Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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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]

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<<< || 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]

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 53: A Shattered Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Just like Myss didn’t care about humans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not eating that?”

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

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

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

Of course, the Archdemon only became bolder when thwarted.

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

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

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

…And then tears came flooding out all at once.

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

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

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

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

“Mmph—mmph mmph mmph!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for the advice.” Salaar smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night, Salaar suffered a rare bout of insomnia.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t continue.

Perhaps, Salaar thought.

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

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

He drifted into sleep amid exhaustion and drowsiness.

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

He dreamed of the darkness from long ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After saying it aloud, he laughed at himself.

“No, probably not.”

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

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

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

Tap.

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

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

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

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

The next moment, all the darkness shattered.

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

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

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

“I’ll stain your love!”

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

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

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

…Salaar jolted awake from the dream.

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

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

That same direct gaze again, stripping away everything else.

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

Myss gave a sleepy hum. “Hurry up.”

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

“?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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!!!

---

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!

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

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.

---

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!

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 49: Your Foolish Friend

The day after Father’s funeral, day one.

Antis had considered making everything public. But at Father’s funeral, quite a few powerful “clients” had come. They mourned the old taxidermist’s death, while their words carried just the right amount of warning beneath the surface.

Ultimately, Antis could only bury the specimens in the hidden room, divide up most of the inheritance he had received, and secretly compensate the victims’ surviving family members.

Without Father, the estate felt especially empty. Antis brought Pinecone back to the house and built it a doghouse in the yard.

The day after Father’s funeral, day two.

Antis felt like a child who had suddenly been given both money and freedom. He wanted to do everything yet had no idea where to begin.

If he failed to get up on time, or if his footsteps sounded too loud as he walked, no furious rebuke came. If he was half a minute late to a meal, or let his knife and fork strike the dishes, there was no longer any whipping magic lashing across his back.

And yet, Antis discovered that he was like a fruit shaped inside a mold.

Even though Father was dead, Father’s ghost still followed behind him. His voice still clung to Antis’s ears.

Antis continued his old habits with painstaking exactness, more precise than the second hand of a clock. The moment he slowed by even half a beat, his heart would spasm with pain, making him miserable.

The day after Father’s funeral, day three.

Antis realized with a start that, compared to before, his life had become neither more miserable nor happier.

He only found himself thinking about Iver more often. Iver had also attended Father’s funeral, mourning the death of this patron, completely unaware of the danger he himself had been in.

In Iver’s eyes, Father must have been the only noble who had acknowledged his paintings and been willing to sponsor him. It was the first time Antis had ever seen Iver that sad.

Antis thought that this still wasn’t the time to tell Iver the truth.

Iver’s paintings were attracting more and more attention. He could… He could wait until Iver achieved success, until their relationship grew better, and then speak that cruel truth aloud.

The day after Father’s funeral, day four.

Iver invited Antis out to relax.

Antis was shocked to discover that his heart was beating rapidly with joy. Before this, he had thought Iver was merely showing courtesy to “a patron’s son.”

He had never expected that after Father’s death, Iver would still be willing to contact him. Contact him. Him, a man who followed rules to the letter, who barely had any personality at all. And Iver still hadn’t gotten tired of him.

No, calm down, Antis. Perhaps Iver simply still needed your sponsorship.

Antis changed into his finest formalwear and went to the little tavern they frequented most often. Iver looked much the same as usual, except this time he was carefully watching Antis’s expression.

“You don’t need to worry about money. I’ll continue sponsoring your work.” After hesitating again and again, Antis decided to bring it up first.

“No, no, I don’t need your sponsorship, Anti. My paintings have been selling pretty well lately.” Iver shook his head. “I’m just worried about you. Did I ask you out too early? But leaving you all alone didn’t seem right either.”

“I’m fine,” Antis replied politely.

Iver looked at him with those moist eyes, his gaze still full of concern.

Antis straightened his back even more and secretly adjusted his crooked bow tie, like a plant enjoying the sunlight.

“Well, all right.” Iver scratched his head. “How should I put this… this is probably your first time living on your own. If there’s anything you’re not used to, you can ask me anytime.”

“Can I ask about anything?” Antis said.

“Of course.”

“Why did you ask me out?” Antis asked.

Iver stared at him, then laughed helplessly. “Good heavens, Anti, you really are ruthless. I thought we were friends.”

“But as a person, I have no interesting qualities at all,” Antis said, the words spilling out like beans from a sack.

“My life never changes. It’s hard to find anything to talk about. I’m bad with words. I can’t make you laugh. I have too many shortcomings.”

Iver raised a brow. “Being loved doesn’t require qualifications.”

“I don’t understand.” Antis said honestly, “Only perfect people deserve acknowledgment. That’s how the world has always worked.”

“Haa.” Iver rubbed at his temple. “Listen carefully, Anti. As long as people are alive, they’ll produce flaws of all sizes. If you want to make absolutely no mistakes, the only way is to do nothing at all.”

“If you ask me, life is like painting. It’s impossible for every single detail to be perfect. As long as you paint those few strokes filled with your heart, it’s already a beautiful painting.”

Antis looked at him, only half comprehending.

“Take you, for example. You care about small animals on your own initiative. You’re not greedy for money, power, or beauty. You have a precious sense of justice.”

“Of course, every noble pretends to be that sort of person. But you’re different. You’re not pretending. Do you know the look in your eyes when you look at a puppy? That kind of softness can’t be faked. And the way you look at people too…”

By the last part, Iver paused slightly and said no more.

Antis still looked at Iver in that half-comprehending way. Iver always said things Antis had never thought about before.

The feeling was truly peculiar. It was as if Iver had peeled open the flesh of a fruit deformed by its mold and found the pit named “Antis” inside, a heart Antis himself had never understood.

He felt both uneasy and buoyant at once and could only sip his apple wine little by little.

When the drink was nearly gone, he summoned his courage, or perhaps the magic of alcohol did it for him and extended an invitation to Iver.

“D-do… Do you want to watch me make a specimen?”

Antis spoke extremely slowly, like a shellfish cautiously opening its shell.

“For the next few days, I’ll be doing commission work at the Red Amber. If… I mean if… you’re still interested…”

A slight change came over Iver’s expression, as if a shadow had passed over it. But that shadow disappeared almost at once, replaced by a bright smile.

“I’ve got something to do in the next few days. Is Sunday okay?”

“Then Sunday it is.”

Even after he returned home, Antis couldn’t come back down from the faint intoxicated feeling that had lingered after that conversation.

His heart still beat furiously, so hard that he couldn’t bear silence or idleness. Antis trimmed the entire yard, scrubbed the floors of the whole house, and also wrote Tass a letter.

[You were right. I should have the courage to cast off Father’s ghost. I believe everything will get better, my friend.]

Today, he had actually invited Iver. He had voluntarily bared to Iver a side of himself that was “less than perfect.”

[I have seen a sliver of hope. If I can summon the courage to make a greater change, I will definitely tell you.]

Only today did he realize that Tass and Iver weren’t the same kind of “friend.”

Antis held Tass in high regards, and receiving a letter from Tass also made him very happy. But that was a happiness that came from the “mind.” His heartbeat always remained steady.

Iver… Iver was different. He couldn’t put the difference into words. He only knew that if it was that person, then that person would definitely bring even more change into his life.

When facing Iver, his heart would always tighten because of nervousness, ache because he was not perfect enough, and slam hard against his chest, like a different kind of whipping.

Only, this whipping brought no pain. It brought numbness and joy.

[Your foolish friend, Antis.]

Even if he was terribly obtuse, he would still figure out this strange difference.

Because their future was full of hope, and they still had long lives ahead of them.

After writing the letter, Antis sealed it as usual, preparing to take it to the Red Amber for delivery.

The Red Amber’s mail service was the best in Semper. Tass would receive it sooner that way.

The day after Father’s funeral, day seven.

Antis checked the studio several times over, making sure all the instruments were neatly arranged and the labels on every bottle of medicine were turned outward in perfect alignment. He had even aired out the room and placed pouches of mildly fragrant herbs near the medicine cabinet so the smell in the room wouldn’t be too unpleasant.

He had even chosen the gentlest commission possible. A beloved golden retriever had died of old age, and its owner had paid a high price to commission him to turn the dog into a specimen, so their beloved pet could keep them company.

Iver arrived on time, brisk and energetic as ever, dressed far more formally than usual. He seemed to have just returned from outside the city, carrying a small leather bag in his left hand and a huge bouquet of flowers in his right.

Antis had never seen such beautiful flowers in his life. The blossoms were enormous, and the petals so dazzlingly colorful that the many hues bewildered his eyes.

“Look! Look at this. It’s for you.”

Iver handed the bouquet over eagerly. “I bought it on the other side of the mountain. Semper doesn’t have flowers like this. Their blooming period is absurdly short. Once they’re picked, they only stay open for a single day.”

“It took me half a day to get back. They’ll stay open for another half day, plus the whole night.”

“I can turn them into specimens,” Antis said.

