Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 17: The Informant

Myss was in an excellent mood.

He could now be sure the strange plague in Rosha was Mina’s doing. Mina—whatever her true form was—had mixed crimson magic into certain foods.

Once people ate the tainted food, that wisp of magic began corroding the victim’s mind. In other words, it slowly stripped out the person’s Magibase and devoured it.

In the end, the so-called “meat-cocoon corpse” was nothing more than a candy wrapper after the bonbon was gone, a shell with the kernel missing.

And after the patient died, part of the proliferated magic would contaminate nearby food and repeat the cycle of infection.

Looks like I don’t need to worry about “Mina’s” long-term effects, Myss thought cheerfully.

He had no Magibase, so no matter how much contaminated food he ate, the crimson magic wouldn’t be able to harm him. He only needed to wait for it to dissipate on its own.

As for what Mina actually was, how the memory distortions worked, and how to clean up the mess in front of him… all those fussy little headaches could be left to the great hero.

Right this moment, Salaar was looking down at him from the rooftop.

“You’ve made trouble again,” Salaar sighed.

“And you enabled me,” Myss said.

Salaar smiled, his gaze still locked on Myss. The next second, ignoring the bird-beaked demon just a few paces away, he sprang straight toward Myss.

Salaar’s leap seemed to punch through the sunlight, scattering ten thousand glittering shards of gold.

Those flecks of magic became a rain of gold; wherever the light motes fell, people bowed their heads and sank into sleep.

Except for two—

The bird-beaked demon snapped his cloak, and a dozen crows beat their wings to shield him from the flying motes. Hailey was spared by Salaar; she sat there dumbfounded, watching Salaar lightly land on the ground.

Myss caught a speck of gold on his fingertip and touched it to his tongue.

“Tastes like illusion magic,” he smacked his lips.

“I scrambled their memories. When they wake, they won’t remember you. They’ll just think Barlow disappeared,” Salaar said. “Good thing there weren’t many witnesses.”

“What about the little girl here?” Myss pointed at Hailey.

Salaar shrugged. “Miss Hailey knew you were coming and personally led you here. To make her forget you entirely would take stronger magic… which would damage her mind.”

He explained while keeping a keen eye on the bird-beaked demon.

The bird-beaked demon didn’t attack them; he simply stood there. A huge crow perched on his shoulder, its gray-white nictitating membrane kept blinking repeatedly.

After a brief stillness, the flock of crows plunged to the ground.

Half-full casks were knocked over with a crash, wine gushed across the floor and seeped into the cracks between stones. Cups and plates clattered down, and the food upon them was snatched away by the crows, leaving only filthy scraps.

Myss narrowed his eyes at that pitch-black silhouette.

With that ruckus, the Mina-tainted wine was all spilled. Then the crows spiraled upward, casting a dozen drifting shadows.

As the shadows swept by, the bird-beaked demon vanished into thin air once more.

Hamer had said the rumor claimed the bird-beaked demon appeared twice before a patient.

The first appearance meant the person had fallen ill. The second meant they would sicken and die.

Was it Barlow’s death that summoned him here?

But from Myss’s spur-of-the-moment infection of Barlow to Barlow’s attack and death, the entire process had taken only a few minutes. Salaar had tailed him the whole way, so being on the scene wasn’t strange… the question was how the bird-beaked demon managed to show up in sync.

Myss was still thinking when his view suddenly jolted; someone had grabbed him around the waist.

Salaar tucked him tight under one arm as if the Archdemon was a sack of potatoes. With his left hand he kept casting, gracefully suspending Hailey in midair—the girl was utterly stunned, staring blankly at the two of them.

“Let’s leave here first,” Salaar said flatly.

A dozen minutes later.

Instead of returning to the Hammer Tavern, the three of them found a little restaurant with hardly any patrons—a place so tiny it was almost cramped, bare-bones in its decor, with a faint smell of cow dung in the air.

The menu offered only boiled turnips, baked potatoes, and cornbread with crumbled bacon.

Salaar ordered three steaming baked potatoes, scored crosses in them with a dinner knife, then, as if by magic, produced three pats of butter and tucked them into the potatoes.

“Eat.” He slid one serving to Hailey. “Something hot will help settle you.”

Hailey gripped her fork mechanically and jabbed at the potato, nearly sending it flying.

“Barlow is dead.” After a long while, she managed to stammer out the words.

Myss forked a potato cheerfully. “You said you wished he were dead.”

“I, I…” Hailey looked both confused and heartsick. “He deserved it, but…”

“You told Myss about Barlow, and then he killed Barlow. You feel like you have blood on your hands, don’t you?”

Salaar’s voice was gentle and even. “Miss Hailey, you aren’t pitying Barlow; you just aren’t used to the weight of a life yet. Believe me, this isn’t your problem at all…”

He glanced at Myss as naturally as breathing. “…It’s entirely Myss’s fault.”

Myss: “?”

“Mr. Myss isn’t a saint. If he makes up his mind to kill, he will act. From what I know of him, even if he hadn’t met you, he would have picked some ‘bad guy’ to kill anyway.”

Salaar’s tone was rock-solid, as if he had eavesdropped on Myss’s very thoughts.

“Child, you actually did a good thing—you picked the one who most deserved to die, didn’t you?”

Myss: “Hello? I’m right here listening.”

Though to be fair, Salaar wasn’t wrong.

Hailey’s confusion turned into bewilderment. She looked from Salaar to Myss. “But Mr. Myss…”

“In fact, we’re secret investigators from the capital, assigned to handle the Lower City plague.”

Salaar lowered his voice and gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Four investigators died of the illness in just two months. Clearly something is off, so we’ve kept our identities hidden.”

Then he tapped his own temple, his tone a shade suggestive. “As for Myss, he’s a professional executioner. It’s just that up here… Well… He’s been overly influenced by the bards, so his notion of ‘evil’ is a bit extreme.”

At the words “secret investigators”, color finally returned to Hailey’s face.

So they were experts sent from above; no wonder they had dared to use Barlow to study the illness. She peeked at Myss out of the corner of her eye. “Th-then, if I hadn’t mentioned Barlow…”

“Myss might have randomly killed some unlucky thief.” Salaar gave her a smile.

“May I tell my uncle about you two?” Hailey asked, still a little rattled.

“Of course. As your guardian, Mr. Huey has a right to know.” Salaar’s smile remained unchanged.

At last, Hailey let out a long breath, as if she could breathe again.

……

Night, second floor of the Hammer Tavern.

“What if Huey tries to verify our identities?” Myss challenged.

He normally couldn’t be bothered with this kind of nonsense, but the Magibase Summoning Ritual was about to begin. If anything went wrong at this critical moment, he would have to swallow Salaar alive.

“He won’t.”

Salaar was still fiddling with his charcoal pencil. “From his point of view, we only just arrived. We can’t possibly be the ones spreading the plague.”

“Officially we are secret investigators. If Huey asked the soldiers to confirm it, he would be deliberately exposing us. He’s not that foolish.”

Myss hugged a pillow and leaned against the headboard. “All that trouble spinning a lie just to fool a little girl…”

Salaar smiled. “Who said it was for her?”

“‘Mr. Myss, the righteous executioner,’ from now on you can only kill the wicked. Otherwise, Huey and Hailey will notice something is off, and the city lord’s soldiers will come knocking at once.”

“And by the way, don’t think about killing those two to silence them. Huey has quite a network, which may include some powerful figures.”

Myss: “……”

Damn it! This kid actually plotted against him!

He didn’t care about human life and death, but he truly didn’t want a fuss. His power was far from restored; if he attracted the wrong sort of attention, trouble would snowball.

“You cunning guy.”

Myss buried his face in the pillow. Three centuries away from the world, and the great hero was still infuriatingly capable.

“Live long enough and you pick up some experience,” Salaar crooned like a bard. “Ah, sorry, I forgot you are much older than I am.”

Rip.

Myss shredded the pillowcase, and a few light tufts of feather drifted out.

Salaar’s gaze swept over the feathers, and his smile faded a touch.

“Alright, business. I saw you ‘infect’ that Barlow with my own eyes. What exactly did you do?”

There it was again. This guy always changed the subject right before Myss was about to explode.

Myss scooted over and turned his back to Salaar. “I thought you weren’t interested in the plague. What was it you said? Border towns are easy to seal off, and the sacrifices are still… manageable.”

Salaar’s face remained expressionless. “Fine, I won’t ask.”

He bent his head; the pen tip hissed across the page. Night deepened, and the room slowly filled with shadow.

Ten minutes passed. Myss rolled over. “You really aren’t going to ask?”

The Demon Lord considered his new discovery quite brilliant. But if Salaar wouldn’t ask, he could hardly sidle over and interview himself.

“I’m not the kind of man who pesters others,” Salaar said evenly.

Myss grunted for a while. “What if it has to do with ‘Patience’?”

Salaar’s tone turned theatrical. “Wow, sounds like a big discovery!”

Then he fell silent again.

Feeling aggrieved, Myss climbed off the bed and planted himself in front of Salaar. He cast his not-so-large shadow over the damned guy, every pore of his body broadcasting, “Ask me!”

“Pfft. On second thought, it really might have something to do with ‘Patience.’”

Salaar nearly burst out laughing.

“Those lines in the letters, like ‘Mom sends her regards,’ could be Mina’s doing. Your clues are extremely important, so please share them with me.”

That was more like it. Myss put on a stern face and began explaining the plague’s transmission mechanism.

He even stated with authority that the two of them had been infected on the same day—Salaar by eating tainted croutons, and Myss by eating food at Covington’s death scene.

“In short, Mina cuts the Magibase out of the infected, which causes the magic to mutate. Since we don’t have Magibases, we’re mostly fine,” Myss concluded solemnly.

Salaar lowered his eyes, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Contaminated food causes infection. When a patient dies, the abnormal magic inside them leaks out and contaminates nearby food. But so far, those around the deceased are unharmed…”

“The bird-beaked demon appears when the patient is infected and when the patient dies, which just happen to be the points where ‘contaminated food’ shows up…”

“When Barlow died, the bird-beaked demon destroyed the food and drink nearby…”

“Interesting. That ‘demon’ seems to be preventing transmission.”

Myss raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look pleased.”

“If that thing is tracking the plague out of goodwill… think about it. First Covington, then Barlow. To him, you’re the most dangerous person in the entire city.”

Salaar gave Myss a long, gloomy look and let out a heavy sigh.

“He doesn’t know our ‘secret investigator’ cover story. He might blow this wide open.”

…

At the same time, in Rosha’s Council Hall.

“My lord, someone outside claims to have information about the plague.”

“Tell him to come back tomorrow. Look at the time. It’s probably some vagrant angling for the bounty…”

“No, my lord. He calls himself a priest of the ‘Order of Shadows’.”

---

The author has something to say:

The first named sect has appeared!

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 16: Pathology of the Mutation

The croutons were still in their original paper bag; a small portion had been eaten by Salaar.

Myss suddenly thought of the two bowls of cranberry soup that Salaar had knocked over not long ago. Mina might have used the same trick: the person who gave him the croutons was actually someone else, and she simply replaced that person’s image with “Mina”.

Thinking it over, every time Mina appeared there was food nearby. Even if there wasn’t, she would remind them to eat.

Could it be that “Mina” needed to use food to influence others?

It wouldn’t be hard to test. He still had croutons in hand. He only needed to find a human to try them on.

Hailey… Hmm, not Hailey. The girl is still somewhat useful.

What about the supervisor? No. He had already swallowed his pride to wear this outfit. If it affected the Summoning Ritual, that would be shooting himself in the foot. And Myss was certain Salaar would give him trouble.

Then—

“Is there any scum around here, the kind you would gladly see dead?” Myss asked Hailey.

