by a hulking monster pushing a dining cart. The plates were covered with a lid, and a hint of roasted venison aroma leaked out.
Painter glanced at the two furballs pretending to be dead, suddenly realizing something—this was practice for the General in advance.
“Yes.” Painter carefully picked up the two furballs, careful not to squeeze the dignitaries too hard.
Only then did he notice the two furballs sneakily extending thread-like “little hands” to firmly grasp each other’s fur. The black and white furballs seemed sewn together, inseparable, no matter how much they were shaken.
Don’t laugh, Godfrey Painter.These are the avatars of two great gods. Don’t laugh.
Thinking of those devout believers… Thinking of poor Eugene… worse, it made him want to laugh even more. Mr. Painter struggled not to look at the two little things as his lips trembled.
“What are these?” The General looked disbelievingly at the two furballs. She clearly remembered there weren’t these little things on the table just before.
“Gifts.” Painter coughed twice, smoothly lying. “From a kid I helped recently.”
Painter, still holding onto much of his priestly duties, often helped young, poor children on a whim. He frequently received strange gifts like glass marbles, tree branch slingshots, and stone bracelets, all of which he treasured, so the General wasn’t surprised.
Watching the two furballs disappear into Painter’s pocket, the General suspected nothing. She snapped her fingers, and the hulking monster served Painter roasted venison, bread, and chowder.
‘As expected from the General,’ Painter thought. Even with the disruption of contact with Paradise, she mentioned nothing related to it, let alone probing for information.
“So, how long do you plan to stay here?” The General sliced a piece of meat, savoring the flavor. “I suggest you not stay here—I have nothing against you personally, but I still have to do business with Paradise. The last thing I need is extra attention. I believe you understand.”
With that, she made a toast gesture to Painter. “As compensation for sending you away, I’ll give you a free piece of information.”
“I do have something I’m curious about.”
Painter crossed his fingers, not at all offended by the dismissal. He glanced at the pocket containing the furballs. “What do you know about ‘Avra Alva’?”
Why is everyone so interested in Golden Sword’s family? The General’s brows twitched, and after a few seconds, she replied, “That’s a good question. I regret giving it to you for free.”
“Please, continue.” Painter’s smile remained unchanged.
“If it were anyone else asking, I could talk about her origins. An orphaned slave from a foreign land, with no backing and almost no past to investigate—as the officiant of her wedding, you know her situation. She’s just a pitiful creature, like a speck of dust.”
The General tapped her lips with a silver fork. “Since you’re asking about ‘Avra Alva’, I guess you’re more interested in her life after marriage. Unfortunately, there’s really not much information on her.”
“Whatever comes to mind is fine. I don’t need you to investigate further.” Painter used bread to soak up the chowder on the edge of the plate, then said in a relaxed tone, “After all, it’s free information. Just consider me overly curious.”
“Normally, a merchant’s wife has many duties—managing assets, overseeing servants, attending social events, and the like. As for those tedious household matters, they’re usually left to the servants.”
The General casually narrated, “But as far as I know, Miss Avra rarely appears in public. Perhaps due to her status, she doesn’t socialize at all. Even when she does show up, it’s only to move places with ‘Golden Sword’.”
“Enbillick Alva’s residences everywhere are very simple and not specifically managed by someone. I suppose Miss Avra might be responsible for these.”
“That is to say, she almost has no personal relationships to investigate.” Painter swirled his teacup.
“Indeed. Her children would be picked up and dropped off by a dedicated servant to receive education from a private tutor, rather than having the tutor come to their home. Miss Avra wouldn’t privately meet with guests when her husband is away.”
“The popular theory now is that ‘Golden Sword’ does this to protect his wife, who comes from a slave background, only wanting her to live a peaceful and happy life—however, putting aside those messy romantic stories, objectively speaking, Miss Avra only appears in public alongside Golden Sword.”
[Oh, it’s more like a secret weapon. Maybe that woman was made by Star Stealer Sol.] Inside Painter’s pocket, Teest squeezed Nol thoughtfully.
Nol looked down at his own black velvet fur and remained silent.
He still remembered the night he visited the Alvas’ home. Miss Avra’s smile was very sincere, and he could see love in her gaze. To say Avra was domesticated didn’t quite fit… From all they currently knew, her emotions didn’t need taming.
A kind slave with a humble background and a bleak future, saved by a handsome and brave caravan leader. Despite societal pressure, he proposed to her. They got married under the blessings of the current Pope and lived happily together.
Whether on Earth or Tahe, Nol had seen countless folk stories with similar plots.
Their story was very much like a fairy tale.
Except Star Stealer Sol was best at destroying fairy tales. Nol didn’t believe it could harbor love for humans, which made him even more puzzled about the purpose of “Avra”.
“I heard Miss Avra was recently in Grape Collar.” Painter continued to inquire, “She hasn’t left yet, has she?”
“No, their whole family is here.” The General chewed on the tender meat. “They’ve been out shopping for several days, looking incredibly close.”
“Thank you for the information.” Painter put down his knife and fork.
General: “You ate so little. Does the food not suit your taste?”
“No. I have to save some room for dinner tonight.” Painter stood up, revealing a smile.
As he moved, two fluffy balls snuck back deep into his pocket.
……
Nol thought Mr. Pope would use some indirect tactics—like a chance encounter or a feigned strategy. Anyway, he wanted to be legitimately taken back by Golden Sword’s family.
Who would have thought the man would directly rush to Golden Sword’s residence and knock on the door openly.
Enbillick was actually home. He looked somewhat astonished at the visitor. Nol wasn’t sure if the astonishment was an act or genuine—Enbillick was wearing an apron, with his sleeves rolled up, and flour on his arms.
“Painter?” Enbillick blocked the door. “Why are you suddenly…”
“I just escaped from Eugene Malloy. The Temple of Life will soon be searching the city for me.”
Painter started with the truth. “I can’t find the Lost Tower, and the General won’t take me in. I heard you were in town. Please shelter me for a night.”
“That’s interesting. You weren’t so eager last time,” Enbillick said, still making way for him to enter.
“Because last time didn’t involve the Temple.” Painter sighed with some embarrassment. “I thought I could seek refuge in Paradise. The city wasn’t prepared for a stronghold.”
“Facing Eugene Malloy, that indeed is a problem.” Enbillick clicked his tongue, seemingly inadvertently continuing, “Speaking of which, didn’t you know about the Demon King incident in Paradise? You even dared to find that Tower.”
“Why do you think the General kicked me out? That guy values business more, wishing to cut ties with anything related to Paradise. Worse still, the Temple of Life will have a similar idea.”
Painter answered very naturally, “I wasn’t in Grape Collar recently and happened to just miss this event—you know me, I wouldn’t be in league with monsters that harm this land.”
Aside from the General’s attitude towards Paradise, the rest was all true. Even if Star Stealer Sol investigated, it couldn’t find anything. Nol curled up in the pocket, inwardly admiring.
He was unsure whether to say Mr. Painter sees things too openly or retains his youthful recklessness. Knowing the person opposite was a god he once worshiped, the Former Pope showed no fear—
“I believe you wouldn’t turn me away over such a matter.” Painter earnestly said, “Sorry, Mr. Alva, for the trouble.”
“Enbillick.”
Enbillick smiled and pointed at himself, leaving a few flour marks on the apron. “Since Mr. Pope acknowledges our friendship, let’s not use ‘Mr. Alva’.”
It was an impeccable, warm smile. If Nol didn’t know who he was dealing with, he would have been fooled too.
Painter: “Alright, Enbillick. It seems I’ve interrupted something.”
“Interrupted? You came at the perfect time. We were making jam-filled pies for the kids. You must try some.”
Enbillick laughed heartily. “The chaos at the Alva Merchant Group hasn’t settled, so I got a little long holiday.”
Behind Painter, the door of the Alva’s house slowly closed. The air was filled with the sweet scent of cooking jam, and Painter’s gaze moved to find Avra Alva making jam by the stove.
The two children weren’t in the living room, probably sleeping upstairs.
Hearing the noise, their target for the visit—Miss Avra—turned around, showing the same warm smile.
“I still remember you.”
She tidied her slightly messy hair. “Good afternoon, Mr. Painter.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Alva.”
Painter performed a standard greeting, and from the gap of his pocket, four tiny dots of light peeked out.
The author has something to say:
A change of outfit every arc (?) This time featuring the belated glutinous rice balls—
Hello, Mr. Nol with black sesame and sweet cream filling, and Mr. Teest with glutinous rice and chocolate filling.
In this chapter, Mr. Painter encounters the terrifying event of glutenous rice ball biting!
At noon, under the bright sunlight in the Black Forest.