“Ah, no need to force it. I don’t want to mess up your plans.” Iver said lightly, “Withered flowers have their own beauty too. Some people even paint withered flowers on purpose.”

Antis found a long-necked flask and set the bouquet inside for the time being.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He was better at making animal specimens. He had never handled flowers like these before. If he forced himself and failed, he might embarrass himself in front of Iver.

When Iver saw the old golden retriever’s corpse, something shifted in his gaze.

Antis held his breath. He barely dared move too heavily, afraid Iver would feel disgusted toward the corpse.

“A lucky creature.” Iver smiled. “Its coat is beautiful, and it’s plump too. It must have received a lot of love, and in the end it probably didn’t suffer much.”

“Yes.” Antis relaxed a little. “Its owner couldn’t bear to part with it. That’s why they commissioned me.”

“Death is definitely very… difficult.” Iver said softly, touching the cold, stiff body of the dog. “But since you work in this line of business, it should be easier for you to accept death, right?”

“Yes,” Antis said.

It was the perfect answer. It couldn’t be faulted.

“See? I’ve found another one of your good points. You’re very open about things like that.” Iver smiled. “I thought you’d be the particularly obsessive type. I didn’t expect you’d see it so lightly.”

Yes. I even hired someone to kill my father, and his death didn’t move me in the slightest.

Antis lowered his head and began handling the hound’s slightly decayed internal organs.

Usually, this was the part people found the hardest to accept. As he guided the murky fluids away, he snuck glances at Iver from the corner of his eye.

Iver quietly watched that dead flesh and blood pass away. There was no disgust on his face. Only a faint melancholy, as if what was swiftly flowing away wasn’t bodily fluid, but something else.

“…What does your ideal family look like?”

Iver suddenly asked out of nowhere.

Rarely for him, he didn’t look at Antis. He kept his gaze fixed on the dead hound instead.

An ideal family?

“A wife of noble birth, with a gentle and quiet temperament. Husband and wife devoted only to each other. Then two healthy, clever children, preferably a boy and a girl,” Antis answered reflexively.

His mother had died giving birth to him, making him the family’s only son. A wife not strong enough, too few descendants. His father had believed that to be a kind of disgrace.

So Father had told him again and again what a “perfect family” should be. The standard answer to this question had practically been carved into Antis’s mind.

At least this answer has no flaws, Antis thought.

At last, Iver turned to look at him. His gaze was dimmer than before, strangely similar to the dead dog’s.

“Perfect indeed. Just as expected of our Mr. Anti.” Iver stepped back half a pace, his voice still light. “Actually, I came today because I wanted to tell you something too. I’m planning to leave Semper.”

Antis’s hand tilted. The cutting magic nearly sliced his own finger.

He stared blankly at Iver, as if he had suddenly lost the ability to understand language.

“People should aim higher, right? I’m planning to try my luck in another country.”

Iver shrugged. “Semper is fine, but the aesthetic tastes of the Kingdom of Aufon are still too conservative. Atla’s romantic style suits me better.”

Antis’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. “But you… financially…”

“Don’t worry about me. Even in conservative Aufon, I managed to find an investor like your father.”

Iver smiled. “Besides, I won’t leave immediately. Two more months, maybe. I still have some commissions to finish, and it’s a good chance to save up a bit more money.”

No.

A buzzing rose in Anti’s ears. His heart felt as heavy as if it had been filled with lead, so heavy it nearly stopped.

“My father never recognized you. It was all a misunderstanding. Things won’t go that smoothly…”

His ears were full of the sound of blood roaring backward. He barely knew what he was saying. “He liked collecting beautiful young people. He originally meant to kill you… Your ancestors were slaves, not even as good as commoners. If you disappeared, no one would care…”

Aside from the part about hiring someone to kill his father, Antis told him everything.

As he listened to Antis’s broken, stumbling explanation, the light in Iver’s eyes went completely out. Those golden eyes became like extinguished charcoal, losing their warmth bit by bit.

It’s over.

At last, Antis realized what he had done. He had made another mistake. He had known perfectly well that now wasn’t the time…

He stretched out a hand in vain, as if he wanted to snatch his words back out of the air. Iver instinctively raised a hand to block him, and the limp little leather bag dropped to the floor, its contents scattering everywhere.

Antis hurriedly bent down to pick them up. The instant he saw what was inside, he froze as though struck by lightning.

“Perhaps this will answer part of your question.”

Iver’s tone had turned hollow. “You said your father wanted to act against me. Maybe that’s because I’m about to lose my value.”

“As you can see, I have Malignant Magibase Rejection Syndrome. I have less than three months left.”

Of course Antis knew that illness.

It only appeared in exceptionally gifted children, children who could use magic even before receiving a Magibase. After they did receive a Magibase, there was a small chance they would develop rejection symptoms.

Antis himself had once been one of those “exceptionally gifted children.” The moment he received his Magibase, Father had already had a physician examine him.

The disease was terrifying. In the early stages, it was completely silent. Patients could live exactly like healthy people.

But somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, their Magibase would suddenly go out of control, and the symptoms would worsen at frightening speed.

Within three months, the patient’s mouth would twist, the eyes would deform, and they would lose the ability to care for themselves. Very soon afterward, even breathing and heartbeat would stop, ending in a miserable and painful death.

Up to now, not only was there no cure, mages had only just managed to understand the cause. The patient’s body suddenly began to have an allergic reaction to the Magibase, throwing the entire magical circuit into chaos.

“Goodbye, Antis Crosien.” Iver packed up the diagnostic documents with a stiff face. “Since things have come to this, let’s at least say farewell with dignity.”

Then he left without turning back.

Under the sunlight, the bouquet in the flask had begun to wither slightly. The dog’s corpse lay there in silence, giving off a faint bloody smell.

Another “exceptionally gifted child,” Myss thought.

Scintilla had been one. Who would have thought Antis and Iver were too? In this world, geniuses seemed awfully prone to all kinds of problems.

Come to think of it, Salaar and his army had been geniuses too. Salaar definitely had problems. There was something wrong with his head.

After slandering his enemy a bit, Myss swept impatiently through the memories that followed.

One moment Antis had stood atop a mountain of hope, the next he had been thrown into an abyss of despair. He was always emotionally thin to begin with, and he was in no shape to withstand that kind of overwhelming storm.

In near-suffocating regret, he no longer dared face Iver, afraid he would make yet more mistakes.

He had to make up for it. He had to come up with the most perfect remedy, a way to save Iver. How could everything possibly end like this?

If Iver’s body could no longer bear a Magibase, then Antis would build him a new body. A more perfect body.

He was extraordinarily good at this, even better than his father had ever been. He would succeed.

Antis exhausted everything he knew and began constructing a perfect body.

At the same time, he wrote to every scholar he could think of, asking about magical vessels. When it came time to choose a pen name, he only hesitated for a few seconds before decisively choosing “Flaw.”

Iver had once said that the only way to make absolutely no mistakes was to “do nothing” at all.

Antis had no intention of doing nothing. For that person, he had once already stained his life with the flaw of murder. This time, even if he created tens of thousands of flaws, he only needed one success… Just one success.

Using the finest alchemical adhesives mixed with the expensive bone powder of ferocious beasts, he made a flawless skeleton.

He bought the supple hide of rare magical creatures and hand-painted magical runes onto it, fashioning internal organs capable of digesting food.

He bought long hair from the most beautiful girl in the city, dyed it to match Iver’s, and made smooth, supple strands.

……

He carefully cut the golden wings from leopard butterflies and made a pair of champagne-gold eyes. Only that delicate iridescence from butterfly wings could possibly match Iver’s smiling eyes.

At last, Antis completed a beautiful body, one exactly the same as Iver.

It would never fall ill, never grow old. It was stronger, more flexible, and more powerful than a human body. It was almost perfect, lacking only the final component.

Antis couldn’t produce a suitable magical vessel.

Without a proper magical vessel to serve as the core, the body was nothing but an ornament, unable to move freely.

Without that prerequisite, he couldn’t design replacement magical circuits, nor did he have any idea how to transfer Iver’s Magibase…

Antis, gaunt and filthy, sat collapsed in his chaotic house.

In front of him, “Iver” wore an unchanging smile, with not a shred of light in its eyes.

Suddenly, an envelope materialized out of the darkness, dropping from thin air to land at “Iver’s” feet. In the middle of the envelope, crimson sealing wax reflected the sunlight.

Antis tore it open almost instinctively.

He had long since lost count of how many nights he had gone without sleep. He could no longer tell dream from reality.

[Create a heart that never stops beating and use it as the core. Then you can keep Mr. Iver by your side.

Mr. Antis, you are a true genius. When the time is right, I will provide the final assistance. 

—V.O.R]

Antis nearly clawed the letter to pieces. After many days, his heart once again began pounding violently, so hard the blood it pumped almost knocked him unconscious.

Without even tidying his appearance, he immediately wrote back in a desperate rush and sent it along with the other letters of plea he had already written to the Red Amber.