Hailey froze for a few seconds. “You always like to ask very particular questions.”

“Is there or not?” Myss repeated.

“If I have to name someone, it would be Barlow the Cripple.”

Hailey still answered. She tightened her too-youthful face, her eyes full of contempt. “Barlow is a pervert who likes children. Several of my friends—boys and girls alike—were molested by him when they were little.”

“Two street kids also died at his hands. He said they broke into his house to steal and he accidentally strangled them. My uncle was furious. Those two were always well-behaved, and Barlow’s house had nothing but a pile of rotten straw! Pah, everyone knows what really happened.”

As she spoke, she grew more emotional. The long-tailed chickadee on her head fluffed its feathers and grew even rounder.

As usual, Myss let her words go in one ear and out the other. His mind sifted out only one piece of information: it didn’t matter if Barlow died.

“Where’s Barlow?” Myss asked.

Even Hailey, slow on the uptake, sensed the problem. “Are you planning to…?”

“Where’s Barlow?” Myss ignored her question.

“Sir, Barlow is a big man, and he’s always drunk.” Hailey was a little frightened. “The soldiers don’t really care about disputes in the Lower City. You’d better not provoke him.”

“Mm,” Myss said. “Tell me where Barlow is.”

……

When she realized Myss was set on finding Barlow, Hailey still told him the place. Out of a certain stubbornness, she also insisted on coming along.

“The streets in the Lower City are a mess. You’ll definitely get lost if you go alone. That would be dangerous,” she said with a strained smile. “And there are people there you can’t afford to provoke. You are not yet familiar with Rosha…”

Her fingers twisted the hem of her clothes. She seemed to regret having brought up Barlow at all.

Naturally, Myss couldn’t care less about such details.

While Salaar was away, Myss changed out of the cumbersome costume and back into a practical ranger outfit. Seeing that he carried no weapon, Hailey quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

She still didn’t quite understand why Myss brought along that half bag of croutons.

The Lower City wasn’t very large, yet Myss felt as if they had walked for a long time.

As they went deeper, the buildings on both sides of the road lost their color and turned withered and dilapidated. They looked more like the remains of houses than actual houses.

Many doors and windows had been nailed shut with boards. Hailey told him there were corpses of the victims that died from the “strange disease”. Those eerie bodies hung suspended in midair, and not even mages could remove them, so the soldiers had boarded the places up.

Further in, even the cover of buildings disappeared.

Most of the walls had collapsed, and the roofs were half gone. The living and the dead lay together by the roadside, and those bizarre meat cocoons hung brazenly in the sunlight.

Myss was strikingly handsome, and Hailey was young. The two of them drew every eye in that filthy neighborhood. Many damp, greasy stares clung to their heels, trying to trip them up with sheer attention.

Amid the malicious whispers, Hailey held her breath and walked close to Myss.

Fortunately, their destination wasn’t far ahead. There was a tavern here as well. There was no signboard, no servers, and only grimy casks and swill full of dead flies.

Compared with the Hammer Tavern, this was at best a “watering trough”. The air reeked of sweat and urine. Even so, the men gulped their liquor and laughed hoarsely.

Myss stopped.

The men in the tavern naturally noticed them. Whistles sounded again, interspersed with filthy greetings.

“All right, before it gets dark, let us go back,” Hailey whispered, sneaking a look at Myss’s face. “I-I know you want to punish Barlow. But you see how it is around here…”

“Which one is Barlow?” Myss asked the drunks.

Another shrill whistle, and the drunks roared with laughter.

“Ha ha, Barlow, your little sweetheart is looking for you.”

“Did you change your tastes? These two are too old for you.”

“That pretty boy looks like that, so what if he is older—”

“Who?” Amid the laughter, a hulking man with bloodshot eyes swayed to his feet and squinted at Myss. “Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

Myss sprang like a leopard. In an instant he landed in front of Barlow and shoved a fistful of croutons into his mouth.

The tavern fell silent. No one moved.

They didn’t know whether to marvel at Myss’s skill or to be baffled by his inexplicable act. Yet when they saw Myss lift Barlow like a chicken, they wisely kept quiet.

Myss was under one meter eighty, while Barlow was close to one meter ninety, yet he was able to grab the front of Barlow’s shirt with ease and hauled him up into the air.

Barlow instinctively swallowed the croutons.

Myss: “How do you feel?”

Barlow: “……” How should he feel? Was the stuff poisoned?

Seeing that Barlow showed no particular reaction, Myss grunted and focused on observing his Magibase.

Barlow’s Magibase was hidden on the right side of his chest, symmetrical to the heart, though the sizes didn’t really match. Judging by the shape, it seemed to be a fly.

Myss was more focused than he had ever been. He felt carefully for the fly buried in flesh and finally sensed a faint wrongness.

Barlow’s Magibase was a little loose.

Myss had noticed that for both him and Salaar, their magic and their flesh were completely integrated, like milk and flour baked into a cake.

Other humans were more like sandwich cookies. The “Magibase filling” and the “body cookie” had fused to a degree yet could still be separated in the end.

A similar situation was appearing on Barlow.

A pale red filament of magic slipped out of the croutons. It bored into Barlow’s flesh, delicately breaking the points of adhesion and trying to slice the Magibase away in one piece.

Unfortunately, it was far too feeble, so the process crawled along. What if he sped it up?

Myss split off a trace of pitch-black magic, turned it into hundreds of fine threads, and sent them into Barlow’s mouth and nose.

At once, patches of pitch-black necrosis bloomed around Barlow’s mouth and nostrils, and a blackened half of his tongue dropped out. Myss’s magic didn’t devour him outright, but the slow corrosion looked even more terrifying, as if an invisible swarm of insects were gnawing him alive.

Barlow let out a scream no living thing should make and thrash frantically. However, Myss’s grip was like an iron clamp. No matter how Barlow jerked and writhed, Myss’s arm didn’t even tremble.

It was his first time controlling his strength like this, and he wasn’t very practiced at suppressing the annihilating power. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Barlow stayed alive.

His pitch-black magic had already reached the Magibase. Myss mimicked that pale red filament and quickly severed the connections between Barlow and the Magibase.

All at once the air filled with the smell of baked flatbread. As the cutting went on, the aroma grew stronger.

“Bastard, stop,” Myss heard the Magibase fly buzz in a wail. “No, no… Mommy, it hurts…”

With the keening, the pale red filament became strangely active.

No sooner had Myss cut the last connection than the pale red thread sprang up, wrapped the Magibase fly completely, and writhed without stopping. In a few seconds the Magibase was gone without a trace.

At the same time the smell of baked flatbread vanished too, leaving only a faint aftertaste.

The pale red filament stretched out again and multiplied into a dozen or so threads. Three or four snaked out of Barlow’s mouth and crawled into a nearby cask, while the rest disappeared into thin air.

The pale red magic was too weak. Myss’s power hadn’t yet recovered. He focused for quite a while and still couldn’t make out where the vanished magic had gone.

Before he knew it, only dead silence remained around him. Myss finally pulled his attention back to the present.

Barlow in his hand had mutated.

He had gone still and was floating in midair, turned into a strange meat cocoon identical to Covington’s. Black traces of Myss’s corrosive magic still marred his skin.

From the moment Myss hauled Barlow up, only two minutes had passed.

Myss shifted his gaze, and the corrosion marks spread with speed. In a single instant the cocoon turned jet black from top to bottom and was annihilated before everyone’s eyes.

There were no screams and no commotion. People were so shocked by this nightmarish development that they hardly dared breathe.

Beside Myss, Hailey had fallen to the floor.

The girl’s lips trembled; her expression caught between terror and daze. Instinct told her to run, yet she tried to convince herself that “Myss is not a bad person,” so she froze in place in miserable awkwardness.

Clatter. The tavern keeper’s ladle hit the floor, like a thunderclap.

Myss blinked and flexed his wrist.

“This is… truly interesting.”

His voice was soft, yet very clear. “Don’t you think so?”

As he spoke, he lifted his head and looked toward the broken roof not far away.

Two figures were standing there.

One of them was Salaar, as expected.

Myss knew this old adversary. Salaar wasn’t someone you could simply shake off. Not long after they left the inn, he had followed in silence.

Before using Barlow as a test case, Myss had specifically checked for Salaar’s presence. Since the great hero didn’t plan to heroically save the wretch, that meant he had tacitly agreed to help clean up afterward.

Salaar looked at Myss in silence, his expression dark and unreadable.

The other figure was the bird-beaked demon. He stood just as quietly, his beak turned toward where Barlow had been.

A crow alighted at his feet and gave a soft caw.

---

The author has something to say:

Don’t expect too much humanity from Myss.

He is, in every sense, a pure nonhuman, not some misunderstood good guy. Salaar’s hostility towards him is justified; the title “archenemies” isn’t a joke…

In short, this is something Mr. Hero will have to resolve personally.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 15: Croutons

“Three gold rings.”

At the very first glance at Myss, the person in charge jumped straight to discussing compensation.

To prepare for the Magibase Summoning Ritual, people had cleared out the best inn in the Lower City and turned it into a temporary workplace. It wasn’t far from the church, and outside the window one could see the vine-covered spire.

Myss stared at that spire in a daze and began to question his life choices—to investigate the Summoning Ritual, did he really have to go this far?

The so-called “Pure Soul” was essentially the ritual’s mascot, a role filled each year by a beautiful young person.

The role required no lines. He only needed to put on traditional clothing, keep a smile the whole time, and scatter white rose petals over the children at the end of the ritual.

He, smiling, children, those damned white rose petals.

Myss felt those words should never appear in the same sentence. However heartless Salaar might be, he should at least put a stop to something as absurd as an “Archdemon blessing humans”.

As it turned out, Mr. Salaar truly hadn’t a shred of conscience. He was working hard not to laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Four gold rings. I assure you my friend is the most suitable person in the entire city for this role.” Salaar actually began to haggle.

The person in charge was a short, plump man with a little mustache. He lifted his pinky, rubbed the tip of his mustache, and sized Salaar up and down.

“Four gold rings plus six silver shields,” he said. “But you have to play a Holy Guard.”

Holy Guards were the other type of ritual mascot. They didn’t actually guard anything. They only needed to stand around the ritual array and provide a symbolic visual effect.

The ritual armor was very form-fitting, so the role had strict requirements for physique, though not for looks, since the guards’ faces would be covered by helmets.

“A pity about that face. If only your demeanor were sunnier,” the person in charge lamented.

“Five gold rings. I checked the going rate,” Salaar didn’t let up. “Believe me, I’m also the most suitable person in the entire city to be a Holy Guard.”

The person in charge put on a critical look, ready to nitpick. Then he realized Salaar wasn’t simply overconfident—

This gentleman had broad shoulders and long legs, with excellent proportions. His muscles were the right thickness, the lines graceful and smooth, like a lithe beast, but not at all bulky.

“All right, five gold rings, not including room and board.”

He deflated. “I’ll take you to sign the contract. Remember to report each morning. You’ll need to train in etiquette beforehand. Don’t think that ‘just standing there’ requires no practice.”

“Also, try on the clothes before you leave. We’ll need to adjust the sizes a little.”

Myss stared at Salaar in shock. The man had bundled the two of them into a package deal in all of five minutes.

“Prime seats to watch the ritual, plus five gold rings. Perfect,” Salaar said with satisfaction. “Come on, let us try on the clothes.”

Myss: “I’m not going.”

“Then we will lose five gold rings of income.”

Salaar announced this solemnly. “Hired carriages are expensive. If funds are short, we’ll have no choice but to leave on horseback. Or worse, walk.”

“We might have to take a longer route and could run into bad weather or bandits. Overnight, you and I would have to squeeze together on alert and keep watch in turns…”

Imagining that scene, Myss clutched his head in agony.