Painter stood at the original location of the Lost Tower, scratching his head in frustration. He had only gone out for a while to deal with the mercenary group’s affairs, and upon his return, the Lost Tower was gone.
All that was left was a piece of scorched earth from the aftermath of a battle. The grass was destroyed, and the soil was overturned, emitting the smell of blood and burnt odor.
Painter grimaced.
The Demon Players had made quite a fuss. Nol and the others must have urgently relocated their base.
He might as well go to Grape Collar to find the General. From what he observed, the members of Paradise wouldn’t skimp on their stomachs. No matter where the Lost Tower had moved, the General would surely not be short of supplying fresh ingredients.
It seemed he wouldn’t be able to find the Tower anytime soon. Why not take this opportunity to gather some more information? Nol wouldn’t hide important information from him, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to meet empty-handed…
Painter yawned, waving his wand casually. A new green light flashed, and a lurking giant bug flipped over in the bushes, slowly oozing foul-smelling juice.
Painter looked at it with regret. “This thing can’t fill a stomach.”
The Lost Tower had made him much more finicky. His usual dried meat and bread were no longer satisfying. Even if he made do, it had to be paired with freshly roasted meat with spices.
Speaking of which, the deer ribs stewed in the Lost Tower were delicious. Maybe he should go hunt some deer first. Later, he could also bring some extra meat to the General in exchange for a few bottles of better wine.
The Former Pope’s thoughts bounced between “The War of the Gods” and “Lunch Recipes” for a while, eventually settling on “Lunch Recipes”.
Just as he was about to step forward, a sword brushed past his boot and diagonally embedded itself in front of him.
It was a very ordinary sword, a standard consumable of the Temple of Life. Knights always liked to carry this kind of sword when going out. Those valuable divine weapons were preferred in important battles.
But the one in front of him was slightly different.
Its aura was suppressed to almost nothing, but at this distance, the Former Pope could still recognize it—it was the “Dominator” he had kept for a while.
Someone had applied a concealment spell to it, greatly restraining its power. The normally flamboyant and eye-catching appearance had become very subdued.
Interesting.
With Eugene’s abilities, he definitely couldn’t modify a sword filled with divine power. Considering everything miraculous in the Temple must be reported, Star Stealer Sol surely knew the sword was with Eugene.
It even further sealed the sword’s aura, making it convenient for the devout Mr. Eugene to carry it with him.
“Even if you block me like this, I don’t have money to invite you to lunch.”
Painter hooked the tip of his boot, intending to casually pick up the long sword. But a streak of light flashed, and the sword flew back to its origin.
Eugene emerged from the bushes and came out with a face devoid of smiles.
“I remember the investigation by the Temple of Life has already ended. Why are you here alone?” Painter turned around with a smile, though he raised his wand.
“Because I knew you would come.”
Knight Eugene spoke hoarsely, raising the “Dominator” in his hand. “You’re not an opponent suited for mass tactics. Bringing my subordinates would be useless.”
“That night, you didn’t participate in the battle of Paradise. But all this way, you’ve been following Paradise. So, since the base of Paradise has urgently relocated, I have reason to suspect—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Painter stroked his chin. “You actually think I’m a subordinate of the ‘Master of Paradise’? I’m very disappointed.”
“Are you not?” Eugene’s voice suddenly tightened.
Painter waved his wand seriously. “Of course not. I’m the ‘Master of Paradise’s’ partner.”
For a few seconds, a burst of killing intent erupted from Eugene. His hair fluttered, and his presence kicked up dust. Painter stood at a distance, smiling, as if he didn’t see it.
“Nice sword,” Painter added meaningfully.
“I heard the voice of the Goddess.” Eugene pointed the sword at Painter. “She told me to carry this sword with me. When this sword is unsealed, the opponent will be an enemy of God—my target.”
“This sword has no reaction to you, Painter. Now that the army of the Demon King is officially in the world, if you wish to return to the Temple, I will vouch for you in the name of the Goddess.”
Of course, the sword wouldn’t react. After all, the death of Godfrey Painter would be the making of a god.
As long as that prophecy existed, Star Stealer Sol wouldn’t dare to harm him until he had full control of the situation.
Painter’s gaze shifted to the sword. A beam of sunlight fell through the leaves, picked up by Eugene at the tip of the sword, like a melting drop of the sun.
The scene was quite something. Painter lightly pushed the sword tip away. Away from that beam of light, the sword immediately dimmed.
So that was the ruse used by Star Stealer Sol.
As Painter had guessed, after discovering the “Dominator”, Star Stealer Sol deliberately allowed Eugene to keep the sword—according to Star Stealer Sol’s reasoning, the “Dominator” must have been obtained by Painter by some means, given in the name of the Goddess to Eugene.
Considering Painter had been the Pope of the Temple of Life, Star Stealer Sol was definitely paying attention to “Painter”. Knowing that, as a native powerhouse of Tahe, Godfrey Painter wouldn’t fully trust a group of otherworldly visitors.
Painter strengthening local forces amounted to indirectly guarding against Paradise, and Star Stealer Sol might even enjoy the show.
When the time came, it would unseal the sword in front of Nol and others. Eugene would undoubtedly draw his sword and strike at the real God of Creation.
Such a naive child, such a useful weapon.
“…I know, you think the current Temple is too overbearing, and the punishment for blasphemy is too harsh.” In front of him, Eugene continued, “The Goddess wouldn’t agree with these either. You still hold the teachings of the Goddess in your heart. This is the internal corruption of the Temple. After dealing with the Demon King, you can personally supervise the rectification of these behaviors…”
“I suddenly understand some feelings.” Painter couldn’t help but sigh.
Eugene’s voice abruptly stopped. On the scorched earth, he stared seriously at this nominal “Godfather”.
“I’ve listened to the troubles of the faithful before.” Painter said calmly, “Some people’s ex-partners like to cling persistently—such people firmly believe they’ve only made a small mistake. As long as they make promises, everything can go back to how it was—everything must go back to how it was.”
“Mr. Eugene, you’re young. Don’t indulge in such disappointing thoughts.”
As soon as his words fell, a magical shield collided fiercely with the sword blade. The surrounding stones were blown away, leaving deep scratches on the tree trunks.
Eugene’s face was full of rage. Painter supported the magical shield, still eagerly adding fuel to the fire. “Child, questioning doctrines and changing the Temple—that’s what devout followers should do.”
“Now, I’m not concerned about the Temple’s thoughts, nor am I interested in the Goddess.”
If he had to say, he might be more interested in “dethroning the Goddess”.
But, he couldn’t explain the truth to Eugene. Painter knew those fanatics too well—no matter what he said, Eugene would consider it “Demon King” brainwashing. Even if he took Eugene to the Holy Land, with his own trespassing first, Eugene would still believe it was the “Demon King’s” doing.
More importantly… if by some chance, Eugene accepted the truth. Setting aside the mental shock this boy might suffer, Star Stealer Sol wouldn’t leave Eugene alive.
The knight who slays God in prophecy must not take a stance too early.
Nol must know this as well. Thus, the Lord never mentioned “wooing Eugene”. On this matter, they maintained a tacit understanding without words.
“You do not deserve the Goddess’s mercy.” Eugene’s eyes reddened, his sword swung with extra force. “Since you insist on choosing the enemy of all, I will dismember your arm and forcibly send you back to the Temple—”
The next moment, a bright light flashed before him. Painter vanished, and Eugene’s blade cut air.
Eugene immediately recognized the magical fluctuation. Damn, it was short-distance teleportation magic!
Such an item was incredibly precious, likely provided by the Demon King’s army. Normally, he wouldn’t miss the subtle movement of activating an item. Painter must have known this, hence deliberately spouting nonsense to provoke him.
…He let that guy escape again!
It took Eugene a dozen deep breaths to regain his composure.
Why not fight?
This time, he purposely came alone. The “Dominator” wasn’t unlocked, meaning Godfrey Painter could indeed fight him, with a not so small chance of winning.
If Painter truly collaborated with the Demon King, “killing Eugene Malloy” would be the most rational choice—even without considering the oracle of slaying the False God, killing the knight commander symbolizing the Temple would definitely be a great achievement.
Eugene couldn’t figure it out. Even now, he still couldn’t see through that smirking old fox.
…Painter, what are you really thinking?
Grape Collar, the General’s secret meeting room.
“Teaching young people is really troublesome.” Painter sat down with a groan, pressing his wrist. “Can’t ignore them, can’t control them too much, and have to worry about them being led astray by others. Truly a complex science…”
“That’s your problem. I usually just kill those who don’t listen.”
