Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 58: The Silver Pocket Watch

…It just moved on its own?

Myss didn’t believe a single word of that. Salaar was definitely messing with him.

He had publicly bitten—no, kissed—Salaar, so there was no reason for Salaar to kiss him back as some kind of follow-up.

And if it was something Salaar had done, then there had to be some incredible scheme behind it. If that pinch hadn’t drawn blood, Myss would almost have suspected it was some occult sacrifice, or a curse ritual unique to humans.

…Thinking back on it, though, that feeling really had been strange.

Lately, Myss had buried his face in cat fur often enough. Apple had even licked his chin before, and that tongue had been warm too.

But back then, his body had never reacted with that same tingling numbness. Still shaken, Myss touched his neck and chest. The tightness left behind after that numbness was still there.

In the end, Salaar really had achieved some kind of goal. Myss could no longer brazenly bite him whenever he felt like it. If Salaar used the same trick and kissed him back twice as hard, then things would really turn into “Sweet Trap”.

At present, hugging still worked well enough. Kissing would have to be used with caution. The next time he kissed Salaar, it would have to be swift, precise, and ruthless, making sure Salaar had no chance to resist.

Myss reached this conclusion quickly and finally felt a little more at ease.

While Professor Gentry and his students inspected the stone gate, he quietly told Salaar about the Abnormal Fruit scent.

“Only the rabbit’s foot?” Salaar thought for a moment, then caught Myss by the wrist. “Good. We’ve still got over an hour. Come on, let’s take a look around.”

“Huh?”

“They have their investigation; we have ours.” Salaar’s tone was steady, as if the person who had just pinched himself so hard moments ago had been someone else entirely.

Fine. Myss conceded to that.

There were too many people around, so Salaar led him forward by the wrist. Myss found it uncomfortable.

He twisted his arm free and directly took Salaar’s hand instead. Salaar’s hand was relatively large, so Myss couldn’t grip it especially firmly, but it was still much better than being tugged around.

Salaar’s hand stiffened, and his palm grew a little damp. Taking advantage of that, Myss laced his fingers through Salaar’s.

Salaar coughed once, his grip loosening, and let Myss hold on.

This brought Myss great satisfaction.

He had always thought human “appendages” weren’t dexterous enough. The ten “tentacles” on their hands were far too rigid, with bones inside them, and could only bend in certain directions. They were short too, with clumsy flesh-pads at the ends, nowhere near as flexible as his original tentacles.

Long ago, Salaar had specifically grabbed a bunch of his little tentacles and stuffed them into gloves.

Then that bastard would poke at him with his fingers just to see how the tentacles moved under the restraint of the gloves. If Myss had understood human culture well enough back then, he probably would have flipped him off.

Unfortunately, at that time he… It hadn’t occurred to him. All he could do was twist around irritably and “grasp” the fingers Salaar poked at him with.

And every time, Salaar would let out an undignified little laugh. Every, single, time.

Now, Myss had been stuffed into a much more delicate “human-skin glove,” and his movements were much more human-like, yet Salaar was the one growing uncomfortable.

Perhaps, for humans, holding hands was the smallest scale of embrace.

Once that thought came to him, Myss tightened his grip.

Hand in hand, the two of them wore suspiciously calm expressions. They avoided muddy pits full of stagnant water, stepped onto relatively clean grass, and checked the stalls one by one.

Salaar bought one of every food item they saw and “sweetly” shared them with Myss. Myss refused nothing, eating until sauce stained the corners of his mouth, but he still didn’t taste any hint of the Abnormal Fruit.

Salaar sighed, pulled out a handkerchief, and used wiping his enemy’s mouth as cover while quietly tossing a cleansing spell.

They kept their hands tightly clasped the whole time, so tight that both their knuckles were whitening and their joints creaking softly.

Quite a few single men and women shot them admiring or envious looks. Sadly, only the two of them knew the painful little secret behind it.

After searching the food stalls, they squeezed into the trinket area. Most of the people here were commoners, so the wares were common too—all sorts of miscellaneous odds and ends piled together.

Salaar reached into one heap of junk and fished out a pocket watch that was at least somewhat decent.

Its case was sterling silver, tarnished black in places, covered in dents and scratches. Still, Salaar could tell it hadn’t been poorly maintained. It was simply old. There was also a small mechanism on the casing for setting a gemstone, one that could fit stones of different sizes.

Naturally, since it had ended up in a junk stall, there was no gemstone in it.

Salaar felt a stir of interest.

The watch wasn’t particularly valuable, but its signs of wear were just right. It would suit Tass’s gem nicely. He had only just picked it up when Myss said, “You’re buying it for that Dragon Fae?”

The question was completely innocent. Myss was probably just curious. Yet the words landed in Salaar’s ears in a peculiarly awkward way.

He cleared his throat. “It’s for you.”

“I don’t need something like that.”

“It suits your ranger outfit better,” Salaar said. “Neither ‘Young Master Karns’ nor ‘Scholar Salaar’ would use such a plain old pocket watch.”

“Letting Tass hide on you would also be better for your safety. You’re not exactly good at defensive magic, are you?”

“You’d really be that altruistic?” Myss looked at him suspiciously.

It sounded, absurdly enough, like Salaar was concerned about him.

“I know you’re unhappy about Tass joining us. This can also help the two of you get used to each other,” Salaar said smoothly. “Besides, you’re very mobile, and that makes up for Tass’s lack of stamina.”

Now that sounded more like the Salaar he knew. Myss accepted the watch and casually hooked it onto his belt.

Truth be told, the watch wasn’t ugly. Its silver case was engraved with delicate sun-and-moon patterns, and the gemstone slot sat right between the two.

“You two have a fine eye for quality,” the stall owner said with a suggestive smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe in the Church of Cadence. I only believe in the Eternal Hearth. The God of the Stove watches over every home.”

“This belonged to a distant relative of mine. Supposedly it was a love token from her husband. They’d known each other since childhood, and after they married, they were happy as could be. Lived to ninety-something together.”

Myss and Salaar: “…”

They had been together for over three hundred years, at least three times longer than that couple. Admittedly, “sweet and happy” wasn’t exactly the first phrase that came to mind for their own relationship.

“This fine antique is only one gold ring!”

The stall owner kept going enthusiastically, clearly afraid Myss might take off the pocket watch he had just fastened to his vest and hand it back. “Wear it, and you two are sure to live sweetly and happily too.”

Suddenly, Myss caught a very faint scent.

He immediately took the watch off and held it under his nose. Sure enough, there was an extremely thin trace of Abnormal Fruit on it. This time there were no other smells covering it up, so Myss caught it clearly.

It was well worth a gold ring after all. This time the crow-priest ought to reimburse them.

Before Myss could speak, the stall owner saw him take the watch off and his expression changed at once. “You look like you really like this watch, and it seems to have some fate with you. How about eight silver shields?”

Myss: “…”

Salaar smiled gently. “Six silver shields. The gem slot is broken, and the parts were never replaced on time. We’d have to find someone to repair it ourselves.”

“You wouldn’t lose money selling it for four, but I like the story you just told, so I’m offering six.”

The stall owner opened his mouth, stared for a while, then sighed. “Fine. Six silver shields. Take it.”

“If that crow-priest is paying anyway, why bother haggling?” Myss played with the small, delicate silver pocket watch.

“Oh, I’m paying for this one myself,” Salaar said. “It’s something I’m giving you, after all. Asking someone else to cover it would be in poor taste.”

Myss’s first instinct was that he was losing out. But then he thought about how this was from Salaar. No—how he was confiscating it from a submissive Salaar. That made him feel a surge of amusement.

After a moment’s thought, he wrapped the little trophy in a handkerchief. This time, instead of hanging it casually from his belt, he tucked it into the pocket over his chest.

……

After a full round of searching, they found no other objects carrying the scent of the Abnormal Fruit besides the rabbit’s foot and the pocket watch.

With time running short, the two exchanged a glance and headed for the largest tent there—the red-and-white circus tent.

They hadn’t even reached the entrance when they ran into Father Kalen, glowing with good spirits.

A wood pigeon with a striped tail stood on his shoulder, head tilted, black bead-like eyes fixed on them.

“This pigeon happened to pass by, and it told me Cinnamon found its little master.”

Father Kalen spoke happily. “After the Perfected Creation’s influence vanished, the children were among the first to wake up. Apparently that child cried and cried, insisting on finding Cinnamon. Once he did, he just kept apologizing through tears and wouldn’t let go of him.”

“Apple was taken back by his original family too. Butter’s former people never showed up, but Butter has decided to stay with Miss Claws. According to him, the meals at Antis’s estate are better than the ones at his old home.”

Kalen’s joy was genuine. It was rare to hear him talk so excitedly and at such length.

The pigeon cooed several times, flapping hard, as if striking Father Kalen’s ear with its wings.

Salaar asked, “What’s it saying?”

“It says it only happened to pass by, and since it remembered how much I cared about this matter, it told me casually. Actually, it especially hates those cats and told me not to get the wrong idea,” Father Kalen replied.

Was it coincidence, or luck?

Myss leaned closer. As always, Kalen had no strange scent on him. Neither did the pigeon.

“By the way, were you planning to investigate the circus?” Father Kalen asked. “I already did. The animals all like this place very much.”

“Some monkeys had inflamed paws that wouldn’t heal no matter what, but once they came here, they improved quickly. If there were some wrong sort of magical fluctuation here, animals should be even more sensitive to it.”

Salaar looked at Myss. Myss shook his head. “I still want to go in and take a look.”

But just as he said that, the communication device on him vibrated.

It was the one Professor Gentry had distributed to them after the contracts were signed.

This was a special expedition communications device, shaped like a tiny gold badge, no bigger than a thumbnail. It was much more refined than the seashells from Samper, with astonishingly clear transmission and precise positioning built in.

“Our preliminary survey is done. It’ll be dark soon, so we need to head underground quickly.”

Beverly’s rapid-fire voice burst from the device.

“At night the flow of magic is different from daytime. Ruins are more magically active after dark, and it’s easier to find anomalous points—yes, Professor, I realize this isn’t the best time for explanations—anyway, get over here!”

Myss looked up at the point of the circus tent. The place was too large. They probably wouldn’t finish investigating it anytime soon.

The priest could be considered an expert on Abnormal Fruits, and he also had the ability to detect ill omen. If even he hadn’t noticed anything from this close, then at worst this place only held another faint, half-worthless trace.

They had already gotten something out of the trip. That was enough for now.

He squeezed Salaar’s hand, and the two turned toward the stone gate.

Inside the tent—

“Everything’s ready for tonight’s performance, right?”

A staff member wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned toward the newest member in the employee tent.

The newcomer smiled. “Everything’s ready, sir.”

“You’ve got some luck, kid. My previous backup just happened to have a family emergency. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been hiring at the last minute.”

The staffer sighed. “This place really is something special. So far every performance’s gone smoothly. But as my substitute, you can’t slack off. If something happens—and I mean if something really happens—both of us are going to be in deep trouble.”

“I understand, sir.”

The short newcomer smiled, his face painted in exaggerated greasepaint.

“Please don’t worry. I’m very confident in both puppet manipulation and ventriloquism.”

“Fair enough. I suppose the ringmaster wouldn’t hire just anyone either.”

The staffer grinned, his brightly painted mouth stretching absurdly wide. “Let’s make a fortune together, Mr. Kai.”

Kai smiled and nodded, then looked toward the outside of the tent.

The entrance flap hadn’t quite fallen shut, leaving a narrow slit of sky visible. The heavens were shifting from iris blue to deep indigo, a few stars already pricking through like needlepoints in velvet.

“It’ll be dark soon,” he remarked, half-absently.

……

“It’ll be dark soon. Next time, don’t dawdle like this.”

It was evident Beverly was trying to keep her emotions in check. But when it came to her friend’s whereabouts, her face was still stretched taut.

Salaar listened humbly.

Beverly’s team had been rushing around gathering data and preparing things, while his and Myss’s side had gone off on a loving date—or at least looked like they had. Her bad mood was only natural.

At long last, Myss released Salaar’s hand. He raised the hand that had gone numb from being gripped so long and attached the emerald containing the Dragon Fae to the pocket watch.

With so many people around, Tass didn’t show himself easily. He only briefly stuck his head out to say he had no objections. From start to finish, he had noticed none of the Abnormal Fruit scent on the watch, enough to show just how faint it really was.

On the way here, Salaar had told Father Kalen about Myss’s discovery. The priest had checked both the rabbit’s foot and the watch carefully, and in the end had only shaken his head.

“I don’t sense anything abnormal at all,” he said solemnly. “According to what Mr. Myss described, the scent on the watch appeared suddenly. That doesn’t make sense. At least, I’ve never encountered a case like that.”

Kalen didn’t directly deny Myss’s discovery, but he was clearly reserving judgment.

Humans really are troublesome, Myss thought.

Salaar, at least, had never doubted him. Not even for a second. Even though Salaar himself couldn’t sense any abnormal magical fluctuation.

While Myss’s thoughts drifted, Professor Gentry opened the stone gate.

The elephant magic base lifted its trunk, and Gentry effortlessly undid the sealing magic artifact at the entrance. Beverly and Asp used illusion magic together, ensuring that no one else nearby would notice anything amiss.

The enormous stone gate slid open soundlessly, revealing darkness behind it that seemed almost solid.

Even though it was already evening, the blackness beyond still looked bottomless, like a pool of ink.

Professor Gentry snapped his fingers, and six tiny magical devices floated up into the air.

They looked like oversized mechanical fireflies, each with a bulb the size of a quail egg set into its belly. They climbed onto the front of each person’s clothes on their own, lighting the surrounding area as brightly as day, without glaring in the eyes.

The scene beyond the gate was somewhat duller than Myss had expected.

Beyond the entrance was still a gently descending passage. Stone pillars reinforced both sides, forming a tunnel like a tomb corridor. Dry oil lamps lined the tunnel walls, stretching into darkness with no visible end.

As a refuge from the Night Scourge era, the entrance tunnel had no magical traps at all. Its magical fluctuations were effectively nonexistent.

“A very common design. Nothing sophisticated. Just ordinary.”

Salaar glanced around. “The site selection wasn’t ideal. Larger underground cities were built near underground rivers. There would usually be a waterway at the entrance to make transporting supplies easier.”

His voice was pitched so it sounded like he was talking only to Myss, but anyone nearby paying even a little attention could hear it.

“The defenses are that bad? Weren’t they worried people might break in?” Myss didn’t understand.

Other than the sealing artifact Roman’s team had left behind, the stone gate itself had almost no defensive magic. Let alone an adult—even a stubborn child could probably find a way to slip in.

Human cities on the surface had defenses, but underground ones were this generous? That was strange.

Salaar gave a short laugh. “The real defenses were all inside the underground city.”

Myss still didn’t get it. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to guard the entrance and exit?”

Even you knew enough to guard the exit to my seal.

After he asked that, a strange silence fell over the group.

Salaar was quiet for a good while before continuing. “First of all, once the Night Scourge fell, the closer you got to the surface, the colder it became. People didn’t want to stay too close to the surface.”

“Secondly, during the Night Scourge, food was one of the scarcest resources. So if ‘food’ delivered itself to your door, most people… wouldn’t refuse.”

Myss thought it over, then gave an enlightened little “oh.”

Father Kalen murmured a few brief prayers. No one else said anything. Thinking of what might have happened to Roman’s team, Beverly and Asp looked even worse.

Myss, however, shifted his attention almost immediately. He glanced down the seemingly endless tunnel and started fiddling with the firefly device on his chest.

“There are fragments of sunstone inside it.”

Seeing Myss tugging curiously at the device, Professor Gentry explained in a warm, mellow voice. His tone broke the silence, and the atmosphere became less oppressive.

“Sunstone gives off light similar to sunlight, but its magical fluctuations are very faint. Used in lighting devices, it minimizes interference as much as possible.”

Myss: “…”

That actually wasn’t what he’d been curious about.

He’d just thought the bulb made a nice rattling sound when it shook. But he didn’t want to provoke the Kingdom Archmage, so he only nodded perfunctorily.

“I remember that during the Night Scourge, sunstone was more expensive than gold. Only great nobles could afford it.”

Salaar took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Once activated, its light could only last one day at most. It was consumed terribly fast.”

“That’s right.”

Professor Gentry looked pleased. “We’ve adjusted many of these devices, but at most we can stretch the lighting time to a day and a half. The tradeoff is that the devices become absurdly heavy.”

“So technically, we’re still using designs from the Night Scourge era. Interested in Night Scourge history, Mr. Salaar?”

“Well, I gave myself a ‘nickname’ like this, didn’t I? Naturally I’m interested.” Salaar smiled.

Here he goes again, Myss snorted.

The assistant contract Salaar had signed was under Kendrick Karns. Yet Professor Gentry had not called him Karns even once. He had even asked him what name he preferred to be called.

So Salaar had openly introduced himself as Salaar. After all, in the current age, the name was common enough.

Thinking about all this talk of the Night Scourge, Myss didn’t feel anything like guilt.

…Still, he understood a little better now why the stories of “Saint Salaar” were still sung by bards to this day.

He was just thinking back to those cloying lyrics when Fork suddenly tightened around his wrist.

Myss’s expression sharpened. He grabbed Salaar in one swift motion—

“Don’t move.”

He whispered, “…There’s someone ahead.”

---

The author has something to say:

Myss: Human tentacles are terrible.

Come to think of it, humans touching each other all over is also a kind of tentacle behavior…

By that logic, Salaar has tentacles too. Everyone has tentacles. Yay. [wave][sunglasses][wave]

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 57: Deviation

“Luck?” Salaar mulled over the word for a moment.

“Not the kind of crazy luck where you get rich overnight. More like ‘finding a chicken leg’ kind of luck.”

Labi tore into the chicken leg in huge bites, his mouth glistening with grease. “I sell my rabbit’s feet and run into generous customers, this place can make that happen. If I wake up one morning and find out I’m the illegitimate child of some great noble house, that’s just pure delusion.”