He had modest demands for lodging and food, but he loathed trouble, especially when trouble involved “Salaar”.

In the end he slouched off toward the fitting room.

The “Pure Soul” costume wasn’t all that ostentatious.

It was a dignified, gender-neutral white robe, loose enough to reach almost to Myss’s ankles. There was also a silver circlet decorated with laurel leaves and pearls, and a matching pair of ankle boots.

The slave body was on the slender side, so Myss slipped into the robe easily. His look of utter deadpan despair partially canceled out the inhuman aura and, strangely enough, did lend him a touch of “purity”.

However—

“Smile a little, sir,” said the staff member in charge of costumes. “Your expression is too serious. You’ll scare the children.”

Myss gave him a blank sideways glance.

Salaar, dressed in the Holy Guard armor and idly hooking a helmet with one hand, came over in high spirits to watch. Seeing Myss’s constipated expression, he started laughing again.

“I will teach you a little trick,” he whispered. “…Imagine my death.”

Myss almost immediately thought of the Salaar on the eve of the unsealing, old, sickly, and on his last legs in the dark.

He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth from curving. Only after he smiled did Myss realize he was smiling.

The staffer drew in a quiet breath. “Yes. Yes, sir. Exactly like that. You did very well.”

Salaar was silent for a moment, then shook his head with a smile.

“Now there is only one last thing,” the staffer said cheerfully. “You don’t have fixed lines, but if the children come up to you on their own, you’ll need to interact with them kindly.”

“Here, imagine I’m a child.”

Before Myss could react, he crouched and looked up, putting on a childish tone. “Sir, you look so nice. Can you give me your blessing?”

Myss’s brows twitched. Interact? His only interaction with humans, including Salaar, was destruction.

Now he was supposed to bless… bless…

“May you live,” Myss said stiffly. It was the greatest kindness he could imagine.

Staffer: “……”

Salaar slipped behind the staffer and mouthed, “May you be blessed with outstanding wisdom.”

Myss got it. “You’d better be smart.”

Staffer: “……”

Salaar: “……”

Perhaps Myss was unfamiliar with the language of social niceties. Salaar wiped a hand down his face and decided to change tactics.

He gestured again and mouthed again, “Give his head a gentle pat.”

Myss kept a straight face and reached out. There was a tremendous thump, and the staffer landed on his rear, nearly pressed into the floor.

What was that about? It had certainly not been this over the top when he patted Salaar.

Myss looked to Salaar for a new cue. Salaar let out a long sigh and clapped a hand over his eyes.

The next second he rushed over to help the staffer up. “My friend is a bit hungover and has no sense of his own strength. I apologize on his behalf. Let me buy you a drink later…”

“I am fine,” the staffer waved it off. “Don’t drink for the next few days. Don’t let it interfere with the real work.”

Perhaps it was because Myss’s appearance was too impressive that the kind-hearted man didn’t fire him on the spot.

“Mm, you’re very suitable. This presence is exactly what we want.”

After assessing Myss, the staffer turned to Salaar. “If you dyed your hair blond and made your expression more compassionate, you could even play the real ‘Salaar’.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Salaar replied, after a pause, with sincere courtesy.

“…Unfortunately, I may be the single least suitable person in this city to play ‘Salaar’.”

……

The next few days were peaceful, almost boring.

Rosha had given them a welcome that was hectic and strange, and then everything fell into silence. Over these days the bird-beaked demon vanished, and no one else died of the strange disease.

Even Mina stopped appearing. Their newly formed memories sat intact. The events of a few days ago felt like a dream, a joke of a nightmare.

Myss got up on time each day, ate three meals on schedule, and during ritual practice he fantasized about Salaar’s death.

Once they solved the mystery of the body swap, how should he kill Salaar?

Perhaps he could pierce the man’s heart with his hand and let the warm blood lick his palm. He could also clamp a hand over that hateful mouth and watch Salaar slowly suffocate until his lips turned cold.

What he wanted most, what he looked forward to most, was for everything to return to its rightful track. He would return to his true body in the dark. Salaar would be dragged back to that failing mortal shell and would watch with his eyes wide open as He shattered the seal and restarted the Night Calamity.

Thinking of that last possibility, Myss smiled with particular delight.

Once he got so engrossed in his fantasies that he nearly turned the white rose petals in his hand pitch black. If he scattered a handful on the day of the ritual, they could annihilate every participant in an instant.

Aside from that, practice went very smoothly.

Things went smoothly on Salaar’s side as well.

Training for the Holy Guard was simpler. Myss had to practice smiling, blessing, and scattering petals. Salaar only had to master holding his head high like a warrior.

By midday on the first day Mr. Hero met the standard, and he spent the rest of his time chatting away—

“I’m a little worried about job safety. Has anything ever gone wrong with the Rosha ritual? … Never? That’s really wonderful.”

“I wonder what kind of Magibase the children will summon. Have there ever been unusual ones in past years? … Ah, caterpillars are indeed unusual.”

“Has that court mage always been in charge of Rosha? … More than twenty years? Then he must know everything!”

…

Throughout his inquiries, Salaar always kept his helmet on.

This didn’t surprise Myss. Once that gloomy aura was exposed, anything Salaar asked would feel like it had ulterior motives.

“Would anyone ever summon a Magibase on their own?”

Today Salaar was also pulling people aside to chat, playing the part of a moderately enthusiastic and excessively nervous outsider.

“I mean, a place like Sepanti is strict. Rosha is a bit out of the way. What if someone wanted to dodge the kingdom’s registry and set up a private array to summon…”

“Haha, absolutely impossible.”

The man facing Salaar, the mustached supervisor, burst out laughing. Over these days Salaar had gotten friendly with him.

“The incantation for the Magibase Summoning Ritual is adjusted every year. Without the correct spell, even if Langesia came in person it would not work.”

Myss remembered the name. Langesia was a legendary mage who was still alive, one of the bards’ favorite protagonists.

As for the protagonist the bards favored most of all—

Salaar’s tone carried a frightening reverence. “I see. Managing the ritual must be no easy task. You work even harder than I imagined.”

“All for the children’s future…” the mustached man said modestly.

“Mr. Myss!” Hailey bounced into the room like a chickadee, hugging a bag of croutons.

Then she noticed the supervisor was present and first bowed to him. “Good morning, sir. My uncle sends his regards.”

“I should thank Huey for the introduction. These two are rare talents.”

The mustached man waved a hand, his smile less mercenary than before. “Off you go. There’s lemonade in the kitchen if you are thirsty.”

Hailey thanked him with appropriate gravity, then ran up to Myss. “Heavens, I knew it. You look perfect in that outfit.”

Myss grumbled perfunctory and stared with total focus at the chickadee on her head.

How would a Magibase have to mutate to give off such an enticing aroma? Even if it did mutate, it might still not be enough for a single bite.

Hailey knew nothing of this. She held out the croutons. “These are from your room. My uncle asked me to bring them over. Leave them any longer and they will go bad.”

…Croutons from their room? Right, those were the ones Mina had given him, and he had stuffed them into Salaar’s hands.

The problem was that Myss and Salaar had just cross-checked last night that “Mina” only appeared in their memories. In the daytime, when Myss met her at the cheese stall, Salaar had watched him the whole time yet had not seen Mina. At night Mina brought cranberry soup to the door, and Salaar thought he spoke with her, yet Myss saw only Boss Hammer.

The “bookstore encounter with Mina” was very likely a polluted false memory. The croutons shouldn’t exist.

So, what was this?

---

The author has something to say:

Salaar’s physique was tuned to his former combat habits, so he already had an excellent body.

The Demon Lord simply hadn’t noticed, but eventually he will.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 14: Raw Meat and Roasted Meat

The next second, Salaar resisted by reflex. Using his larger build, he rolled and pinned Myss beneath him.

Myss twisted his body in an unimaginable way and slipped out through the gaps of Salaar’s limbs. Then, he hooked a long leg, plopped down on Salaar’s lower back, and clamped both hands on the back of his neck.

The single wooden bed creaked under the strain, thumping against the floor.

Seeing that Myss wasn’t using offensive magic, Salaar stopped struggling and said helplessly, “What is it now?”

“Don’t move. I need to smell you,” Myss said. “You have picked up a strange scent.”

Salaar: “……”

Salaar: “You could’ve asked for permission.”

“Ah, why would I need your permission?” Myss bared his teeth. “You brought an army to attack me before, and you didn’t ‘ask for permission’.”

Salaar was left momentarily speechless. “Then smell away.”

Myss was satisfied.

He climbed off Salaar’s back, and Salaar obligingly rolled over, lying spread-eagle on the bed in silent resignation. Myss propped himself over him, and with a smug look, buried his head to sniff.

Salaar liked to keep clean. Although they had been out and about most of the day, he hardly smelled of sweat.

His black hair was infused with an herbal fragrance. His collar carried a faint soapy scent. His collarbones and the hollow of his throat exuded a warm “Salaar smell”—like warm amber, sun-dried linen, and a hint of musk.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the scent Myss was after.

Impatient, Myss yanked open Salaar’s shirt and rubbed the tip of his nose over his mortal enemy’s chest. Very soon he found his target—that curious aroma hidden deep within his flesh.

Sure enough, Salaar’s light personal scent was still there, only now there was an added smell of butter cookies. The latter was extremely faint. Rather than something Salaar gave off himself, it was more like something that had accidentally rubbed off on him.

This was it. He had smelled the same aroma on Mina.

Thinking back, that scent was identical to Covington’s, only far weaker than Covington’s.

Just to be safe, Myss tugged Salaar’s shirt open farther. He sniffed hard along the man’s chest and abdomen, then all the way back to his throat and jaw, as if he meant to suck Salaar’s soul out.

His breath pressed close to Salaar’s skin, leaving warm damp traces as it went.

Yes, it was definitely Covington’s scent, Myss judged fairly.

He now strongly suspected that Mina had picked it up from Covington, and that Salaar, after close contact with her, had picked up a little as well.

He closed his eyes and carefully recalled Kai on the carriage, Mina in the bookshop, and the dead Covington… even that bird-beaked demon that radiated a strong scent.

“I understand.”

Myss shifted and rested his chin on Salaar’s chest, naturally treating the man as a cushion.

Salaar covered his eyes with the back of his hand, his expression a little stiff. “If you understand, get off me.”

Myss didn’t move. He shot Salaar a triumphant look. Salaar’s heartbeat sped up, his chest rose and fell without stopping, and Myss’s field of vision trembled lightly with it.

Myss liked this commanding vantage point. It reminded him of the past.

Sadly, the good moment didn’t last. Salaar couldn’t take it anymore and tightened both arms as if to choke Myss to death against his chest. Myss sprang up as if pinched by a clamp and hopped off the bed in a flash.

He straightened his clothes in dissatisfaction. “You should show me some respect. I have made a remarkable discovery.”

“Oh, then would you mind sharing it, Your Illustrious Lord Myss?” Salaar propped himself up and took a few deep breaths.

“I very much mind, actually, but I want to finish the investigation quickly,” Myss said. “Long story short, I seem to be able to smell the scent of ‘magic’.”

Salaar blinked and, rare for him, looked at Myss in confusion. Myss glanced at the cranberry soup on the floor and drew out a long “Mm”.

“If we compare human magic to food—don’t look at me like that; it’s just an analogy—then to me, magic falls into two kinds.”

“One is ‘raw meat’. The smell is very faint. You have to sniff for it on purpose to catch it.”

For example, the vast majority of humans, the faint-smelling Kai, and Salaar, whose scent is a little unripe.

“The other is ‘roasted meat’. Its scent is extremely strong. I suspect it’s caused by a mutation of magic.”

For example, Covington on the verge of death, and the bird-beaked demon while its wounds were healing.