The General crossed her legs, enjoying her wine and cheese. Now dressed simply and efficiently, her muscular arms were exposed, and her gem-encrusted gloves were gone, replaced by a dagger decorated with jewels at the rim of her wine cup.
That dagger reeked of poison and blood.
“Don’t you have any questions for me? Honestly, your adaptability is astonishing.” She winked at him, showing off her uniformly normal-sized eyes.
“No need to ask questions. Apart from That One, no one else can do such things.”
Reluctantly, Painter pulled out his purse. “I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you for lunch today. I was planning to bring venison as a gift.”
“Your reaction is really uninteresting. As expected of a priest who believes in the equality of all living things.”
The General shrugged, randomly pulling a few silver coins from the purse. “I have venison. You’ll just have to make do—there’s news from Paradise. I’ll notify you.”
“Thanks.” Painter picked up his teacup.
Before his tea touched his lips, a ring of fire opened in the center of the parlor.
The fire ring was very small, not much bigger than a human face. A mysterious force surrounded it, and Painter felt no magical fluctuations.
A familiar face appeared on the other side of the fire ring.
“I need spices, salt, and sugar.” Nol’s voice was low, as if engaging in some illicit deal. “And as many sweets from Good Blessings as possible—the more the better.”
“I don’t get it. Why don’t you create them yourself?” Kando, supporting the fire ring, protested unhappily.
“Because creating gold is the least effort. Nol has other tasks.” Accompanied by Teest’s murmur, a hand reached through the fire ring, poking the candle hard. The candle rolled its eyes dramatically and kept quiet.
Painter witnessing all this: “……”
Better pretend I didn’t hear that.
“Hello, Mr. Painter.”
Noticing Painter, Nol widened the fire ring a bit. “Sorry. We moved too hastily earlier, so we didn’t have the chance to inform you.”
“Our current location is rather… special. It’s not convenient to host the Drifting Mercenary Group. If you mind this, staying with the General here is fine.”
“That’s fine.” Painter nodded with a smile.
It seemed there was no explicit battle plan yet. No matter, he could wait.
The room fell into a brief silence. The General glanced around and suddenly stood up. “I’ll go order the preparation of supplies.”
“Seems like you have something private to say.” Painter sipped his tea.
“Yes.”
As the General left the room, Nol immediately said, “Enbillick Alva is the avatar of Star Stealer Sol. Please be careful.”
Painter froze, then began coughing violently. Nol looked at him apologetically, slowly retracting his head.
Even though Mr. Painter no longer believed in the Goddess of Life, things like “having officiated a wedding for the Goddess of Life” or “having dined at the Goddess of Life’s home” were likely to still affect him significantly.
“That’s about it for now. We’ll continue this another time—”
“Wait!”
Just as Nol was about to leave, Painter hurriedly spoke up. He rose too quickly, spilling tea on the hem of his robe.
“Hold on, sir. Before you go, tell me, if that person is the avatar of Star Stealer Sol, what about Lady Arva and the two children…?”
“We don’t know yet.”
At this, Nol’s mood seemed to dip. “Rest assured. We won’t act rashly.”
Indeed, not long ago, the discussion on “hunting Star Stealer Sol” hit a deadlock.
No one knew why Star Stealer Sol’s avatar would start a family.
Solo suggested that perhaps Lady Avra is Star Stealer Sol’s true love across species, which could be a breakthrough.
Teest firmly believed that Enbillick’s humanity was even thinner than his own. His family was merely part of some plot, or even reserve weapons.
Fortunately, everyone agreed on one point—before clarifying the facts, nobody wanted to make a move hastily.
“Let’s do this.”
Painter pondered for a few seconds. “He still hasn’t lost interest in me and isn’t sure if I know about the avatar. This moment is just right. I’ll visit the Alva household again.”
The author has something to say:
Painter: Lord Alva, I’m coming to your house for dinner!
The paper figure turned to the bronze mirrors showing the other sacrificial offerings.
The illusions for the others were fairly straightforward. As long as they didn’t panic, they should be able to survive. The rules of the Disaster Relief Tower prohibit creating inescapable death traps.
But Fang Xiu’s situation was clearly a dead end.
There were hanging corpses on the tree; anyone trying to take wood for padding would definitely be attacked. Fang Xiu only took the cloth strips and didn’t damage the dead tree, which was lucky for him.
There were human heads in the river, so swimming wasn’t an option. Fang Xiu had to obediently walk on the ground.
In fact, Fang Xiu’s judgment wasn’t wrong. The faint light was indeed the endpoint. But at his walking speed, he would definitely die before reaching it.
What a pity. This kid has guts. He could have been a good candidate.
Just as the paper figure sighed, Fang Xiu made a move—
Fang Xiu climbed up and down the dead tree, taking down all the cloth strips. He wove the white strips into a net, then tore the flesh from his wounds and tossed it into the river. Fresh human blood spread through the water, causing the heads to swarm frantically, competing to devour it.
The next second, the white cloth net descended from the sky.
These traditional evil spirits had never encountered modern fishing techniques and were instantly caught in the net.
The heads collectively froze for a moment.
When they realized what was happening, the heads on the edges tried to bite through the net’s ropes, but they were so squeezed by their companions that they couldn’t open their mouths.
The heads in the center tried to sink, but were dragged by the others, stuck halfway up, creating a chaotic scene like rush hour in a crowded subway.
Then Fang Xiu just jumped on top of them.
He jumped on top of them.
Jumped on top of them.
The paper figure, who had been watching the entire time: “……” A phantom pain throbbed in its head.
What a ruthless guy!
And it wasn’t over yet. As soon as Fang Xiu steadied himself, he hung a piece of flesh on a cloth strip, placing it on one side of the “raft of heads”, like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey. Then he carefully walked to the other side and started tapping the funeral pot like a wooden fish.
The heads instantly reached a consensus. The half closer to the flesh advanced eagerly, while the half further away from the pot fled in terror. They charged towards the faint light at full speed, creating waves as they went, moving as fast as a motorboat.
The paper figure: “?”
It needed a word stronger than “ruthless”.
Meanwhile, Fang Xiu, happily riding the waves, found even the tree shadows on both sides of the river more pleasing.
As he approached the faint light, the dead trees on the banks changed in appearance. The cloth strips hanging from the trees turned from white to bright red. The corpses hanging from the trees were dressed in red and green, fresh and full, looking as if they had just died—a lively sight.
As Fang Xiu sped past them, the corpses’ pupils followed him from one corner of their eyes to the other.
“Good evening,” Fang Xiu cheerfully waved.
However, after reaching his destination, his evening didn’t go so well—
Fang Xiu did find the ghost hand that had run away, but the number of them wasn’t quite right.
The source of the beautiful faint light was actually a dim hill. Thousands of ghost hands protruded from the hill, each surrounded by a white glow, resembling a field of glowing mushrooms upon closer inspection.
Which one was his?
Or were these hands all connected underground like mushrooms, forming a single entity…
As Fang Xiu pondered, he suddenly felt a tightening on his back.
A ghost hand extended rapidly, lifting Fang Xiu into the air. The other hands nearby followed suit.
Countless wrists slithered like snakes, gripping his limbs and squeezing his waist and abdomen. Numerous fingers engulfed him, squirming over his skin. It felt like falling into an icy abyss or being trapped in a grotesque embrace.
Cold hands covered Fang Xiu’s eyes, his ears were tightly sealed, and even his tongue was pinned down by fingers as cold as ice.
A pair of hands encircled his neck, slowly tightening, in a motion that was impossible to distinguish as either gentle or torturous.
There wasn’t even a hint of murderous intent.
Bzzz—
The funeral pot fell heavily to the ground beside Fang Xiu’s feet.
Fang Xiu couldn’t breathe, veins bulged on his neck, and his head throbbed with pain. He recognized this feeling—death was hovering nearby, waiting for him to exhale his last breath.
No, something was off.
If they could beat a fierce ghost one-on-one, then what would be the point of summoning one? Directly fighting a ghost would be against the rules, so there must be restrictions set by the underworld. Since these restrictions hadn’t taken effect, this was definitely another test.
If he gave up now, everything would be over.
Using all his strength, Fang Xiu slowly clenched his jaws.
The fingers in his mouth were incredibly hard, sending sharp pains through his teeth. But he resolutely bit down, ignoring the piercing pain and the sound of bones cracking—like his mouth was just a numb pair of pliers.
Crack.
He bit off two fingers from the ghost hand. Remembering the direction, he spat the severed fingers forcefully.
Bzzz—Bzzz—
As the broken fingers hit the funeral pot precisely, the pot responded immediately, emitting a chilling sound once more.
In the next moment, the countless ghost hands holding Fang Xiu loosened their grip. Seizing the opportunity, he struggled desperately, falling back to the ground.