“Some noble lords came here too, hoping to make investments, and they failed. That’s why it’s only commoners here now. I heard some people are even planning to build a village here!”

“In other words, people can only get ‘luck for the here and now’ from this place.” Salaar thought it over. “The moment outside factors come into play, the ‘luck’ stops working. Is that about right?”

“More or less. The people who come here are mostly doing business. Some come here to treat illnesses too.”

The chicken leg had been roasted crudely, with barely any seasoning, but Labi still sucked every scrap of meat clean. “Some boring bards come here just to write songs. There are even ridiculous people who come here to look for lovers. Ah, and here they come.”

Myss slowly turned his head and found a group of young people approaching them. The categories were especially obvious: a few young women were trying to get close to Salaar, chests lifted, confident smiles on their faces.

A few young men were walking toward him, their eyes like they were staring at prey already in hand.

Myss: “…”

Their gaze was completely different from the way Salaar looked at him. It was light, vulgar, and deeply irritating.

Black magic wound around his fingertips. Myss was already itching to step forward and teach the one in front a lesson. But before he could act, Salaar wrapped an arm around his waist and yanked him over to his side.

Salaar held his waist tightly, practically pinning half of Myss against himself. Anyone with eyes could tell their relationship wasn’t ordinary.

Then Salaar pressed his lips to the side of Myss’s temple, looking as if he had left him a kiss.

Hidden by his ash-gray hair, Salaar moved his lips slightly. “Be careful of the Professor.”

His breath brushed against Myss’s ear, so faint it was almost imperceptible, tickling Myss’s ear. No, not just his ear. From his ear to his neck, then down to his chest, it felt as if nettles had brushed over his skin, leaving behind a strange tingling itch.

Salaar had controlled the distance perfectly. His lips hadn’t even touched Myss’s hair.

With Salaar this close, a very interesting question suddenly occurred to Myss: everyone on this land became lucky, and Salaar’s misfortune happened to be his good luck. So how was that supposed to work out?

Fortunately, he had a ready-made way to test it.

Before Salaar had even moved away, Myss hooked an arm around the Great Hero’s neck and bit straight at his face. Salaar didn’t manage to dodge in time and got chomped squarely, leaving a very obvious bite mark on his cheek.

Sure enough, Salaar’s body stiffened again.

This time he recovered faster than last time. He only looked at Myss with a complicated expression. Myss shot him a provocative grin. “Since I can’t hit you, I can only move some other parts.”

Salaar touched the place on his cheek where he’d been bitten but said nothing.

…Oh, so luck was on his side here, thought Myss with satisfaction.

That thought had barely finished turning over in his mind when a warm hand cupped his face, and something even warmer landed at the corner of his mouth.

Salaar lowered his head and kissed the corner of Myss’s lips.

Myss’s eyes flew wide open. Salaar’s face was suddenly right there in front of him. He was too close. Those sapphire-blue eyes were squeezed shut, and Myss couldn’t read his expression at all.

Myss: “…?”

Was this retaliation?

Myss couldn’t quite tell. If it were retaliation, Salaar ought to bite him back. If he were trying to mess with him with some “Sweet Trap” trope, then he ought to be kissing him on the lips… Unless this was a response to the kiss on his forehead? But Myss didn’t have any “love” to be tainted.

That kiss was too light, and its intent too ambiguous. Myss’s brain stalled out on the spot.

Seeing how “consumed by passion” the two of them supposedly were, the girls sighed and left. The young men took one look at Salaar’s brooding face and backed off as well.

Salaar let him go, his face once again the picture of calm control, as if this had been nothing more than ordinary cover.

Unfortunately, they were standing too close. Salaar’s body moved, and Myss noticed immediately—

One of Salaar’s hands was jammed in his pocket, pinching his own thigh with brutal force.

Myss: “…???”

What kind of weird human behavior was this now?

Even back in the seal, when Salaar had first grabbed one of his tentacles and tried chewing on it, Myss hadn’t been this baffled.

The next second, alarm bells exploded in his head.

This place was saturated with so-called luck. And Salaar was the source of all his misfortune, a clear, useful living coordinate. Now that coordinate seemed to have gone slightly wrong.

“Wow, so sweet.” Labi whistled, far too worldly for his age. “You two look so striking together; who knows—maybe some bard will even write songs about you!”

“So not everything here turns lucky. At least those people didn’t succeed in hitting on us.”

Salaar smoothly shifted the topic away, still wearing a composed expression.

…Why had Salaar pinched himself just now? Myss wondered.

“Like how my rabbit’s feet don’t sell out every day. Everyone’s just normal people—how could everything possibly go well all the time?” Labi said briskly. “Still, too much luck really can make people swell up with themselves. You two making them realize reality early was lucky for them.”

Salaar: “An excellent explanation.”

Labi was a responsible little guide. He led them all the way to the center of this lucky place—a massive stone door leading underground.

Long ago, people had dug out a gentle slope into the earth and paved it with broken stone slabs. At the end stood that vertical stone gate. It was an ordinary gray-white door, carved with artistic patterns imitating the sun, just wide enough for a tall carriage to pass through.

More than three hundred years later, the relief carvings had weathered away. The once-fine sculpture had become pitted and rough.

At this moment, the heavy door was shut tight, sealed layer upon layer with magical artifacts. The people nearby kept a careful distance from it, as if they instinctively didn’t want to get close.

“This is it.” Labi smugly wiped his nose. “Thanks for the chicken leg. I live southwest of here—if you need anything, just shout in that direction.”

Then the boy took off running.

He pulled out a pair of rabbit’s feet dyed pink and bounded like a rabbit toward a neatly dressed couple.

As soon as Labi was gone, Beverly and Asp strode toward the stone gate. Their expressions barely held together, both sets of eyes red with strain.

“Stop.”

Professor Gentry raised his voice slightly.

The two froze instantly, like they’d been hit with a petrification spell, not daring to take another step.

“That’s Roman’s sealing artifact, Professor.” Beverly turned back, her voice hoarse.

“The closer we get to the target, the more important it is to keep your mind steady. Don’t rush.” Professor Gentry soothed her gently. “Beverly, I hope you’ll pay more attention to detail. If you lead a team on your own in the future, you’ll be responsible for everyone’s safety. You have to let people trust you.”

Beverly took a deep breath and forced down her ragged breathing.

She made herself study the stone door. Her tiger Magibase prowled restlessly, a low growl rumbling from its throat.

“…There are traces of interference on Roman’s magic artifact?” She examined it for a good while before speaking, her tone tinged with uncertainty. “Someone tampered with their artifact? My appraisal results are strange.”

“The readings are indeed off.” As the team’s logistics specialist, Asp sounded much more certain, though his voice was full of suppressed anger. “Whoever did it was extremely professional. The fluctuation frequency on this device is almost identical to the standard value…”

“If it hadn’t been someone at Roman’s level of expertise, they’d never have caught it. If the Professor hadn’t pointed it out, I wouldn’t have noticed either…”

Professor Gentry nodded.

Then he turned toward Myss’s group and explained kindly, “Proper calibration of magical artifacts is an extremely important part of preparation. If a detection-type artifact has even the tiniest deviation—no thicker than a strand of hair—it can drag an entire team straight to hell.”

“If I may ask, is it possible one of Roman’s teammates simply made an operational error?” Father Kalen asked carefully.

Whether it was Professor Gentry or his two students, they had all immediately assumed someone had tampered with the equipment.

“Even if you dumped Roman into a barrel while he had a raging fever, got him drunk, and dragged him behind a horse for a mile, he still wouldn’t make a mistake that idiotic.”

Hearing her companion’s team questioned, Beverly’s tone sharpened. “For him, this was the most basic of basics—like a competent priest not forgetting the name of the god he worships.”

Father Kalen nodded in sudden understanding. “I see. Thank you for such an apt explanation.”

Beverly: “…”

“But even if someone sabotaged it, Roman should have noticed quickly…” Asp kept muttering, gnawing nervously at his thumbnail. “And this magical interference is especially strange. I’ve never seen anything like it… The sealing devices aren’t enough. I need to examine their guidance devices too…”

So that was it. These people suspected someone had tried to murder Roman. That culprit had tampered with Roman’s team’s magical equipment, indirectly causing them to disappear in the underground city ruins.

But that rabbit’s foot definitely carried a faint trace of Abnormal Fruit. This probably wasn’t just a case of human infighting.

Myss tried to think further, but the same question was still multiplying inside his head—

Why had Salaar pinched himself just now? He couldn’t stop wondering, and the anxiety simply wouldn’t go away.

“Are we going in immediately?” Salaar asked calmly, completely oblivious to Myss’s internal turmoil.

“I need another hour and twenty-six minutes. I have to conduct magical fluctuation measurements first.” Asp was still chewing his thumbnail. “Beverly will use appraisal magic to examine the surrounding environment. You can rest for now.”

Myss narrowed his eyes at the stone gate. As the center of this land, it oddly carried almost no Abnormal Fruit scent.

Not the gate, and not the humans nearby either. Myss had paid attention—even Labi, who sold the rabbit’s feet, carried none of the Abnormal Fruit smell on him.

So where exactly was that scent coming from?

More importantly, why had Salaar pinched himself?

…Forget it.

Myss resigned himself and turned toward Salaar.

Seeing the solemn look on his face, Salaar’s own expression also grew serious, as if preparing to listen carefully—

“After you kissed me just now, why did you pinch yourself?” Myss asked bluntly.

Salaar: “?”

“Hurry up and tell me.” Myss bared his teeth. “Tell me that, and I’ll tell you my new discovery about the Abnormal Fruit.”

“Fine.”

Salaar lowered those blue eyes of his and gave him the answer with the utmost sincerity—

“No idea. My hand just moved on its own.”

---

The author has something to say:

During the three hundred years inside the seal—

Salaar: I’m sick of eating salt-roasted mushrooms. [helpless]

Salaar: Let’s try a little Chaos Archdemon instead. [shrug]

Salaar: (chew chew)

…Then he discovered that not only could he not bite through it, he couldn’t even chew it apart. [okay]

Myss, watching from the sidelines: [horrified][horrified][horrified][angry][angry][angry]

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 56: Rabbit’s Foot

That night, Myss slept exceptionally well.

He opened his eyes in satisfaction only to be greeted by the sight of two massive dark circles under Salaar’s eyes.

Myss: “?”

Hadn’t this guy fallen asleep the moment he hit the bed last night? Was he faking it?

The instant he noticed Myss looking at him, the Great Hero swiped a hand over his face, and the dark circles vanished on the spot. Silently, he propped himself up and tugged at Myss’s sleepwear collar.

A beam of sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains and fell near Myss’s collarbone. It looked like molten gold running over his pale skin, glaringly bright.

Following Salaar’s gaze, Myss lowered his head and realized that the top half of his sleepwear had come loose. He simply stripped it off and wrapped himself in a ranger’s outfit woven from magic.

The entire process was carried out in broad daylight, openly, completely naked the whole time.

Salaar was silent for a long moment. “We’ll be sleeping in tents during the expedition. Don’t change like that when other people are around.”

Myss shrugged it off. “I’m not stupid.”

The clothes woven from annihilation magic were one of his secret weapons.

Salaar saw right through what he meant. “I’m talking about human etiquette.”

“Isn’t it just ‘don’t walk around naked in front of other people’? Of course I know that.”

Myss reached back and started tugging at Salaar’s clothes, peeling at them like corn husks. “You’re so annoying. You’re not other people anyway.”

Salaar: “…Haa.”

With a complicated expression on his face, he reached out and knocked lightly on Myss’s head.

The Archdemon’s skull made a solid thunk. Enraged, Myss and Fork both pounced on Salaar, and another round of noisy hand-to-hand warmup broke out.

Other than that early-morning stretching routine, nothing else went wrong.

Tass didn’t speak with much refinement, but he was impressively efficient when it came to supplies. He had prepared dried bread and jerky in advance, as well as honeyed candied fruit. Besides the necessary medicines, salt, and sugar, he also gave each of them a magical water pouch that could condense water from the air.

Kalen, meanwhile, brought the final piece of news from the cat intelligence network.

“A lot of people have shown up near the Rabbit Hole over the last few months. A few wild cats came over from there, and they’re especially angry about it.”

Father Kalen continued, “But this morning I did another divination just to be sure, and I still didn’t sense any ill omen.”

Tass said, “A sudden influx of humans? I remember that place being wasteland. Do the cats know what’s going on?”

“They only know that humans brought a lot of pet cats and dogs and took over their territory,” Kalen said honestly.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Salaar said.

With one ear, Myss listened to the humans jabbering. With the other, he listened to the birds chirping outside the window. His mouth was too busy sweeping up the jam pies on the table for him to join the conversation.

All he cared about was what the ruins themselves looked like. He had no interest in these bits of trivial gossip.

He had Salaar, a “local,” on the team. He had experience fighting two Abnormal Fruits already. He had the crow priest’s promise of luck. Myss felt confident that nothing could go too terribly wrong.

Compared to that, the Kingdom Archmage was much more irritating.

That man hadn’t been able to escape the Divine Realm, yet he had endured the Perfected Creation’s mental lashing and consciously spied on their battle… So far, everyone kept saying that Professor Gentry had a good temper, but nobody had mentioned his actual abilities.

The power of two Abnormal Fruits was certainly a welcome asset, but when it came to Professor Gentry, Myss had no intention of underestimating him.

His silver fork speared the last piece of tender meat on the plate. Myss popped it into his mouth, leaving behind only a faint smear of blood-colored juices.

……

The Rabbit Hole really wasn’t far from Semper. It lay on the main route between Semper and the capital, Serpentia, separated from the main road by only a single mountain. It wasn’t exactly in the middle of nowhere.

The only troublesome part was that Rabbit Hole sat at the junction of several mountains. The roads were bad, and there were no nearby rivers or lakes, so no proper village had formed there.

Once they left Semper, the weather turned gloomy.

The nearby mountains were rounded, with little forest and lots of brush. The whole area felt oppressively strange. Myss sniffed the moisture in the air and had the feeling it was going to rain.

Salaar had his arms folded and, uncharacteristically, nodded off several times. His head drooped and swayed until at last he slumped against Myss.

Myss frowned at him.

The carriage was packed tightly. He, Salaar, and the priest sat on one side. Professor Gentry and his two students sat opposite. Tass, taking advantage of his race, was resting inside a piece of emerald.

If Myss wanted to shove Salaar away, his only option was to push Salaar’s head onto the priest’s shoulder.

…Myss imagined it for a moment, realized he didn’t want to see that, and let it go.

The carriage jolted, and Salaar’s head settled fully on Myss’s shoulder.

His breathing rose and fell evenly. Myss couldn’t tell whether he was just putting on a show for Professor Gentry or if he really had slept badly. As revenge, Myss tugged Knife out of Salaar’s sleeve and idly coiled it in his palm.

“What’s the relationship between you two?”

Beverly blinked and asked the question directly.

Myss pretended not to hear.

But Beverly clearly wasn’t someone who cared about social etiquette. She stared at them with the gaze of someone scrutinizing research specimens, and it made Myss uncomfortable all over.

Kind Father Kalen came to the rescue. He gave her a slight nod, then shook his head.

“Oh.” Beverly understood. “A same-sex couple. That explains it.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not Church of Cadence devotees, so we don’t have any prejudice about that sort of thing. Well… more accurately, I suppose we count as broad believers in the Cadence Church?”

“Nothing is ever that absolute,” Professor Gentry said with a smile, without answering directly.

Beverly gave a serious oh and went right back to chattering. “Even so, you don’t need to worry. My teacher and we are in roughly the same situation. We’re all nobles from Aufon, so publicly we have to believe a little.”

“Except for idiots who go looking for trouble, no noble would deliberately jump out and advertise themselves as an atheist. So on matters like this—”

“…Beverly, my ears hurt,” Asp said painfully, cutting her off.

“Then let them hurt,” Beverly said mercilessly. “I’m explaining things clearly so there won’t be unnecessary misunderstandings. We’re not on some sightseeing trip underground. The fewer misunderstandings among teammates, the better.”

Asp silently took out a pair of bright yellow earplugs and carefully put them in.

Beverly clicked her tongue and turned back toward Myss, only to discover with disappointment that he had already turned his head to look out the window, radiating a clear don’t-talk-to-me attitude.

Salaar was much taller than Myss. With his head resting there, half his body leaned against Myss as well. Yet despite the carriage’s slight jostling, Myss remained perfectly steady, showing no sign of being weighed down, as if solid, sturdy Salaar were nothing more than an oversized feather.

“You’ve been staring at Myss the whole time.” Salaar, who had woken up at some point without anyone noticing, curved his eyes into a smile as he looked at her. “Is something the matter, Miss Beverly?”

“Just Beverly is fine.”

Beverly’s gaze remained on Myss. “I’ve attended quite a few high-society gatherings and seen many of Aufon’s top beauties. Your lover would rank among the best of them.”

“Thank you,” Salaar replied politely. “But I suspect that isn’t the only reason, is it?”

The way Beverly looked at Myss was neither admiration from the opposite sex nor simple attraction to beauty. There was no amazement in her eyes. Only pure inquiry.

“Roman’s condition was a bit similar to Mr. Myss’s—white hair and red eyes.” Beverly said, “Though Roman’s hair was whiter, his irises were closer to pink, and his complexion was more sickly.”

“Roman had albinism, but he believed that appearance was his good fortune. Because he feared sunlight, he chose to study underground cities from the Night Scourge era and became the greatest explorer of them all in one stroke. And Roman’s Magibase was an enormous white moose. He thought it was fate compensating him.”

“I was just thinking that even though the coloring is similar, Mr. Myss looks extremely healthy. If Roman had been cured, maybe he would’ve looked like this too.”

After saying all that in one breath, Beverly paused slightly, as if only then remembering that Roman was already dead.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her face went pale.

Professor Gentry patted her shoulder and sighed softly.

“My condolences,” Salaar said quietly, sitting up straight.

“We have to see the body before we can officially confirm Roman’s death.” Asp had apparently taken out his earplugs at some point. “Status crystals aren’t one hundred percent accurate. Roman was a genius. Maybe he came up with some strange trick again…”

It was rare for him to speak such long coherent sentences so fluently.