When the employees of the Red Amber saw him in that state, face covered in stubble and eyes ringed dark with exhaustion, they whispered among themselves. Antis didn’t have the energy to care.

[There’s no perpetual-motion machine in this world, and there is no heart that can beat forever. Materials decay. Magic fades. Even the finest specimen cannot reach eternity.

I have never seen delivery magic like yours. Your power must be extraordinarily strong. I beg you, please give me a clearer explanation.]

His wording was chaotic, his handwriting crooked and messy. He didn’t even know what address to write on the envelope and could only invent one at random.

And yet, the moment he returned home from the Red Amber, another letter was already waiting at the feet of that body.

[Of course, creations can only approach eternity without ever reaching it, just as humans can only keep approaching perfection.

You need only design an outstanding enough vessel, and I will provide the power source to match it. 

—V.O.R]

…He no longer needed to worry about the power source?

Before, he had needed to create a heart that could beat on its own.

Now he only had to design a model of a heart, one that merely had to work in theory. The difficulty was on an entirely different level.

Antis drew in a trembling breath.

Whether V.O.R was serious or simply toying with him, this was his final lifeline.

What followed were several more sleepless days.

Antis waited in terror for the possible news of Iver’s death while desperately working out a design. He poured bitter stimulant potions down his throat. In the chaos of his muddled mind, madness surged again and again. Very soon, he would be able to…

And then, just as he was like this, there came a knock at his door. The sound pierced through the sharp ringing in his ears and almost shocked him awake.

“It’s me. Iver.”

A familiar voice called out, weak but steady.

“Antis, we need to talk.”

---

The author has something to say:

I actually wanted to write this arc all in one go, but I couldn’t finish it. [crying]

So now the Archdemon is accidentally observing “educational material” about human love. [doge]

But judging from Myss’s personality, his humanity probably works like this:

Teacher Salaar: “Class, how do you interpret the line ‘There was a loquat tree in the courtyard… now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy’*?”

*Clarity: The full line is: “There’s a loquat tree in the courtyard, which my wife planted the year she died. Now it stands tall and broad, spreading like a canopy”. This comes from Gui You Guang’s work “Xiangjixuan Chronicles”. You can understand the implicit meaning behind it, one of grief and love, missing the person… but for Myss who doesn’t really understand human emotions… Well… (see below).

Student Myss: “It means there are loquats to eat every year.”

---

Kinky Thoughts:

I was not expecting this arc to follow in this direction but… Damn… Nian Zhong, please do me a solid and give these two a happy ending. Poor Antis… and Iver. 

Oof the way when Iver asked about Antis’s view on a “perfect family” and Antis’s answer, that was basically an inadvertent rejection to Iver. Man, that was gut punching.

…I want to read a full story about Antis and Iver and their lives as artists in the Red Amber. It’s giving me golden retriever x emotionally stunted/robotic pairing vibes.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 48: Origin

Several days earlier, in the instant when the Perfected Creation attacked him—

Salaar could feel an outside force tugging at his mind.

Fortunately, he really was exceptional in mental magic. After a moment of discernment, he confirmed that this wasn’t mind control, but pure temptation—it wrapped his heart in agony, trying to induce him to abandon life and become a living specimen named “Salaar.”

You could have thought of more. You could have done better. You could have saved more people…

Every one of your mistakes is steeped in blood and lives lost. You know perfectly well the true burden of what you carry…

You have to satisfy humanity’s endless expectations. Your every action has long been bound by an endless web of rules. Your heart does nothing but constantly produce flaws…

Old wounds split open all at once. Regrets long sunk to the bottom surged up, nearly tearing Salaar’s thoughts apart.

Of course Salaar could endure this kind of pain. What a joke—Myss was right there beside him. There was no way he would just leave that guy alone.

But was that really the best option?

If this pain continued, his cognitive efficiency would drop drastically.

And if the attack failed completely, the owner of the divine realm would certainly become highly vigilant toward them. They had only just arrived and had very little intelligence. The situation was far too passive… and if Myss died here, things would become truly troublesome.

What should he do to lower the enemy’s guard while maximizing their safety?

At that time, Salaar instinctively looked toward Myss. His view was blocked by a corner, and he only saw the shadow of long hair.

That long hair was tied with the scarf he had given him. Sunlight brushed across it, and its shadow looked like a small snake nestled there.

Under the maddening lash of mental torment, Salaar touched his nose and smiled.

“You chose to attack me because Myss is too hard to get at with that temperament, didn’t you? So I’m being underestimated.”

He murmured, “In that case, you’d better not complain if I take advantage of that.”

“…Everything for the sake of ending the Night Scourge.”

And with that, Salaar smiled and gave up resisting.

He willingly abandoned his own body and transferred his consciousness into the little snake Knife.

“My body has been taken over by something. It’s imitating my behavior. You absolutely cannot trust it.”

Salaar lied.

In truth, he knew better than anyone what he would become without emotion—

“Salaar” would never become some perfect collectible. He would only become a cruel, pure strategic machine.

That way, “Salaar” would take the initiative to control Myss, and Myss would direct complete hostility toward “Salaar.” At the same time, because of the contract, Myss would be unable to attack “Salaar.”

That degree of restraint should be enough to dispel the divine realm owner’s suspicion.

Once again, he had bought them time to investigate.

…And now, their investigation was over.

Drip. Drip.

Blood streamed down from two hollow eye sockets. Soon flesh churned within those empty cavities, and a fresh pair of human eyes regrew there.

On the blood-smeared face, Myss found those lapis-lazuli eyes.

“So you understand me that well.”

A familiar voice spoke.

The voice was right, and the infuriating tone was even more unmistakable.

Myss wrinkled his nose, tore open his abdomen again, and pulled out Knife wrapped in blood amber. Under the corrosion of his power, cracks spread all over the blood amber.

Before the blood even had a chance to spill out, the wound had already been healed by Salaar.

“At first, you really did fool me. But something as annoying as you just didn’t feel like it could be reproduced that easily.”

Myss casually tossed Knife back to Salaar. In his hand, the little snake transformed into a sword of light.

“Utter nonsense!” Myss hissed.

“That’s only the most basic kind of arithmetic.” Salaar smiled.

Then he turned toward the expressionless Perfected Creation. “Also, stop trying to mentally attack me. It won’t work—”

In the next instant, he had already flashed to the Perfected Creation’s side.

“—The thing I’ve been best at my entire life is keeping my eyes locked on Myss and forcing myself to go on living.”

The sword of light stabbed toward the Perfected Creation’s heart. The latter shifted sideways and retreated nimbly, only to run straight into Myss’s annihilation magic—its entire head vanished in an instant.

But it didn’t fall. Great quantities of blood amber rapidly condensed and grew a new head all over again.

“How is it still able to heal itself?” Myss complained, springing away and narrowly dodging the twins’ pincer attack.

“That isn’t my magic, that’s Its power!”

Salaar shouted back. Two cold flashes nearly severed his arm—Mr. Anti and the Perfected Creation had attacked simultaneously, their magic thin as cicada wings and sharp as blades.

Combined with the Perfected Creation’s almost inhuman mobility, Salaar couldn’t land even a single strike.

Even more outrageously, the Perfected Creation simultaneously raised its other hand, and at once the surroundings blurred. It seemed to be some sort of visual distortion spell. The scenery in his field of vision warped chaotically, leaving Myss feeling dizzy and disoriented.

Just as expected of a more “mature” god. Even with the two of them pressing it together, they could only barely force an even match. The Perfected Creation’s abilities were too troublesome. They needed to destroy its “collections” first.

Myss immediately redirected his attack toward Mr. Anti, intending to break them one by one.

But the moment he moved, Iver and Danton stepped in front of Anti. Visual distortion magic and light magic activated at the same time, dazzling Myss so badly he couldn’t open his eyes.

Salaar let out an interested little hum.

Myss couldn’t care less about such trivialities. Since his vision was being interfered with, he raised his hand and wove sheets of black gauze into existence out of thin air.

The gauze fell like storm clouds about to burst. It drifted eerily through the air, wrapping around every moving target like burial shrouds—even Salaar himself—as annihilation magic attacked indiscriminately.

Salaar raised a golden defensive barrier to fend off the attacks. The Perfected Creation, meanwhile, instantly solidified all its collections and suppressed its own presence, allowing the black gauze to drift past in the gloom.

“It’s no use. That thing is wearing us down.”

The Dragon Fae sounded worried. “Its movements haven’t slackened for even a moment, and its reactions have no flaws at all. But we can get tired; we can lose focus… We have to finish this quickly. If it keeps going like this, there’s absolutely no way we’ll win…”

Smack!

In the middle of all the magic flying about, Myss still found the time to whack Tass on the head. “Shut up. Less useless chatter!”

With his vision in disarray, Myss simply closed his eyes and used the black gauze flying everywhere to sense the magic.

He couldn’t rely on a single sense… He had to feel its essence… understand “power” on a deeper level…

Myss’s bare feet stepped silently across the thick carpet as he spun and shifted, dodging attack after attack by the narrowest margin.