With no ghost hands covering his eyes, he saw silver chains filling the sky.
At some point, thousands of chains had shot out from the void, wrapping around the ghost hands on the ground like a spider web. The ghost hands stopped struggling and became still in the night.
Fang Xiu coughed twice, spitting out bloody foam. He chose the ghost hand nearest to him and removed the silver chain.
“Hey brother, want to chat? If you do, move a bit.” Enough is enough. Any more tests would be rude.
The hand lay there dejectedly for a moment, then waved towards Fang Xiu.
Relieved, Fang Xiu bent down to grab the ghost hand. Suddenly, it tightened its five fingers and stretched upward. Fang Xiu tried to pull it out—but it wouldn’t budge.
The atmosphere grew awkward.
Without a shovel this time, Fang Xiu had to use both hands to grab the ghost hand, pulling with all his might. The ghost hand’s muscles twitched strangely, as if the thing underground was constantly changing shape.
The chains dissipated like smoke, and the ground trembled. The countless ghost hands slowly withdrew into the earth, leaving only the one Fang Xiu was holding onto.
Swish…!
The soil loosened unexpectedly. Fang Xiu put all his strength into pulling the ghost out, couldn’t stop himself in time and fell backward. The thing he pulled out fell forward, pinning him down securely.
Fang Xiu was about to complain when the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.
…This guy is really handsome.
Though he had just emerged from the ground, not a speck of dirt stained him. He wore a white robe, and his black hair flowed down like a waterfall over Fang Xiu’s chest.
The key point was that face.
That face was properly handsome. At first glance, it was stunning, but on closer inspection, it seemed human yet not quite, like an overly exquisite doll that gave one chills.
Especially those eyes. Their irises were snow-white with a thin ring of light gray around the edges, showing no emotion. Such a void-like white reminded Fang Xiu of a shroud in a hospital.
…But still, he’s incredibly good-looking!
The love of beauty was common to all, and Fang Xiu was no exception.
“You’re crushing me,” he politely reminded.
The figure slowly rose, his movements stiff and awkward. He sat sideways on Fang Xiu’s lower leg, seemingly confused about how to stand.
Fang Xiu: “……”
Forget it, there are more important matters.
“I won’t ask much of you. Just consider this a nominal partnership and don’t interfere with me. In the future, we can… Ow!” Fang Xiu began, but before he could finish, the owner of the ghost hand leaned in close, placing a hand on his cheek.
Instantly, Fang Xiu’s vision distorted, and his senses became chaotic. The hand seemed to be kneading his brain, not causing pain but the invasive sensation was maddening.
Fang Xiu retched on the spot. With nothing in his stomach, he only spat out a small amount of bile.
The entire ordeal lasted about five or six seconds.
“Enough already. Don’t be so rough…” The dizziness finally subsided. Fang Xiu wiped his face, nearly choking on his own saliva.
“Speak… Words…”
The ghost hand’s owner spoke. His voice was pleasant, but the words didn’t match his mouth movements, like a video with a lag.
“…Learned to speak… from you…”
Fang Xiu: “?”
Is this a crash course in speaking? How does the underworld even select its ghosts?
The owner of the ghost hand quickly got the hang of synchronizing his voice and lips. “I didn’t intend to intervene… But since you broke my trap, by the rules, I must assist you…”
So that’s how it is.
The so-called negotiation mentioned by the paper figure was actually a “test set by the fierce ghost, solved by the summoner”. As long as the summoner passed the test, regardless of the ghost’s willingness, the partnership was considered established.
These fierce ghosts don’t have it easy either.
“Don’t worry, I’m tough,” Fang Xiu said. “I really don’t have any demands. You do as you see fit.”
“Why don’t you ask for my protection?” The owner of the ghost hand stared expressionlessly at Fang Xiu.
“Brother, your lot had a whole string of ‘death’ characters on it…”
…It looks like there’s a lot of resentment here.
Fang Xiu had treated the earlier bloody tests as just business for the ghost, but the lot seemed to carry a bit of personal grudge.
Going further might offend the ghost, so Fang Xiu quickly changed the subject. “Can I ask about your, uh, species?”
“No.”
“What about your name?”
“I don’t have one.”
What kind of work attitude is this? Fang Xiu choked. No name, fine, but “unknown species” was really conspicuous, and he didn’t want to stir up trouble.
“…Then if someone asks later, I’ll just say you’re a seductive ghost,” he said.
A seductive ghost, a relatively harmless and common type of evil spirit. With that face, it was a convincing choice.
“Alright, let’s make a contract,” the owner of the ghost hand agreed without objection.
That easy? Fang Xiu fell into thought.
The paper figure had explained the process of “making a contract”. After a partnership was established, the human must give the ghost a drop of blood. This step was more symbolic, like stamping a certificate.
Since that’s the case…
The owner of the ghost hand quietly waited, his white irises reflecting Fang Xiu as he raised his head.
Fang Xiu was lean, with skin that had an unhealthy pallor. His bangs were a bit messy, usually covering his eyes, making him look rather ordinary at first glance.
Since entering the illusion, this was the first time Fang Xiu had properly shown his face.
He had surprisingly handsome features, with slightly curved eyebrows and a natural smile, giving off a unique freshness. The owner of the ghost hand had seen many humans, and this one’s appearance was definitely top-notch.
It was just a pity that those black eyes, lacking brightness, appeared a bit sinister.
“In fact, a human face isn’t symmetrical. This ‘asymmetry’ is what makes people perceive ‘harmony’.” Fang Xiu said earnestly, “I can make you look more like a seductive ghost. Trust me, and don’t move.”
The owner of the ghost hand didn’t move, his gaze repeatedly scanning Fang Xiu’s features as if trying to engrave them in his memory.
Fang Xiu bit his ring finger, then gently dabbed a drop of blood on the ghost’s face—
A tiny blood mark appeared beneath the left eye of the ghost hand’s owner, like a small, blood-red mole.
With the addition of the mole, his otherworldly aura diminished somewhat, and his face, previously lifeless, gained a bit of vitality.
“All done.” Fang Xiu contentedly sucked on his wound. “Can we go back now? I’m exhausted.”
On the other side of the bronze mirror, the paper figure stood frozen in place, as if struck by lightning.
How could this be possible?
The owner of the ghost hand had first set a death trap and then tried to kill him. The Disaster Relief Tower forbade ghosts from killing the sacrificial offerings casually, yet this one had managed to defy the rules, delaying the underworld’s rescue spell.
Luckily, Fang Xiu had managed to hold on. By accidentally ringing the funeral pot, he disrupted the illusion, allowing the rescue spell to activate in time.
Fang Xiu assumed that the ghost hand was under the jurisdiction of the underworld and thought he was following a standard procedure. The kid didn’t even realize he had just narrowly escaped death or how dangerous his situation was.
Right now, the ghost was barely being suppressed by the Disaster Relief Tower and needed to be reported immediately…
The eyes of the owner of the ghost hand suddenly moved. His pale irises pierced through the mirror, directly stabbing at the paper figure.
A brief stare.
Everything around the paper figure twisted and turned, like stirred paint. A moment later, everything returned to normal.
The paper figure put the bronze mirror back in place.
“A seductive ghost, a seductive ghost. That kid actually summoned a seductive ghost,” it muttered, clicking its tongue but otherwise appearing calm. “We were wondering why there was an extra lot, but it turns out a seductive ghost snuck in…”
Everything had a cause and effect. The ghosts summoned were closely related to the summoner’s own characteristics.
A mere seductive ghost was nothing to worry about. The paper figure had been a little interested in Fang Xiu, but now it seemed like nothing special. Picking up the half-written abnormal report, it continued to chew on it with great interest.
No abnormalities. No abnormalities. No abnormalities.
The sacrificial ritual would undoubtedly proceed smoothly, as always.
The author has something to say:
The long-standing prologue meeting! The two have finally seen each other’s faces, not easy.
Fang Xiu: You talked so tough, hit so hard, didn’t even learn how to speak human language properly beforehand… I get it.
Fang Xiu: You must really not want this job, huh? Don’t worry, you can slack off.
“Please forgive me, but no matter how much money you give me, I can’t go any further, sir.” A rough-skinned man stopped in front of a large moss-covered stone, turning around with some fear, worried that his disobedience might invite a whipping.
Alfred, riding high on his horse, looked down at him. “Why?”
“It’s the territory of the Nawen tribe inside. They’re skilled in hunting and traps, and they’re formidable warriors. Without permission, entering their land would result in injury.”
Alfred was silent for two seconds before his companion behind him stepped forward. “How much do you know about the Nawen tribe?”