Myss caught a key word. “A genius?”

Now that someone had responded, Asp’s voice weakened again. “O-of course. Students of a Kingdom Archmage are all geniuses. Being able to use magic before summoning a Magibase is the absolute minimum…”

“Ah, I mean formal apprentices like Beverly and I, not those students taught at the university…”

Myss looked Beverly and Asp up and down and regretfully discovered that neither of them carried the slightest scent of an Abnormal Fruit.

“What a waste that we let it get away. Couldn’t we use these two as bait to lure out… you know what?”

He shot Professor Gentry a glance and whispered into Salaar’s ear in a bare audible voice.

“Absolutely not,” Salaar whispered back with a smile.

“Stingy.”

“This isn’t a matter of stinginess. They’re not worms in the mud.”

“I already lent you my shoulder to sleep on.”

“…That still isn’t something you can use to bargain with.”

“What a miser!”

Myss shoved Knife back into Salaar’s arms and turned to look out the window again.

Watching the two of them huddled together, muttering and bickering, Father Kalen tacitly turned to the people opposite.

“…My apologies. Our party is just like this,” he explained somewhat sheepishly.

……

Honestly, there wasn’t much to see outside. Along the way, Myss saw only a few supply inns and no proper human settlements.

…Until they reached their destination.

“Is that a circus?” Beverly said in disbelief, pointing at an especially large red-and-white striped round tent.

Everyone else—including Myss—was just as surprised as she was.

The destination was packed with all sorts of tents. Some people had even used wooden planks to build something resembling a tavern.

As far as the eye could see, the place was full of bizarre little stalls. At first glance it looked like the market in Rosha City, except much filthier and more chaotic.

Some people had turned wagons into makeshift homes, squeezing them into the spaces between tents, with wooden crates stacked into makeshift steps. The sparse grass had been trampled into a mess by passing horses, and the place was full of wet mud, as well as the smell of horse dung and urine.

Rotting vegetable scraps, broken wood, and gnawed bones were everywhere.

The place was basically a temporary little town made of wagons and tents. Judging by the quality of them, the people here were almost all commoners.

“Welcome, welcome, guests!”

A sharp-eyed child spotted them and ran over, clutching a little cloth bag.

“Would you like to buy a lucky rabbit’s foot, ladies and gentlemen? These are the luckiest rabbit’s feet in all of Aufon, only six silver shields each!”

The child held the bag high and showed them the rabbit feet wrapped in goatskin.

Myss wrinkled his nose. He smelled a heavy herbal scent, along with the stink of rotten meat it was trying to hide.

Salaar smiled at the child, casually bought a white rabbit foot, and used up some of the few silver shields left in his purse.

“What’s your name, kid?” Salaar asked brightly.

“Labi, sir.”

Seeing that Salaar hadn’t even haggled, the little boy looked startled.

“Good, Labi.”

Salaar bent down, bracing both hands on his knees so he could meet the boy’s eyes. “Can you tell me what happened here? The last time we passed through, there weren’t nearly this many people.”

“Oh, this is magical land, sir. If you stay here for a while, your luck gets better. Look! I’ve stayed here the longest, and right away I ran into you!”

Labi rubbed his nose, his mouth sweet as honey.

“The longest, huh? Very impressive.” Salaar smiled. “Suddenly I feel like buying another rabbit’s foot. Tell us about this magical place.”

Labi drew out a long “Hmm.” “That’d take time away from business. You’d have to buy me a roast chicken leg too.”

“No problem.”

Salaar straightened up and reached out to pull Kalen over.

Kalen: “?”

“One rabbit’s foot, one chicken leg, and the six silver shields from the rabbit’s foot just now.”

Salaar lowered his voice. “Reasonable investigation expenses. No problem, right?”

Kalen: “…”

It wasn’t a problem, exactly, but back in Semper, Salaar wouldn’t have bothered charging even the cost of a chicken leg.

Noticing Kalen’s confusion, Salaar flicked a glance at Myss and gave a small hum. “He cares a little about this.”

Kalen: “…………”

The Lord of Shadows taught them that they should respect the beautiful affections between people.

Filled with a strange solemnity, the priest paid without hesitation. Two minutes later, Myss and Salaar each had a white rabbit’s foot in hand, while Labi had gained a chicken leg.

Professor Gentry merely watched the whole process with an amiable smile. His two students didn’t join the conversation either.

Myss was a little dissatisfied, but before they had set out, Salaar had specifically warned him.

This sort of investigative small talk was what assistants were supposed to do, and what “those under observation” were supposed to do too. If they hid things or responded too passively, that would only make them more suspicious.

Since Salaar was the one doing the social work, Myss didn’t care. He lowered his head and absentmindedly fiddled with the shriveled rabbit’s foot.

Rabbits didn’t have paw pads. The foot felt somewhat hard when squeezed.

He wasn’t sure whether it was his imagination, but Myss kept feeling a faint prickly numbness at his fingertips, like touching the fine hairs on a plant. Whenever he touched it more carefully, though, the sensation vanished again.

Myss kneaded the yellowing white fur over and over. Suddenly, inspiration struck. He lifted it beneath his nose and inhaled hard.

Myss had no idea whether this tiny corpse fragment could bring luck.

But amid that overwhelming blend of scents, he really did detect an extremely subtle trace of an Abnormal Fruit.

…Beneath layers upon layers of herbs and carrion stench, it was faint as a sigh.

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 55: The Missing Person

Around noon, Salaar and Myss returned to Mr. Anti’s—no, to Tass’s—residence.

“…So what exactly does that professor want?” Father Kalen asked when he heard the important part. He held his breath, even forgetting to pet Cinnamon in his lap. Cinnamon rammed his hand insistently with its head and let out a dissatisfied series of meows.

“He never gave a direct answer. He just said he was offering us an easy chance to make a lot of money,” Myss blurted out. His mind was still full of Professor Gentry’s elephant Magibase.
That Magibase had been huge and powerful, so enormous the reception room could barely contain it. Its trunk swung back and forth while the top of its head disappeared into the ceiling.

“His implication was obvious.” Salaar answered an entirely different question. “He saw us fighting the Perfected Creation—most likely the battle in the first-floor hall. He knows we possess unusual abilities, and that we know something about the Abnormal Fruit.”

“And now he wants us to go with him, probably to figure out what force we belong to, and whether our intentions are malicious.”

“Isn’t that a bit too roundabout?” the priest frowned, scratching Cinnamon behind the ears again.

“Not really,” Salaar said. “My guess is he intends to take us somewhere extremely dangerous and use that as a test.”

If they simply kept a low profile and meant no harm, then if Professor Gentry chose not to report them, he would earn their goodwill. If they did have ill intentions, he could deal with them in an environment tilted to his advantage.

And if they flatly refused, Professor Gentry would absolutely report the matter to the Aufon Royal Family and make sure the Karns family learned where he was. From the hints in that Archmage’s words, he clearly knew about the Karns family’s plot of hiring assassins.

…If they wanted to keep investigating in peace, their options were severely limited.

“And we asked to add people.” Myss was still thinking about their Abnormal Fruit haul. “We demanded that you come along as well, Kalan. Come with us this afternoon and sign the contract.”

“It’s Kalen,” the priest corrected patiently.

Professor Gentry hadn’t refused their request to add more people, though he wouldn’t pay extra wages. Fortunately, Kalen didn’t need gold rings.

“Would you like to hire me too?” another voice suddenly cut in.

Tass dropped down from the gemstone chandelier. He still looked a little dispirited, his soft rose-gold hair in complete disarray.

Tass had no ability to search for Abnormal Fruit, so Myss pretended not to hear him. Salaar, however, grew interested—

Father Kalen understood how to move through alleys and streets, but given his background, he truly lacked insight into the upper echelons of society.

Tass Ga was the exact opposite. Not only did he understand how nobles lived their daily lives, he also knew a fair number of their secrets. And compared to the priest, who mostly relied on brute force, he was much better at magical surprise attacks.

“Why? We don’t have anyone we want dead,” Salaar asked bluntly.

Tass forced a smile. “Tracking and investigating a target is a very important part of assassination work. I questioned Father Kalen while I was searching for that letter from V.O.R.”

“Antis left me quite a substantial inheritance. Killing him wouldn’t cost anywhere near that much.”

His voice gradually grew softer. “I’m a very responsible assassin, so I plan to use V.O.R’s death as supplementary compensation. If it weren’t for that damned bastard, Antis would never have become that kind of monster!”

“Then you can just follow us for free,” Myss suggested.

Tass: “That’s a separate issue. Working with me costs extra, because I’ll be responsible for the safety of all three of you.”

Myss immediately turned to Father Kalen, who shook his head. Clearly, hiring a revenge-driven Dragon Fae as a bodyguard didn’t count as a “reasonable investigative expense” in the Order of Shadows accounting.

Salaar, however, kept going. “How much do you want?”

“Salaar!” Myss bristled. They had fought together the whole time. Half the money in Salaar’s pocket was rightfully his.

“You picked Father Kalen as your teammate, so I get to pick one too. That’s only fair,” Salaar said. “Unless you’re willing to handle all the annoying infiltrating and investigating yourself. In that case, forget I said anything.”

Myss considered it. The fierce look on his face slowly collapsed.

That was true. Tass could do the grunt work for him. And besides, they had just gotten five hundred gold rings. They were hardly poor—

“You seem to have five hundred gold rings, so I’ll only charge four hundred ninety-nine. That will cover until you find V.O.R.—no time limit.”

“And incidentally, I need a lot of gemstones for work. I’ll take care of those myself.”

Tass wore an expression that said they were getting the better end of the deal.

“Four hundred ninety-nine?!” Myss nearly jumped out of his skin, his face twisting into an expression of utter disgust—as if he’d just stepped in a pile of crap.

Wouldn’t that leave them with only six gold rings? And five of those were the leftovers of their earnings in Rosha City.

“Deal.” Salaar smiled and reached out to shake Tass’s hand.

Tass clasped his finger. “Take me to Professor Gentry this afternoon. I need to follow you openly this time… I don’t want to offend a Kingdom Archmage.”

After the agreement was reached, the Dragon Fae actually seemed a bit more spirited. A glint returned to those emerald eyes, though it was edged with coldness.

Myss, meanwhile, stared darkly at the finger Salaar had used for the handshake, as if he wanted to bite it off.

Their money was in there. Salaar had spent almost all of it on his own authority. How were they supposed to live now?!

“This expedition’s profits, my entire share goes to you. A thousand gold rings a week,” Salaar said in a low voice, as though he could read his mind.

That’s more like it. Myss grunted, and his mood immediately improved again.

After that exchange, his heart sped up and slowed down by turns, tormenting him until a thin layer of sweat broke out across his skin.

The negotiation came to a pause, and Salaar started glancing at him from the corner of his eye again, as though thinking about something. Myss immediately turned his head and stared right back with all his might.

Salaar curled his lips. “What do you want for dinner?”

“As long as it’s not currants, anything,” Myss grumbled.

……

That evening, the group went once more to the Red Amber’s reception room.

Several days had passed, and the Red Amber had completely returned to normal. The gallery still hadn’t reopened, however. Planning for “Perfect Love” was apparently still underway.

It was Kalen’s first time coming in through the official entrance, and his eyes swept all around with evident curiosity. Whenever he saw any painting that was too revealing, he immediately averted his eyes uncomfortably. Tass, in contrast, was quite composed, despite having once been trapped in that cursed place.

Coincidentally, Professor Gentry also had two more people with him.

A man and a woman, both under thirty. Their appearances were ordinary, but their clothes were exceptionally tasteful.

Even though they wore plain travel attire designed for exploration, the fabric still practically smelled of gold rings, far finer than anything Truman had ever worn.

At the moment, they stood beside Professor Gentry in relatively relaxed postures.

Myss had no interest in human scraps of cloth. What interested him were their Magibase—

The young woman’s Magibase was a glossy-furred tiger, its massive tiger eyes sweeping across the room.
The young man’s Magibase, meanwhile, was a lion, currently sitting silently in a corner.

Both Magibases were huge, and both were rare beasts of prey. In sheer visual presence, they lost nothing to the elephant in the room.

It seemed this expedition wouldn’t be too boring after all. Myss found himself narrowing his eyes.

“These two are my students, and also members of the Ruins Preservation Association.”

Professor Gentry’s gaze flicked quickly over Kalen and Tass, his smile as warm as ever.

“Let me introduce them. This lady is Beverly Ittinger, who specializes in explosive magic and appraisal magic.”

Beverly had a head of especially fluffy short golden hair, which actually made her look even more lion-like. Her face was round, and she wore a cautious expression that was almost evaluative, though there was little malice in her features.

She folded her arms and gave the group a quick once-over, her gaze lingering slightly on Salaar’s blue eyes and Myss’s face.

“Such young assistants,” she said with a friendly smile. “My, there’s even a Dragon Fae. This trip is bound to be lively.”

“And this gentleman is Asp Dunhill, who specializes in natural growth magic and restoration magic.”

Then she introduced the other assistant for her teacher. “He’s a very reliable logistics specialist. He just doesn’t like talking to people much.”

Asp was tall and thin, with chestnut hair, brown eyes, and sallow skin, as if a layer of dust covered him. He nodded vaguely, never once making eye contact with them.

Myss quietly split off a thread of magic and poked the lion in the corner. The lion shifted its sturdy body and rumbled in confusion.

Asp lifted his head blankly and looked around, and only then did Myss get a clear look at his face—a completely unremarkable long face. Yet another uninteresting human.

“You really frightened us by suddenly postponing the departure.” Having finished the introductions, Beverly said, turning to the professor, her concern utterly genuine. “A whole month! I thought you’d been injured… If I’d known Semper was such a hassle, we would have come with you.”

“Those damned investigators just kept saying ‘people in Semper like following trends, you’re being overly suspicious.’ I knew something was wrong here. I’m going to write a complaint the moment I get back—”

She rattled on without pause. If one ignored the actual content of her words, her tone was almost aggressive.

“It was only one month, not winter yet,” Asp muttered toward the floor, sneaking a glance at them before jerking his eyes away as though burned.

“If it’s before winter, it’s manageable. Some pests can be avoided. But humidity will matter. The magic artifacts will need recalibrating, Professor…”

“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Professor Gentry scratched his head and gave a chuckle. “I didn’t expect to be delayed this long. I was only planning to stop by and take a look on the way.”

“But I did gain something from it. These young people are very capable.”

“Yes, I believe you. You wouldn’t casually drag some youngsters off to their deaths,” Beverly sighed.

Asp snorted out a laugh, then immediately stiffened his face as though it hadn’t been him.

Professor Gentry: “…”

Professor Gentry sighed. “…In any case, that’s the current composition of my team.”

Salaar let out a dry laugh. “Would you mind elaborating on the ‘drag off to their deaths’ part?”

“Of course. Since you are joining the team, I have to be clear.”

Professor Gentry’s expression turned serious, and his tone sounded just like a real professor’s.

“We are preparing to explore an uncharted underground ruin. It isn’t far from Semper, and it is at least the size of a small city. For the moment, we’re calling it the ‘Rabbit Hole.’”

“We don’t know what is inside. Every previous exploration team that entered vanished without return. That includes the team of my finest student, Roman Gerard.”

At the mention of that name, Beverly pursed her lips, while Asp’s eyes welled up with tears and his head dipped again.

“The place is radiating extremely abnormal magical fluctuations. Even a world-class explorer like Roman Gerard failed there—Roman’s status crystal has already shattered. We intend to bring back his body, and while we’re at it, determine what exactly is going on in the Rabbit Hole.”

“Even I may end up trapped underground. I cannot guarantee everyone’s safety, so please think carefully.”

For that last sentence, Professor Gentry was looking specifically at Father Kalen and Tass.

Salaar understood.

Professor Gentry was one of the seven Kingdom Archmages. His finest student undoubtedly deserved the title of “world-class,” whether in scholarship or magical prowess.

If the Rabbit Hole had swallowed someone of that caliber, and Gentry still wanted to hire them… Could there be an Abnormal Fruit underground too?

But Father Kalen’s divination had said there should be no ominous presence of that level nearby.

Salaar couldn’t quite make sense of it.

“What era is the ruin from?” he asked, falling back on objective facts first.

Beverly answered before anyone else could. “The tail end of the Night Scourge!”

Her rapid-fire speech started up again.

“Underground ruins from the Night Scourge era are all enormous. There’s still a complete underground city beneath the capital from that period. The named underground cities have mostly already been explored. It’s the smaller underground cities like this one that are more dangerous.”

“Most underground ruins from the last three hundred years are just tombs. They’re nowhere near this complicated…”

Salaar: “…”

He lowered his gaze, uncharacteristically avoiding eye contact with Myss.

Myss gave his head a sharp twist and stared back at him on his own initiative.

The tail end of the Night Scourge—wasn’t that exactly the era Salaar had been born in?

As the creator of the Night Scourge, the feeling was rather strange. Myss suddenly wanted to go see that underground city—not because he cared about the human world, but because he wanted to know what kind of environment could produce a human as infuriating as Salaar.

“I don’t care either way.” Myss was the first to raise his hand and raise his voice.

Only then did Salaar finally look at him again, and nothing in that glance betrayed what he felt.

Father Kalen, clearly, also didn’t care very much. He signed the contract readily enough, his face showing not the slightest fear. It was obvious that he trusted the Shadow Relic’s divination result completely.

Tass, however, hesitated and flew around the contract several times. He looked several times at Archmage Gentry, then stole a few glances at Myss. After dragging things out for a full five minutes, he finally signed his name.

“All four of you are coming? What remarkable courage.”

Professor Gentry gathered up the contracts and tapped their edges neatly against the table.

“In that case, we leave tomorrow at seven in the morning. Food and necessities will be prepared on our side. If any of you don’t feel at ease, you may bring extra supplies yourselves.”

“Understood.”

At last, Salaar spoke again.