Lethal spells came at his face; sharp spikes aimed for his skull, yet Myss slipped past them all like a ghost.

He danced amid black gauze and wind blades, silently drawing closer to the Perfected Creation.

Salaar, meanwhile, pulled back to a safe distance.

He took the chance to preserve his strength while keeping his gaze fixed tightly on Myss, raising shields at the right moments. If the Perfected Creation dared concentrate too much, he immediately thrust out the sword of light, ensuring that it could never fully focus.

Three steps. Two steps. One step.

Following the magical currents, Myss cast off the Perfected and pursued the Perfected Creation like a curse. At last he caught a sliver of an opening and closed the distance directly.

The Perfected Creation raised a slicing spell and struck straight at Myss’s heart.

Myss should have dodged, but he only shifted slightly to the side.

In the next instant, his left shoulder and left arm were sliced clean away, and his heart was nearly split in half. Before the blood even had time to erupt, dazzling golden light descended from above and wrapped around Myss completely.

His severed limb hadn’t even begun to fall away before healing magic pushed it back into place.

The sudden burst of golden light was too strong. The Perfected Creation narrowed its eyes and reflexively paused for the briefest instant.

With his eyes closed, Myss wasn’t affected in the slightest. His right hand punched straight through the Perfected Creation’s chest.

Everything happened in a single instant. This game of chicken ended with Myss’s victory.

He caught hold of that beating heart. It was warm, wet, unmistakably a human heart.

As the “endpoint” of the divine realm, it gave off terrifying magical fluctuations, and it smelled exactly the same as monster-transformed Scintilla.

The scent of an Abnormal Fruit drifted out from the wound, and Myss instantly forgot the pain from before.

And yet—

Even with all his strength, he couldn’t pull the heart free.

Every wound his annihilation magic created was repaired at once by surging blood amber. He couldn’t just yank the whole thing out, and he couldn’t even smash it to pieces.

“I don’t like violence, nor am I as skilled at it as the two of you are.”

The Perfected Creation let out a soft sigh by his ear. “But I’m not so easy to destroy either, Mr. Myss.”

“Give up. All of this is—”

Smack!

Myss freed his other hand and also knocked the Perfected Creation on the head. “Shut up. You stop talking nonsense too!”

The Perfected Creation: “…”

It immediately realized something was wrong—after failing to strike decisively, Myss withdrew cleanly and wrapped the Perfected Creation’s heart in a layer of black gauze.

Pitch-black magic annihilated everything. It could keep repairing the wound, but it couldn’t remove that thing that consumed all things.

With his eyes closed, Myss flashed a provocative smile.

Got you.

His power was capable of much more than just annihilation.

From the black gauze spread countless tiny magical threads. They extended into the Perfected Creation’s body, once again imitating Mina’s pale red threads, and pierced into the Perfected Creation’s memories.

In an instant, everything about the Perfected Creation spread open before Myss, like a perfectly dissected corpse, or a tomb exposed to daylight.

But rather than calling them the Perfected Creation’s memories, it would be more accurate to call them the memories of that heart… More precisely, they were clearly the memories of Antis Crosien.

Without the slightest courtesy, Myss skipped over the man’s sorrowful childhood, skipped over the cyclical routine of his daily life, and went straight to the parts involving “Iver.”

The first meeting between Antis Crosien and Iver had taken place while Antis was investigating his father.

At the time, Antis wasn’t an employee of the Red Amber yet, while Iver had only just begun to rise to prominence in Semper.

Holding his father’s “list of sponsored individuals,” Antis went through the names one by one to confirm whether they were safe. And so, one morning, he “happened to encounter” Iver by the river.

The morning glow reddened the surface of the water. Iver hummed a tune, his brush racing freely across the canvas. Paint stained his handsome face and his loosely worn clothes.

Just looking at that sloppy state made Antis itch all over.

The man’s appearance was utterly careless, and his style of painting was equally controversial.

Most nobles liked the classic style: meticulous composition, pure colors, elegance. Iver, however, preferred bold smears of paint and free mixing of all kinds of colors.

Some said Iver’s use of color was especially daring, that his paintings made viewers feel as if they were standing inside the scene. Others condemned him, saying that it was outrageous to use mottled blue and green on human skin—“Just like lividity!” They sneered at his work.

“I remember your face!”

Iver seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, spotting Antis’s spying immediately. “You’re young Master Crosien! How has Lord Crosien been lately?”

“Thanks to his support, I’ve been able to keep painting until now. I just received an invitation from the Red Amber—come on, let’s have a drink!”

Antis looked at Iver’s paint-streaked clothes and instinctively wanted to refuse. But in order to investigate his father’s affairs, he hesitated a few seconds before forcing himself to agree.

…Very soon, Antis discovered that Iver was truly a strange person.

He was practically Antis’s polar opposite.

Iver was as free and unrestrained as his paintings. He could be very elegant, but his elegance was not the clockwork precision of a machine. It was more like the orderly arrangement of petals on a flower, carrying a strong sense of life.

As a taxidermist, you must grasp the most perfect moment of a living thing, his father had said.

And to understand such a moment, you must personally understand ‘perfection’,” His father had said.

…Yet when he looked at Iver, he couldn’t grasp that moment at all.

Antis sat quietly at the table, allowing Iver to guide the conversation. Somehow, even with someone as dull and silent as him, Iver could keep the atmosphere lively and comfortable. It was practically a kind of magic.

A server brought them sweet apple wine. Just as Iver was gesturing with his hands, the server moved too quickly and spilled the cup on the spot.

Wine soaked Iver’s chest. The young server froze in panic and turned pale instantly.

“Whoa, man, sorry about that. I was moving too much.”

Iver winked at the server and deliberately showed off the paint already on his clothes. “Let me tell you a little secret—I was just about to wash this anyway, so now it’ll pick up this lovely apple-wine scent!”

“Come, bring us another glass! This time we’ll both be more careful, all right?”

The server nodded in visible relief.

“…That was his responsibility.” After the server left, Antis frowned. “Indulging him like that does him no good.”

Iver laughed. “Come on, it’s not as if he injured me. Why ruin the mood of all three of us over a few silver shields? That would be the real waste. He’ll be more careful next time.”

“No. He’ll just think he got lucky.” Antis said, “Regret and pain are the staircase toward perfection. You should make sure he remembers this lesson.”

Iver stared, then burst out laughing. “Oh wow, young master, you really are strict.”

“How about thinking of it this way instead? Meeting me today was his good luck! Leave the staircase business for later—life ought to come with a few surprises.”

Antis looked at Iver in disapproval.

He didn’t understand Iver’s words, didn’t understand Iver’s laughter, and didn’t understand that entire overly casual way of thinking.

Would you also consider the sponsorship Father gave you a surprise of life? he thought, staring at the smiling, bright-eyed Iver.

I know Father. There’s no way he could appreciate your individualistic style. He only set his sights on your body. He wants to turn you into a specimen.

…And yet, people couldn’t deceive their own hearts.

Antis had no choice but to admit it: he really did like Iver’s smiling face.

After that, Iver invited Antis out for drinks every week.

Antis believed this was simply a matter of etiquette—a basic social method for maintaining friendship with the son of one’s sponsor.

Iver was always surrounded by all kinds of interesting people, packed together like a disorderly, flourishing flowerbed. There was no place for him there, and there never could be.

“I saw you at the Red Amber—you actually have your own private studio?”

During another gathering, Iver exclaimed, “And the specimens you make… gods, they look alive!”

“I’m not an employee of the Red Amber. I just cooperate with them occasionally.”

Antis replied in his usual stiff way.

“Oh—occasionally cooperate.” Iver laughed. “Let me watch the process sometime. I still have no idea how specimens are actually made.”

Antis fell silent.

His technique was clean and beautiful, the entire process flawless. But when he thought of the bloody fluids and the sharp medicinal smells, for some reason he didn’t want Iver to witness it.

“I’ll consider it.”

That was all he said in the end.

Iver seemed to understand the subtext. He merely looked at Antis for a long while and said nothing more on the matter.

Soon, those little gatherings with Iver became a fixed part of Antis’s schedule. Heaven knew where Iver found so many topics of conversation. He could chatter endlessly to a block of wood like Antis without the least sign of boredom.

And Antis also discovered that Iver enjoyed teasing him more and more.

At every gathering, Iver would deliberately bring some bizarre present—bouquets made of socks, tiny kittens sculpted out of cat fur, or even an actual living puppy.

“You’re wound way too tight, Anti. Come on, smile.” Iver would say, “You deserve to relax more. Ideally, you should even try messing something up once in a while.”

Utterly incomprehensible.

Antis accepted the gifts unhappily anyway, then responded with brand-new painting tools, wool fingerless gloves, and a pile of complaints about the puppy.

Of course, he never told Iver that he only dared keep the dog outside. If Father discovered it, he would certainly kill it.

To be honest, Antis had considered giving it away. But the puppy licked at his fingers softly, looking up at him with wet eyes completely unlike those of a specimen, its nose repeatedly nudging his palm.