Hunters in this area all knew about the Nawen tribe, but very few had actual contact with them.
Some members of their tribe had distinct features, such as green eyes and fair skin, while others looked no different from ordinary people. The ones who came out of the forest to trade salt and other goods were usually the latter and rarely revealed their identity.
This tribe, which once had close ties with the elves, had always been more aligned with the elves rather than their own kind—humans. The locals didn’t mind the elves but found the Nawen tribe’s apparent rejection of their own race in favor of the elves distasteful. The Nawen tribe never explained their motives, so over generations, the locals no longer considered them human like themselves, even though they knew they weren’t elves.
Especially after the elves left the continent, there were mocking claims that the tribe was abandoned by the elves in the forest, symbolizing misfortune and to be avoided.
Even though he was anxious, Alfred didn’t force the guide, who was just doing his job for money. He let the man go and discussed with the two knights how to enter the forest.
“We have an unfailing compass, so we won’t get lost in the forest,” White Knight Spin said. “And we have horses and swords. Even if there are dragons in the forest, these three things are enough.”
“Should we seek help from the local families?” Another knight, Shel, suggested. “Although Alger did such a thing, the Lady’s maternal family should be concerned about the Young Master. If we had their manpower, our actions might be easier.”
There were only three of them now. No matter how brave they were, they knew it was foolish to think they could take on an entire tribe alone. Shel knew Alfred was still furious over Alger’s framing of the Young Master, but objectively speaking, Alger was just a cousin of the Lady and didn’t represent the attitude of her entire family.
“The Duke will come personally with reinforcements,” Alfred said, staring into the forest. “We can’t afford any more betrayal.”
Spin thought of another aspect. “I think the Lady might come too. Before that, we’d better not make any moves that could affect their later discussions.”
Whatever the reason, this time Brandenburg wouldn’t spare Alger. The Duchess didn’t like to travel far, but given the matter of her youngest son, no one would think she would stay in the castle waiting for news.
“If we can rescue Young Master Arnie before the lady arrives, that would be ideal,” Alfred said, stroking his stubbly face. “Even elves bleed and die, let alone a bunch that has stayed in the forest for years—”
He used a somewhat crude term, making Spin cough. The three of them finally reached an agreement, bypassed the mossy boulder, and drove their horses into the forest.
……
Charlie carried Arnie over a fallen log, with Wind leading the way. In a small depression grew plants with unusually thick and straight stems, looking like a bed of tulips without buds.
“The Flame Butterflies will return before dusk. We just need to wait a while,” Wind said, handing Charlie a water bottle from the deer’s back to give Arnie a drink. Arnie twisted in Charlie’s arms, wanting to get down, but Charlie held him tightly.
The ground here was full of stones and moss, and Charlie felt the atmosphere was too serene to let the child run around.
“I want to get down,” Arnie demanded.
Charlie didn’t respond to him but instead asked Wind, “What are Flame Butterflies? Are they dangerous?”
Wind smiled. “They are completely harmless magical butterflies, but very beautiful. Unfortunately, they are becoming increasingly rare. We don’t know if there are any Flame Butterflies left elsewhere on the continent.”
The term “magical butterflies” caught Arnie’s attention, and he stopped squirming. “What kind of magic do they have?”
Wind made a “shh” gesture. With his motion, the already shaded area seemed to grow darker, and the sound of fluttering wings began to fill the air, growing louder.
Charlie stepped back slightly, and he and Arnie looked up to see a bright, flaming mass rising from the small waterfall not far away.
It was a large group of red and blue butterflies. They flew over the waterfall, landing on the grass stems, their wings slowly flapping. As more butterflies descended, the once green depression turned into a shimmering, colorful flower bed. A gentle breeze made the butterfly wings quiver like countless petals, creating a breathtaking sight.
Arnie’s eyes widened, and Charlie, also captivated by the floral sea, whispered, “Elven celebration.”
Wind’s smile froze on his lips. He looked at Charlie in shock, as if he had just said something absurd.
“You…” Wind studied Charlie, as if trying to see if he had pointed ears. “Do you recognize them?”
“This is my first time seeing them in person,” Charlie said, slowly crouching down, one arm around Arnie, and using the other to gently shake a grass stem. “But I’ve read about these butterflies in texts. They are called magical butterflies, but they don’t have any special abilities other than glowing. They are a mutated form of ordinary butterflies, tamed by elves, occasionally used to enhance the atmosphere at feasts and celebrations.”
A butterfly was drawn to the grass stem in Charlie’s hand, fluttering over and landing on it. Charlie handed the stem to Arnie, letting him hold it himself.
“Well said,” Wind said a bit sadly. “But their numbers dwindle every year. We’ve tried to breed them, but without success. In ten years, this scene might disappear forever.”
“They have no magic themselves, but to maintain this brilliance requires elven magic,” Charlie said, touching the butterfly’s wings with his fingertips, noticing only a faint trace of magic still lingering at the wing base.
“But they won’t truly disappear—only revert back to being ordinary butterflies,” Charlie said, flicking his fingers nonchalantly.
Wind glanced at him. “Are you a mage?”
Charlie stood up again, holding Arnie, and smiled. “No. If you must say something, I’m just a magician who has read a lot of books.”
He felt that Wind’s tribe was somewhat similar to these butterflies. Once, they had gained extraordinary abilities due to the elves’ protection, but as the elves vanished, these extraordinary parts were gradually fading.
Charlie didn’t know what the butterflies thought, but he guessed that Wind’s tribe didn’t want to lose their “magic” again.
“Wind!” someone called from a distance, probably afraid of startling the butterflies, so their voice was low.
Wind turned to Arnie. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go back?”
Arnie looked around for a while, trying to catch the butterfly, but Charlie, holding him, shook him a bit, causing the butterfly to fly away.
Arnie turned angrily to Charlie, who ignored him, and started walking towards the caller, following Wind.
“I want one,” Arnie said, unwilling to give up. He knew Charlie wouldn’t get him a butterfly, so he turned to Wind for help.
Arnie was good at understanding the situation. Although Atta and the others had been a bit rough in capturing him, Wind represented the tribe’s attitude towards him—more friendly than intimidating.
So, he judged that he could make some harmless requests.
A butterfly wasn’t much, but Charlie still patted his head and coaxed, “If you put a butterfly in a jar, its wings will get damaged, and it won’t be able to fly anymore. Do you think a butterfly on a grass stem, or a dead butterfly is prettier?”
Arnie stubbornly said, “I’ll take care of it.”
You can’t even tie your shoelaces properly. Charlie, with his expression unchanged, quickened his pace while holding Arnie, continuing to deceive the child. “Then let’s catch one on the way back. That way it will be fresh (?).”
That sounded reasonable, and Arnie hesitated for a moment, missing the best opportunity to throw a tantrum. Wind approached the person who had come to meet them. “Green, why are you here?”
Green was a beautiful young woman, standing in front of a large stag with long antlers, waiting for them.
“The seer wants to see him,” she said straightforwardly.
Wind was taken aback and looked back at Arnie and Charlie, who were still negotiating and hadn’t noticed what they were saying.
“Why does the seer…”
“He felt his presence,” Green said calmly. “Let’s go before it gets too dark. The chieftain just agreed.”
Charlie, holding Arnie, frowned at the two who were speaking without consulting them. “Where to?”
“Only him,” Green emphasized. “The son of Dwight.”
Charlie looked down at the child in his arms. Arnie sensed something and clung to him again.
“I don’t want to go,” Arnie said.
Green was a bit surprised. “Why?”
“I can’t let the Young Master out of my sight.” Charlie tightened his grip on Arnie. “He’s already very tired today. If there are important arrangements, it would be better to notify us an hour in advance.”
Green couldn’t detect Charlie’s subtle criticism of their presumptuousness, but Wind realized it. He stepped between them and looked at Green. “Is the seer in a hurry?”
Green was confused. “No.”
“Then why don’t I go with you to explain? It’s getting dark. It’s not safe for the child,” Wind suggested.
Green wanted to ask, “What could be unsafe with us around?” but she rarely saw Wind with such a strange expression, so she kept silent.
Charlie ignored their low conversation and mounted his horse, with Arnie clinging tightly to him like a small bundle.
On the way back, neither he nor Arnie spoke. Wind seemed eager to see the “seer” and left hastily after sending them to the treehouse. While taking off Arnie’s coat, Charlie praised him. “Very smart.”
Arnie looked up. “You mean that seer? I don’t want to go.”
He kicked off his little boots and stood on the chair.
Charlie teased him. “Maybe he’s an important figure.”