That night, Tass packed up every gemstone he could find in the house as all of his luggage. As long as he had gemstones, he could heal his wounds, replenish his strength, and survive a very long time without food or drink.

Meanwhile, Father Kalen still ran outside to help Cinnamon search for its owner. He said he would ask Miss Claws to keep an eye on the house and also look after Pinecone the puppy.

While those two were busting about with frenetic energy, Myss and Salaar, by contrast, seemed utterly idle. The two of them hadn’t slept well the previous night, so this time they returned to the bedroom early, intending to conserve their energy.

Myss had the vague feeling that Salaar’s mood was somewhat low, even though outwardly Salaar looked exactly the same as usual.

It was hard to describe. Perhaps he had stared at Salaar for too long, long enough for the shape of the man to have imprinted itself into his subconscious.

“You should be happy instead,” Lord Archdemon declared forcefully. “This is your perfect chance to present to me the ‘evidence of your crimes.’”

Salaar looked at him silently for a while. “And then what? Ask you why you breathe? Seriously, would you care?”

“No.”

“So why would you think I was planning to show you something like that?”

Myss’s eyes shifted aside, his gaze slipping away.

“I already told you to forget the nonsense from those bards,” Salaar said, refusing to let him off the hook. “Maybe their Saint Salaar would desperately try to move you… Listen. I’m not going to let you use me to understand the human world. I know better than anyone that you have no interest in it.”

If one didn’t understand love and happiness, naturally one would not understand hate and pain either. From the beginning, he had never harbored any hope for Myss.

“Then why do you think I have no interest in the human world?” Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Myss threw the question back in an exaggerated tone. “‘I know better than anyone’… Tch. You don’t know that at all.”

Salaar had been holding a cup while pouring water. At those words, his hand froze, and he stared straight at Myss.

That face of inhuman beauty was steeped in firelight, the pomegranate-red eyes bright and clear. Myss wasn’t joking. More accurately, Myss would never joke with him like this.

Why? What had touched Myss? Salaar’s thoughts nearly turned chaotic.

Surely it wasn’t about Antis and Iver. Could Professor Gentry have done something? Could Myss have grown the slightest shred of humanity? …Or was Myss trying to understand the destructive power of the Night Scourge so he could use it later as a psychological weapon?

“I have to correct your ridiculous misunderstanding.”

Myss hugged a blanket and made his declaration with solemn grandeur.

“It’s true that I have absolutely no intention of ‘using you to understand the human world.’ What is the human world supposed to matter?”

“…But I would want to use the human world to understand you.”

Then he tipped up his chin and struck the pose of a victor. “In the end, I will take the initiative to understand the human world, you arrogant bastard.”

Thunk.

Salaar’s hand jerked, knocking over the glass water jug on the bedside table. Water instantly soaked into the carpet.

The carpet was dark-colored. The soaked patch turned nearly black, like a pool of blood.

Good. Salaar’s gaze had returned to him again. Myss was thoroughly satisfied.

That was more like it. When Salaar’s gaze nailed itself to him, Myss felt an odd sense of security, as if he had grabbed hold of a leash tied to his enemy, as though he had slipped an invisible collar around his enemy’s neck.

“…Well. That certainly is news.”

After a long while, Salaar finally spoke again.

“Mm.” Myss was satisfied. He threw back the blanket and patted the mattress. “I want to sleep. Hurry up and lie down.”

Salaar: “…”

Salaar drained the rest of the water in the cup and let out a long breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, and threw himself violently onto the mattress.

He moved too hard, and the mattress was too soft. Myss almost bounced off the bed. By the time the Archdemon scrambled up in anger, Salaar was already asleep.

“Forget it,” Myss muttered too.

In any case, over the next few weeks they wouldn’t be sleeping on a mattress this soft.

---

The author has something to say:
Salaar: (stares intently)

Myss: (stares intently)

Myss: If I don’t look at him, how will I know he’s looking at me? Keep staring!

And so the staring contest continues— [dog holding rose]

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 54: No Visitors Allowed

Salaar said nothing, and he didn’t turn around.

Myss reached out and felt around again, only to discover that the muscles elsewhere on Salaar’s body had gone taut too, and a thin layer of sweat had broken out over his skin.

Huh?

At once, Myss threw sleep to the winds, and even Fork woke up. After all this time, he had finally found Salaar’s weak point.

More than three hundred years of darkness, loneliness, suffering, injuries, and sickness had failed to wipe the smile from this man’s face. Faced with the Fallen Child’s maternal summons and Perfected Creation’s mental scourging, Salaar had handled it all with ease.

And now, great and formidable Salaar, for the second time, was frozen solid like stone beneath his touch.

He kissed Salaar on the forehead, and Salaar had stood rooted in place. He had touched Salaar a few times by accident, and Salaar had lost composure again.

The answer was blindingly obvious. A few days ago, he had stirred Salaar with a kiss. And tonight…

“You dreamed about your old lover,” Myss declared with utter certainty.

Salaar was undoubtedly pining for a love that had been defiled by his enemies. With so many tawdry legends swirling around this man, surely at least one of them had to be true.

Salaar shook Myss off him and swiftly wrapped himself up in the blanket like a cocoon. When he spoke again, he directly changed the subject. “Where did you even learn all this nonsense?”

Salaar hadn’t drunk any water, so his voice was still a little hoarse. His tone, meanwhile, sounded helpless.

“My body’s brain may be dim-witted, but it still has eyes.” Myss snorted, crawling closer to the Salaar cocoon. “I still know the most basic things.”

This body, being a “premium commodity,” had been preserved very well. Ordinary slaves had neither been that lucky nor that constrained. Myss remembered seeing slaves amuse themselves or getting intimate with each other.

Further back, there had been plenty of couples in Salaar’s army too. There hadn’t been much entertainment in the darkness, and they often did that sort of thing.

It was just that, back then, Myss hadn’t understood what those humans were doing all piled together. He had been too busy looking down at Salaar.

Even now, Myss still felt nothing about it, just as humans wouldn’t find the sight of flies mating particularly interesting.

…But he was genuinely, exceptionally, incredibly curious about Salaar’s reaction.

Because Salaar absolutely wasn’t the kind of person to wallow in lust. Myss was entirely confident of that.

During those three hundred years, Salaar had practically been an iron-blooded administrator. He had lived apart from the others and never gotten particularly close to his companions. A few people had once gotten bold enough to invite Salaar to “have some fun” together—only to be met with Salaar’s fists.

The times Salaar had been physically closest to his companions were when he buried their corpses.

And after he had fallen alone into the darkness, he hadn’t even entertained himself that way. All he ever did was harass Myss’s tentacles.

For someone like that to actually have desire now—this was an unprecedented discovery.

Seeing that Salaar had bundled himself into a ball, Myss’s eyes shifted, and he picked up the water jug from the bedside table.

“Didn’t you want water? Why aren’t you drinking anymore?” He stared brightly at Salaar. “Want me to feed you?”

Salaar glanced at him, then slowly tucked his head into the blanket too. He didn’t run, but clearly, he wasn’t planning to, well, face this situation with any sort of candor.

Myss burst into delighted laughter.

He couldn’t help but think of the shabby little shack Salaar had built inside the seal. At their core, they were no different. Just some soft shell serving no purpose other than self-deception.

“Good morning?” He tapped on the blanket bundle, imitating Salaar’s mocking tone. “Anybody home?”

“There are matters at home. No visitors allowed,” Salaar replied in a muffled voice.

Ah, yes. This was the feeling. Revenge tasted sweet. Myss felt a sense of pure, unadulterated satisfaction wash over him.

He didn’t even bother using magic. He deliberately pawed at the blanket-wrapped hero with his bare hands. Feeling the other man squirm in embarrassment improved his mood immensely, and suddenly inspiration struck—

It wasn’t that he hated being around Salaar. He just hated being on the losing side in front of his archenemy.

Thinking about it carefully, if the contents of “Sweet Trap” hadn’t been “the noble hero toys with the Chaos Witch,” but instead “the Chaos Archdemon toys with the noble hero,” he definitely wouldn’t have hated that book the way he did now.

Salaar was always composed. He had been like that when reading “Sweet Trap”, and he was still like that when dealing with him. Myss only wanted to smash that infuriating calm expression of his.

…If he could make Salaar this uncomfortable, then he was very willing to stick even closer.

“So you’re planning to suffocate yourself to death, huh? According to the contract, I’m here to save you. Hurry up, let me see your face!”

Like he had discovered a whole new continent, Myss excitedly patted the blanket lump. “Or I could just beat you through the blanket and help you get back to normal?”

“No visitors allowed!” Knife coiled on the highest bulge of the blanket and solemnly repeated Salaar’s words.

Salaar stayed curled up inside and refused to make a sound.

Myss didn’t care. He leaned closer, his nose almost pressing against the blanket. “But without my cushion, I can’t slee—wahhhh!”

The moment Myss leaned in, Salaar suddenly moved.

Taking advantage of his larger build, he yanked up the blanket and cast it over Myss like a net. Then he swiftly gathered the four corners together, and Knife cooperatively tied them up—

The whole thing took barely two seconds. The Archdemon had been brutally bagged up and turned into a wriggling sack on the bed.

Myss thrashed a few times before realizing he could still use magic. With a sharp rip, he clawed a huge hole in the thick blanket.

Myss angrily stuck his head out, only to find that Salaar had already slipped into the bathroom.

“You actually ran away!” Myss shouted in disbelief.

Damn it, there were even layers of golden defensive barriers stacked at the bathroom door. When they had fought in the seal, Salaar’s movements had never been this fast.

“This is a strategic withdrawal following a victory!” Salaar shouted back from inside.

His shout came together with the deliberately amplified volume of the bath music.

Pouting indignantly, Myss drained the glass of water sitting on the beside table; he gave his mouth a fierce wipe, not leaving Salaar a single drop.

By the time Salaar emerged from the bathroom, dawn had broken.

Salaar had turned back into that composed, unruffled Salaar again, looking as if nothing had happened the night before. Myss clicked his tongue in regret.

Still, whatever. Salaar hadn’t suggested sleeping separately. He had already found Salaar’s weakness. There was plenty of time ahead.

……

But Myss hadn’t expected the day to become even more unpleasant. The moment he entered the Red Amber, he got handed a notice regarding compensation claims.

With testimony from the fourth-floor guards, Myss had been identified as the primary culprit who had “let the cats inside,” and he was required to compensate the Red Amber for the related losses.

The promised gold-ring payment was gone, and most of the two thousand gold rings they had already received were reclaimed. After everything Salaar and Myss had gone through, they were left with only five hundred gold rings.

That wasn’t exactly a small amount but compared to the huge sum they had had before, the terrible gap made the loss sting.

Salaar calmly contacted Kalen to confirm that this wasn’t some kind of scam. Considering the extent of the damage at the Red Amber, it was actually a fairly reasonable sum for compensation.

“We clearly saved those humans, and they still dared demand money from us.” Myss ground his teeth in irritation.

Salaar: “Just think of it as us paying for the Abnormal Fruit here.”

Compared to the Abnormal Fruit, that money truly was no better than dirt. Myss made a sound of acknowledgment, and his mood slowly eased.

At the very least, by the time they entered the reception room, Myss’s face didn’t look quite so foul anymore.

The Kingdom Archmage, Professor Gentry, known as “The Colossal Elephant”, was sitting upright in an armchair, waiting for them.

Professor Gentry had a head of slightly curly white hair and a particularly warm, approachable face, with a somewhat large nose. He was said to be over seventy, yet his skin bore very few wrinkles, his figure was far from gaunt, and he looked physically no older than forty.

Myss wasn’t particularly surprised. He had known long ago that humans with strong magic tended to live longer. The strongest people in Salaar’s army had all lived past one hundred and aged much more slowly than others.

Salaar himself had lived for more than three hundred years, a feat truly earning him the title of “monster.”

“I’m very glad to meet the two of you. My apologies for summoning you so suddenly.”

Professor Gentry’s voice was warm and full. He stood up to greet them, utterly free of pretension.

“You’re too kind.” Salaar immediately slipped into social mode.

His tone was neither as aggravating as Young Master Karns’s nor as mature as Hero Salaar’s.

Myss knew very well that Salaar was on guard. If Gentry asked them about the Perfected Creation, then every answer Salaar gave would need to be flawless.

Professor Gentry watched those blue eyes of Salaar’s for a while.

Just when Myss thought he was about to ask about the “Divine Realm,” the Archmage instead veered off topic. “I would like to hire the two of you.”

Myss, Salaar: “?”

“I plan to take my students exploring underground ruins, and I happen to need two sharp-witted assistants.”

The old man smiled cheerfully at them with his light brown eyes. “It would last about four to six weeks. One thousand gold rings per person per week, and I would assume responsibility for all losses that might occur.”

“Why us?” After a moment’s thought, Salaar asked very directly.

“Why you?” Professor Gentry’s smile widened even further. “Because I have a fondness for handsome young men. And I heard that the two of you have recently been targeted by some unsavory characters, making it inconvenient for you to walk around big cities. Earning a bit more money is a good thing, wouldn’t you say?”

His gaze swept over Salaar and Myss again and again. Myss suddenly realized that not once had he called Salaar “Karns.”

“Thank you for your kindness, but unfortunately, we already have plans for the near future.”

Salaar refused at once. One thousand gold rings a week—only a fool would think that was the wage of a “normal assistant.”

A Kingdom Archmage making such a crude proposal. Since Professor Gentry was so obviously probing them, Salaar had no intention of stepping into the trap.

“What a pity. In that case, I can only report my findings honestly to the Aufon Royal Family.”

Professor Gentry sighed. “Honestly, it’s rather embarrassing. The Red Amber kept me trapped for almost a month. I’ve been living on the fourth floor, and my joints are practically rusting… The way you two broke through left quite an impression on me.”

Myss’s brows twitched, instantly on guard. “I didn’t detect any scrying magic.”

“That’s because I was looking with my own eyes.” Professor Gentry gave a little chuckle. “As everyone knows, I’m a nimble old fellow. Long-distance observation is basic fieldwork for an explorer.”

Myss: “…”

Salaar let out a sigh and sat down opposite Gentry.

He dropped that half-in, half-out attitude and cut straight to the point. “What exactly do you want?”

---

The author has something to say:

I just realized the two of them fit that whole “both my wet dream and my nightmare are you, huh” theme perfectly. [rainbow farts]

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 53: A Shattered Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Just like Myss didn’t care about humans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not eating that?”

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

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

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

Of course, the Archdemon only became bolder when thwarted.

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

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

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

…And then tears came flooding out all at once.

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

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

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

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

“Mmph—mmph mmph mmph!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for the advice.” Salaar smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, Salaar suffered a rare bout of insomnia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t continue.

Perhaps, Salaar thought.

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

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

He drifted into sleep amid exhaustion and drowsiness.

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

He dreamed of the darkness from long ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After saying it aloud, he laughed at himself.

“No, probably not.”

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

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

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

Tap.

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

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

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

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

The next moment, all the darkness shattered.

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

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

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

“I’ll stain your love!”

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

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

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

…Salaar jolted awake from the dream.

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

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

That same direct gaze again, stripping away everything else.

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

Myss gave a sleepy hum. “Hurry up.”

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

“?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The author has something to say:

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

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

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 52: Perfect Love

Tass didn’t hold a public funeral.

Antis Crosien never took private commissions, nor did he have any clients he was personally close with. Other than Tass and Iver, he didn’t even have any other intimate relationships.

As for Iver, he had already said goodbye to everyone he needed to say goodbye to.

After becoming a living specimen, all that remained of Iver was his most “social” side. He claimed that he had miraculously improved, and no one looked into it too deeply. Malignant Magibase Rejection Syndrome was too rare, and naturally Iver wasn’t going to make a public spectacle of it. People simply assumed he had consumption.

In the end, the two of them were laid to rest beneath the garden of Antis’s home. There was no coffin, no tombstone.

Other than Tass, only Myss, Salaar, and Father Kalen attended the funeral. With Father Kalen present, Tass didn’t even hire an officiant.

Still, there were over a dozen cats in attendance, as well as the little dog named Pinecone.

The sleepy pup had finally woken up. It sniffed at the freshly turned earth, completely unable to understand what had happened.

Its time with Antis had been too brief, after all. It had never had the chance to fall in love with this master who so rarely appeared, nor did it remember Iver, the one who had given it away.

Even so, it still wagged its tail lightly and licked Antis’s hand, the one wrapped tightly around Iver.

“Are you really sure you don’t want a coffin?” Father Kalen asked, seeming uncertain whether he should speak.

“If he got to lie peacefully in a coffin, that wouldn’t count as ‘ugly decay,’ would it? Besides, I can’t hear the two of them complain anyway.”

The Dragon Fae’s nose was a little red. “And besides, they also… shouldn’t be separated. If they were crammed into one coffin, that would be uncomfortable too.”

Father Kalen didn’t ask any further questions.

Tass buried the two of them beneath the shade of a tree.

The surrounding grass was lush, and flowers bloomed in clusters. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering dazzling patches of light all around. It was a pleasant place suited for resting, with nothing to do with “ugliness.”

Where a gravestone should have stood, Tass placed an easel and set up the portrait Iver had given Antis. He layered it with spell after spell against water, dust, theft, and decay, making sure it could stand there forever.

The bright painting was steeped in sunlight, as if it had been born for this place.

At a glance, it looked as though some painter were working here. The painter had only set down his brush for a moment and might return at any time.

Clear birdsong rang from the tree overhead. Two birds flew back, and part of a nest could be seen between the branches.

Tass glanced up. There were robins. When he and Anti first met, the chick Antis had rescued had also seemed to be a robin.

Was one of these birds that chick from back then?

Tass didn’t know, and he thought he never would.

The cook Antis had hired hadn’t yet left, and silently prepared food for them. Tass forced himself to eat a little, then said that he wanted to be alone for a while.

“I’ll turn down the commission from the Karns family, and I definitely won’t leak anything about you… I’ve already gotten more than enough payment.”

The Dragon Fae lay on top of the bewildered pup’s head, looking listless.