That look reminded him of Iver.

“From today on, your name is Pinecone.”

Looking at the puppy’s pinecone-colored fur, Anti declared it just so.

…That was the last gift he ever received from Iver.

The cause was simple: Antis discovered that his father had selected his next sacrifice—

His father had chosen Iver.

The instant he realized it, his mind blanked for a rare full second.

Was it because they had grown too close? Or because Iver had gradually become known, making him harder to get at?

Antis couldn’t determine the reason. He only knew that…

He could no longer investigate in an orderly, step-by-step manner. A black killing intent surged up all at once.

He had to kill his father as soon as possible, even if it stained him as a murderer. This wasn’t even a question worth weighing. It was simply a plan that had to be carried out.

—Myss skipped through this memory quickly.

He already knew what came next. Antis met Tass and hired him to kill his father.

After that, Antis should have been free. And yet, judging from what they had seen before, even after killing his father, Antis’s friendship with Iver hadn’t lasted much longer.

So what had driven Antis to seek help everywhere for this “not especially close” friend, to the point that it drew in V.O.R.?

Myss skillfully manipulated the magical threads, calling up the memory he wanted.

The origin of the “Perfected Creation” had to be hidden there.

---

The author has something to say:

Myss: Rather than reflect on myself, I’d rather blame other people! Dragon Fae, shut up! Perfected Creation, shut up! I definitely won’t lose! [cat paw]

…Salaar doesn’t need to shut up, though. If Salaar shut up, that would be no fun.

Salaar: [good]

The Archdemon’s fighting style has evolved again, and he’s gotten first-hand information too, hasn’t he, Mr. Hero?

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 47: The Traitor

Myss was acutely aware of his own shortcomings.

He knew nothing about the love, hate, and messy entanglements between humans. He couldn’t investigate the source of the “anomaly” together with Salaar the way they had in Rosha.

And for now, the Perfected Creation was stronger than he was. He still couldn’t see through the vast magic sustaining the other side. Even if he copied the Perfected Creation and wove a black net, it still couldn’t cover the entire Divine Realm.

But that was fine. He only needed to do what he was best at—find the target, and crush straight through it.

If he couldn’t uncover the origin of the Perfected Creation, then he simply wouldn’t bother. If he couldn’t see through the core magic of the Divine Realm, then he would make better use of outside tools, such as—

Tass burst out of the emerald pendant in one swift motion. In his hand, the Dragon Fae gripped a strand of pitch-black thread.

Using that thread as an anchor, the black net spread out once more. Held in Tass’s grasp, it flew toward the place where the magical turbulence was most stable.

The Dragon Fae’s innate sensitivity to magic compensated for the black net’s lack of range. The net behaved like a hound hot on the scent, tracking a bleeding prey.

Following the cleared route the cats had opened, Myss leapt nimbly off the wall. He chased after the Dragon Fae as it streaked ahead like a meteor, one hand raising Fork in preparation for any interference “Salaar” might attempt.

Strangely, “Salaar” still did nothing at all, like some indifferent bystander.

He neither stopped the guards nor helped them capture Myss. He simply watched with those blood-amber eyes.

Snake-Salaar’s muffled voice came through the shell fragment. “All right… Oof… Are you… running for your life?”

“You’re the one running for your life. I’m conducting a high-speed investigation!”

Myss shot back while springing all over the corridor. Behind him, the guards were shouting something, but he couldn’t be bothered to hear a word.

“…Ah yes, high-speed investigation,” snake-Salaar muttered from inside his belly.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

Myss ricocheted wildly through the corridors, dodging the magical attacks the guards hurled after him. He left footprints across walls and ceilings alike, his tracks standing out even among the cats’ pawprints.

“I may not understand your human twists and turns, but I do know how spiders hunt—”

According to that crow priest, the closer one got to the city center, the more blood amber there was. The Perfected Creation’s power used those countless pieces of blood amber as nodes, weaving them together into a web.

And Myss had experienced firsthand that the Perfected Creation’s power behaved exactly like spider silk. Once a person even started entertaining thoughts of agreeing with it, that power would cling to them and wrap itself around their mind.

…Wasn’t that just a spider’s web?

Myss didn’t know how much camouflage the Perfected Creation had woven, nor what kind of schemes it had used. His thinking was simple: right now, everyone’s minds were falling apart, and the magic wrapped around those minds would inevitably be disturbed.

So within that shuddering web, he only needed to find the heaviest, most stable point—the spider crouched at the center of the magical web.

He ran through corridors that the cats had turned upside down, using his still-childish black net to feel out the magic turbulence.

Tass’s guidance became a clear, beautiful auxiliary line.

In Myss’s perception, the once-blurred flow of magic grew clearer and clearer. He stopped trying to stare with his eyes and instead half-closed them, sensing with his whole body.

The ominous black net became denser, lighter, more elegant, like a ghostly veil of black gauze. By the very end, Myss was almost running in perfect sync with Tass.

That layer of “black gauze” loosely wrapped around his head and upper body, lightly veiling his gray-white hair. It was like another newly grown layer of skin. Magic flowed through it, and everything became startlingly vivid.

At last, Myss opened his eyes again, revealing his dilated pupils.

Found you.

Unexpectedly, the “endpoint” of all this wasn’t on the mysterious fifth floor, nor in some shadowy corner untouched by sunlight, but right in the middle of the exhibition hall on the first floor.

The museum was closed at the moment, so there weren’t many people in the hall.

The cats were focused on throwing the employee areas into chaos, and there wasn’t a single cat nearby. At the foot of the steps, Mr. Iver was speaking with the pair of twin models.

Splendid sunlight squeezed through the narrow classical windows and lay lazily at the feet of the three figures. Everything looked perfectly normal.

Myss jumped onto the smooth staircase railing and slid down on one foot as if skating.

Behind him, countless strands of black gauze were woven out of thin air.

They blocked the passage between the first and second floors like a spiderweb, sealing the guards behind them. Only “Salaar” was fast enough—shielded by his golden defensive magic, he broke out before the seal fully formed.

Myss darted a glance at “Salaar,” then launched himself upward and landed on the grand chandelier in the center of the hall, looking down over everything from above.

“The place where the magic is most stable is here, though maybe that’s just because there are so few people…”

Tass sounded uncertain.

“No. It’s here.”

Myss’s dilated pupils locked onto the figure below—

He didn’t see the large golden retriever Magibase on Iver. He only saw the ominous “endpoint.”

Myss tightened his grip on the swaying chandelier while the black gauze drifted around him like a jellyfish.

Before now, they had already been in close contact with Iver several times. Yet Myss had neither smelled the Abnormal Fruit on him nor seen an “endpoint” on his body.

“Mr. Myss, that is very dangerous.” The thing that looked like Iver said, “I’ve heard you caused quite a disturbance upstairs. If this continues, we may have to consider terminating your contract…”

The beautiful twins also lifted their faces to look at him, the exact same polite concern written on both of them.

Myss gave the chandelier a sharp swing. Under the cover of flashing crystal light, a bolt of black magic shot out.

It pierced clean through “Iver’s” right shoulder. The entire joint was annihilated instantly, and Iver’s right arm smacked onto the floor.

…Did that count as a specimen?

For a second, Myss genuinely wasn’t sure.

The exposed cross-section at the joint revealed smoothly polished hardwood and tiny delicate gears. The gears were coated in fragrant oil and kept turning silently even after being severed.

And beneath the skin lay richly colored soft silk. Seen through the skin, it produced just the right hazy flush of blood.

As “Iver’s” eyes moved, his irises gave off a fine, strange shimmer like butterfly wings. His skin was indistinguishable from that of a living person, yet lacked all the natural imperfections of living flesh. It was more like some kind of flawless gelatinous material.

Rather than a specimen, this thing resembled a meticulously crafted… doll.

And yet what was strange was that Myss could hear a strong, vigorous heartbeat.

That heartbeat was in its left chest, perfectly overlapping with the “endpoint.”

But within only a few seconds, large amounts of blood amber seeped from the wound surface of “Iver’s” shoulder. The fallen arm floated up of its own accord and reattached in the blink of an eye.

The annihilated portion regenerated perfectly. Even the damage to the clothes was restored, without a single extra speck of dust.

All expression vanished from the twins’ faces. Standing one on either side of “Iver,” spikes of blood amber shot out of their palms like awls.

Myss instinctively leapt off the chandelier. The next instant, the female twin flashed to where he had been and thrust her blood-amber spike forward.

At the same time, the male twin charged toward where Myss would land. Myss managed to step off the man’s head and narrowly land behind him, but the other twisted his body in a way almost impossible for a human and sliced open Myss’s back with the spike.

Their movements were elegant and flexible, clearly the result of intensive dance training.

Myss felt the sting across his back, and then a warm current swept over him. The wound healed in the blink of an eye.

The divine power in the surroundings was too dense. Tass’s skin hissed as though drenched in acid, so he had to retreat first into the emerald pendant.

“Hey, I found the Perfected Creation.”