“Mina is an exception. The aroma on her is too superficial and thin. Rather than smelling like roasted meat, she is more like someone who has just eaten barbeque.”

Myss climbed back onto his own bed and did his best to describe to Salaar what was peculiar about Mina and their encounter during the day. By the time he finished with gestures and metaphors, night had just fallen.

Salaar lit the lamp by the bed. The firelight lit up his pensive expression.

“A mutation of magic, is it. Interesting.”

“At present the Magibase is the source of human magic. By your account, Mina seems to have had a hand in Covington’s Magibase.”

Mr. Hero made the call almost at once. “…But how exactly she pulled it off, and whether it’s connected to Covington’s magic mutation, are both still uncertain.”

Thinking of that tempting butter-cookie aroma, Myss swallowed.

It was a shame he didn’t know the cause of the mutation. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have minded getting some for himself to taste.

“Back to the point.” Salaar idly toyed with the charcoal while he doodled on the page. “It seems you are extremely sensitive to magic, and you find this mutated magic very tasty.”

“Since you’re good at sensing magic, I suspect the Magibase looks different in your eyes as well. Earlier you mentioned a ‘strange hamster’, the way you looked at the old carpenter was off too, and you suddenly asked us whether the Magibase can talk…”

“…You can see the Magibase at any time and talk with them, right?”

Myss’s scalp prickled, and he shot back out of stubbornness, “Wrong.”

What’s with this kid? Things were plenty weird. Shouldn’t Salaar keep digging into Mina? How had the topic swerved back to him?

Salaar looked at him with something close to pity. “Heavens, I never imagined you would be this bad at lying.”

Before, he couldn’t read the emotions of a gigantic monster. Now Myss had been stuffed into a human shell, and that shell was flushing red and bristling with wariness right in front of him.

“Fine. Now I know why the old butler turned into mincemeat. You crushed his Magibase hamster.”

Salaar watched Myss’s face and went on ruthlessly.

“Looks like I really don’t have a Magibase. Otherwise, you would have jumped up triumphantly ages ago and waved it over my head as a threat.”

Right on the mark. Myss grabbed the sheets in despair and wrapped himself up like a cocoon.

“Good evening?” Salaar leaned close and knocked on the bundle in mock formality. “Anyone home?”

Myss pulled the blanket tighter. “You should think more about the connection between Mina and that strange disease. I gave you a new lead—”

“And you should put less stock in a bard’s nonsense,” Salaar said. “I don’t know how many bullshit hymns this slave has listened to. Remember this. My target has only ever been you.”

……

Myss slept with his head under the covers all night and was especially listless the next day.

Just last night he had lost his little secret, the way an animal loses the soft fur that hides its skin. Reality turned chilly and left him feeling unsafe.

He admitted it. His head really was stuffed full of hymns—

For slave traders, bards were the cheapest form of appeasement. For a few silver shields those paupers would sing to the slaves for a week, and they might even teach the slaves some new words along the way.

At this moment Myss almost wished Salaar were the legendary great hero.

If that were true, he could easily guess Salaar’s intentions. A great hero would never sit and watch a strange disease spread. He would immediately track Mina down and save Rosha from disaster, instead of…

“The inn’s barbeque is too expensive.”

Salaar sliced the roast beef on his plate. “Back in my day it was at most two copper teeth a piece, with a side of mashed beans. Shall we go stroll around the ritual grounds again today? The skewers over there are more affordable.”

“What about ‘Mina’? If even we were affected, ordinary humans have even less hope of resisting.”

Myss tried to rouse the conscience of Mr. Hero.

“Good morning, child.” Mina—or rather the Mina that existed only in memory—sat at his elbow. “Picky eating is bad for you. You need to finish the chicory in your bowl.”

Myss pointed at her for emphasis. “My memories are still twisted right now.”

Then he pushed the chicory on his plate even farther away.

“Ignore it. She can’t alter our real memories. So far, she has had no effect on the investigation.”

Salaar waggled his table knife. “Eat your chicory. Don’t waste food.”

Annoyed to the point of exasperation, Myss picked up his fork and speared the bitter chicory leaves into his mouth.

He could faintly sense that Mina couldn’t influence them any further.

The two of them were too unusual. They didn’t even have Magibase. She could only wedge herself into the memories of their shell bodies and play at being “mother”, which was pointless anyway.

“What if she keeps following me?” Myss muttered.

Salaar laughed. “Isn’t that better?”

“She targets consciousness rather than flesh. If she actually manages to hurt you, that would be very valuable reference information.”

“Are you insane? She’s tangling with you too.”

Salaar cut another slice of roast. “How perfect! I can be your control sample.”

The silver knife parted the meat, and the cut surface slowly bled. The juices crept across the white porcelain, like a tiny pool of blood.

On the pale red sheen there was a reflection of a lapis-blue eye.

In the next second that eye, through the reflection, caught Myss’s gaze.

It curved slightly. That trace of a smile felt like a curse.

……

They had barely finished breakfast when Hailey came barreling into the inn. Though her nose was still swollen, her smile was dazzling.

“Both of you are here. Perfect. Yesterday Mr. Myss said you wanted to see the Summoning Ritual.”

Hailey tilted her nose up with a “go on, ask me” look.

Salaar played along. “Yes. What about it?”

“My uncle knows of a temporary job that would be perfect for Mr. Myss. If you two are willing, he would be happy to make the introduction.”

Hailey lowered her voice mysteriously. “That way you can not only watch the ritual up close, you can also make a little money.”

Talk about just the pillow he needed when he was about to snooze. Salaar was surprised. “What job is it?”

“Playing the ‘Pure Soul’ that symbolizes love and magic, and bestowing blessings on the children.”

Hailey spoke with longing. “The role has no gender requirement. The applicant only needs to be good-looking and gentle in temperament. Mr. Myss would absolutely be chosen.”

Salaar: “……”

Myss: “?”

---

The author has something to say:

A Demon Lord’s blessing.

How exciting, children! A one-of-a-kind in history.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 13: Strange Happenings

“Anything strange?” Hailey looked even more at a loss. “How could that be? Every year court mages preside over the ritual, and the ritual has never had a problem.”

“All done,” the stall woman cut them off loudly, pointing at the ten bowls of cheese and berries lined up in a row.

“Ten copper teeth a serving, one silver shield buys exactly ten.”

Myss worked hard to scoop up six servings but couldn’t carry any more. He turned to Hailey. “The other four are yours.”

Hailey’s mouth fell open. She was just about to decline when Myss added impatiently, “Take them, and count it as your fee for answering.”

“Wow, thank you. You really are a good person.” “Thank you!”

Hailey and the chickadee cried out together.

So much for getting his hopes up.

Myss had thought he might fish up some key lead, yet in the end they still had to honestly go investigate the ritual. Hugging a big armful of cheese and berries, he turned gloomily toward Salaar.

“…You bought that many, Myss.”

Madam Mina was still there. The moment Myss turned, he saw her at a glance.

She stood precisely between Myss and Salaar, her left arm cradling a brimming basket of candy and croutons, her right hand carrying two bowls of cheese with berries, as if she had been waiting there for him.

Her smile was unusually gentle, with not the least trace of displeasure at being kept waiting.

Myss felt a subtle discomfort.

Seeing Madam Mina again, his mind and body slipped out of alignment for an instant. The feeling was like the brief weightlessness when a horse jolts—his chest swelled, his stomach felt heavy, and he almost wanted to retch.

His mind told him this human wasn’t only rude but a bit abnormal. His body shouted the opposite, that he was looking at the person he trusted most.

Myss only knew a single human, so “the person he trusted most” could only force him to think of Salaar. Feeling this eerie “trust” made his mood even worse.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

“I only wanted to speak with you, child,” she whispered. “I am sorry I upset you. Let us meet again another time.”

“I don’t want to see you again,” Myss said bluntly.

Mina didn’t answer. Smiling, she smoothed her tawny bun, hugged the basket of treats to her chest, and her figure melted into the crowd.

Myss suddenly recalled the first time they met. Back when they were still on the caravan wagons, Mina had been sitting at Kai’s side with a food basket full to the brim in her arms.

What had she and Salaar talked about then? He had slept through most of the journey and hadn’t heard much.

Forget it. Overthinking was pointless. Madam Mina was only a human of no importance; not worth the effort.

……

“Your social skills are beyond my expectations,” Salaar said lightly, reaching out to take the cheese and berries.

Myss darted away, not giving him a single bowl, even though he could barely hold them steady anymore.

The Demon Lord had the air of a fire dragon guarding its eggs. If Salaar dared to snatch his food, he could breathe fire on the spot.

Moved by a certain curiosity, Salaar waited until Myss was distracted, then snatched one bowl with the speed of a duelist. Before Myss could get a curse out, the dessert had gone down Salaar’s throat with a gulp.

“Tastes great.” Salaar licked the berry juice at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be so stingy. You already gave Hailey four bowls.”

Myss raised his brows. “I would rather dump another four into the gutter.”

Salaar: “Either way you can’t finish them. Just pretend I’m the gutter.”

Myss gave him a scornful once-over and started stuffing his mouth on the spot. By the fifth bowl, he had to admit Salaar was right. Human bodies were a nuisance. The feeling of hunger was miserable, and the pain of being overstuffed wasn’t any better.

Before night even fell, Salaar had no choice but to take the indigestion-stricken Demon Lord back to the inn.

It’s not really a big deal, Salaar thought. Nights in the Lower City weren’t suited to going out anyway, and they still had time—

There were several days before the ritual. When the time came, they would go observe the Magic Initiation Ritual and find a way to get the records from ten years ago.

Rosha had fewer than two thousand people. At most thirty to forty children would take part in the ritual, and there wouldn’t be many guardians and staff who had access to it.

That mysterious pen pal had to be among them. At worst, they could go down the list and check one by one.

…Unless the summoning ritual in “Patience’s” letters referred to something else.

Salaar sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the notebook filled with copied letters.

In the glow of the setting sun, he flipped through the pages and reread the letters about Patience. Myss sprawled on his own bed, stretching his limbs and wrestling with the mountain of cheese in his stomach.

Knock, knock. A soft rapping sounded at the door.

Myss heaved himself on the bed with difficulty. “Hey.”

He compressed “Someone is knocking,” “I don’t want to move at all,” and “Go open the door” into a single word.

“Probably food from the inn. I ordered two bowls of cranberry soup. I’ll get it.”

Salaar actually understood. He snapped the notebook shut and walked to the door.

Sure enough, the same kitchen helper from last night was standing there with a tray that had two bowls of cranberry soup on it. They were served in light wooden bowls, the rims garnished with fresh mint leaves.

“Your cranberry soup is here.” Seeing Salaar open the door, she smiled gently. “Does Myss have indigestion? I added extra cranberries. It’ll be good for him.”

Salaar took the tray and stared steadily at the woman before him.

The woman fussed with concern. “If he still feels unwell before bed, try hot apple cider boiled with herbs. Hammer has stocked plenty of herbs. Just tell him.”

“Who are you, exactly?” After a brief daze, Salaar asked bluntly.

“Me? I’m Mina.”

The kitchen helper blinked, and her tone was as if they had known each other for years. “Child, you’re a little strange today. Are you feeling ill?”

Salaar stepped back two paces at once and slammed the door. A golden protective spell flared into place and completely sealed the room.

The two bowls of cranberry soup flipped to the floor with the tray. Deep red soup ran along the wooden boards, resembling blood.

Silence fell outside. The kitchen helper, who called herself Mina, made no response at all.

“What’s wrong with you?” Myss picked up the wooden bowls with a pang. Only a little soup was left inside.

“You didn’t see her?” Salaar kept his eyes fixed on the door.