Arnie said, “He just wants to know if I have any connection to the elves.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
Even standing on the chair, Arnie couldn’t reach Charlie’s height, but he still tilted his chin high. “They value the elves a lot. Maybe they sensed I have elven blood.”
“Although it’s just a tiny bit—” He gestured with his finger, showing a small amount. “Because it was a long, long time ago.”
“I came to ask if you’d like to see the butterflies,” Wind asked Arnie with a smile. “The butterflies here are different from those elsewhere.”
Arnie looked at him skeptically. They had just recently been denied permission to go for a walk, so why had the decision changed so quickly?
Wind seemed to understand Arnie’s thoughts just by looking at his expression and explained, “We didn’t restrict your movement on purpose. The forest’s climate is complex, and it was very humid recently. Unfamiliar people walking on the ground might easily fall into sinkholes. These past few days have been sunny, making the ground much safer. With someone accompanying you, nothing will happen.”
“Besides, staying in the house for too long is very boring, isn’t it?” he asked.
Of course, it was very boring. Oscar could tell fascinating stories, but he couldn’t talk all day long. Arnie, who had gotten so bored he started giving nicknames to the hawks frequently passing by the treehouse, thought for a moment and then stretched out his hand toward Charlie.
“I want to go,” he said confidently.
Wind rarely left the forest, but he had heard about some nobles’ behaviors and didn’t pay much attention to Arnie’s gesture.
Charlie knew that Arnie was actually worried he wouldn’t be included in the “butterfly-watching” plan and deliberately acted like a spoiled child who didn’t want to walk. So, he bent down and picked him up.
He had expected Wind to use his strange strength to put them back into a box again, but this time, there was a wicker basket hanging outside the threshold, tied with thick vines, one end looped over a higher branch—where another unfamiliar green-eyed person was sitting.
“Ya will hold the basket and slowly lower it,” Wind reassured Arnie. “He’s very strong. You won’t fall.”
Arnie wasn’t scared at all. If Charlie hadn’t been holding him, he probably would have hung himself on the edge of the basket.
The giant tree was so large that they felt like a few ants slowly crawling on the trunk. The trunk itself was full of strange and wonderful things: hidden bird nests (with glimpses of white objects inside, which Arnie guessed were young birds still without feathers), busy squirrels darting between branches, and various colorful epiphytic vines and thick moss hiding bright-colored beetles.
Charlie noticed different things. The trees here were unlike those in ordinary forests. The atmosphere was ancient and solemn. The rustling leaves in the breeze gave way to a sensation of standing on some enormous being’s chest, waiting for its slow breaths to manifest.
Arnie’s eyes were wide open, trying to take in all the scenery. There weren’t many chances to be this high in Lemena, and his mother and Priscilla were afraid of heights, never allowing him to climb the watchtower in Brandenburg.
Wind pointed out a direction to Arnie. “There’s a small waterfall over there, and the butterflies…” He stopped mid-sentence because Arnie wasn’t looking where he pointed but in the opposite direction.
“What’s over there?” Arnie asked, eyes fixed on that spot.
Charlie shifted him slightly upward. From their high vantage point, the area Arnie was looking at seemed like any other part of the dense tree canopy, but Charlie also felt it had a particularly refreshing appearance.
And he had always trusted his intuition. Though he had no evidence, he would bet a bottle of aged Vapolina wine that this was the only place in the settlement that contained magical elements.
And Wind’s expression confirmed this suspicion.
Wind didn’t immediately answer Arnie’s question because he suddenly remembered some of his tribe’s secret discussions.
Duke Dwight’s child looked more like an “elf” than they did.
This statement wasn’t because the child was beautiful—elves were indeed beautiful—but the fundamental trait of this race was their innate affinity with nature. Therefore, elves had always been associated with terms like “forest”, “healing”, and “planting” throughout history.
The forest favored this child. The fruit he picked would always be the sweetest one in the bowl. When he slept in the treehouse at night, the bothersome night wind would be blocked by the branches, leaving only a pleasant breeze gently flowing through the doors and windows. The wind couldn’t tell if he had a talent for planting, but it immediately noticed the most hidden place among their tribe…
“That is our forbidden area,” Wind said. “Sorry, not even our tribesmen can enter casually.”
Arnie responded with an “oh” and looked away.
Charlie, with his back to Wind, mouthed a few words to Arnie. “I know.”
Arnie blinked and then became happy again. When no one was around, Oscar would definitely tell him the secret of that place—Oscar knew everything!
Once Alfred rescued them, he would ask his father to let Oscar take care of him. Although Elaby was hardworking and just as gentle as Oscar, he was completely different from Oscar.
He felt that Oscar genuinely liked him—even when he was throwing a tantrum. This kind of unconditional acceptance, without any other emotions mixed in, he had only ever seen from his parents and sister.
Wind didn’t know what Charlie did, but Arnie’s non-persistent attitude surprised and relieved him.
The layer of fallen leaves under the trees didn’t seem as thick as those on the forest’s edge. Scattered treehouses hung between the trees, connected by delicate bridges. Even looking up from below made one feel uneasy, but those walking on them were accustomed to it.
Charlie noticed that not all the people here had green eyes, but most were well-proportioned and had beautiful features.
On the way, everyone seemed to know who they were. At most, a few people curiously glanced at Arnie, but no one approached them.
Arnie walked while looking up at the houses built in the trees. At his age, his head-to-body ratio was still not quite balanced, so when he looked up, his center of gravity shifted, making his walk precarious, prompting Wind to want to reach out and support him several times.
So, Spokesman Charlie softly asked why they built their houses in the trees.
Wind suddenly realized and explained, “The ground is too damp. It’s hard to guard against insects, snakes, and wild animals, and it easily floods when it rains. We have some ground houses, but they are usually used as warehouses, not for living.”
Arnie stopped looking up, and Charlie rubbed the back of his neck.
Someone was waiting for them under a tree. When the three approached, this person led out a few impressively large creatures: two horses and a beautiful deer.
Even the deer was as tall as Wind, with a small saddle on its back. Wind wanted Arnie to ride it, but Charlie immediately refused.
“The Young Master cannot ride any…” He chose his words carefully, “animals alone.”
Wind knew he was just a subordinate of the Dwight family and didn’t take his words seriously, so he asked Arnie, “Furnaya has a great temperament. Do you want to give it a try?”
Arnie shook off Charlie’s hand and let Wind lift him up—he had several ponies but wasn’t allowed to ride them until he turned seven, which had frustrated him for a long time.
Charlie crossed his arms, watching their movements. Wind gently lifted Arnie onto the deer’s back, but when Arnie stretched out his leg…
He couldn’t reach the stirrup.
He shifted and stretched his leg again.
His toes were still far from the stirrup, whether it was his left foot or right foot.
Wind: “…” He hadn’t anticipated this.
Furnaya was the gentlest deer and not particularly large. They thought they had arranged everything well, but for the size of Dwight’s son, it seemed a bit challenging.
Arnie stubbornly sat on the deer’s back, refusing to move. Seeing his expression, Wind couldn’t help but regret this hasty arrangement.
Would the child cry if he asked him to get down now? Ride with him? But the deer in the forest didn’t carry adults.
Charlie looked at them with a faint smile, saying nothing, even wanting to light a cigarette on the spot.
Arnie’s face turned redder, and Wind was at a loss, so he looked at Charlie.
Charlie regretted not having his pipe.
He stepped forward, flipped up Arnie’s cloak hood, which was made extra large, covering half of Arnie’s face.
Arnie, suddenly plunged into darkness, was startled. Before he could react, his body was lifted into the air, drawing an arc—then he sat down again.
He lifted his hood and found himself on a horse, at a height even more impressive than the deer.
“The higher you sit, the farther you can see,” Charlie said as he mounted the horse. Then he asked, “Isn’t that right?”
Arnie tugged at his hood without speaking, seeing Wind also mounted on a horse, leading the way ahead.
Though the deer lost its rider, it still carried water and provisions, so it followed behind them.
Strong deer occasionally ran through the forest, unafraid of people, sometimes stopping to curiously observe the visitors.
“We don’t hunt deer,” Wind said loudly. “Never—”
“Is the roast meat from wild boar?” Charlie asked back.
“Yes, wild boar needs to be controlled.” Wind’s posture on horseback was elegant, his long ponytail swinging behind him.
Arnie noticed some deer carrying people, mostly children, regardless of gender, all sporting the same hairstyle as Wind.
“I thought your eyes were all the same color.” Charlie also noticed the children.
Wind didn’t turn his head. “Green eyes are naturally faster, stronger, and more enduring than average tribesmen, but there are also warriors with brown eyes who are stronger than those with green eyes, so it’s just a symbol.”