Salaar said he understood and also dragged out Myss who was happily munching on snacks.

The afternoon sun was just right. Myss narrowed his eyes in contentment and decided not to pursue the matter of Salaar dragging him out.

Father Kalen, meanwhile, returned to the place where Antis and Iver were buried and softly offered a prayer for them. The cats gathered around his feet, meowing and reporting things to him.

“Without the Perfected Creation, things really are a lot easier.”

Myss scooped up a spoonful of pudding and felt abundant power coursing through his body. “You can leave whenever you want, and there aren’t weird people coming over to bother you either. It’s pretty nice.”

As he spoke, he casually wiggled his fingers.

Threads of magic wove themselves into a net, then into black gauze, then into a dense “fabric.” Then with a flick of his fingertip, the black cloth instantly unraveled back into magic threads, all of which he drew back in.

Salaar raised a brow.

The Archdemon wasn’t the sort to show off so childishly. He looked Myss up and down for a while and soon discovered that the material of his ranger outfit had changed.

The original dark gray fabric had become deeper in color, and its texture far denser, almost like…

“You wove clothing out of magic threads?” Salaar asked.

“Yes. Human flesh is far too dull.” Myss snorted. “With these clothes, my senses are far sharper than before. No magic can escape my perception. If you’re thinking about pulling any tricks, I suggest you think carefully before you do.”

“What kind of thing is that to say? Am I that kind of person?” Salaar said sternly.

Myss stared at him in silence.

“…All right, even if I were that kind of person, don’t forget we have a contract,” Salaar continued in the same stern tone.

As if the contract had ever stopped you from dancing right along the edge of it.

Thinking of that “Salaar” with the peculiar mannerism, Myss glared at him even harder.

Salaar looked away and softly whistled, using that same awful song that had disturbed the peace before.

…Whatever. As long as the threat had gotten across, that was enough. Myss snorted through his nose and ate the last spoonful of pudding.

This fight against the Perfected Creation had brought him quite a harvest.

Now, Myss could control the annihilating power of his magic very well. The clothes made of magical fabric were as smooth as water and as light as nothing at all.

If he wanted, they could vividly sense the warmth of sunlight, the touch of the breeze, and every flow of magic… Best of all, they could annihilate dust and grime that didn’t know its place, so he no longer had to worry about washing clothes.

Of course, Salaar had gained something too. That bastard’s magic had increased dramatically, and he had also acquired the Perfected Creation’s “perfect mental lashing.”

That mental lashing, however, had no effect on Myss whatsoever. He, Myss, was perfect. He was the one who lashed others.

All things considered, Myss felt he had won completely.

These Abnormal Fruit were wonderful stuff. To tell the truth, Myss wasn’t even especially eager to return to his true body anymore. He only wanted to get his hands on a couple more.

At that thought, he couldn’t help but look toward the source of this Abnormal Fruit. Antis was already sleeping beneath the earth, so all he could see was a patch of green grass.

“…Hey, Salaar.”

“Mm?”

“Why didn’t Antis ask you to wake Iver too? Iver’s Magibase still had quite a bit left at the time. It’s not like Antis didn’t know that.”

Myss still had the little silver spoon from the pudding in his mouth, so his words came out a bit muffled.

“He desperately wanted to live, yet he chose death. I can understand that as ‘self-execution.’ But he definitely wanted to see Iver. So why didn’t he ask you for help?”

Salaar looked at Myss in surprise.

He wanted to ask why Myss was curious about this, but then he seemed like some researcher who had just had a wild animal come over of its own accord and was afraid that the slightest disturbance would scare it away.

“Do you think the living-specimen Iver was like the Iver in his memories?”

In the end, he posed a gentle counter-question.

“Well, no, not really.”

After thinking it over, Myss didn’t believe the real Iver would have mocked Antis the way the living specimen had.

“Maybe Antis understood Iver’s way of thinking and believed that an incomplete Iver was no longer truly himself… or maybe he understood Iver’s resolve and thought that forcibly waking his beloved from a specimen would be too cruel.” Salaar said softly, his lapis-lazuli eyes also turning toward the grass, drenched in sunlight.

“…No matter what, at the very end, he truly did ‘understand’ Iver.”

Myss frowned at him for a while, then finally gave a dismissive, half-hearted resignation.

Humans really were too difficult to understand. He couldn’t even understand Salaar himself. He decided it was better off to stick to his own research on Salaar.

“Humans are really troublesome. Cats are much easier to understand,” Myss judged fairly.

“That, I do more or less agree with.” Salaar smiled. “As for those two, is there anything else you’re curious about?”

Myss thought for a moment and, surprisingly, did come up with a question. “What exactly does kissing someone on the forehead mean? Is it only something you do to the dead?”

What a wildly off-base interpretation. Salaar nearly choked on his own saliva.

But when he thought about it, Myss’s body was that of a slave, and he probably had never seen such reserved tenderness before.

The Great Hero cleared his throat with great ceremony and decided to tease his enemy a bit. “Yes. It’s something you can only do to the dead.”

Myss bared his teeth. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“How could I be?” Salaar said with perfect sincerity.

Myss narrowed his eyes at him and brought his face closer and closer. Salaar widened his eyes, looking more innocent than a child who hadn’t even learned how to walk.

A sot breeze passed through as a robin hopped onto a tender branch.

Myss rose onto his tiptoes and kissed Salaar on the forehead.

Warm, soft contact landed in the center of his brow. It was as light as a dragonfly skimming water, gone the instant it touched.

Salaar froze in place like a specimen. He looked even more stunned than when Myss had hugged him. His face hadn’t even managed to shift into shock before it, together with the rest of him, locked in place in the air. He even forgot to breathe.

“Aha!”

Myss leapt back in triumph and vigorously wiped his mouth.

“If what you said is true, then this is a declaration of your death. If you twisted the meaning, and it is actually one of the ways humans show affection, then I have added a stain to your love.”

“Look how thoroughly I ‘understand’ you!”

Humans were so obsessed with love that Salaar surely must also hold some beautiful yearning for it. With this one kiss, from now on, whoever Salaar loved in the future, whenever they kissed him, he would remember this moment.

A perfect defilement.

Even better, just as the Perfected Creation could do nothing to him, Salaar couldn’t retaliate in kind. Myss would never fall in love with a human, much less long for romance.

Served him right. Who told Salaar to keep bothering him with “Sweet Trap” all the time? Myss wore the smile of a victor and pulled a face at Salaar.

…Still, just in case, he moved a little farther away.

Salaar would soon come back to himself, then start needling him with a smile, or have a few exchanges of magic with him.

…Myss waited ten seconds. Salaar still stood frozen in place, utterly motionless.

Well now. Salaar might really be angry. Maybe one of those wild histories was true after all. Maybe he truly had some childhood sweetheart or a beloved he couldn’t forget.

That would be fantastic. Myss had never seen Salaar furious before.

…Myss waited in delighted anticipation for two full minutes, but Salaar seemed to have really turned into a living specimen. One hand covered the lower half of his face, and his gaze remained fixed on empty space.

Strange. Had he kissed Salaar’s brains out? He had definitely not used magic just now, had he?

Myss suspiciously touched his own mouth, then gave the back of his hand a quick kiss. Sure enough, nothing happened.

Myss circled Salaar twice, only to find that the Great Hero still wasn’t moving at all, as if something in him had malfunctioned.

He gradually found it all rather boring.

Salaar’s reaction was dull as hell. Myss couldn’t feel happy about it at all. Instead, some strange discomfort started to grow in him.

All right. If this was what Salaar had intended, then Salaar had done rather well. Myss slapped his own face a couple of times.

Then he took the little silver pudding spoon in his mouth and headed alone toward the manor doors, deciding to go get himself more pudding.

Yet the moment his back disappeared past the doorway, Salaar dropped into a crouch.

He covered his face with both hands and breathed rapidly. A thin layer of color had spread across his ears and the back of his neck.

“Mr. Salaar?”

Father Kalen had finished his prayer and instantly spotted the Salaar-shaped bundle on the ground. “Mr. Salaar, are you all right?”

Salaar didn’t answer.

Father Kalen hurried over to his side, and together with the curious cats, gathered around him.

“Are you feeling unwell? I can help you back to your room—”

Kalen tried reaching out to grab Salaar’s arm, only for Salaar to block him at once.

“…I’m fine.”

Salaar said in a low voice. He snatched up the ragdoll cat Apple from beside him and buried his face in its fluffy fur. Father Kalen couldn’t see his expression at all.

Apple let out a confused meow. It blinked its sky-blue eyes and obediently let Salaar hold it.

“All right, understood.” Father Kalen withdrew his hand in confusion. “If you really are unwell, I can prepare some medicine for you.”

Salaar buried his face even deeper into the cat’s fur and took several deep breaths, as though trying to suffocate himself with all that fluff.

“I’m fine…”

His voice was low. It was impossible to tell whether he was saying it to Kalen, to the cat, or to himself.

…Half an hour later, Salaar stepped back into the manor, his expression giving nothing away.

They had watched the origins of the Perfected Creation in full and had also obtained the letter as evidence. The three of them briefly reviewed the Perfected Creation incident and found quite a few new leads.

“Scintilla, Antis, Iver. All three were ‘geniuses’ who could use magic innately.”

Salaar rubbed his chin. “V.O.R. seems to be deliberately gathering geniuses, giving them Abnormal Fruit when they are most vulnerable, and guiding the birth of ‘gods,’ assuming those things can even be called gods.”

“Miss Scintilla wanted her mother to come back to life. Mr. Antis wanted to heal his beloved… These are clearly no more than the most ordinary wishes.”

Father Kalen sighed. “And yet the wishes the Abnormal Fruit fulfilled for them were deformed in the end.”

“No, wait. If V.O.R. is only interested in geniuses, then why did he contact Kendrick Karns?”

Myss pointed grandly at Salaar. “Wasn’t that guy a complete waste of space?”

Forget using magic innately. Young Master Karns couldn’t even produce a Magibase after the fact. He was useless among the useless.

“If he managed to bring you and me together, I don’t think he was quite that useless,” Salaar hinted vaguely. “In any case, ‘targeting genius’ is a criterion worth keeping in mind.”

Myss clicked his tongue and couldn’t be bothered to dig deeper. Just be a little more mindful of geniuses during the investigation. There was no harm in that.

Compared to that, something else interested him more.

“Malignant Magibase Rejection Syndrome,” he said. “Humans can actually be allergic to their own magic circuits.”

“Geniuses are already rare. A disease unique to geniuses is even rarer. This is the first time I’ve truly come into contact with it. Before this, I had only heard of it.”

Father Kalen said solemnly. “The most common academic view is that the afflicted person came into contact with dangerous magical artifacts they should never have touched, or that their body suddenly weakened, causing their constitution to change unexpectedly. However…”

Myss prompted, “However?”

“When my brother spoke to me about this, he said he didn’t agree with the mainstream view. He didn’t state his own view outright. He only used a metaphor…”

Father Kalen tried hard to recall it.

“If you place a fledgling in a birdcage, it may survive there its whole life. But if you place a newborn tiger cub in a birdcage, then once it grows a little bigger, it will only die in pain.”

Myss: “…”

Myss wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t your brother just speak normally?”

Salaar jumped in at once. “So your brother believes that these patients are actually being bound by ‘mismatched’ Magibase, which causes their magical circuits to collapse.”

Father Kalen nodded good-naturedly. “The problem is that a Magibase ought to be a kind of purely spiritual organ. It’s part of its owner. Such a thing shouldn’t happen.”

“Why do you ask, Mr. Myss? Have you discovered something new?”

“Oh, I’m just curious.” Myss gave a noncommittal hum and changed the subject. “So then, have we picked the next destination yet?”

Father Kalen shook his head regretfully. “I made a special divination. So far, there’s no obvious ominous sign nearby.”

“We’ll have to switch to another region and test again, but I can’t guarantee there will be anything next time. Investigative journeys are always like this. Too many things sink into shadow.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine. If every one or two cities had a bad omen on this level, then the world would probably be beyond saving.”

Salaar, on the contrary, seemed relieved.

“In that case, Myss and I will first finish the Red Amber’s commission.”

……

To his surprise, Myss discovered that even though Salaar, like “Salaar,” didn’t say a word while painting, facing the real Salaar made him feel much more at ease.

At the moment, he was draped lazily across the model’s chair, almost melting into the autumn sunlight.

The disappearance of the twins had become the biggest piece of news, while the ripples from Danton’s death still hadn’t faded. People had become slightly more normal, and no one was foolish enough to provoke him anymore.

As for Truman, after being “dealt with” by Salaar once, he had gone on long-term sick leave and no one knew how long he would need to recover.

What hadn’t changed was that their contract with “Iver” was still in effect, only now it had been handed off to another employee.

“All right, I’m done.”

This time Salaar didn’t use magic to finish the painting. By the Red Amber’s standards, he lightly covered it with a specially-made magical silk cloth.

“Why did you cover it up? I want to see!” Myss jumped down, displeased.

“No. That magical silk dries the paint automatically. If you just pull it open, you’ll ruin the surface.”

Salaar pressed one hand against Myss’s shoulder and pushed the dangerous Archdemon away. “What, are you that concerned about my ‘Perfect Love’ for you?”

“Who cares about something like that?” Myss bristled at once and jumped back several steps. “Since you’re done, we can get the money now, right? Come on, let’s go get paid!”

Salaar smiled and sighed. “Mm. Let’s go.”

The two of them left the studio bickering and shoving, leaving the room full of sunlight behind.

The clock ticked softly. The sunlight shifted from pale gold to rich gold, then into the red-gold of evening. After most of the day had passed, an employee hurried into the studio and carefully lifted the silk cloth.

The moment he saw Perfect Love, he froze on the spot. Then, very slowly, he drew in a breath.

The canvas was pitch-black.

It wasn’t the careless daubing of a lazy painter, nor some kind of abstract art.

No one knew what method the painter had used, but that black surface reflected no light at all. The human eye couldn’t make out the thickness of the pigment or the texture of the canvas. It had an eerie unreality that sent a chill down one’s spine.

Against the brilliant sunset, that square of darkness looked as though a corner had been carved straight out of the world itself.

It resembled the entrance to another world, or the mouth of a bottomless abyss.

“…Ah.”

Only after several minutes of staring in held breath did the employee come back to himself.

“Right, right… I need to hurry and find Mr. Karns and Mr. Myss…”

Professor Gentry had entered the Red Amber five minutes ago and specifically asked to see the two of them.

That was the renowned Professor Gentry, one of the kingdom’s Archmages of Aufon. The employee gave an involuntary shudder.

That Archmage had always been indifferent to oil paintings, so why would he take an interest in them?

Strange things really had been happening one after another lately, he thought.

---

The author has something to say:

A new volume starts now! [blowing rainbow kisses]

As for Salaar’s Perfect Love… you could say it’s perfect or not perfect, but it doesn’t have a single flaw! (…

Kingdom Archmage: Even if other people can’t tell something’s wrong, doesn’t mean I can’t! A whole divine realm just went poof, vanished in an instant! [scared]

---

<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 51: The Second Commission

The instant the heart stopped beating, the whole world seemed to freeze inside amber.

The Perfected Creation’s movements locked in midair. Its collections also stopped at the exact same moment, like puppets whose joints had suddenly rusted shut. It couldn’t even be called “death.” It was more like a pocket watch that had lost its spring.

In a flash, Myss tore the black gauze from the Perfected Creation’s chest and fished a heart out of the sea of flesh. The Perfected Creation’s magic cycle had been severed, and the blood amber had no time to repair the damage.

The heart flew out of its chest.

As the heart of a god, it looked fragile and soft, no different from an ordinary human heart.

Having lost its core, the Perfected Creation immediately lost a layer of radiance. As the divine power faded, its skin turned into stiff gel-like matter, and its eyes reflected only a dry, hard sheen. From inside its chest came a steady string of tiny cracking sounds.

As for the collections around it, they became marionettes whose strings had been cut. Unable to keep their balance, they fell rigidly to the floor like corpses. Their Magibase scattered like dew, leaving not the slightest trace behind.

Myss’s eyes swept over the room again. Only Antis and Iver were still standing.

The Perfected Creation’s core hadn’t vanished yet. Residual divine power was still struggling to gather the two men’s Magibase and bind them in place.

Myss spread out his hand. The heart twitched faintly in his palm like a dying hatchling.

As long as he destroyed this heart, the Perfected Creation would never be able to recover. All he had to do was apply a little force and put an end to all this chaos and pain…

“W-wait.” Tass suddenly threw himself over and clutched Myss’s fingers. “I… He…”

The Dragon Fae seemed to want to stall for a moment. He looked at Myss pleadingly, yet he himself didn’t seem to know what he was begging for.

Beside Myss, Salaar let out a soft sigh.

He wrapped his hands in golden light and carefully took the heart away. Myss shot him an annoyed look, only to see the Hero walk up to Anti’s living specimen, float the lump of flesh in midair, and clasp his hands before his chest.

Salaar closed his eyes and began reciting those obscure incantations again. Several strands of golden light extended out of the flesh, circling Anti’s specimen.

A layer of golden light appeared in the living specimen’s eyes, and its body moved with difficulty.

“Tass… Sir…” Mr. Anti opened his mouth. His voice was stiff and dry.

“Tass, I suspect you still have something you want to say.”

Salaar didn’t turn around.

His tone was gentle, yet he still kept the lump of flesh firmly under his control instead of handing it over to Anti.

“What we have here is the existence closest to Antis Crosien. The remains of a living body, the remnants of a specimen’s Magibase, plus the lingering spiritual imprint in the heart.”

The instant he finished speaking, the Dragon Fae shot out like a cannonball. He turned his body into a fist and punched Anti hard in the face.

“You ass—one in a thousand—stubborn mule!” his tiny body shrieked. “Idiot! Moron! Thick-skulled bastard!”

“…”

Mr. Anti didn’t dodge. He slowly turned his stone eyes, and grief gradually covered his face.

“You’re already in this horrible state. Why didn’t you write to me? Why didn’t you ask me for help? You pathetic little wretch who never got weaned, you understand nothing!”