“Her? The one who brought the soup just now was Hammer,” Myss said in puzzlement. “He said he could also make hot apple cider, gave you a greeting, and left.”

“Then you suddenly slammed the door and even knocked the soup over…”

Salaar’s face was as dark as still water.

He strode back to the bed, grabbed his notebook and a charcoal stick. After a few swift strokes, Salaar held the notebook up. A half-length portrait of a woman had appeared on the page, rendered so realistically it looked like a magical photograph.

In the picture the woman wore an ordinary linen dress, her long hair coiled into a bun at the back. Her brows and eyes were gentle, and a loving smile hovered at the corners of her mouth.

“Tawny hair, brown eyes.”

Salaar pointed at the person in the portrait. “She’s the one I saw at the door. She said her name was Mina. She gave me a feeling…”

He paused for quite a while here.

“She gave me a ‘motherly’ feeling,” he said after a few seconds. “Not the kind of ‘reminds me of my mother’, but the kind of ‘she is my mother’.”

Myss stared hard at the portrait. What a coincidence. He knew the woman in the picture too.

Without a doubt, it was Madam Mina.

Only a few hours ago he had just met this woman. She had been carrying a heap of food then, with a bonnet on her head and a dark apron, more than what the picture showed.

“I don’t have a mother. Try describing it another way,” Myss said, unusually earnest.

Salaar thought for a moment. “My subconscious finds her very kind. I feel relaxed by her side and can trust her unconditionally.”

“She definitely altered my memories. I have extra fragments in my head, scenes where she raised me.”

“If your memories have been changed, how do you know she isn’t your mother?”

The words were barely out when Myss regretted them.

Of course that was nonsense. How could Salaar’s mother still be alive three hundred years later? He kept forgetting how short human lifespans are. Myss sighed inwardly and waited for Salaar’s sarcasm.

But Salaar didn’t answer at once.

For an instant he looked at Myss with a complicated, almost sorrowful gaze. Then the feeling vanished, and only the usual Salaar remained.

“Oh, she didn’t live that long,” he said lightly. “In short, this is very wrong. We didn’t even sense any magical ripples. Which means I may have been affected at an earlier point.”

Myss thought it over. “When the four of us rode the carriage into the city together?”

Salaar drew a deep breath. “Myss, in that carriage it was only you, me, and… uh, Kai…?”

As he spoke, his eyebrows twitched, as if he wasn’t very sure of what he was saying.

Myss fell silent.

He tried to recall the past, and sure enough, more abnormal memories surfaced.

He remembered the child version of “himself” held in Mina’s arms, her embrace warm and soft. He remembered her shielding him from the slave owner’s whip, warm blood dripping onto his skin.

She hid flatbread for him when he was hungry, taught the ignorant boy to read a little at a time, and wove a fine cocoon of motherly love. Not long ago they had been bought together by Lord Kearns.

On the day he was sacrificed, she was locked in the mansion basement, and the corridors echoed with her despairing cries… In the end… They both escaped. They rode a carriage together to Rosha and took rooms on the second floor of the inn. Mina, his most beloved mother Mina…

…As if.

Myss sorted through the memories without a ripple, coolly watching those farces called love, like looking down at two ants touching feelers.

Mina had only tainted the memories of the body belonging to the slave. The part that belonged solely to Myss—the long years in the dark—hadn’t changed in the least.

Compared with such odds and ends, at this very moment Myss was more interested in another discovery.

On the opposite bed, Salaar was still studying the portrait of Mina, when suddenly, Myss lunged forward and shoved Salaar down onto the bed.

---

The author has something to say:

Mina (to Myss): I’m the one you trust most…

Myss: I only know one human, Salaar. Are you sure you want to remind me of him?

Mina (to Myss): I’m the mother who loves you most…

Myss: I don’t have a mother.

Salaar: …

Pure nonhuman, 360-degree defense, cannot be targeted.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 12: Absolute Taboo

Myss sounded completely casual, as if he were asking, “The pears at breakfast were too sour, how about apples instead?”

Salaar rubbed his temple. “Using a human corpse is an absolute taboo.”

“They say it causes magical backlash. The offender drops dead on the spot, and even if someone survives by luck, they won’t live more than a few days.”

“What about the young lord’s live offering?” Myss glanced at him.

Salaar: “That was a demon summoning ritual of his own invention. Come to think of it, ‘Patience’ never shortened demon summoning to just ‘the Summoning Ritual’. I suppose that was to keep it distinct from the ‘Magibase Summoning Ritual’.

“Interesting, I sealed you for not even ten years and the ‘Magibase Summoning Ritual’ appeared.”

Assuming Lord Karns’s memories were correct—

The creator of the “Magibase Summoning Ritual” was unknown. Several scholars published similar theories around the same time, and each faction had its own view on who should count as the founder.

As for why it emerged, some say it was due to the Archdemon’s “whale fall” dispersing magic, while others credit the prosperity that followed the end of the Night Scourge.

In effect, it allowed everyone to use magic, and humanity stepped into the “Age of Magical Enlightenment”.

The topic became increasingly academic, and Myss felt a headache coming on.

“Let us stick to common knowledge,” he said dully, and casually took the tea Salaar had just set to cool.

Salaar nearly sighed in his face. “All right. The basics are simple.”

“First, a Magibase takes the form of an animal, and it is equivalent to a spiritual organ acquired after birth.”

“Second, when a person gets emotional or uses magic, the Magibase becomes highly active.”

“Third, if the Magibase is destroyed, its owner dies with it, so people do everything they can to keep their Magibase hidden.”

Fourth, Magibases aren’t supposed to talk, Myss added quietly to himself.

That did clear up quite a few things.

…No wonder when he crushed Old Aiken’s hamster, Old Aiken exploded along with it.

…No wonder the mage and Covington showed their Magibases at the moment of death. Apparently, the principle is similar to incontinence.

It was a shame that he was too focused on Salaar as he was killing people, that he didn’t pay attention to the bandits, or he would have noticed more.

To be honest, Myss didn’t think humans hid their Magibases very well.

After the old carpenter drew his Magibase back into the back of his hand, Myss looked a few more times. He was certain he could still pull it out of the flesh, quite simply as if yanking a human heart out of a chest cavity.

They couldn’t hide from him. All he had to do was focus to feel that distinctive magical aura.

Thinking of this, Myss couldn’t help running his eyes over Salaar from head to toe again.

Unfortunately, the man truly had no Magibase, so Myss couldn’t pinch at a weak point. Then again, if Salaar did have one, it would certainly be just as annoying as he was.

……

They kept talking intermittently, waiting for the “Resolve to Elope” to wear off.

The hands on the clock moved at an unhurried pace, and the tavern filled up bit by bit. Ruffians and drifters came to kill time, merchants dropped in for a drink on their break, and even some prostitutes came by to sell themselves.

Proprietor Hammer sat rigid behind the counter, muscles taut, and the tavern’s mood was unusually harmonious.

By the time Salaar finished his fourth cup of herbal tea, the effect finally faded.

The two of them were striking in appearance. Without the potion’s cover, glances brushed them like feather tips. A few ruffians were itching to sidle over and chat, but Salaar’s piercing stare drove them off.

It had to be said, the villainous aura of that face was quite effective.

Some people were more polite. An elegant lady came over with a drink and praised Salaar’s eyes. “Such a rare cobalt blue, very much like Karns’s lapis lazuli,” she praised him while edging her body closer to Myss. “…Dear, who is this little lamb? Your younger brother?”

At the second half, Myss frowned. “You people have a remarkably varied range of insults.”

“Perhaps I am a member of House Karns,” Salaar subtly steered the topic aside.

“Heh. As if the Karns would come to a place like this.” The woman smiled with her eyes. “Plenty claim to be Karns bastards. Your eyes are a lot more convincing than theirs.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

Salaar lifted his cup and made a toast in the air, without actually touching her glass. It was a tactful and proper dismissal.

She gave them a sweet smile and glided away. Seeing even she had failed, no one else came over.

“We can skip the potion for now,” Salaar said once she had gone. “It seems this eye color isn’t that rare, and there aren’t many who dare to judge bloodlines.”

Myss remained silent. He still thought gouging out this brat’s eyes would be the simplest solution.

By afternoon they stood in front of the largest building in the Lower City.

It had started as a church of some religion. Later that religion vanished into history, and most of the structure was burned down. During the plague, the city lord repaired it as a temporary hospital for the Lower City.

Now it had changed once more and had become Rosha’s designated venue for the “Magibase Summoning Ritual”.

It’s said that the people of the Upper City chose this site to display their “goodwill and inclusiveness”, while the people of the Lower City generally believe the nobles simply don’t want crowds from the Lower City marching into the Upper City and dirtying their fine neighborhood.

The first Saturday of September was almost here, and the church was nearly ready.

Its crack-veined walls had been newly painted, and the badly damaged spire had been reinforced with magic. The exterior was decorated with laurel branches and silver bells that symbolized blessing, and a long red carpet ran up the stone steps, giving the place a touch of festive atmosphere.

Two long tables stood crosswise by the church doors.

The table on the left was piled with free candies and croutons. The one on the right displayed neat rows of small bones, insect wings, and pig bristles and horsehair tied up with bows. These were free as well for poor children who had brought no offerings. All of the above were provided by court mages who organized the ceremony.

Merchants from the Lower City didn’t want to miss this once-a-year chance either. They set up rings of stalls farther out, selling all manners of offering materials, snacks, and sundries.

Myss looked around with keen interest. As a slave he only had memories of being confined indoors, so all this was new to him.

“Here. Buy whatever you want, and don’t steal anything.” Salaar produced two silver shields in advance. “The last thing we need right now is a commotion.”

Myss: “I’m not stupid.”

As he said it, he kept sneaking looks at a stall where a woman was selling cheese mixed with berries. The portions were served in leaves folded into bowl shapes, bright with reds and greens.

Then he sensed something was amiss. “So you would rather risk letting me buy things on my own than go with me?”

“I’m not your babysitter,” Salaar stated frankly. “I’m also curious what you’ll do.”

Which meant he would be watching Myss every second. Myss gritted his teeth.

Business was brisk at the cheese-and-berries stall. Myss suppressed the urge to scatter the crowd and lined up obediently.

“We meet again, handsome young man.” The woman in front of him turned around.

It was the middle-aged woman from the bookshop. She still carried a faint aroma of food, although this time it smelled less like hot pancakes and more like butter cookies.

Remembering that she had bought the trash called “Brave Salaar”, Myss had no desire to talk to her. He only nodded perfunctorily.

“My daughter has wanted that book for a long time. Thank you for letting me have it,” the woman went on, apparently unable to read his aversion. “She even pestered me to read it to her last night.”

Unfortunate child, Myss thought. So young and already forced to listen to such a lousy story.

“My name is Mina,” the woman, Mina, continued to chatter. “The cheese here is very good. It has a clean, refreshing tang…”

“Oh my, Mr. Myss!” another voice sounded behind him.

This time it was Hailey. The inn girl’s cheeks were rosy, and her nose was still a little swollen.

She was clearly excited, since Myss could see a translucent long-tailed tit above her head.

The fluffy little bird hopped and chirped, “Good person! Good person!”

At last, a well-mannered Magibase. Too bad he was neither good nor human.

Why are you here?” Myss turned his head and decisively ignored Madam Mina.

Hailey said brightly, “My nose was injured. The boss was afraid I would scare customers, so he told me to stay home for now. There are few customers anyway, and the shop isn’t busy.”

Myss: “Oh.”

“By the way, are you here to watch the Summoning Ritual?” Hailey was very enthusiastic.

“Something like that,” Myss replied absently.

A couple more chattering of small talk and the line would move. He would reach the front soon.