He didn’t mention that the elders said green eyes were proof of a connection with the elves, but as the elves had been gone for longer, the number of green-eyed children had decreased with each generation.
Adding to that the lost treasure and the impending threat of Lemena’s relentless pursuit… Wind sighed silently.
All he could do was ensure the Young Master had a pleasant time here, so they could at least honestly say he was well-treated when facing the Duke’s wrath. Hopefully, this could save something. That’s all.
However, some tribesmen even fancied the idea that the Duke’s son was more suited to the forest—this child’s identity still had something to be explored.
Wind thought they were daydreaming. Regardless of the relationship between the Duke’s son and the forest, Duke Dwight would never allow his only son to live in the forest.
With the treasure still missing, they even dared to covet the child. Wind decided not to tell anyone about the Duke’s son identifying the forbidden area at a glance.
But he had a strange feeling that even if he didn’t mention it, Arnie might still have the chance to enter.
As he hung in the air staring at the forbidden area, who could know if “there” was also watching him?
After ejaculating, Alois lay on the bed, panting heavily, slowly recovering from the afterglow. He stared blankly at the white liquid on his body, unable to believe he had cum just from being touched from behind. Joshua pinched his face. “Isn’t it fixed now?” He withdrew his fingers, planning to clean them.
Alois grabbed him.
“What now?” the assassin asked.
“I…” Alois’s gaze darted around, unsure where to look. The playful expression on the assassin’s face was incredibly humiliating. “Joshua, I… I…” After stammering for a while, Alois decided to stop wasting words and explain through action. He pulled Joshua down, pressing him onto the bed, kneeling between his legs. “You… you helped me. Let me help you, okay?”
“No need.”
“Don’t you ever need to take care of your physiological needs?” Alois lowered his head deeply, too afraid to look at Joshua’s face, fearing to see either anger or mockery.
A hand reached to his ear, pinching his earlobe and lifting his chin to force him to look up. Joshua’s serious and solemn face came into view. “I can handle it myself,” the assassin said expressionlessly. “Just take care of your own business.”
Coldness hurt more than ridicule. Alois felt a bit disappointed. “You really don’t want it? I…” He pitifully shifted his gaze to avoid further hurt. “I’m really good… Just let me help you this once, as thanks…” His voice trailed off.
After what seemed like an eternity to Alois, he finally heard Joshua sigh lightly. “Suit yourself.”
Alois got what he wanted, excitedly unbuttoning Joshua’s pants, revealing the large erection. He was surprised to find the assassin was also hard. Clearly feeling it yet pretending to be indifferent—it was quite aggravating! Alois grumbled silently as he massaged the big member a few times before lowering his head to suck and lick at the head.
Joshua took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall. His need for sex was minimal, not because of any physical issues but because he was always indifferent. But that didn’t mean he would refuse offered service. Within certain limits, Joshua even quite enjoyed such service. In fact, watching Alois work hard to please him now made him rather happy.
Alois hadn’t lied; he was indeed very skilled. His mouth was hot and soft, his nimble tongue moving up and down the shaft, occasionally flicking over the small opening at the tip. The assassin shivered with pleasure, grabbing the young man’s hair and pressing him deeper between his legs, trying to push further in. Alois whimpered, glaring at Joshua reproachfully, then took the entire shaft into his mouth, down to his throat.
The pleasure of being fully enveloped made Joshua gasp. He rewarded Alois by rubbing his nape, pushing a bit deeper.
“Ugh…” The discomfort in his throat was intense. Alois tried to pull away from Joshua’s hand but was pushed back down. It seemed the assassin enjoyed deep throating. His erection swelled a bit more, and Alois could only manage to lick the shaft with difficulty. His breathing became labored, saliva flowing from the corners of his mouth, soaking into his clothes.
Joshua wiped away the saliva, grabbing Alois’s hair, starting to thrust, pushing deeper into his throat repeatedly. Alois could hardly breathe, unable to make a sound, barely maintaining his composure through each thrust.
The suffocation-induced hypoxia soon made his vision go dark. Just as he was about to pass out, Joshua came in his mouth. The thick semen flooded his mouth, choking him as it mixed with the much-needed air.
Alois coughed violently. Joshua held his shoulders, patting his back to help him breathe. It took a while for him to recover. Alois glared at the assassin angrily. “Are you trying to kill me?” he said, wiping the white liquid from his mouth.
Joshua brushed his hand aside, leaned in, and kissed the corner of his lips, licking away the semen. Alois froze, and Joshua captured his lips, kissing them deeply several times before biting hard, leaving a mark.
“Ugh…” Alois covered his mouth.
“Well done.” Joshua patted his butt. “Go back to your room and rest. Don’t you have training to attend?”
“Ah!” The young man jumped off the bed in a panic. “I almost forgot!” He pulled up his pants. “What time is it?”
“Standard time: 4 a.m.” Joshua picked up the communication terminal. “You can sleep for a few more hours.”
Alois hesitated. “Can I… sleep here?”
“In your dreams.” The assassin mercilessly issued an eviction order.
Maybe it really was a dream. Alois floated out of the cabin, feeling he had gotten a bit closer to Joshua. It was indeed better to be proactive. One day, he believed, he and Joshua would not only mutually masturbate and perform oral sex but also go all the way. Maybe even have some emotional connection.
Joshua somewhat resembled the person he had been waiting for—the one who would take him away from desolate Hecate and support him through his life.
“Leonard?”
After Alois left, Joshua called out to the AI. Dressed in robes and styled as a scholar, Leo folded his hands inside his sleeves, bowing slightly to the assassin. On ancient Earth, this was a gesture of respect to superiors, still practiced in Neo Athens.
“What do you need?”
“Leo, Alois said he likes me.”
“I heard that too.”
“Do you think it’s true?” The assassin felt a prickling pain at his ankle. Looking down, he saw Schrödinger scratching him. He picked up the neglected black cat, placing it on his lap to scratch its head. “Do you think he really likes me?”
“You don’t even know yourself. How could I possibly know?” AI wasn’t omniscient, especially when it came to emotions.
Joshua lowered his eyes, the golden rings in his pupils dimming slightly. “Leo, what does love feel like?”
The AI looked into the nonexistent void. “It’s sweet and bitter, both wine and poison. It drags you into hell, an eternal abyss, and also makes you deliriously happy, willing to embrace it.”
“You seem to understand it quite well?” Joshua smirked.
“Don’t mock me.”
The black cat on his lap purred contentedly.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lived this long without ever falling in love.” Leo looked at the assassin.
“I really haven’t.”
“Then seize the opportunity to fall in love. After all, you humans have such short lives, and opportunities are fleeting.”
Joshua’s hand, scratching the cat, paused. The black cat flicked its tail in confusion. “Meow.”
Leo disappeared. The cabin was left with only Joshua.
The mess hall of the Lady of the Night was filled with laughter and merriment. The chefs served the most delicious food, steaming hot and fragrant, stretching from one end of the long table to the other. The captain brought out her prized private collection of fine wine for everyone to enjoy. (She had also locked Pavlov in a room to prevent it from being tempted by the feast. However, Leo later let it out, and now the dog lay sadly at the AI’s feet, watching “Debunking Pseudoscience” with him, Leo’s favorite show).
The party was to celebrate Joanna’s safe return and the addition of two new companions. People kept toasting Joanna, while Ibb Descartes was half-drunk, hiccupping beside the pirate lady. “You’ve struck gold, Captain, hic.”
“Ah, yes. Quite a surprise.” Joanna smiled, downing a glass of sherry, her eyes fixed on Alois Lagrange. He stayed close to Joshua Planck, as if afraid the assassin might get lost. Joshua, claiming low alcohol tolerance, politely declined the toasts, but the crew was so enthusiastic that Alois had to drink on his behalf. Eventually, he ended up being the one who got more drunk.
Joanna waved to Joshua. “Take him back to his room. I don’t want my crew dying of alcohol poisoning.”
With permission, the assassin immediately grabbed Alois by the shoulders, half-dragging and half-pulling him out of the mess hall. The latter part of the party turned into a free-for-all, with the revelers too caught up in their high spirits to notice the main guests’ absence.
“Such slackers!” Joanna shook her head, taking another swig of her drink.
Joshua dragged Alois toward the cabins. The drunken young man couldn’t keep up, almost falling several times, but Joshua quickly caught him each time.
Alois clung to the assassin’s arm, swaying unsteadily, his eyes hazy as if he might fall asleep at any moment. “Jos… Joshua…” he slurred, almost biting his tongue.
“What?”
“I… I beat Joanna…”
“Well, technically you didn’t win. It was at best a draw.”