Tass’s voice took on a sobbing edge. “Wasn’t I your friend? At least once, I was your friend!”

“I’m sorry, Tass.” Mr. Anti said slowly, “We… were always friends…”

“You’re finally awake!” Tass yanked hard at his hair. “Damn it, you should apologize to everyone in this city. Do you know how much trouble you caused? Do you know—”

Anti gently nodded.

He slowly turned his stone-crafted eyes and looked with deep longing at the nearby painting, as though the figure in the painting was not himself, but the smiling Iver.

Like an infant touching the ground for the first time, Anti tried lifting one foot, then fell heavily to the floor.

His exquisite top hat fell off. His spotless formalwear was smeared with dirt. Several buttons were torn loose. Yet Anti didn’t seem to notice at all. He struggled back up and kept moving toward the painting, as though it were the only exit from hell.

The few short steps were incredibly difficult.

At last, his fingertip touched the painting. Just as Myss thought he was about to take it away, Anti’s finger suddenly jerked back as though the warm wood had burned him.

Then he wiped his hand again and again on his suit, staying silent for a long while.

In the end, he only lightly kissed the little paper card hanging from the frame, as though he were kissing a lover’s hand.

“Enough! This isn’t the time for that!” Tass cried out anxiously. “You made a terrible mistake, hear me? You have to correct it. You have to atone! You—even if you’re only an incomplete version of yourself—you still have to fix all this!”

“The Perfected Creation could go on living like this, and so can you. Listen, these two are both extremely powerful with magic. If you—”

Mr. Anti finally turned his gaze. His eyes were far dimmer than before. Yet at that moment, they brimmed with vivid self-blame, regret, and fulfillment.

The only thing missing was pain.

“Not every mistake can be erased with money and apologies.” Anti said with difficulty. “I’m not a child anymore, Tass. I must pay the price for my choices. I must answer for those innocent lives lost…”

Tass abruptly flew a little farther away, as though he had realized something. His breathing quickened.

“I am Antis Crosien. I wish to hire you, the ‘Tass Ga the Unfailing’.” Anti said, “I will pay you with all my property. My funds are quite sufficient.”

His tone was astonishingly firm, as though he were speaking of a mission carved into fate itself, or speaking of his utterly wicked father.

Tass’s voice trembled. “You know my standards. I don’t take just any job…”

“I know.” Anti showed a clumsy smile that came sincerely from the heart. “Actually, I fit your standards. You know that.”

“The Perfected Creation killed far too many people, and it nearly killed you too. Every drop of blood you saw is undeniable proof.”

The Dragon Fae fell silent.

He circled in the air for a while, then lightly landed on Anti’s shoulder.

Tass originally meant to punch Anti in the face again. He even raised his arm. But in the end, he only gave Anti a slap that was neither light nor heavy.

The touch was as rigid and as cold as a specimen.

In truth, he knew from the start that there had never been much room for this to turn out otherwise. Salaar had only returned Anti’s spiritual imprint to his body. Aside from that, he had not done any healing at all.

He knew as well that he had never truly expected Antis Crosien to immediately repent and beg for forgiveness… He simply… Perhaps he had merely wanted to say a proper goodbye to his friend.

“Can’t you do it yourself?” Tass sniffed, his wings drooping limply. “What, even now you still have to strive for perfection?”

“No. I am only a fragmentary will. I cannot actively terminate the Perfected Creation’s magic.” Anti lowered his eyes and gave a bitter smile. “And you know better than anyone what counts as an execution, and what counts as a farewell.”

Myss was a little surprised.

They all knew that Iver’s Magibase still remained. Maybe a little of his consciousness could be restored as well. Myss had assumed that once Anti regained his senses, he would try everything possible to wake Iver too. But Anti hadn’t mentioned him even once.

Strangely enough, at this moment Anti reminded Myss of Iver at the moment of parting.

Even he could tell that Anti’s expression was too calm.

But it was not the despairing calm of someone giving up on life and walking to death. Even compared to the human Anti in those memories, Anti had never looked this… alive before. It was like new shoots sprouting from a cracked tree stump.

As he looked at the sun-soaked painting, his face held the same vitality as a baby opening its eyes for the first time. There was no question that Antis Crosien wanted to live, even in this ridiculous form.

And yet Anti said he would bid farewell to his friend and go on to die.

Myss couldn’t understand such an absurd contradiction.

So he instinctively looked at Salaar, the human he knew with the strongest will to survive. He had expected to see puzzlement on Salaar’s face, or his usual calm, or perhaps detached indifference.

Instead, he saw understanding.

Salaar understood this. Even the Dragon Fae seemed able to understand it.

“I understand.” Tass Gia said, “I’ll take this commission. I’ll also spend every last bit of your fortune.”

He paused and sneaked a glance at Iver’s living specimen. “…But have you really thought this through, Antis?”

“To be honest, this is harder than I imagined.” Anti said softly, as though answering some far-off question. “But I cannot break my own rule anymore… I cannot use humans as specimens anymore, least of all the person I love.”

“Yeah. You should have remembered that sooner. I already told you that was a good rule.”

The Dragon Fae slowly flew closer. His voice was so dry it almost cracked. “So this is the end, Antis Crosien.”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you want to say?” Tass asked quietly, in a tone more solemn than ever before.

“This painting. Please keep this painting. Don’t sell it.” Anti said, sounding like a friend about to leave on a journey. “Oh, and remember to feed Pinecone on time.”

“Of course. Since they’ll become my property, and you know how much I love money.”

The Dragon Fae said. “…Anything else?”

At last, Anti let go of the little card, as though releasing a lover’s warm hand.

He moved on stiff steps toward Iver’s living specimen, which still stood frozen by the door, and gently drew it into his arms.

Then he lightly kissed its forehead.

“…Let us rot together in ugliness,” he replied tenderly.

Neither of them said goodbye.

The Dragon Fae’s magic flared forth. Dozens of emerald needles pierced Anti’s body, instantly destroying the key nodes in the magical circuit.

Anti’s living specimen remained standing there, with almost no visible external damage.

He held his departed beloved in his arms, his expression fixed in profound regret and remorse, along with the faintest trace of happiness.

Their Magibase completely dispersed. The malformed heart stopped twitching. Only the portion corrupted by the Abnormal Fruit continued writhing futilely.

In the shadows, it was neither as bright as the painting nor as alive as the painting.

Outside the narrow window, a small bird darted lightly past.

……

Without a spiritual imprint to drive it, the core designed by Anti could no longer function properly. Myss easily annihilated the Perfected Creation’s shell, along with the heart portion of the Abnormal Fruit.

He also took care of all those obstructive living specimens, leaving only the bodies of Anti and Iver. Naturally, that was only because the Dragon Fae had insisted quite strongly.

Unexpectedly, the annihilation of the Perfected Creation didn’t cause much of a disturbance.

Perhaps because no one had ever considered leaving, hardly anyone noticed that the Divine Realm was collapsing.

People tacitly forgot the frenzied atmosphere from before. When they spoke of those absurd deaths again, there was only regret in their voices. And when they looked at one another, there was a little less scrutiny in their eyes, and a little more ease.

As for the “absence” of Antis and Iver, it caused less of a stir than the disappearance of the twins. People kept speculating about where they had gone, and all kinds of theories turned into a chaotic mess.

It seemed as though everything had changed, yet at the same time as though nothing had.

Of course, Myss had no time to fuss over such trivial matters. At the moment he was happily clutching the Abnormal Fruit and refusing to let go, his mouth glowing with emotion.

“I’m very sorry. This time I did not help much.”

Father Kalen sat in their room. At his feet crouched Cinnamon, Apple, and Butter, while on his shoulders perched Miss Claws and Grandma Black Cat. Once the Divine Realm vanished, the cats had looted the cafeteria, tails held high as they fled.

“If not for the cats’ help, there’s no telling how many employees we would have had to deal with,” Salaar said sincerely. “How are things outside?”

“People are no longer quite so fanatical. They’re much more relaxed in how they behave. I only said I wanted to visit friends, showed my papers, and the Red Amber let me in.”

Father Kalen said. “Some people are looking for pets they claim to have ‘accidentally lost.’ As for Danton’s family…”

He paused, then sighed. “That couple nearly cried themselves unconscious. I heard they’re going to hold a grand funeral.”

Cinnamon let out a few meows and hopped up onto the priest’s lap.

“I’ll help you look for your little master,” the priest said, stroking the cat. “But I’m not sure whether he’ll come around. The Perfected Creation’s influence was extremely subtle…”

“Honestly, we’ve already been very lucky.” Salaar poured a cup of tea. “Scintilla’s ‘Fallen Child’ failed to be born properly. Anti’s ‘Perfected Creation’ did take shape, but it never obtained a complete will. The Perfected Creation’s behavior was very simple. It was almost devoid of schemes.”

“If Mr. Iver had accepted the Perfected Creation and become that thing’s ‘mind,’ the situation would have been far more troublesome.”

Father Kalen let out a deep sigh and nodded.

“All right, all right, enough nonsense. Let’s discuss the important business.” Myss swallowed. 

Father Kalen nodded in understanding and took out a blood-stained letter. “This was found at Antis’s residence. Sir Tass was a great help…”

“How is that ‘important business’? That paper isn’t going to run away. We can read it anytime.” Myss said unhappily, lifting up his beloved treasure with both hands. “I called you here because of the Abnormal Fruit!”

“My apologies. Go ahead,” Father Kalen said crisply, putting the letter away again.

“I came up with a particularly genius idea.” Myss said, “Our snakes were born from contract magic. So if they eat the Abnormal Fruit, doesn’t that count as contract magic consuming the Abnormal Fruit?”

“This… should count, yes,” the priest said in surprise.

Myss nodded, satisfied. “These two snakes split off from our minds. In a pinch they can act as separate bodies, but they aren’t technically part of us. If one of them actively feeds its magic to me, that doesn’t count as me directly eating the Abnormal Fruit, right?”

Father Kalen: “…”

He had heard of nobles laundering money. He had never heard of divine power from an Abnormal Fruit being laundered this way.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he really couldn’t find any flaw in it. Contract magic was supposed to apply to the parties of the contract. As for where the contract magic drew its power from, that was another question.

“In theory, it should work.”

In the end, Father Kalen pressed at his temples.

“That’s what I thought too.”

Salaar pursed his lips and still symbolically cast a protective barrier.

Because in the very next second, Myss shoved the Abnormal Fruit at Knife and Fork.

“Drain it dry for me,” he ordered the two snakes. “Half each. No more and no less. I’m watching.”

Then he braced both hands on the edge of the table and even rested his chin there as well. His red eyes sparkled. He looked exactly like someone waiting by the stove for a steak to finish cooking.

Knife’s mouth was blocked by the Abnormal Fruit, so it could only glance toward Salaar for help.

“Go ahead,” Salaar said helplessly. “At least he knows enough to split half with us.”

Myss immediately lifted his head and grumbled with displeasure. “I know you too well. If I didn’t split half with you, you’d never let me eat any of it.”

“That is true.”

Salaar looked at the two snakes trying their hardest to consume the Abnormal Fruit. They had both stretched their mouths wide open, each taking half of it, greedily gulping down the magic inside. The sight looked exactly like two plungers stuck together; a sight so unappealing it was painful to look at.

The priest clearly felt it wasn’t a particularly elegant sight either. He coughed twice. “Now that the matter is resolved, why are the two of you still staying here?”

Salaar shrugged. “We already took the money, so we should properly complete the contract. Besides, I need to reclaim ‘The End of the World’ before we leave.”

“And besides… at Anti and Iver’s funeral, surely we cannot let Sir Tass be the only one present. You don’t object, do you, Myss?”

“What did you say? What objection?” Myss was staring at the snakes with complete concentration. “Oh, I want raspberry cream pancakes tomorrow morning.”

Salaar spread his hands at the priest and lifted the corner of his mouth slightly.

That night…

Salaar had only just lain flat in bed when the Archdemon launched himself up from where he stood and landed directly on top of the bed.

He yanked open Salaar’s pajama collar and gave the cushion he hadn’t seen for several days a stern inspection. Then he made a satisfied little sound, rubbed his cheek against the Hero’s chest, and happily closed his eyes.

This time was different from before. Myss flung all four limbs around Salaar like an octopus and hugged him tightly, clearly intending to torment him far beyond imagination all night long.

Salaar patted the heavy body draped across him. Then he realized Lord Myss had already fallen asleep.

Perhaps because he had absorbed too much magic during the day, Myss’s body was hotter than usual, and he was sleeping even more deeply than usual. He lay contently buried in Salaar’s chest, making soft satisfied little sounds as he breathed.

Salaar pondered for a moment, then slowly peeled the Archdemon dumpling off himself and made Myss hug a rolled-up blanket instead.

After finishing all that, he crept out of the room and knocked on a certain door he had been keeping an eye on for quite some time.

“Young Master Karns!”

Truman rubbed his hands together. His face looked stiff, as though he were still caught in the Perfected Creation’s Divine Realm.

“You know why I’ve come,” Salaar said.

“B-because of Mr. Myss…”

Truman’s expression stiffened even further. He stammered for a while, fidgeting nervously. “I couldn’t help it… they were excluding me terribly before, so I could only… only find them a more obvious target…”

“But I never directly said Mr. Myss was a whore! They were the ones who wildly ran with it! …Didn’t you have a conflict with him too? You know that I’ve always taken your side… I’ve always been trying to make up for it…”

“All right, then. No apology. Only excuses.” Salaar’s face remained expressionless. “You knew exactly what you were doing. As for all your attempts to curry favor, they were simply because you were afraid I’d use the power of the Karns family to settle accounts with you later.”

Fine beads of sweat appeared on Truman’s forehead. “I was discourteous. I was discourteous. I sincerely apologize to you, Young Master Karns.”

Salaar sighed. “Myss is not my possession. What good does apologizing to me do?”

Truman froze. His expression shifted from panic to a trace of anger.

“So you came here only to humiliate me and vent anger for your little lover.” He gritted his teeth. “You truly are exactly like the rumors say. You actually want a noble of the capital to bow to someone that low…”

“My attitude is this humble only out of respect for the Karns family! Don’t think that now that you have magic, those filthy things from before have all been forgotten—”

“Mm, I’ve made my decision.” Salaar clapped his hands. “Let’s use plan number two after all.”

“W-what do you mean, plan number two?”

“Plan number one, I gently erase your memories, since I do have a small need for secrecy.”

“Plan number two, I painfully erase your memories, because you were very, very disrespectful toward my target, and caused him a great deal of trouble.”

“Just in time, I need a poor unlucky soul to test something on—”

Salaar extended his left arm, and the flesh lute took shape once more.

The strings were no longer a gentle pale red. They had become clear, translucent dark red, like blood amber.

A brand new melody echoed inside the room.

It was incomparably orderly. Its rhythm resembled the hands of a clock, or a stranger knocking on the door in the middle of the night.

Truman’s legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. He clutched his head with both hands, tears and snot streaming down his face, his eyes rolling in different directions.

“Spare me! Spare me…”

“I shouldn’t have stolen things, I shouldn’t have said those things, I shouldn’t have stolen things, I shouldn’t have said those things I shouldn’t have stolen I shouldn’t have said those things I shouldn’t have I shouldn’t… no…”

Truman fainted amid horrifying screams, yet Salaar didn’t put away the strings. He only bent down and tapped Truman lightly between the brows with one finger.

When Truman woke again, the “Young Master Karns” and “Myss” in his memories would become some unknown noble called “Kaons” and his companion “Myser,” leaving behind only the faintest impression.

“Mm… now then, which boys were the ones who put the flowerpot shards there…”

Salaar stepped over Truman, who was foaming at the mouth, idly playing with the blood amber strings.

“Can we go back to sleep now, Myss?” From the corner shadows, Fork let out a huge yawn. “That man wasn’t secretly up to anything. He was just taking care of the humans who hurt you.”

“Mm, let’s head back first…”

Myss rubbed his sleepy eyes. The blanket had none of the spring of Salaar’s chest, and none of his warmth either. He had woken up soon enough.

Honestly, compared to those insignificant people being punished, what he needed more was his warm cushion.

Still, getting to see one of Salaar’s new tricks meant the trip hadn’t been wasted. Myss once again confirmed to his satisfaction that “Salaar with a heart” was the least annoying version of Salaar.

…Come to think of it, it was about time for him to sort out his new ability as well.

Myss yawned again and headed toward the bedroom with the little snake.

Tomorrow, they seemed to be attending a secret funeral officiated by Tass, then after that they still had to keep staying at the Red Amber… Speaking of which, when exactly was Salaar going to finish that Perfect Love painting?

He found himself a little curious what it would look like in the end.

---

The author has something to say:

It’s here!!!

I wasn’t satisfied with the first version I wrote, so I made a last-minute heavy revision. [please][please][please]

I’ll update more tomorrow, waaaah!!!

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Kinky Thoughts:

Oh, how heartbroken I am. Why didn’t you give them a good ending Nian Zhong?

This arc was so good but I can’t help feeling so bittersweet about Antis and Iver. They deserve to be together!

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 50: The Fatal Gift

Antis staggered to his feet.

He stood there blankly for a moment, then hurriedly pulled open the curtains and shoved the clutter all over the floor under the sofa. He covered the unfinished body with silk cloth and carried it into the corner.

Then he nervously smoothed down his hair and slapped his cheeks hard, hoping only that he wouldn’t look too pale.

He nearly ran to the door.

Iver looked terrible too.

When they first met, Iver had been like a gem wrapped in coarse linen, radiant all over. Now his young, handsome face had sunken in, his eyes were dull as carved wood, and his hair was as rough as dry grass.

Perhaps to balance it out, Iver was dressed with extreme precision, almost to the point of formal splendor. There were no traces of paint on his clothes, nor on his hands. It was obvious he had washed carefully.

“I-Iver,” Antis stammered. “You need a cup of hot tea, I mean, you look a little cold… no, you look fine…”

His mind had turned to mush again.

Iver sighed and walked in on his own. He quickly found an armchair and sat down weakly.