“My uncle brings me every year,” Hailey chirped. “The children summon all kinds of Magibases. Last year someone summoned a puppy. It was especially cute.”

Myss watched her for a moment, then a thought struck him. “When did you take part in the Summoning Ritual?”

Hailey was just fifteen. If she had taken part on schedule, her ceremony would have been ten years ago, which would put her in the same session as “Patience”.

“Ten years ago.” Hailey blinked. “As soon as I reached the age, my uncle sent me.”

The tit on her head cocked its head and blinked along with her.

At the same time, the line reached Myss. “How many?” asked the woman selling cheese and berries.

“This much,” Myss said, tossing down a silver shield. His eyes stayed on Hailey. “Were the children in your session all five years old? Was anyone unusual?”

The question didn’t sound like small talk, and Hailey was a bit at a loss. “There were definitely children of other ages.”

“The Upper City is strict about age. In the Lower City people are less particular, so some are registered a year or two late. The oldest in my session was eight, maybe nine. Sorry, I don’t remember very clearly…”

“But there were definitely no adults,” she added briskly.

“Then did anything strange happen?” Myss paused, then asked.

---

The author has something to say:

How they currently see everyone else:

Myss’s view: Hateful Salaar >>>>>> other insignificant humans (regardless of age or gender)

Salaar’s view: Research subject Myss >>>>>> other juniors with a massive generation gap (regardless of age or gender)

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 11: The Summoning Ritual

A middle-aged woman stood at the door, holding a candlestick.

She had a kind face with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, wore a long linen nightdress, and had tawny hair pinned at the back of her head. She carried no weapon, and her presence was no different from an ordinary person.

“We’re fine, thank you for your concern.” Salaar didn’t open the door fully. He stayed in the half-open doorway, giving her a genuine smile. “May I ask who you are?”

Thanks to that brooding face of his, the smile made the woman a little uneasy.

“I help in the tavern kitchen,” she said softly. “I am glad you are fine… By the way, there’s always some light wine and dried figs in the kitchen cupboard. Help yourselves.”

With that, she gave a small nod and hurried away.

Salaar didn’t close the door immediately. Only when a door clicked shut at the far end of the corridor did he close theirs and turn the lock with a snap.

He then lowered the ritual dagger he had been hiding behind his back. In the shadow-draped room, Myss rolled over and smacked his lips in his sleep.

The next day.

At the table, Myss was still drowsy.

There were few patrons at the tavern in the morning, and most of the diners were lodgers from the second floor. The “Resolve to Elope” still had a lingering effect, so few people paid them any attention.

Breakfast was decent. Hammer provided them with crispy fried bacon, black bread that was somewhat soft, and pears that were firm but not tough.

There was only water to drink, served in a round-bellied jug. The surface caught the soft light of morning.

Myss squinted against the glare and gave a huge yawn. “I didn’t dream about anything last night.”

“Humans don’t dream every day,” Salaar said as he buried his head into the thick bacon. “But humans get up every day. You need to get used to that.”

Myss gave a disgruntled “oh.” He secretly infused a little magic into his table knife, which made slicing the bacon easier than cutting butter, although a small portion of the bacon mysteriously evaporated.

“I am practicing magic control,” the Demon Lord announced at once when he noticed Salaar glancing at him hesitantly.

The bacon was a little salty, but the fat was wonderfully flavorful. He glanced at the bright sunshine outside. Fresh air poured in through the window and loosened him up.

Myss suddenly felt that this kind of life wasn’t so bad, although it would be even better if Salaar wasn’t watching him.

Once he shook off his drowsiness, the events of the previous night flooded back to him.

In short, the mysterious pen pal “Patience” had studied demons and summoning rituals, then the bird-beaked demon and the strange illness appeared, and “Patience” cut off contact around the same time.

Unfortunately, there was no definite link between them.

There was one thing Myss couldn’t figure out.

If they were truly connected and “Patience” had botched a summoning ritual ten years ago, why did the bird-beaked demon and the strange illness only appear in the last two months?

Ultimately, what they most ought to investigate was this—

“We need to look for death records from ten years ago,” Salaar said. “‘Patience’ seems to have used the summoning ritual in an attempt to resurrect someone.”

“You don’t want to investigate the disease first?” Myss bit down on his fork in surprise.

They had three leads right under their noses: the summoning ritual, the bird-beaked demon, and the disease. Only the disease was actually killing people, yet the great hero was willing to let it go for now.

Salaar was silent for a few seconds. “If it really is a plague, a small border town like this is easy to seal off, and the losses are still controllable.”

“But if my delay lets you return to your true body, the death toll will multiply a thousandfold.”

“Wow.” Myss sighed. “You hate me that much and you are still willing to talk to me.”

Salaar smiled as he sprinkled some cracked pepper on his bacon. “If you were human, I would make you regret being born into this world.”

“Humans have choices. We can survive without harming the innocent. Some people insist on trampling others, and if they are trampled in return, they brought it on themselves.”

His tone was almost calm. “For those people, I am more than happy to be the one who tramples. As for you…”

Salaar didn’t finish. He stared at Myss, speared a piece of bacon, and chewed in silence.

Myss watched that piece of bacon go. Was this his way of saying he would love to kill me and turn me into bacon?

So he issued a solemn warning. “Listen. I don’t know exactly what I am, but my flesh would definitely poison you.”

Salaar nearly choked on his bacon. He silently gulped down half a jug of water and let out a long sigh.

……

“You want to see coffin orders from ten years ago to find information on someone who died? That’s hard. I didn’t keep any copies.”

The old carpenter frowned and puffed on his pipe. Hammer had sent them to him, and he was the only coffin-maker in the Lower City.

“Is there really no way?” Salaar asked earnestly. “All I remember is that ten years ago my pen pal lost someone important… we truly have been out of touch for too long.”

“You don’t even know where the deceased lived. Best give it up.”

The old carpenter shook his head. “For the Upper City, it’s customary, but the Lower City doesn’t keep track of the dead. Everyone just dumps the bodies into the communal grave. No one bothers with much else.”

“Would the church have records? Requiem rites or something like that?” Salaar asked.

The old carpenter shook his head even harder. “Rosha has plenty of religions. Each has its own believers. There is no way to keep a unified registry.”

“How does that saying go? In this day and age only one number can be trusted, and that is the count of five-year-olds. Not even the royal genealogies are recorded as reliably as the Summoning Rituals.”

Myss: “?”

Salaar: “???”

Did you just say “Summoning Ritual”, just outright?

“What’s with those faces?” The old carpenter looked puzzled. “What, you don’t call it a ‘Summoning Ritual’ where you are from? Then what do you call the ‘Pure Soul Magic Initiation Ritual?”

Myss immediately looked at Salaar. Salaar let out a few awkward grunts. “Maybe it’s a cultural difference. Would you mind describing it?”

“It’s a free initiation for magic. The one every child goes to at five years old. Even the smallest country has it. Only slaves aren’t qualified to attend.”

As he spoke, his gaze turned a shade more sympathetic. “Don’t tell me you two are slaves who escaped from somewhere…”

Half right, Myss thought. He continued to glare at Salaar in reproach. You, kid, have Lord Karns’s memories at least. How do you not know something this important.

Salaar looked like he wanted to smack himself. He kept a straight face and bluffed, “It’s all in the past. Could you tell us about this ‘Pure Soul Magic Initiation Ritual?”

“Of course, of course.” The old carpenter looked them over with pity and tapped his pipe hard.

A faint magical ripple spread out.

A half-transparent red-headed woodpecker emerged from the back of the old man’s hand and gradually solidified. When he saw the bird with the unusually long tail feather, Myss’s pupils widened a little. Wasn’t this the odd thing he had seen before?

Compared with Old Aiken’s hamster and the bandit mage’s weasel, this red-headed woodpecker felt especially real. Salaar stared straight at it, so he clearly saw it too.

“This is the Magibase, the foundation for using magic.”

The old carpenter spoke while the bird hopped merrily about on the back of his hand. “This isn’t innate. You have to summon it with a special ritual, which requires…”

“… personal participation in the rite, chanting an incantation, and offering a sacrifice. The offering is prepared by the individual and must be the essence of a nonhuman species.”

Salaar murmured in a low voice, “A Magibase is a symbol of its owner’s spirit and magic. Its strength correlates directly with the person’s talent and the quality of the offering…”

“You do know quite a bit.” The old carpenter made a gesture, and the woodpecker vanished. Yet in Myss’s eyes it merely returned to being half-transparent.

Only when the old man’s magical fluctuations settled did it give its wings a shake and burrow back into the back of his hand.

“What are you staring at, brat!” Before it went back, it even glared at Myss on purpose.

Wonderful. He had now witnessed a screaming hamster, a foul-mouthed weasel, and an irritable woodpecker. What a kind world this was.

Myss turned to Salaar speechlessly. “Can Magibases talk like people?”

The old carpenter and Salaar shook their heads in unison.

“In theory they are only a kind of totem and have no ability to communicate,” Salaar explained dryly.

“More or less.” The old carpenter chuckled. “The Summoning Ritual takes place every year on the first Saturday of September. You can still attend even if you are over five. It’s coming up in a few days, and the venue is right here in the Lower City. If you need it, you might as well go and take a look.”

Interesting, Myss thought.

He had no Magibase at all, and Salaar clearly didn’t either, yet both of them could use magic normally. As for seeing Magibases and communicating with them…he was undoubtedly a special case.

But he wasn’t some small human to begin with, so he should be a special case. Myss felt perfectly justified.

“The Summoning Ritual ‘Patience’ had done ten years ago may have meant the Magibase summoning ceremony.”

Back at the tavern, Salaar poured himself a cup of herbal tea. “We jumped to conclusions and assumed it had to be a demon summoning ritual.”

Myss regarded him with great gravity.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to hide anything. That young lord only called demon summoning a ‘Summoning Ritual’. He called the Magibase one ‘creating a Magibase’.”

Under Myss’s complicated look, Salaar added, “Yes, Lord Carnes did have knowledge related to Magibases. I just couldn’t tell what was real and what was fantasy on his part, since the whole thing sounds too far-fetched.”

“It wasn’t like this three hundred years ago?” Myss asked.

“At that time Magibases didn’t exist at all. Only very few people had the talent for magic. If you could do it, you could do it. If you couldn’t, you couldn’t.” Salaar pinched the bridge of his nose. “The world has changed a lot.”

Myss let him off for the moment. “All right. I have only one question left. You said the offering must be the essence of a nonhuman species. What exactly is ‘essence’?”

“That’s an alchemical term,” Salaar said. “It actually means body parts from a nonhuman creature. Blood and flesh, bones, scales…things like that. Most people bring livestock offal. Some use dead rats and insect corpses.”

“Oh,” Myss replied in a casual tone. “Then what would happen if you used a human corpse?”

---

The author has something to say:

Mr. Hero: some roundabout, meaningful reflections on life.

Demon Lord: blah blah blah what are you even saying, I’ve turned off my ears off.jpg

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 10: Ominous

Salaar instantly moved.

He pivoted and shot forward like an arrow, slamming hard into the bird-beaked demon. Unable to dodge in time, the demon was carried out of the tavern with Salaar.

The crows burst up after them, wings thundering, cawing without pause.

Even through the night, Salaar’s aura shone like fireflies. Myss ran straight for it, black power gathering to strike.

The beaked demon was pinned to the ground by Salaar when his face snapped toward Myss.

The crows seemed to receive an order. They beat their wings and flung themselves at Myss’s face with reckless abandonment. Myss hesitated for a heartbeat, and the demon used the chance to slip free of Salaar and spring back to a safe distance.

Thrown off, Salaar’s face turned grave. He lowered his center of gravity and set himself to defend.

“Ominous…”

The beak of the “demon” pointed at Myss, and a muffled voice seeped from the mask.