Myss kept the shell fragment active. “It looks exactly like Iver, but it isn’t the Iver we met before.”

“…Very clever.” Snake-Salaar hissed in analysis. “First it used the living-specimen Iver to make us lower our guard, then moved around freely wearing the exact same appearance. If not for your eyes, probably no one could tell them apart.”

Myss grunted in satisfaction and narrowly dodged another strike.

The twins’ speed was almost beyond human. Their blood-amber spikes were condensed with raging divine power, and Myss’s black magic couldn’t shatter them.

“By the way, is it a living specimen?” Snake-Salaar asked softly. “Could Mr. Iver also have a twin?”

“No. That thing is completely artificial. Its skin is made of glue.”

Myss sounded certain. “It hid the Abnormal Fruit in its chest. Watch me carve it out—”

His gaze locked onto the left side of “Iver’s” chest beneath the elaborate formalwear. He identified attacks entirely through the black gauze around him. The moment he caught the slightest opening, Myss slid past the twins like a fish and hurled his entire body at “Iver”—

Buzz!

A golden defensive barrier sprang up at once, locking Myss together with “Iver”—or rather, the Perfected Creation.

Damn it. That was Salaar’s magic!

In shock, Myss glanced toward “Salaar.” The latter stood at the turn of the stairs above, watching without blinking.

…So that’s why he never made a move. The Perfected Creation could use Salaar’s power too!

Without a moment’s hesitation, Myss reached for the “endpoint” of this Divine Realm, the core of the Perfected Creation. If he could get the Abnormal Fruit first, he would win—

Buzz!

Another layer of golden magic flared up, blocking his hand solidly. The magic was weaker than the Salaar in the seal, but much stronger than the body-swapped Salaar. Myss couldn’t break it.

“I can feel my magic—it’s a trap!” Snake-Salaar hissed in alarm. “It didn’t use this move earlier because it was waiting for you to get close!”

Too late. Myss was trapped tight inside the barrier with no way to retreat. “Iver” grabbed him with a backhand and clamped onto his wrist.

“You really are difficult to catch.” The Perfected Creation sighed beautifully, its voice just as pleasant as Iver’s. “Forgive me. I actually hate violence.”

“The End of the World really is a very fine painting. I originally intended to wait until that Perfect Love piece was completed…”

“But the annihilating force in you is far too dangerous, and you cannot be added to my collection… I have no choice but to completely seal you away. It’s truly a great pity…”

It looked at Myss with Iver’s moist gaze. Several dark-red drops of blood amber fell from the corners of its eyes. They landed gently on the floor, glowing with a mellow luster.

In the next moment, they were submerged beneath blood amber appearing out of nowhere. It piled up rapidly, rising past Myss’s shoes.

Myss triggered annihilation magic again, but every bit of it was blocked by the Perfected Creation using “Salaar’s” power. It fought with the same elegance as the twins, as if it were using their abilities too.

But its techniques were stronger, simpler, and carried the pressure unique to divine power.

This thing’s ability wasn’t just pure mental restraint—

“I know your talent is astonishing… Your power can erode my tears.”

“You and Karns are both exceptionally beautiful creations. Before, I acted too hastily and nearly damaged Mr. Karns. This time, I’ll be gentler.”

The Perfected Creation looked toward “Salaar” and sighed softly, clearly still brooding over the failure of its previous attack.

“Once I solidify you, I will add Mr. Karns’s defensive magic. After that, I will simply wait… until you change your mind, until the day you fully recognize me.”

“You can use the abilities of the ‘Perfected.’” Myss completely ignored its rambling. “Even a flawed Perfected like Sa— ‘Karns.’”

“They are my irreplaceable collection, my most precious property. I am merely using what belongs to me.”

The Perfected Creation gave a flawless smile.

“If I were you, I would release Karns’s heart. Surely you don’t intend to make him suffer alongside you?”

Myss laughed. “You misunderstand. Even if he weren’t here, I’d still drag him in to suffer with me.”

“And besides, he’s my property. His body, his heart, even his corpse. Even if he turns into a pile of ash, those ashes are mine.”

“Wow, I’m deeply moved,” snake-Salaar said in a tiny voice. “I’ll return the sentiment right back at you.”

“I’m not your property.” Myss bared his teeth. “You belong to me, and I belong to myself.”

Snake-Salaar: “…Fair enough, I guess. By the way, why haven’t you moved at all? Is everything alright?”

No, everything was not alright. The blood amber inside the barrier was steadily rising, and before long it had passed Myss’s calves.

He tried to move, but it was like standing in thick swamp muck, his feet sucked firmly into place.

“I see.” The Perfected Creation murmured, “How I wish I could collect such perfect love…”

Myss: “?” Whatever. No point arguing with a thing like that.

He deliberately cleared his throat, speaking slowly and clearly. “I get it. You use blood amber to bind human minds, and draw power from their Magibase. You also turn the people you take a fancy to into living specimens, ‘collecting’ the perfect parts of them.”

Now it all made sense. In order to preserve their talents and characteristics, the Perfected Creation left the Magibase intact.

But there was one point Myss still wasn’t entirely sure about—

“Before you seal me, let’s have a perfect ending. Tell me—do those people still count as ‘alive’?”

The Perfected Creation continued to look at him with a gentle, regretful expression, as though it were gazing upon a world-famous painting covered in dust.

“They have been fixed at their most perfect moment. They will never age and never deteriorate.”

The Perfected Creation said softly, “This was their own choice. They accepted my revelation and chose to abandon the greatest flaw in the mortal world.”

“…They personally abandoned life.”

There was satisfaction and joy in its tone.

“Now you’ve heard it.” Myss pulled the emerald pendant from his pocket. “Take your revenge, Dragon Fae.”

The moment those words left his mouth, black magic instantly wrapped around Myss’s feet, annihilating the portions encased within the blood amber.

Snake-Salaar cried out, forcing out his magic with reckless desperation. Below the severed lower legs, a new pair of feet and calves grew back in an instant.

An enraged Tass shot out of the pendant and hurled himself at the golden defensive barrier. Just like on that night long ago, he merged directly into the spell and tore it apart.

Before the crack of shattering had even died, Myss flipped away beautifully, putting distance between himself and that pool of blood amber. Barefoot, he landed on the soft carpet, black gauze drifting around him like a jellyfish.

The twins immediately repositioned themselves in front of the Perfected Creation.

An exhausted Tass landed on Myss’s shoulder, his body covered in wounds, his eyes full of rage.

“It’s not just you who knows how to pull a bluff.”

Myss snorted. Snake-Salaar’s healing was slower than Salaar himself; Myss’s legs still throbbed with a lingering ache.

The Perfected Creation continued to look at him with that same gentle gaze, as if it had never been born with emotions like anger or hatred.

“Using a Dragon Fae’s talent to destroy the barrier—very clever. But how many more days can that Dragon Fae endure?” It shook its head, like an adult reasoning with a petulant child.

As it spoke, more “Perfected” entered the hall.

Myss saw Mr. Anti in formalwear, dissection knife in hand; he saw the real Iver, the one who had invited them; he saw Danton, his movements still slightly stiff, wearing brass knuckles on both hands… all of them had strong and unusual Magibase, their magical power not to be underestimated.

Mr. Anti’s gaze swept over the weakened Dragon Fae, then lowered. Tass let out an angry breath and coughed up a little blood.

“Still haven’t noticed the problem?”

Myss stood proudly in the distance, sounding completely unruffled.

The Perfected Creation replied, “My arrangements have no flaws.”

“No.” Myss said. “One person has not fully obeyed you.”

Then he turned toward “Salaar” on the stairs.

“You saw all of it. I can find it, see through it, and learn its tricks.”

Myss spread his arms wide, a confident smile on his face.

“Next, I only need to build up enough power to break the golden shell you gave it—the shell it made can be broken even by a heavily wounded Dragon Fae.”

“Now answer me. Is a piece of trash like that qualified to seal me?”

The blood amber in “Salaar’s” eyes flickered, but he remained silent.

Myss curled his lip. “Cut the act. I know you too well by now. You were never pinning your hopes on it. You were only using it.”

In a sense, “Salaar” really had acknowledged the Perfected Creation. If the Perfected Creation were truly strong enough to seal him, then “Salaar” would absolutely welcome it.

But if the Perfected Creation wasn’t strong enough, then “Salaar” would reject it without mercy. Myss knew that, because he had seen that same ruthless Salaar over the long course of those three hundred years.

“You’ve seen enough, you bastard.”

Myss hissed the words.

On the stairs, “Salaar” parted his lips and slowly exhaled.

Then he raised both hands and, without the slightest hesitation, drove them straight into his own eyes.

---

The author has something to say:

Other Perfected: I embrace perfection, I belong to the Perfected Creation.

“Salaar”: I embrace perfection, so Perfected Creation, you’d better be absolutely perfect. If you’re not, I’m out.

Myss: LMAO, told you already, I’m the most perfect one. [cat paw]

---

Kinky Thoughts:

In a sense the most perfect one for Salaar.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 46: Return to Owner

…It was Antis’s voice.