“I looked into the yard. Pinecone doesn’t seem to be in great spirits. Have you been feeding him on schedule?”

“The gardener comes once a day. I asked him to help feed Pinecone,” Antis said softly, like a child who had done something wrong.

“I thought as much. After all, you haven’t even been feeding yourself on schedule.” Iver tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Everyone at the Red Amber has been saying that the famous Mr. Perfect has turned into a vagrant. They made such a fuss I couldn’t even lie comfortably in bed, so I had to come see the spectacle for myself.”

Antis stared desperately at Iver, trying to find some proof that Iver’s body had improved.

He discovered in despair that though they hadn’t seen each other for two months, his own heart was still pounding wildly, while no miracle had happened to Iver.

“If I just die like this, then this parting can hardly be called dignified.”

After only a few sentences, Iver had to stop and rest for a few moments. “Anti, I really was angry with you before. But I’m not going to collapse completely over… over something like that.”

“So many people admire my paintings. I’m not about to die wallowing in self-pity, so you don’t need to blame yourself too much. But the things you said about bloodlines really were rotten. Don’t ever say things like that to other people again…”

“I never looked down on you.”

Antis hurried over to him. He didn’t want to look down at Iver, yet didn’t want to stay too far away either, so he simply dropped to one knee. “Iver, listen to me. I truly regret it…”

“All right, enough of this boring subject.”

Iver coughed twice. “What you should regret most is not buying more of my paintings. Once a painter dies, their work is bound to become more valuable…”

“Oh, you should have saved one in particular and hung it in this prim and proper house of yours. It would definitely have become a delightfully unruly flaw. Or a highlight.”

“You can’t die.” Antis raised his reddened eyes. “You’re still so young. How can you die?”

Think, Antis. How do you make a heart that can keep beating forever?

“Don’t be sad for me. It’s not like I only just found out I was sick. I’ve already done my best to enjoy the world, and I’ve left behind plenty of traces.”

Iver gently touched his disheveled hair. Then he braced himself on the arms of the chair and rose with difficulty.

“No.” Antis shook his head hard.

Iver was going to leave him again, leave him completely.

Antis had an intense premonition that if Iver walked out through this door, he would lose him forever.

He always seemed to miss the most perfect moment. It had been that way the last time he blurted out the truth, and it was the same now with the body he had made. Antis’s breathing quickened, and fine red veins spread across his eyes.

Iver, still unaware, said, “Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, I should be going… speaking of which, at the Red Amber…”

“No, you don’t understand.” Antis stood up and pressed Iver back into the chair. “You can’t die, and you won’t die.”

He decisively dragged the replacement body out from the corner and yanked the silk cloth off in front of Iver.

The instant he saw another “himself,” Iver stopped breathing for a beat, and the smile on his face froze completely.

“What is that?” Iver’s voice trembled.

“This is the new body I made for you.”

Antis spoke in a rush. “It’s only missing the last component. I’ll be able to finish it very soon!”

“As long as I move your brain and your Magibase into it, there won’t be any rejection anymore. You’ll be able to live, Iver. You’ll be able to keep painting, Iver. You’ll be able to live longer than anyone else—”

“I refuse.”

Iver’s voice rose sharply, something he rarely did.

Antis looked at him helplessly. He had never even considered this possibility. Why would Iver refuse?

“You are… a lunatic.”

In anger and shock, Iver straightened up. “Open your eyes, Antis. How is this any different from your specimens? It’s just a dead object!”

“I’ve spent my whole life using my brush to capture fleeting moments, and now you’re telling me my destination is some lifeless cage?”

“It’s not a cage!”

Antis shouted, “It’s perfect. It can save your life! I want you to live!”

“Really? You sound like a child who can’t bear to part with a beloved toy, only wanting to turn me into part of your collection.”

Iver’s voice had never been so cold. “Answer me, Antis Crosien.”

“Can it see colors properly? Can it taste the sweetness of apple wine? Can it feel the warmth of an embrace? …Can it grow wrinkles and white hair so we can laugh at each other?”

Antis froze. “Not—not yet. But we can think of ways slowly. I can spend my whole life improving it—”

“Ah, yes. So not only would I have to enter this specimen-like cage, I’d also have to remain under your control for the rest of my life.”

Iver said almost viciously, “All my needs would be under your control. Only you would be able to repair my damage. That sounds wonderful.”

“You vanished for so long, refused even to see me, and it was all just to make something like this…”

“But it can let you live.” Antis repeated the words desperately, terrified that Iver would miss that point.

Iver clearly didn’t want to die. Iver clearly treasured him too. Why could Iver not understand his feelings?

“No.” Iver’s voice was clear and cruel. “I said no.”

“When facing death, yes, I do have regrets. But life is full of regrets. I’m glad I’m the one who made you remember that lesson…”

Iver looked at him once more with that tender gaze—the gaze of a lover.

“…Leave this damn room, Antis. The grass outside was just trimmed. It smells wonderful.”

His cheek felt itchy. Antis raised a hand and found tears on his face.

“Are you really leaving?” he choked out. “Without you, I’ll…”

“You’ll have a beautiful blank space.” Iver interrupted him softly and held out a hand. “It’s getting late. See me out.”

Tears spilled uncontrollably down Antis’s face. He wiped at them haphazardly, and his right hand twitched.

He wanted to take Iver’s hand. He should have taken that warm hand. But his hand was unbearably heavy, almost impossible to move.

No, his brain screamed inside his skull.

No, you don’t want to do that. That body is an unprecedented masterpiece. You’re only one step away from saving him. You can’t—

In the next instant, his fingers touched something.

…The wax seal bearing the mark of V.O.R.

Beneath Antis’s palm, a letter had appeared at some unknown moment.

It wasn’t especially noticeable amidst the clutter, as if it had simply been pressed under something by accident. Yet Antis was certain it absolutely hadn’t been there before.

In the end, instead of taking Iver’s outstretched hand, he opened the letter.

What baffled him was that V.O.R offered no suggestion at all. There were only a few short lines on the page:

[Farewell, Mr. Flaw, my dear friend.

Perfected Creation: We shall meet again in the season of harvest.

—V.O.R]

Pain pricked Antis’s fingertips, like the time he had cut himself with a dissecting knife when he was a child.

Something pulsed gently in his palm, radiating a horrifying magical fluctuation. Feeling that powerful, strange magic, Antis slowly smiled.

He had never felt so fulfilled before. Not even when he first managed to create a qualified specimen had he ever known such release.

…He knew he could do it, because he had just touched the realm of “God.”

This power was enough to imitate an existing magical circuit, enough to preserve Iver’s consciousness and Magibase.

As for Iver’s dissatisfaction with that shell, now that he possessed the power of imitation, he could let that body improve itself, endlessly approaching perfection. His creation would have the keenest eyes, the most agile body, everything finest in the world.

It lacked only one final part. A core that could keep running forever.

“I know what to do now, Iver.” Antis’s voice brimmed with joy. “I can give you a truly perfect body. I can prove my feelings to you—”

Right in front of the stunned Iver, Antis raised the dissecting knife. Wrapped in a happiness as thick as warm honey, he cleanly slit open his own chest.

He thrust his right hand into the open cavity and pulled out his own blood-soaked heart.

Clinging to the heart was a bean-sized lump of pure white magic. From it spread countless fine threads. One end connected to the wound in Antis’s body, while the other wrapped around the heart like nerves, gradually darkening into black.

The world before Antis’s eyes blurred and sharpened by turns. Iver seemed to be screaming something, but he couldn’t hear it clearly.

He had no idea why he could still move after losing his heart. He only used the last of his strength to set that heart into the hollow chest of the creation.

“—I never wanted to collect you. I just didn’t want you to die… I’ll use this pain to prove it…”

At last, he had designed a perfect closed loop.

His heart would constrict because of so many flaws, ache because of so many regrets.

Just as V.O.R had said, a creation could only endlessly approach eternity, just as humans could only endlessly approach perfection. So his heart would keep beating for a very long time because of that pain, driving the creation to perfect itself and continue evolving.

In truth, had he not known it all along?

Regret and pain were both stairways leading toward perfection.

The black heart beat powerfully.

Perfected Creation slowly opened its eyes, while Antis, wearing a drifting smile, gradually fell still. His spreading pool of blood swallowed V.O.R’s letter, swallowing the soles of Iver’s shoes.

It was as though all strength had left Iver’s body. He barely held himself up on the chair, trembling all over, tiny cries of pain escaping his throat.

“Your condition is extremely unstable. You are about to die.”

Perfected Creation opened its mouth and spoke in exactly Iver’s voice. “Please allow me to transfer your consciousness and Magibase. This body was born for you.”

Iver paid it no attention.

He stumbled forward two steps and embraced Antis’s still-warm body.

“Antis Crosien, just look at yourself, you foolish idiot.”

He stroked the smile at the corner of Antis’s mouth, tears spilling from his golden eyes. “So your father’s most perfect work was you.”

“Please, accept me.” The Perfected Creation walked in front of him again and pleaded patiently. “Everything you worry about will be made whole. You will obtain incomparably great power, a life close to eternity.”

Still, Iver didn’t respond to it.

“These past two months, I prepared a gift for you.” He whispered to his dead friend, “I had the mail room hold it for me. After I left, when everyone began to think you needed help, you would receive it… I had wanted to give you a surprise.”

“It seems we always miss each other. What a pity.”

“I only need your permission.” The Perfected Creation said earnestly, “I exist only so that you may live perfectly.”

Its eyes too grew wet, a few beautiful blood-amber tears spilling out, as though it wanted to preserve something.

“No. I’m not a perfect person, not a perfect friend, and I have no need to live perfectly.”

At last Iver turned to the Perfected Creation. His gaze brightened once more, almost as luminous as when he had still been healthy.

“Let the two of us rot together in ugliness.”

Iver gently kissed Antis’s forehead and held him tightly.

Then he picked up the blood-stained dissecting knife and drove it cleanly through his own heart.

The Perfected Creation stood where it was in silence. When the final light of sunset faded, it arrived at an answer.

It had been rejected because it wasn’t perfect enough.

So it needed to improve its abilities and body as quickly as possible.

It had been rejected because its creator—Antis’s love—hadn’t been perfect enough to move the other person.

So it needed to find perfect love.

…Until it did, those two couldn’t be allowed to disappear entirely.

A few more blood-amber tears fell into the blood. The Perfected Creation walked through the pool and picked up the dissecting knife.

The next day, in the study of the residence.

[Thank you for your help. Your gift was very useful. I will definitely save Mr. Iver.]

Under the Perfected Creation’s watch, the living specimen “Antis” wrote out the reply in a stiff, orderly hand and filled in V.O.R as the recipient.

When he finished, he revealed a perfect smile.

Next, all he had to do was take it to the Red Amber and send it out, just as Antis Crosien would have done.

……

In the span of a heartbeat, an overwhelming flood of information poured into his mind. Myss opened his eyes and rushed straight toward Salaar.

“That thing is Anti’s creation. Its heart carries Anti’s spiritual imprint. It’s driven by the pain of imperfection.”

Myss immediately cut to the point. “Have you ever heard of a spell like that? If there’s an existing solution—”

“You saw its memories?”

Salaar instantly pieced together what had happened.

“That’s right. V.O.R again.” Myss said irritably. “So do you know a solution or not? Its regeneration is too damn troublesome!”

Judging from those memories, imitation and repair were the Perfected Creation’s innate abilities. It couldn’t be weakened by destroying its “collection.”

Myss had already spent more than three hundred years entangled with one bastard skilled at healing. He had never expected that after leaving the seal, he would still have to fight such an obnoxious opponent.

Salaar thought for a moment. “Three questions.”

“Spit them out.”

“How much of Mr. Anti’s spiritual imprint remains?”

“It’s not like our kind of soul transfer, but it’s not just some crude set of instructions either.”

Myss ducked behind Salaar and used the hero as a shield against another wave of attacks. “It’s better than the Fallen Child’s situation. There’s still a little bit of awareness left, but not much.”

Salaar didn’t panic in the slightest. He put all his power into defense. “What is the relationship between Anti and Iver?”

“Iver got sick. Anti dug out his own heart to make that thing to save him. Iver would rather kill himself than accept it. That kind of relationship.”

Myss summarized confidently, “But they also looked kind of like friends. It’s weird.”

Salaar: “…”

After a few seconds of thought, Salaar said, “Did Iver leave anything behind for Anti? Preferably something still inside the Red Amber.”

“How do you know that? Did you peek into my brain?”

Myss was shocked. What terrifying mental magic.

Salaar quietly sighed. “That part is not hard to guess. Where is it?”

“Iver said he had left a gift in the mail room for Anti, but Anti never got it, so it’s probably hard to find.”

Myss muttered.

“…I’ll go.” The Dragon Fae suddenly spoke up. “I know the defensive spells there, and I know where the boxes from that time period are.”

“Anyway, you’ve already flipped the table. I can force my way through the defenses and bring it back.”

“No. We go together.”

Salaar reached out and yanked Myss over as if he intended to tuck him under one arm.

“What do you need that thing for? It definitely isn’t some powerful magic artifact.”

Myss stared at the magical attacks flying everywhere as he layered black-veiled defenses one after another.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

Between the black defenses, Salaar wedged in strands of golden magic wherever he could.

It was still not mealtime, so there was hardly anyone on the first floor. The cats wandering idly around took one look at this vicious battle and fled with frightened cries. Salaar and Myss charged forward all the way, entering the mail room together with Tass.

The corridor was narrow, so the living collections couldn’t swarm them all at once. The defense here was far simpler than in the main hall. Hero and Archdemon almost blocked off the corridor leading to the mail room, carving out a rare pocket of peace.

The young woman on shift didn’t even have time to speak before Salaar cleanly knocked her unconscious. Ignoring the wounds all over his body, the Dragon Fae quickly shattered layer after layer of defense.

The Perfected Creation proved to be formidable. The corridor defenses broke even faster than the mail room defenses. Myss slapped more than a dozen layers of black veil over the mail room door, sweat all over his forehead. “Not done yet?”

“Almost!”

Tass quickly locked onto the box he had searched before. He soon found the stored packages and floated all of them into the air with magic.

Not this one…Not this one either… Iver… Iver…

A few seconds later, every package but one square parcel fell to the floor with a series of clatters. Tass snatched the one marked with Iver’s name and threw it directly to Salaar.

At almost the exact same moment, the twins’ living specimens smashed through the doorway, clearing a path for the Perfected Creation.

Myss had just been about to attack when Salaar grabbed him and shoved him behind himself. Salaar seemed to have forgotten how fragile defensive magic could be. He kept raising barrier after barrier without pause.

“Antis Crosien. I don’t know how much of your awareness remains, but I know your awareness is still there.”

Salaar held up the small package, displaying Iver’s name on it.

“You wear very little blood amber. The Perfected Creation and the other collections pay special attention to your specimen body, and its emotions toward you are different too. Clearly, your heart still affects the Perfected Creation.”

The moment it saw the package, the Perfected Creation stopped in its tracks, and the gentle look on its face vanished completely.

“…Just as I thought. Your heartbeat sped up.”

Salaar said softly. “How tragic. Unable to control your creator’s heart.”

Rippppp.

Protected by the barrier, Salaar tore away the wrapping. Behind the ruined parchment was a beautiful portrait.

Under brilliant sunlight, Antis was making a golden retriever specimen. He was looking off toward the painter’s direction, his face carrying a dazed expression, his dissecting knife just barely missing his own fingers.

The complicated studio background and the giant dog corpse were rendered in only a few sparse strokes. In the warm sunlight, only Antis stood out vividly—

He was obviously dressed neatly, yet all his movements were in disarray, and his expression was full of shock and foolishness, to the point of seeming almost cute. Beside him stood a bouquet of blazing flowers, and everything was disorderly and full of life.

A tiny card hung from the frame.

[—To all the imperfect moments I love.]

“Myss!”

Salaar suddenly called out.

In truth, he didn’t need to remind Myss. Myss had already sensed the Perfected Creation’s flaw.

That heart driven by pain had briefly stopped beating.

---

The author has something to say:

King Myss: Utterly clueless about human emotions, yet brimming with confidence. [cat paw]

Myss: Anti and Iver must be archenemies.

Myss: Salaar and I are archenemies too.

Salaar: …[thumbs up]

Next chapter will wrap things up and open the next arc.

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Kinky Thoughts:

Ahhhhh… This arc is so good!!!

*Sobs* Please Nian Zhong, begging you, give Iver and Antis a HE or I will rage!!!!!!!! They deserve to be together!

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 49: Your Foolish Friend

The day after Father’s funeral, day one.

Antis had considered making everything public. But at Father’s funeral, quite a few powerful “clients” had come. They mourned the old taxidermist’s death, while their words carried just the right amount of warning beneath the surface.

Ultimately, Antis could only bury the specimens in the hidden room, divide up most of the inheritance he had received, and secretly compensate the victims’ surviving family members.

Without Father, the estate felt especially empty. Antis brought Pinecone back to the house and built it a doghouse in the yard.

The day after Father’s funeral, day two.

Antis felt like a child who had suddenly been given both money and freedom. He wanted to do everything yet had no idea where to begin.

If he failed to get up on time, or if his footsteps sounded too loud as he walked, no furious rebuke came. If he was half a minute late to a meal, or let his knife and fork strike the dishes, there was no longer any whipping magic lashing across his back.

And yet, Antis discovered that he was like a fruit shaped inside a mold.

Even though Father was dead, Father’s ghost still followed behind him. His voice still clung to Antis’s ears.

Antis continued his old habits with painstaking exactness, more precise than the second hand of a clock. The moment he slowed by even half a beat, his heart would spasm with pain, making him miserable.

The day after Father’s funeral, day three.

Antis realized with a start that, compared to before, his life had become neither more miserable nor happier.

He only found himself thinking about Iver more often. Iver had also attended Father’s funeral, mourning the death of this patron, completely unaware of the danger he himself had been in.

In Iver’s eyes, Father must have been the only noble who had acknowledged his paintings and been willing to sponsor him. It was the first time Antis had ever seen Iver that sad.