“But I didn’t lose!” Alois leaned against the wall, barely managing to stand straight. “I… I want a reward…”
Joshua almost laughed. “You’re not a child. What reward do you want…” Before he could finish, he was suddenly pinned against the wall. Alois, with surprising strength, held him firmly, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his face.
“Joshua, I… I…” Alois murmured, leaning in to kiss his lips. It wasn’t deep—just a light, fleeting kiss. A quick peck, and then it was over.
The assassin hadn’t even had time to react before the kiss ended. He was surprised at his own slowness, perhaps the alcohol had dulled his senses, or maybe he hadn’t expected Alois to make such a move. Whenever he was around the young man, he let his guard down, vulnerable to sudden attacks. This was something that never would have happened before; as an assassin, he was always cautious, preemptively eliminating any threats. But ever since meeting Alois, he had undergone some subtle changes. Initially, he hadn’t noticed, but once he did, he felt uneasy and anxious. The Mourner was always a person who lacked a sense of security.
Before he could analyze his source of anxiety, there was a thud, and Alois collapsed to the ground.
The assassin really wanted to leave him there. But the drunken youth mumbled incoherently in his sleep, and when Joshua listened closely, he realized he was calling his name.
Sighing, the assassin crouched down and nudged Alois’s shoulder, but he lay there like a heap of mud, unmoving. “What a hassle.” He had no choice but to pick him up in his arms, grumbling about the weight as he carried him back to the cabin.
Alois had a wonderful dream.
He dreamt that Joshua approached him lovingly, inviting him to join him. He felt like he was floating on clouds, entering Joshua’s body, and sweating profusely. They tried several positions, with Joshua always cooperating gently. Finally, they reached a peak of joy together.
When Alois woke up, his head was splitting. The hangover left him groggy, and it took a while for him to realize where he was. He moved his limbs, confirming he was still intact, then slowly sat up and looked around. He was in his cabin, with only the dim light from the communication terminal’s screen. He winced at the bright light when he turned on the lamp, then quickly turned it off again.
He noticed he was only in his underwear, his clothes neatly folded at the bedside. His memory only went as far as being dragged out of the mess hall by Joshua, nothing after that. Someone must have brought him back and kindly helped him undress.
“Leonard!”
The AI’s voice came from the ceiling, “What?”
“Who brought me back?”
“Joshua, of course. Who else?” Leo’s voice sounded listless, “He even helped you shower. Do you need me to play the video?”
“No!” Alois rubbed his nose to hide his embarrassment. His ears felt hot, probably blushing. The thought of Joshua taking care of him made his heart race and filled him with a small joy.
And that dream… Joshua, tender and loving… Though it was impossible! Still, Alois dared to secretly fantasize about Joshua’s silky silver hair, Joshua’s supple waist, Joshua’s fair skin…
And then he shamefully got aroused.
He climbed back into bed, trying to relieve himself with his right hand, but to no avail. The hangover left him weak, and all his blood seemed to rush to his head, fueling his fantasies instead of going below.
Frustrated, Alois turned over several times, covering half his face with the blanket, and whispered, “Hey, Leo, do you… do you have any adult videos?”
The ceiling was silent.
After about a minute, Leo’s sly voice came from very close to Alois. “I do, actually. Don’t tell the captain. She’d burn my database.”
“I won’t say a word.” Alois felt like he was making a secret deal with a spy.
“Alright. What kind do you want?”
“Um…” Alois’s voice grew quieter. “I mean… is there any video where the main character… happens to look like Joshua?”
Another minute of silence passed.
“I understand, brother.” This time, Leo’s voice was filled with sympathy. “Poor guy. Let me find something for you… Ah, there actually is one! But I can’t guarantee they ‘look alike’, after all, AI aesthetics are a bit different from human aesthetics…”
“Stop rambling and show it to me!”
“I’ve sent it to your terminal,” Leo said. “Remember to delete it after you watch it. If someone else finds out, don’t you dare say I sent it to you! Don’t drag me into this!”
“You also can’t tell anyone I watched it. Especially not Joshua.”
“Of course, of course.” Thus, the two reached a secret agreement.
Alois happily picked up the communication terminal, where the screen indicated a movie had been transferred to it. He opened the adult film and settled into a comfortable position to watch.
After a lengthy copyright statement, a slender man appeared on the screen. He had light blonde, almost silver hair, and black eyes that, while lacking the golden rings, were somewhat similar in shape to Joshua’s. The man posed seductively for the camera. Alois thought he didn’t look nearly as good as Joshua, but human imagination is powerful. He silently imagined the blonde actor as Joshua and began his delightful fantasy.
He grasped his erect member and started stroking it slowly. As the film progressed, the blonde man was pinned down by several burly men, letting out helpless moans. Alois’s stroking sped up. The blonde actor was thrust into until he came, his hoarse cries irresistibly alluring. Alois quickened his pace, holding his breath, on the brink of climax. Then, out of nowhere, he remembered his first encounter with Joshua, when Joshua calmly serviced him, and then…
“Damn it!” The memory of that bone-deep pain made Alois immediately lose his erection. Frustrated, he turned off the terminal and punched the wall in anger.
“Don’t hit the wall! Don’t you think it hurts me too?!” Leo yelled. “Joshua is right next door. If you’re mad, go find him!”
“Do you think I won’t?” Alois quickly got dressed and headed straight to the next cabin. Any man would be extremely indignant upon discovering he had gone soft due to some psychological shadow, especially when that “shadow” was right next door.
“What’s wrong?” Inside the cabin, Joshua was playing with the cat. He had somehow gotten a cat teaser and was having a great time with Schrödinger. This contrasted sharply with Alois’s anger.
He snatched the cat teaser, threw it into a corner, then grabbed Joshua by the shoulders, eyes almost blazing, “It’s all your fault!” Alois yelled, “It’s all your fault! All your fault!”
The assassin looked at him innocently. “What’s wrong?” He tilted his head back. “Leo, tell me what happened.”
Leo appeared beside them. “Mr. Lagrange discovered he has erectile dysfunction while watching a film,” he stated matter-of-factly, like a seasoned doctor.
Alois glared at him, “Didn’t you promise not to tell?!” AI is truly untrustworthy!
Leo tossed his head. “I didn’t say the actor looked much like Joshua.” He blinked and immediately covered his mouth. “Oops, sorry. AI isn’t perfect either. Sometimes we slip up.” He disappeared before Alois’s anger could explode.
Joshua narrowed his eyes, looking at the young man with interest. “Erectile dysfunction, huh?”
Alois shivered. “Uh… I… I was just visiting…” He took a few steps back, ready to flee, but Joshua grabbed him, throwing him onto the bed. He tried to find an opening to escape, but the assassin pinned him down, leaving no room to struggle.
“Can’t get hard looking at my face?” Joshua pressed against his groin, massaging him with just the right amount of pressure. Alois’s hair stood on end, and he immediately stopped resisting, afraid the assassin might get too excited and crush his privates.
“Sorry, Joshua, I…” He racked his brain for an excuse, but no words came out. Finally, he shut his eyes and said resolutely, “Anyway, I just like you!”
Then he felt a chill at his waist as his pants were pulled down. “What are you doing?” He sat up, seeing the assassin lick his fingers, the other hand spreading his knees apart.
“Giving you a treatment.” Joshua’s fingers slid into his anus.
Alois screamed and fell back onto the bed. Although he had done it with men many times, he was always the top, and his small hole had never been penetrated. The sudden pain and discomfort made him moan. Joshua didn’t stop, his fingers exploring inside, pressing lightly and heavily against the walls.
“You’re pretty tight,” Joshua smirked. “Haven’t used this place before?”
“Of course not!” Alois arched his back in pain, trying to escape the assassin’s intrusion, only to be pinned back down.
“Stay still.” Joshua added another finger. The two fingers together expanded the narrow passage, their movements gentle like a caress. He must have hit a certain spot because a wave of pleasure shocked Alois, making him cry out. Joshua grinned, “Here it is.” He pressed heavily on that spot.
“No! Not there…”
“Does it feel uncomfortable?”
Alois wanted to protest, but the overwhelming pleasure turned his protest into a soft moan. Joshua skillfully massaged his prostate, occasionally squeezing his sacs. The pleasure from front and back made Alois whimper. His penis was already hard, its tip leaking sticky fluid, running down his legs. He had never thought the pleasure from the prostate could be so intense. His hole secreted liquid as Joshua’s fingers thrusted in and out, dripping down his legs, making a mess.
“Joshua… I… I’m going to…” Alois, near collapse, could barely complete a sentence.
“Then cum if you want to.” Joshua bent down, kissing his earlobe, whispering, “Alois…”
This was the first time Joshua had ever called him by name alone.
Kinky Translations 