Tass immediately held his breath.

“I see you, Tass Ga.” Mr. Anti walked toward him step by step. “I never expected you would cooperate with your assassination target to this extent.”

Tass remained silent. Only when Mr. Anti came all the way up to him and slowly stopped did he force out a voice through clenched teeth from the edge of the box where he had shrunk back. In the darkness, those reddish-brown eyes were both familiar and strange.

“I, too, never expected that you would still care about things like this either.”

Tass huddled tighter into the corner of the box. “I already know it. You aren’t the Antis I knew at all. A few days ago, why did you help me deceive Karns? You could have simply refused.”

He did his best to suppress the unease in his voice. Antis’s Magibase was still there. Maybe… Maybe his heart was still sleeping somewhere, just like Salaar’s.

Mr. Anti glanced at the open letter box. He lowered his eyes, still wearing that hateful smile.

“Because Antis Crosien would help you,” Mr. Anti said evenly.

He bent down as he spoke and raised his lantern, its dim light illuminating Tass’s face.

“In the same way, Antis Crosien is thoughtful. He knows the hiding methods you commonly use. So when he heard that Mr. Myss suddenly wanted to send a letter, he would come to confirm the situation.”

“Antis Crosien once held you in high esteem, and he also disliked gossip. Therefore, he wouldn’t divulge to anyone that you came here to spy.”

“Cut the act. The real Antis Crosien would help me leave this hellhole.”

Tass’s voice turned cold. “Or just make it simple and attack me. Don’t use that face to pretend sincerity. The last time you attacked Karns, weren’t you perfectly decisive?”

“That was the god’s power, not my own devising.” Mr. Anti said, “God dislikes violence. Crude behavior tends to create flaws. The facts prove that the attack couldn’t be called ‘perfect,’ and we are still making up for it.”

“Lord Tass, Dragon Fae constitutions are unusual. Very soon, you will willingly become one of the Perfected. When that time comes, we will be able to become friends again.”

In other words, this investigation of his had no value at all. He would soon die here and wasn’t even worth specifically dealing with.

Tass Ga was so furious he laughed instead. “You’ll regret this.”

“Regret and pain are both steps on the staircase to perfection.” Mr. Anti remained unmoved.

In the end, he pinched Tass by the wing and tossed the half-dead Dragon Fae out of the mail collection room, like throwing away a crumpled scrap of useless paper.

Tass crawled across the stone floor, using the cold marble to dull the pain.

There was no such thing as information with no value in this world. Even if “Flaw” Antis was no longer alive, even if everything had already been decided, he still had to get this information out.

…After all, it was the last message his friend Antis had left behind.

……

Myss couldn’t sleep.

Having lost the familiar body pillow was one thing. Since becoming human, it wasn’t as if he had slept pressed against Salaar every night. But with Salaar’s scent gone from the room, he truly couldn’t get used to it.

He had driven “Salaar” over to the chaise. The chaise wasn’t as large as the double bed, but it was still more comfortable than the single bed at the Hammer Tavern. “Salaar” hadn’t objected and had simply moved there to sleep.

Myss found it all rather dull. If the real Salaar had been here, there would definitely have been a whole battle of sharp tongues over it.

He tossed and turned in bed, while Fork curled up gloomily into a ball. The little snake lay alone on the pillow, flicking its tongue weakly again and again. It clearly had no intention of sleeping.

Forget it. Myss sat up and jumped off the bed in displeasure. He walked over to the chaise and looked down at the sleeping “Salaar.”

Moonlight like white gauze covered everything, making even the sharpest blade seem soft. Just as snake-Salaar had said, when those blood-amber eyes were closed, the sense of wrongness did weaken somewhat.

But Myss still thought something looked off no matter how he stared.

He unfocussed his pupils and glared viciously at the blood amber beneath those eyelids.

Just like the boundary of the Divine Realm, that pair of blood-amber eyes was only a tiny fragment of some enormous spell, and Myss couldn’t find a way to break it. But he didn’t give up. He kept staring stubbornly, as though through that body he might still somehow locate that heart.

Myss loathed this sense of powerlessness.

He could annihilate things that displeased him, yet he couldn’t piece an incomplete Salaar back together. He could see the “endpoint” of magic, but only on the condition that the magic wasn’t too vast, and that the caster wasn’t far stronger than he was.

With too much power concentrated in his eyes, a burst of soreness welled up in his sockets, and something warm spilled out. Myss rubbed it with the back of his hand and held it under his nose.

It was blood.

Damn it. If he kept using brute force this thoughtlessly, he would only injure his own eyes. Myss grabbed one corner of “Salaar’s” blanket and rubbed his face clean. He had to find a way. He couldn’t just go blind every time he ran into giant spells… He had to grasp the whole picture…

He turned his black magic into thin threads, then copied the Perfected Creation’s method, weaving them into a net. Myss closed his eyes and let them extend outward along the currents of magic, feeling every tiny shift in the flow.

If he couldn’t see the whole picture, then he would let his magic calculate for him.

The Archdemon’s first attempt was clumsy and chaotic. Splitting his focus in so many ways, the fine threads of his power couldn’t keep up with the complex, disorderly turbulence of magic. His magic resembled loose strands of thread scattered by a current; the black net sagged and collapsed time and again.

After several hours of work, he finally stitched together a crude version. The black net floated in midair along invisible magical currents. It was too small and uneven, barely able to hold its shape.

Still, even clumsy, rough calculations let him touch more of it… Hm?

A stray magical force suddenly disrupted the flow, sending a tremor through his net. It was extremely close to the room. Myss sprang to his feet at once and ran for the door.

At the bend in the corridor, he found the badly injured Tass Ga.

“What the hell, so it isn’t Salaar.”

Myss picked up the half-unconscious Dragon Fae and sighed.

For a moment, he had thought that bastard had somehow escaped.

Once back in the room, Myss locked himself inside the bathroom again. He threw Tass Ga into a pendant set with a large emerald, then eagerly connected the communicator shell fragment.

“What is it?” snake-Salaar’s sleepy voice came through.

“What else would it be? Obviously something important.” Myss said sternly. “I spent the whole night thinking about important matters, and you slept peacefully through it.”

“Isn’t that because I trust you?” Salaar hissed in reply. “Let me guess, Tass came back early?”

“Exactly.” Myss shook the pendant. “Come on, last meeting before the plan.”

The Dragon Fae had only been warming himself inside the gem for a few minutes before he impatiently came back out and described everything he had experienced in painstaking detail.

“V.O.R. most likely did reply. He doesn’t need to use the official channels to send replies, so it’s normal that there’s no record.”

Snake-Salaar cut straight to the point. “Antis’s pleas for help were sent over a concentrated period, and he didn’t ask you for help. Considering your areas of expertise… I suspect he was trying to save someone, and that person didn’t have much time left.”

Tass frowned. “Save someone? It could also be that he himself got sick and didn’t want me to know.”

“The last letter he sent you was full of hope. Then after that he shifted directly to requests for help. If it were he himself who needed treatment, he should have sought doctors, not gone straight to scholars.”

Salaar said, “Besides, in your eyes, is Antis the kind of person so afraid of death that he’d resort to anything?”

Tass was silent for a few seconds. “No.”

“He was in his prime, healthy, smart, capable, and didn’t have obsessions over wealth or status. If V.O.R. managed to mislead him, the most likely reason is that he was trying to save someone,” Salaar said.

“But he was turned into a living specimen, and there was no Abnormal Fruit on him. Otherwise I would have noticed long ago.” Myss interrupted, “There’s no point obsessing over his situation. Maybe V.O.R. gave the Abnormal Fruit to the person he was trying to save.”

But among the people who had dealings with Mr. Antis, the only one they had encountered was Iver, and Iver had no Abnormal Fruit scent either.

Myss hissed in frustration as though he had a toothache.

This was troublesome. He couldn’t exactly go around grabbing everyone and sniffing them one by one.

No wonder Mr. Anti had let the Dragon Fae come back. Even if they knew who “Flaw” was, this lead had already lost its usefulness.

Snake-Salaar also fell silent. Even through the shell fragment device, Myss could hear the tiny sounds of him thinking. Unfortunately, a snake brain was only so useful, and Salaar never spoke again in the end.

Sure enough, it was still better to snatch Salaar’s heart back first, Myss thought seriously.

“All right, go to sleep quickly. Tomorrow you absolutely cannot mess this up.” Myss ordered, “Once I rescue you, we’ll think of something else.”

After settling Tass, Myss slowly climbed back into bed. He glanced sideways at the sleeping “Salaar,” and suddenly came up with another idea.

“Hey, Dragon Fae.” Myss tapped the pendant. “I’ve got a new thought. Listen carefully…”

By the time Myss finished whispering out his orders, the sky outside had already started to brighten. Whether because the call had satisfied him or because weaving the black net had worn him out, Myss soon fell deeply asleep.

The next day was beautiful, the world beyond the tall windows washed in flawless blue.

As usual, “Salaar” had breakfast brought to the room, and it once again included raspberry cream pancakes, Myss’s favorite.