You dress like that and have the nerve to call me ominous?

Since Salaar was unharmed, this guy had to be taken alive. Myss broke off a piece of iron railing and whipped it at the “demon’s” right leg.

Relying on three centuries of tacit understanding through mutual brawling, Salaar lunged for the bird-beaked demon at almost the same instant. Caught between the two, the “demon” reacted a beat too slow, and the iron rod punched straight through his shinbone.

Salaar’s hand pressed for the back of the demon’s neck and was about to pin him again when—

“Don’t go over there!” Myss snapped.

Salaar abruptly stopped, as if that shout had hit a pause button.

Every hair on Myss’s body stood on end as he fixed on the bird-beaked demon. A wildly wrong aura burst from the man, like a fragrance made too rich, already edging into stench.

Sure enough, the bird-beaked demon yanked the iron bar out in one clean pull, flinging a spray of blood. The ghastly hole sealed over in an instant, and he stood up as if nothing had happened.

That wasn’t Salaar’s healing magic. It was something more primitive, akin to an earthworm dividing or a salamander regenerating—a power drawn from the body itself.

…Is this guy truly human? Myss was not sure.

The bird-beaked demon turned toward Myss again, and Myss could feel the scrutiny behind the mask. It clung to his skin like burrs and showed no sign of letting go.

Amid the beat of wings, the figure slid into the shadows without a sound and vanished before their eyes.

Myss took a few steps to reach Salaar. He hauled him up and checked him over from head to toe. Luckily this fragile human was at least intact, with no parts missing.

“His physical strength is high, about one tenth of me at my peak. In strength alone, I’m not his match as I am now,” Salaar said gravely, patiently enduring Myss’s prodding. “And he didn’t chant a spell to either control the crows or heal his wound.”

“I know,” Myss replied tersely.

After being forced to change bodies, his power was roughly neck and neck with Salaar’s. His magic might not be that effective on the bird-beaked demon. He could only be sure of one thing: if they ran into that “demon” again, he would have to fight with everything he had, with no room to hold back in order to keep himself alive.

Could there really be demons in this world?

While the Demon Lord pondered, he pinched Salaar’s face and reached in to check his teeth and tongue. Salaar finally had enough and bit his finger.

……

Second floor of the Hammer Tavern.

“You two have guts,” Hammer said, chewing tobacco as he threw open the window. “Last time that guy showed up near the tavern, everyone was scared out of their wits.”

“Last time?” “You know him?”

Myss and Salaar asked almost in unison.

Hammer leaned at the window and looked out at the silhouette of the Lower City.

“He’s an unlucky sort,” he said with a touch of awe. “Huey told you about the strange illness in the Lower City, right? He appeared around the same time the illness did and showed himself to the patient twice.

The first time means the person has contracted the disease. The second time means the attack comes and the person dies. It’s no secret down here, but no one likes to mention it for fear of attracting him.”

“Oh,” Myss said. “So you never chatted with him.”

“…Well, he doesn’t seem very talkative.” Hammer gave a dry laugh and shot a glance at Salaar. “Not until your friend tackled him out the door tonight did we realize he’s not some kind of grim reaper.”

“We’re not friends,” Myss corrected.

Hammer raised his brows high and let his gaze travel between them a few times.

“All right, I get it. You two are in that kind of relationship,” he said with sudden understanding. “I can swap the single beds for a double.”

Myss: “…” 

Myss swallowed his pride. “Just think of us as friends.”

Hammer gave him an “understanding” look. “No need to be so reserved. No one here cares what anyone else does in their beds—”

“No need to trouble you. We’ll just push the beds together ourselves,” Salaar cut the topic short before it spiraled into more dangerous territory. “Do you have paper and a pen I can buy?”

Ten minutes later, Hammer returned to the room.

He brought a bottle of mead to help with sleep and a thick blank notebook. The cover was sheepskin with a distinct grain and was completely blank.

“I picked a blank ledger. Use it as you like,” Hammer said, setting down a quill, ink, and a bundle of fine charcoal sticks wrapped in rough cloth with a clatter.

He also threw in a bonus jar of sweet-smelling lube. After he left, Salaar promptly tossed it into the very back of a drawer.

Then he began to write.

The pen tip slipped over the parchment with a soft rustle. The ink became countless lines of text, the scripts varied as if written by different hands.

Myss found among them the correspondence between the young lord and the one called “Patience”.

The wording, the punctuation, even the scratched-out edits and the blurring from corpse fluid were perfectly reproduced. It seemed they didn’t need Huey to fetch the letters after all, since Salaar had copied every one of them into his mind.

Myss drank more than half the bottle of mead in slow gulps, just as Salaar finished recopying the letters.

“The young lord and ‘Patience’ last exchanged letters exactly two months ago,” he said as he turned the vellum notebook and pointed to a page where the ink was still wet.

The sweetness of the mead swirled on Myss’s tongue, and his head went fuzzy. With one hand braced on the table and half his weight leaning on Salaar, he tried to make out the words on the page.

Judging from the handwriting, this was a letter from “Patience” to Lord Karns—

[Dear Pilgrim, 

Perhaps you’re right. “Consciousness” is a privilege of the living, and what people call a “soul” doesn’t exist.

Death is so cruel that no one can call the dead back from eternal sleep. A revived body would be a walking corpse, and any soul that reappears would only be a composite afterimage patched together from memory.

Mother sends you her regards.

Looking back now, the summoning ritual ten years ago can’t be considered a success. I made a mistake, an irreparable one. I naively believed that I truly brought [illegible] back, yet in the end it was only [illegible].

[Large section illegible]

I want to stop, but I can’t. We always have to pay the price for our madness, do we not?

Mother sends you her regards, Mother sends you her regards, Mother sends you her regards.

This is the last letter I am sending you. At present I can scarcely think clearly, and I don’t know how long I can go on living. I have decided to meet death calmly and wait for it to step through my door again, the way it did ten years ago.

For me it’s no longer a heart-rending poison but a sweet release.

If back then [an entire line has been struck out] Mother sends you her regards. Mother sends you her regards.

Lastly, I will remember to say goodbye to our mutual friend. Thank him for introducing us. My exchanges with you have inspired me greatly.

Wishing you good health.

With love, 

from Patience.

P.S. Mother sends you her regards.]

Myss: “?”. Perhaps he had drunk a little too much.

The content of the letter was a bit absurd. The Demon Lord even hesitated for half a second, unsure whether to doubt his own mind or Patience’s.

“As you can see, two months ago ‘Patience’ had basically gone mad.”

Salaar pointed at the line “Mother sends you her regards”. The strokes there were clumsy yet gentle, at odds with Patience’s crisp hand, as if written by someone else.

“The timing is too coincidental. If the new plague in Rosha is connected to ‘Patience’…”

Salaar talked on for a while, and his shoulder grew heavier. Myss was half draped over it, giving off a fine snore, with a faint scent of mead lingering on the corners of his lips.

Myss clearly didn’t hold his liquor well. The Demon Lord would have to learn that humans can’t sample every edible thing they see.

Salaar scooped up the now limp Myss and tossed him without mercy onto the single bed. He yanked off Myss’s shoes with brisk efficiency, pulled the blanket over him, then began to worry. How had they arrived at this point?

At this time last year, he had still been battling one of Myss’s trivial tentacles that never wore shoes, and he had never imagined that the word “taking off shoes” would enter their relationship.

Back then Myss didn’t tire and wanted nothing… He simply existed with blinding clarity.

Now, the Demon Lord lay down when tired, slept when sleepy, and stuffed every edible thing he saw into his mouth. He was lively as he practiced “being alive”, but he wasn’t very adept at it.

Salaar couldn’t help looking at Myss again.

The Demon Lord slept curled like an infant, out cold. By reflex he had cocooned himself in the blanket, becoming a puffing bundle of cloth. His long gray hair spilled over the pillow, and the blue scarf tucked among it stood out conspicuously.

Salaar sat at the bedside, picked up the mead with only a little left, and took an unhurried sip.

…It was quite good.

Knock, knock! A gentle tapping suddenly sounded at the door.

“Salaar, Myss,” a soft female voice came through the door. “There was quite a noise in your room just now. Are you all right?”

Ah, that was probably the sound of him tossing Myss onto the bed.

She knew their names, so she was likely from the tavern, yet even so…

Salaar tiptoed to the door. He hid the dagger in his right hand behind his back and slowly opened the door with his left.

---

The author has something to say:

I suddenly wish Jinjiang could support font effects, things like italics or strikethrough… I would really like some new ways to present text.

The Demon Lord can’t hold his liquor at all, while the Hero should be the sturdier drinker in theory.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 9: A Deadly Malady

Myss stepped half a pace forward, blocking Salaar.

Salaar was used to close combat, which was good for knocking around rural bandits; in a scene like this, they would have to count on Myss.

After shielding his mortal enemy, Myss felt something was off. Salaar excelled at healing magic. The kid was clearly better suited to being the tank.

He was still weighing whether to keep Salaar behind him or in front when Salaar grabbed his collar and the two of them tumbled into the wardrobe.

Myss had no time to speak before Salaar clapped a hand over his mouth. The wardrobe wasn’t large, so he was forced up against Salaar, almost unable to move.

Salaar’s timing was perfect. The instant the doors shut, the room door was kicked open.

“Demon!” an angry roar came from the doorway. “That demon again!”

“Damn it, he’s trying to escape!” “After him!”

Salaar let out a breath. He had guessed right. The two sides weren’t together.

The “demon” had alerted them too early, and the people at the door had arrived too late. If they were coordinating a pincer move, a rookie mistake like that shouldn’t have happened.

There was a tremendous crash of tables and chairs toppling, and footsteps raced toward the window. The cawing of crows drifted farther away. The “demon” seemed to have left.

But the other group didn’t all clear out. Two sets of footsteps were still circling inside the room.

The “Resolve to Elope” was still in effect, and the men didn’t notice anyone in the wardrobe.

Unfortunately, the potion only lowered one’s presence and didn’t make one invisible. The room was small, and they couldn’t just walk out in front of the others.

“Four investigators are dead. Covington wouldn’t wander the Lower City. Where did he get infected?”

“Must be the demon’s doing!” the other man said, voice shaking. “If the demon keeps contaminating the Upper City…”

“That’s not for us to consider. Seal the windows first.”

“Sir?” came a timid question from outside the door. “Sir, is everything all right?”

It was the young girl, her voice full of worry.

“By regulation, this guest room must be sealed permanently, and the incident kept confidential.”

The men inside didn’t open the door. “A mage will arrive shortly to place a seal. No one may enter or leave in the meantime.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go and close the front door. Pay particular attention to those who clashed with Covington. Under no circumstances are they to leave.”

The girl fell silent.

“There’s a killer among them. They must all be taken in,” the man inside the room said impatiently. “Do as you’re told and don’t obstruct the investigation.”

“Yes, sir.” She suddenly raised her voice. “Um, the standing mirror in the room is an antique. Could you move it out for me? I mean, since the room is going to be sealed…”

Unsurprisingly, men inside refused.

“A clever girl,” Salaar whispered. “If I remember right, the mirror is to the left of the wardrobe.”

What, are you reluctant to part with antiques too? Myss tried to bite Salaar’s palm and failed.

“Listen, top-tier suites usually have a secret passage for… various purposes.”

Salaar pressed his mouth to Myss’s ear, his voice thin and sticky like a spider thread. “To seal the room, they will clear it first. Once no one is inside, we can slip out through the passage behind the mirror.”

Seeing that Myss didn’t object, Salaar loosened his arms a little. Myss darted free and clapped a hand hard over Salaar’s mouth.

He was about to pin him against the side of the wardrobe, but Salaar refused to yield. The two wrestled silently in the heap of clothes until a bathrobe somehow tied them into a knot. Only then did they settle down.