Antis thought that this still wasn’t the time to tell Iver the truth.

Iver’s paintings were attracting more and more attention. He could… He could wait until Iver achieved success, until their relationship grew better, and then speak that cruel truth aloud.

The day after Father’s funeral, day four.

Iver invited Antis out to relax.

Antis was shocked to discover that his heart was beating rapidly with joy. Before this, he had thought Iver was merely showing courtesy to “a patron’s son.”

He had never expected that after Father’s death, Iver would still be willing to contact him. Contact him. Him, a man who followed rules to the letter, who barely had any personality at all. And Iver still hadn’t gotten tired of him.

No, calm down, Antis. Perhaps Iver simply still needed your sponsorship.

Antis changed into his finest formalwear and went to the little tavern they frequented most often. Iver looked much the same as usual, except this time he was carefully watching Antis’s expression.

“You don’t need to worry about money. I’ll continue sponsoring your work.” After hesitating again and again, Antis decided to bring it up first.

“No, no, I don’t need your sponsorship, Anti. My paintings have been selling pretty well lately.” Iver shook his head. “I’m just worried about you. Did I ask you out too early? But leaving you all alone didn’t seem right either.”

“I’m fine,” Antis replied politely.

Iver looked at him with those moist eyes, his gaze still full of concern.

Antis straightened his back even more and secretly adjusted his crooked bow tie, like a plant enjoying the sunlight.

“Well, all right.” Iver scratched his head. “How should I put this… this is probably your first time living on your own. If there’s anything you’re not used to, you can ask me anytime.”

“Can I ask about anything?” Antis said.

“Of course.”

“Why did you ask me out?” Antis asked.

Iver stared at him, then laughed helplessly. “Good heavens, Anti, you really are ruthless. I thought we were friends.”

“But as a person, I have no interesting qualities at all,” Antis said, the words spilling out like beans from a sack.

“My life never changes. It’s hard to find anything to talk about. I’m bad with words. I can’t make you laugh. I have too many shortcomings.”

Iver raised a brow. “Being loved doesn’t require qualifications.”

“I don’t understand.” Antis said honestly, “Only perfect people deserve acknowledgment. That’s how the world has always worked.”

“Haa.” Iver rubbed at his temple. “Listen carefully, Anti. As long as people are alive, they’ll produce flaws of all sizes. If you want to make absolutely no mistakes, the only way is to do nothing at all.”

“If you ask me, life is like painting. It’s impossible for every single detail to be perfect. As long as you paint those few strokes filled with your heart, it’s already a beautiful painting.”

Antis looked at him, only half comprehending.

“Take you, for example. You care about small animals on your own initiative. You’re not greedy for money, power, or beauty. You have a precious sense of justice.”

“Of course, every noble pretends to be that sort of person. But you’re different. You’re not pretending. Do you know the look in your eyes when you look at a puppy? That kind of softness can’t be faked. And the way you look at people too…”

By the last part, Iver paused slightly and said no more.

Antis still looked at Iver in that half-comprehending way. Iver always said things Antis had never thought about before.

The feeling was truly peculiar. It was as if Iver had peeled open the flesh of a fruit deformed by its mold and found the pit named “Antis” inside, a heart Antis himself had never understood.

He felt both uneasy and buoyant at once and could only sip his apple wine little by little.

When the drink was nearly gone, he summoned his courage, or perhaps the magic of alcohol did it for him and extended an invitation to Iver.

“D-do… Do you want to watch me make a specimen?”

Antis spoke extremely slowly, like a shellfish cautiously opening its shell.

“For the next few days, I’ll be doing commission work at the Red Amber. If… I mean if… you’re still interested…”

A slight change came over Iver’s expression, as if a shadow had passed over it. But that shadow disappeared almost at once, replaced by a bright smile.

“I’ve got something to do in the next few days. Is Sunday okay?”

“Then Sunday it is.”

Even after he returned home, Antis couldn’t come back down from the faint intoxicated feeling that had lingered after that conversation.

His heart still beat furiously, so hard that he couldn’t bear silence or idleness. Antis trimmed the entire yard, scrubbed the floors of the whole house, and also wrote Tass a letter.

[You were right. I should have the courage to cast off Father’s ghost. I believe everything will get better, my friend.]

Today, he had actually invited Iver. He had voluntarily bared to Iver a side of himself that was “less than perfect.”

[I have seen a sliver of hope. If I can summon the courage to make a greater change, I will definitely tell you.]

Only today did he realize that Tass and Iver weren’t the same kind of “friend.”

Antis held Tass in high regards, and receiving a letter from Tass also made him very happy. But that was a happiness that came from the “mind.” His heartbeat always remained steady.

Iver… Iver was different. He couldn’t put the difference into words. He only knew that if it was that person, then that person would definitely bring even more change into his life.

When facing Iver, his heart would always tighten because of nervousness, ache because he was not perfect enough, and slam hard against his chest, like a different kind of whipping.

Only, this whipping brought no pain. It brought numbness and joy.

[Your foolish friend, Antis.]

Even if he was terribly obtuse, he would still figure out this strange difference.

Because their future was full of hope, and they still had long lives ahead of them.

After writing the letter, Antis sealed it as usual, preparing to take it to the Red Amber for delivery.

The Red Amber’s mail service was the best in Semper. Tass would receive it sooner that way.

The day after Father’s funeral, day seven.

Antis checked the studio several times over, making sure all the instruments were neatly arranged and the labels on every bottle of medicine were turned outward in perfect alignment. He had even aired out the room and placed pouches of mildly fragrant herbs near the medicine cabinet so the smell in the room wouldn’t be too unpleasant.

He had even chosen the gentlest commission possible. A beloved golden retriever had died of old age, and its owner had paid a high price to commission him to turn the dog into a specimen, so their beloved pet could keep them company.

Iver arrived on time, brisk and energetic as ever, dressed far more formally than usual. He seemed to have just returned from outside the city, carrying a small leather bag in his left hand and a huge bouquet of flowers in his right.

Antis had never seen such beautiful flowers in his life. The blossoms were enormous, and the petals so dazzlingly colorful that the many hues bewildered his eyes.

“Look! Look at this. It’s for you.”

Iver handed the bouquet over eagerly. “I bought it on the other side of the mountain. Semper doesn’t have flowers like this. Their blooming period is absurdly short. Once they’re picked, they only stay open for a single day.”

“It took me half a day to get back. They’ll stay open for another half day, plus the whole night.”

“I can turn them into specimens,” Antis said.

“Ah, no need to force it. I don’t want to mess up your plans.” Iver said lightly, “Withered flowers have their own beauty too. Some people even paint withered flowers on purpose.”

Antis found a long-necked flask and set the bouquet inside for the time being.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He was better at making animal specimens. He had never handled flowers like these before. If he forced himself and failed, he might embarrass himself in front of Iver.

When Iver saw the old golden retriever’s corpse, something shifted in his gaze.

Antis held his breath. He barely dared move too heavily, afraid Iver would feel disgusted toward the corpse.

“A lucky creature.” Iver smiled. “Its coat is beautiful, and it’s plump too. It must have received a lot of love, and in the end it probably didn’t suffer much.”

“Yes.” Antis relaxed a little. “Its owner couldn’t bear to part with it. That’s why they commissioned me.”

“Death is definitely very… difficult.” Iver said softly, touching the cold, stiff body of the dog. “But since you work in this line of business, it should be easier for you to accept death, right?”

“Yes,” Antis said.

It was the perfect answer. It couldn’t be faulted.

“See? I’ve found another one of your good points. You’re very open about things like that.” Iver smiled. “I thought you’d be the particularly obsessive type. I didn’t expect you’d see it so lightly.”

Yes. I even hired someone to kill my father, and his death didn’t move me in the slightest.

Antis lowered his head and began handling the hound’s slightly decayed internal organs.

Usually, this was the part people found the hardest to accept. As he guided the murky fluids away, he snuck glances at Iver from the corner of his eye.

Iver quietly watched that dead flesh and blood pass away. There was no disgust on his face. Only a faint melancholy, as if what was swiftly flowing away wasn’t bodily fluid, but something else.

“…What does your ideal family look like?”

Iver suddenly asked out of nowhere.

Rarely for him, he didn’t look at Antis. He kept his gaze fixed on the dead hound instead.

An ideal family?

“A wife of noble birth, with a gentle and quiet temperament. Husband and wife devoted only to each other. Then two healthy, clever children, preferably a boy and a girl,” Antis answered reflexively.

His mother had died giving birth to him, making him the family’s only son. A wife not strong enough, too few descendants. His father had believed that to be a kind of disgrace.

So Father had told him again and again what a “perfect family” should be. The standard answer to this question had practically been carved into Antis’s mind.

At least this answer has no flaws, Antis thought.

At last, Iver turned to look at him. His gaze was dimmer than before, strangely similar to the dead dog’s.

“Perfect indeed. Just as expected of our Mr. Anti.” Iver stepped back half a pace, his voice still light. “Actually, I came today because I wanted to tell you something too. I’m planning to leave Semper.”

Antis’s hand tilted. The cutting magic nearly sliced his own finger.

He stared blankly at Iver, as if he had suddenly lost the ability to understand language.

“People should aim higher, right? I’m planning to try my luck in another country.”

Iver shrugged. “Semper is fine, but the aesthetic tastes of the Kingdom of Aufon are still too conservative. Atla’s romantic style suits me better.”

Antis’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. “But you… financially…”

“Don’t worry about me. Even in conservative Aufon, I managed to find an investor like your father.”

Iver smiled. “Besides, I won’t leave immediately. Two more months, maybe. I still have some commissions to finish, and it’s a good chance to save up a bit more money.”

No.

A buzzing rose in Anti’s ears. His heart felt as heavy as if it had been filled with lead, so heavy it nearly stopped.

“My father never recognized you. It was all a misunderstanding. Things won’t go that smoothly…”

His ears were full of the sound of blood roaring backward. He barely knew what he was saying. “He liked collecting beautiful young people. He originally meant to kill you… Your ancestors were slaves, not even as good as commoners. If you disappeared, no one would care…”

Aside from the part about hiring someone to kill his father, Antis told him everything.

As he listened to Antis’s broken, stumbling explanation, the light in Iver’s eyes went completely out. Those golden eyes became like extinguished charcoal, losing their warmth bit by bit.

It’s over.

At last, Antis realized what he had done. He had made another mistake. He had known perfectly well that now wasn’t the time…

He stretched out a hand in vain, as if he wanted to snatch his words back out of the air. Iver instinctively raised a hand to block him, and the limp little leather bag dropped to the floor, its contents scattering everywhere.

Antis hurriedly bent down to pick them up. The instant he saw what was inside, he froze as though struck by lightning.

“Perhaps this will answer part of your question.”

Iver’s tone had turned hollow. “You said your father wanted to act against me. Maybe that’s because I’m about to lose my value.”

“As you can see, I have Malignant Magibase Rejection Syndrome. I have less than three months left.”

Of course Antis knew that illness.

It only appeared in exceptionally gifted children, children who could use magic even before receiving a Magibase. After they did receive a Magibase, there was a small chance they would develop rejection symptoms.

Antis himself had once been one of those “exceptionally gifted children.” The moment he received his Magibase, Father had already had a physician examine him.

The disease was terrifying. In the early stages, it was completely silent. Patients could live exactly like healthy people.

But somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, their Magibase would suddenly go out of control, and the symptoms would worsen at frightening speed.

Within three months, the patient’s mouth would twist, the eyes would deform, and they would lose the ability to care for themselves. Very soon afterward, even breathing and heartbeat would stop, ending in a miserable and painful death.

Up to now, not only was there no cure, mages had only just managed to understand the cause. The patient’s body suddenly began to have an allergic reaction to the Magibase, throwing the entire magical circuit into chaos.

“Goodbye, Antis Crosien.” Iver packed up the diagnostic documents with a stiff face. “Since things have come to this, let’s at least say farewell with dignity.”

Then he left without turning back.

Under the sunlight, the bouquet in the flask had begun to wither slightly. The dog’s corpse lay there in silence, giving off a faint bloody smell.

Another “exceptionally gifted child,” Myss thought.

Scintilla had been one. Who would have thought Antis and Iver were too? In this world, geniuses seemed awfully prone to all kinds of problems.

Come to think of it, Salaar and his army had been geniuses too. Salaar definitely had problems. There was something wrong with his head.

After slandering his enemy a bit, Myss swept impatiently through the memories that followed.

One moment Antis had stood atop a mountain of hope, the next he had been thrown into an abyss of despair. He was always emotionally thin to begin with, and he was in no shape to withstand that kind of overwhelming storm.

In near-suffocating regret, he no longer dared face Iver, afraid he would make yet more mistakes.

He had to make up for it. He had to come up with the most perfect remedy, a way to save Iver. How could everything possibly end like this?

If Iver’s body could no longer bear a Magibase, then Antis would build him a new body. A more perfect body.

He was extraordinarily good at this, even better than his father had ever been. He would succeed.

Antis exhausted everything he knew and began constructing a perfect body.

At the same time, he wrote to every scholar he could think of, asking about magical vessels. When it came time to choose a pen name, he only hesitated for a few seconds before decisively choosing “Flaw.”

Iver had once said that the only way to make absolutely no mistakes was to “do nothing” at all.

Antis had no intention of doing nothing. For that person, he had once already stained his life with the flaw of murder. This time, even if he created tens of thousands of flaws, he only needed one success… Just one success.

Using the finest alchemical adhesives mixed with the expensive bone powder of ferocious beasts, he made a flawless skeleton.

He bought the supple hide of rare magical creatures and hand-painted magical runes onto it, fashioning internal organs capable of digesting food.

He bought long hair from the most beautiful girl in the city, dyed it to match Iver’s, and made smooth, supple strands.

……

He carefully cut the golden wings from leopard butterflies and made a pair of champagne-gold eyes. Only that delicate iridescence from butterfly wings could possibly match Iver’s smiling eyes.

At last, Antis completed a beautiful body, one exactly the same as Iver.

It would never fall ill, never grow old. It was stronger, more flexible, and more powerful than a human body. It was almost perfect, lacking only the final component.

Antis couldn’t produce a suitable magical vessel.

Without a proper magical vessel to serve as the core, the body was nothing but an ornament, unable to move freely.

Without that prerequisite, he couldn’t design replacement magical circuits, nor did he have any idea how to transfer Iver’s Magibase…

Antis, gaunt and filthy, sat collapsed in his chaotic house.

In front of him, “Iver” wore an unchanging smile, with not a shred of light in its eyes.

Suddenly, an envelope materialized out of the darkness, dropping from thin air to land at “Iver’s” feet. In the middle of the envelope, crimson sealing wax reflected the sunlight.

Antis tore it open almost instinctively.

He had long since lost count of how many nights he had gone without sleep. He could no longer tell dream from reality.

[Create a heart that never stops beating and use it as the core. Then you can keep Mr. Iver by your side.

Mr. Antis, you are a true genius. When the time is right, I will provide the final assistance. 

—V.O.R]

Antis nearly clawed the letter to pieces. After many days, his heart once again began pounding violently, so hard the blood it pumped almost knocked him unconscious.

Without even tidying his appearance, he immediately wrote back in a desperate rush and sent it along with the other letters of plea he had already written to the Red Amber.

When the employees of the Red Amber saw him in that state, face covered in stubble and eyes ringed dark with exhaustion, they whispered among themselves. Antis didn’t have the energy to care.

[There’s no perpetual-motion machine in this world, and there is no heart that can beat forever. Materials decay. Magic fades. Even the finest specimen cannot reach eternity.

I have never seen delivery magic like yours. Your power must be extraordinarily strong. I beg you, please give me a clearer explanation.]

His wording was chaotic, his handwriting crooked and messy. He didn’t even know what address to write on the envelope and could only invent one at random.

And yet, the moment he returned home from the Red Amber, another letter was already waiting at the feet of that body.

[Of course, creations can only approach eternity without ever reaching it, just as humans can only keep approaching perfection.

You need only design an outstanding enough vessel, and I will provide the power source to match it. 

—V.O.R]

…He no longer needed to worry about the power source?

Before, he had needed to create a heart that could beat on its own.

Now he only had to design a model of a heart, one that merely had to work in theory. The difficulty was on an entirely different level.

Antis drew in a trembling breath.

Whether V.O.R was serious or simply toying with him, this was his final lifeline.

What followed were several more sleepless days.

Antis waited in terror for the possible news of Iver’s death while desperately working out a design. He poured bitter stimulant potions down his throat. In the chaos of his muddled mind, madness surged again and again. Very soon, he would be able to…

And then, just as he was like this, there came a knock at his door. The sound pierced through the sharp ringing in his ears and almost shocked him awake.

“It’s me. Iver.”

A familiar voice called out, weak but steady.

“Antis, we need to talk.”

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The author has something to say:

I actually wanted to write this arc all in one go, but I couldn’t finish it. [crying]

So now the Archdemon is accidentally observing “educational material” about human love. [doge]

But judging from Myss’s personality, his humanity probably works like this:

Teacher Salaar: “Class, how do you interpret the line ‘There was a loquat tree in the courtyard… now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy’*?”

*Clarity: The full line is: “There’s a loquat tree in the courtyard, which my wife planted the year she died. Now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy”. This comes from Gui You Guang’s work “Xiangjixuan Chronicles”. You can understand the implicit meaning behind it, one of grief and love, missing the person… but for Myss who doesn’t really understand human emotions… Well… (see below).

Student Myss: “It means there are loquats to eat every year.”

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Kinky Thoughts:

I was not expecting this arc to follow in this direction but… Damn… Nian Zhong, please do me a solid and give these two a happy ending. Poor Antis… and Iver. 

Oof the way when Iver asked about Antis’s view on a “perfect family” and Antis’s answer, that was basically an inadvertent rejection to Iver. Man, that was gut punching.

…I want to read a full story about Antis and Iver and their lives as artists in the Red Amber. It’s giving me golden retriever x emotionally stunted/robotic pairing vibes.

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