Myss turned his face away and refused to eat. Salaar’s scent was wrong, and because of that, even the pancakes he offered had changed flavor.

“If you want the old atmosphere, I can fight you over them too,” “Salaar” said.

Myss coolly peeled a boiled egg. “Boring. I’m not that childish.”

“Your hair has come loose again. I’ll braid it for you.”

“Salaar’s” gaze shifted to Myss’s lapis-lazuli ribbon. Myss’s hair was in a mess, and the ribbon had been tied on crookedly and badly.

“No. I can tie it myself.” It looked ugly, but it was tied on, wasn’t it? Myss leaned back to make sure “Salaar” couldn’t reach him.

“I told you, I am not being controlled by the Perfected Creation. There’s no need for you to be this wary.” “Salaar” said calmly, “My hostility and my thoughts are both parts of the ‘Salaar’ you know.”

“By your logic, shit used to be part of cake too. Yet I don’t see anyone eating shit for breakfast.”

Myss crumbled the egg yolk and fed it to the mewing cats.

“Salaar” froze for a few seconds, then let out a sigh. “If my heart were still here, I think I would laugh.”

“But it isn’t, and that’s exactly the problem.” Myss snorted. “By the way, your painting is boring too.”

That said, after breakfast, Myss obediently followed “Salaar” to the workroom.

The work area was quiet.

Perfect weather, perfect atmosphere, perfect employees all creating depictions of “perfect love.” After several days, everyone’s work had begun to take shape.

Some painted family members, friends, or pets. Others sketched history, myth, and even legend. On one canvas, Myss found Saint Salaar himself, of course in the original golden haired, blue-eyed version.

The most common theme was love.

First love between youths, beautiful lovers in their prime, happy families, every possible gender combination. One particularly bold painter was openly painting two unclothed lovers absorbed in intimacy.

Myss’s red eyes swept over it all quickly. It all felt the same, as dull as the portrait “Salaar” was painting. Compared to this, he was beginning to miss “The End of the World.”

But this boring everything would soon come to an end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Myss watched the clock on the wall. The tick-tick of the second hand kept time with his heartbeat as the hour hand slowly edged toward nine.

…Here it comes!

A scream suddenly rose from downstairs, followed by a great crash of overturned objects. Myss shoved the model’s chair aside and bolted out of the studio.

The cats had gone ahead to make contact, so this time none were in front of him. The employees, assuming he was about to have another outburst, all stood up and prepared to block his way back. However—

“Meow—!”

Miss Claws led hundreds of cats charging in, shrieking at the top of their lungs. Sharp claws tore straight through one canvas.

Its owner let out a scream as though the claws had ripped into his own skin. He rushed at his painting in a frenzy, his lips trembling and his face gray.

“This was—this was my most perfect draft.” He repeated it as though possessed. “What if I can never paint it again… my best work…”

The cats hardly cared.

The entrance to the work area seemed to have turned into a floodgate, with a furry torrent pouring through. The employees had no time to stop Myss anymore. They threw themselves desperately at their work.

Unfortunately, they could protect the canvases, but not their torn clothing or their raked hair. Countless cat paws stamped through the paint and trampled mercilessly over everything.

Miss Claws jumped onto Myss’s shoulder, while Cinnamon ran to his feet. “Meow meow—mew mew!”

“Their numbers are still intact for now. A dozen or so cats have been trapped by magic.”

Father Kalen’s voice came from the shell fragment as he translated. “As expected, with others watching, the Red Amber’s employees care about appearances and don’t dare kill. After all, cats aren’t dogs. It’s nearly impossible for them to inflict a fatal injury.”

“Looks like the Perfected Creation’s Divine Realm isn’t perfect after all.”

Myss leapt onto a low cabinet through the chaos and pulled a face at “Salaar.”

“…See? They didn’t prepare any defensive plan for ‘what if hundreds of cats charge in at once.’”

With that, he threw a black net straight at “Salaar’s” face, then ran off without looking back.

At that moment, the first through fourth floors were in utter turmoil. Fur and claws flew everywhere, and the sharp cries of cats rose and fell one after another. They were burrowing into every corner they could squeeze into and yowling at full volume.

“Meow—meow—mew mew mew! That’s the nearest sound to me.”

The shell fragment switched over to snake-Salaar’s communication, and Salaar imitated the cats’ cries in a tiny voice.

Miss Claws: “Meow meow mew!”

“The southeast corner of the fourth floor, higher up.”

The shell fragment switched back to Father Kalen’s connection. “Please send more cats to that area, Miss Claws.”

“Meow!”

Miss Claws dashed off. With Cinnamon, Myss sprinted toward the southeast corner of the fourth floor, followed by over a hundred cats.

The employees were rooted in place by emotional collapse. Myss ran unhindered all the way there. Whenever anyone still tried to block him, some cat would spring out and shred their hair or clothing.

People’s “perfection” burst apart like bubbles. The Archdemon ran over endless chaos and wailing, while the claw-marked corridor flew behind him.

In his eyes there was only the staircase ahead. He never looked back once.

At last, three hundred cats converged successfully, packing the southeast corner of the fourth floor so tightly that no one could move through.

It was daytime, and the residential area was already sparsely populated. The guards were all stationed at the fifth-floor entrance. Not many employees had come over to catch the cats.

Myss dove straight into the sea of fur. Amid the thunderous purring of the cats, he raised a hand toward the ceiling—

Fork opened its mouth wide and shot out a cannonball-like blast of black magic.

The Archdemon didn’t hold back. The attack punched through the stone floor between the fourth and fifth floors. Broken rock flew everywhere, exposing a small, bottomless hole.

A shrill magical alarm rang through the entire building.

Myss didn’t even look. He flicked a hand, sending Fork straight into the hole. Then he turned toward the enemies before him, his hair swinging through the harsh light.

In front of him stood a fully armed squad of guards, along with “Salaar,” only half a beat behind them.

Hundreds of cats crowded at Myss’s feet, hissing in unison at the opposing side.

“All of you fall back. Leave the rest to me.”

Myss licked his slightly dry lips. Miss Claws let out a mew.

Then Myss crooked a finger at the people opposite him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Surely you’re not going to kill these innocent cats just because they were manipulated, are you?”

Looking at the rapidly withdrawing army of cats, the guards really did hesitate. Only “Salaar” kept his eyes fixed on Myss, the blood amber glimmering faintly within them.

Exactly. He was stalling for time, and he trusted that “Salaar” could guess that much.

But it was too late.

Myss split into a grin and cast a black net over “Salaar.” The other raised a shield instinctively. But Myss didn’t follow up the attack. Instead, he lifted a hand and caught the thing that dropped from the ceiling—

A little snake wrapped around a lump of blood amber.

Inside the amber, another little snake had carved out a sliver of space and was swimming desperately around.

“Salaar” narrowed his eyes.

“Look. Your heart.”

Myss’s tone was that of a victor. “Time for it to be returned to its rightful owner.”

As he spoke, Myss clenched the blood amber tightly. Annihilation magic wound around his fingers, and then he drove a fist into his own lower abdomen.

Blood burst out, a red even more vivid than the blood amber itself. Myss buried the blood amber deep inside his own flesh, hiding it among his organs.

Immediately after, a golden flash appeared. The wound in Myss’s abdomen vanished without a trace, leaving only blood-soaked fabric behind.

At that moment, Myss’s hair was a complete mess. More than half of his white shirt had been dyed red with blood, with an ugly hole ripped through it. Yet he stood there with chest lifted and head high, flaunting everything proudly as though he possessed an entire world.

“I excel at annihilation, and you excel at healing. That’s always been how it is between us.”

Myss licked the blood off his hand. He stood with the sunlight behind him, his eyes frighteningly bright.

“Yes. Your plan was more efficient than I anticipated. I’ll remember that.”

“Salaar’s” expression shifted. He seemed as though he wanted to smile in response but suddenly forgot how. In the end, only those blood-amber eyes clung tightly to Myss, as though evaluating him.

“But don’t forget, I excel at healing too. I could easily cut open your stomach and seize the heart again.”

By the time he finished saying that, only a few cats remained at Myss’s feet. The guards had recovered themselves and cornered him tightly, their encirclement closing in.

“And now, how exactly do you intend to finish this?” “Salaar” stood at the very front of the ring.

Myss felt something subtly strange—“Salaar” hadn’t done everything possible to stop him. Instead, he had been provoking him, almost as if he were curious whether Myss would flip the table and openly turn on the Perfected Creation.

How odd. Did “Salaar” truly intend to keep him trapped here? Or had he even used the Perfected Creation too, merely wanting to test his methods of escape…?

But no matter which goal “Salaar” had, neither one would be fulfilled.

“Who said I wanted to ‘finish’ anything?”

Myss sneered and yanked a jeweled pendant from his pocket.

“Go on, Tass—!”

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The author has something to say:

Returned to its rightful owner—but Myss thinks he’s the owner.

Salaar’s Rationality and Heart: “…?”

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