……

Around midnight they slipped out through the little door into the inn’s back alley and found a figure waiting there.

Myss’s deadly fork was about to strike, only for Salaar to stop him again. The figure was the inn girl’s uncle.

“Thank goodness. You really are all right.”

The man saw their faces and relaxed at once. “Hailey didn’t see soldiers dragging you out, so she guessed you were hiding. Oh, Hailey is my niece.

My name is Huey. Please allow me to thank you properly, both of you, especially you.” He turned to Myss and said solemnly, “Hailey is only fifteen. If she were convicted of illicit relations, she would never find work in the Upper City for the rest of her life.”

Myss said, “I didn’t—”

“I should be the one saying thank you. Miss Hailey helped us a great deal,” Salaar cut in first. “If not for her quick thinking, we couldn’t have gotten away so easily.”

Huey smiled and handed them a dusty cloth bag. “I took some money and food from your room, as well as that bottle of medicine.

I’m sorry, I had to leave most of the luggage. I said you were out on business and not yet back. You signed in at the front desk, so they can check.”

Myss glanced at the bag. He didn’t see any croutons or any books. Huey had packed only the bare essentials.

“You were terrified of Covington, yet now you dare help like this,” Myss asked, puzzled. “Where do you get the nerve…”

“What he means is, it sounds like you know some inside story,” Salaar translated smoothly, taking the bag with both hands. “We only just arrived in Rosha and know nothing.”

Huey’s expression tightened. He pressed his temples and sighed. “All right. I will take you to the Lower City to lie low, and we can talk on the way.”

Rosha’s Upper and Lower City were sharply divided, with a high wall between them. Many iron gates pierce the wall, their bars mottled with rust that quietly testified to their age.

“Rosha has suffered multiple plagues. Each time the Lower City was always worse. That was when the wall was built.”

Huey held the lantern high and led the way. “A strange disease has appeared in the Lower City again lately. Everyone is on edge.”

Salaar: “A strange disease?”

“Hailey and I both live in the Lower City, and we have seen it with our own eyes. In the past two months people have been dying in a…” Huey struggled to choose his words. “A bizarre way. The corpses curl up in midair, and no one can move them.”

The manner of death sounded familiar, and Myss, for once, listened in earnest.

“The city lord believes it’s some kind of plague. Yet most people around the patients are fine, and no one knows how it spreads. The soldiers can only seal off the area where the dead are, and everyone else carries on as usual.

There are rumors the deceased were cursed by a demon. The city lord arrests anyone who quarreled with the deceased, and those people never appear again. If you two were taken away…” Huey shook his head and did not go on.

“Hailey will be all right, yes?” Salaar asked. The girl had technically clashed with Covington too.

Huey’s mouth curved. “She can say she slipped in the corridor and bumped her nose.

After all, the only witness besides Covington was Mr. Myss. I don’t think Mr. Myss will report her.”

Mr. Myss agreed. He had better things to do.

Talking about Hailey brightened Huey’s expression.

He said Hailey was the child of his late sister and his only family. The girl was healthy and quick-witted, raised by his own hands, and the two depended on each other.

“My parents were both drunks, and it was my sister who raised me,” Huey said affectionately. “Of course I will raise Hailey well and let her grow up smoothly…”

Myss let the words pass in one ear and out the other and let his eyes roam.

Beyond the wall and its iron gate, the air grew murky and clammy.

The night in the Lower City seemed even deeper. The wind carried acrid smoke and the sour stench of garbage. Clouds of gnats and flies drifted above the river. The stone steps were as crooked and broken as an old man’s teeth.

“Please put up with this place for a few days. Once the fuss over there is done, I will send word at once.”

Huey stepped over the stone steps with practiced ease. “I have a contact nearby who can arrange lodgings.”

The conditions were a world apart from the Upper City, and he glanced at them apologetically. The two looked utterly unconcerned—one out of an inability to tell good from bad, the other out of long-habituated indifference.

Myss crooked a finger and pinched a flying insect dead with a pop. He found the place rather lively.

That “demon” had dressed without much care. Perhaps he lived in the Lower City too. For now the guy had hidden his aura. If Myss hadn’t lost his power, he could have…

Salaar grabbed the back of his collar and hauled him up. Myss’s feet left the ground, and he narrowly missed a ditch.

“Watch your step and don’t waste my cleansing magic,” Salaar said.

Once upon a time, the Demon Lord had a massive body and no habit of watching his path. Myss looked down at his two human feet and gave a mournful hum.

Huey’s destination was hard to miss—this late at night, the Lower City lay pitch-black, and only one tavern still had its lights on.

The two-story wooden house was crooked, and the sign that read “Hammer Tavern” hung at an angle, as if the building itself were drunk. It was unclear whether it was a construction error or the designer’s intent.

They hadn’t even reached the door before rough laughter rushed out to meet them, and Myss caught the rank smell of alcohol and tobacco.

“Our Huey!” “Huey is off work?”

The customers called to him enthusiastically.

Myss and Salaar followed close behind. The moment Myss stepped inside the greetings turned into a chorus of whistles. When Salaar came in, the whistling continued, only with less breath behind it.

So the “Resolve to Elope” couldn’t withstand that many eyes, Myss thought.

“Hey. They are my guests,” Huey called out.

“Of course, who else would they be? No way you could score someone this—ow!”

Huey raised his palm and smacked the man hard on the head.

“Sorry,” he said to the two of them. “They are unbearably crude. No offense intended…”

Halfway through he noticed Myss was busy examining the drunkard’s rum, and Salaar was staring fixedly at Myss as if he might swallow the glass in the next second.

Forget it. Huey shook his head and led the two of them to the counter.

A bearded burly man sat there polishing glasses with a creak. His arms bulged with exaggerated muscle, and the tattoos writhed with his skin.

“Uncle Hammer, look after these two guests,” Huey said. “They’d helped me out.”

“How much did they help?” Hammer paused.

“They saved Hailey.”

“Then they should be looked after,” Hammer rumbled with a laugh. “I will clear a room for them on the second floor.”

“Thank you,” Huey exhaled.

His thanks were swallowed by the caw of a crow.

The tavern’s clamor cut off at once. A shadow darker than night appeared in the doorway.

The “beaked demon,” nearly two meters tall, stood at the threshold. A few black feathers drifted out of the night and dropped into the warm light.

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The author has something to say:

Natural-born nonhumans are undemanding, hardy, and full of energy.

You do have to keep a good eye on them, otherwise they are liable to fall into some very strange places.

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Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 8: Death Scene

“Are you blind?” a roar came from behind him.

How could anyone ask such a stupid question? Myss turned around and regarded the speaker with his fresh, warm eyes. Only then did he realize he seemed to have bumped someone’s shoulder.

The person he’d hit was a middle-aged man in fine clothes. The instant he saw Myss’s face, his anger miraculously disappeared.

“I mean, you should watch where you’re going, young man.” The man’s tone suddenly softened.

“……” Myss rifled through his memory and chose the word that would end the conversation fastest. “Sorry.”

Taking offense is a kind of caring, and he couldn’t care less about the humanoid in front of him.

But the man had no intention of leaving. Smiling, he stepped half a pace closer. “If you’re really sorry, how about having a drink with me?”

Myss decisively sidestepped him and headed straight for the inn’s dining room. Whatever. It wasn’t as if he’d killed the man on the spot; he had already apologized.

The man’s expression soured, and he reached out to grab Myss.

“Please stop, Lord Covington!”

A young girl hurried over, the broom still in her right hand. Myss remembered her; she was the one who had upgraded them to a suite for free. She looked no more than sixteen.

“Please don’t start anything inside the inn,” the girl said anxiously. “If you’re unhappy, we can comp you a…”

“Out!” Covington shoved her aside with contempt. The girl gave a little yelp and nearly lost her footing.

“I need to teach that brat some manners,” Covington shouted. “A rude, arrogant ranger has offended a nobleman, a royal investigator, a universally recognized gentleman—”

Myss stopped and looked back in puzzlement. “Where are the other two?”

The girl couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Covington’s face lengthened and he punched her in the nose. The faint smell of blood instantly wafted in the air. The commotion brought out another employee, an older man. At the sight of him, the girl cupped her swelling nose and whispered, “Uncle.” She tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow her sobs.

“I apologize, Lord Covington. We are truly very sorry,” her uncle said, bowing low without asking a thing.

“You certainly should be sorry,” Covington said coldly.

He pointed at Myss and launched in, “That ranger seduced a young girl and lured her to a nighttime tryst—I saw it all! That’s illicit relations!”

Faced with the charge falling out of the sky, the girl froze in fright.

She pressed her nose tight; blood dripped between her fingers. Her uncle turned pale and looked at Myss, nearly in despair.

They could all guess what would come next—the ranger could roam the world, so Myss could easily offend him and walk away. Convington would then make the charges stick and bar Myss from entering Rosha ever again. As for whether this would implicate the mere girl, Lord Convington couldn’t care less.

However, Myss didn’t leave immediately.

Illicit relations—Myss had heard of it. The slave traders had said unmarried men and women were forbidden from having intimate physical relations.

It was a delicate offense that people usually didn’t bring it to light, just as no one questioned what a slave owner did to his own slaves. But once the charge stuck, both parties would be imprisoned.

He didn’t care about that; no human prison could hold him. But this man claimed to be a royal investigator. He might know something useful.

Myss thought for a moment, then walked up to Covington. “Looks like you really do want to have a drink with me.”

He stood very close. Covington flushed, still speaking loudly. “I mean, if you come with me to make a confession… since you and that girl didn’t have time to do anything, I’ll let it slide…”

“Then let’s go,” Myss said.

The girl gave a sob; she seemed to have misunderstood, her eyes full of apology. Myss didn’t acknowledge her look and just followed casually behind Covington.

Covington’s room was at the other end of the corridor. It was a single suite furnished with luxury.

The lighting was warm, the flowers in the vase were still beaded with dew, and the table was piled with refreshments and fruit. Beside a silver bowl of whipped cream, Myss spotted fresh raspberries.

“You shouldn’t have made this so complicated,” Covington said as he drew the curtains, his voice a mix of annoyance and self-satisfaction. He puffed out his chest, turned with great presence, and then—

He discovered Myss eating his late-night snack.

Myss sat properly at the table, focused on dipping raspberries in cream, as if Covington were nothing more than a squeaky clothes rack.

Convington: “……” 

His face flushed again, his chest heaving violently. “Don’t play dumb. I only have to say the word to have you locked up in Rosha for half a year!”

Only half a year? Myss couldn’t help laughing.

The one who had locked him up for three hundred years hadn’t been this arrogant. He wondered whether Salaar had finished that bag of croutons; his own midnight snack was far more sumptuous.

At that laugh, Covington’s tone softened again. “Listen, as long as you behave…”

“Mm-hmm, I’m listening,” Myss said offhandedly, then steered the topic. “If you really are a royal investigator, you should know Rosha pretty well.

Are there any lunatics in town who like to tinker with magic? Or other abnormal people?”

He asked so naturally that Covington was thrown for a loop. “You mean that demon…”

Halfway through, he snapped back to himself. Damn it, the other’s attitude was like placating a wailing child. 

“Boy, what’s that tone?!” Covington roared.

Myss didn’t answer—he had finished the raspberries and cream and was busy enjoying a plate of roast quail with sauce.

Veins bulged at Covington’s temples. He whipped out his staff and muttered under his breath for quite a while. A chain of blue light sprang from the staff’s tip and quickly wrapped Myss’s wrists and ankles.

“I didn’t want to be this rough.” He gritted his teeth. “If only you would… you…”

Myss easily crushed the chains and kicked them aside. “‘That demon’? And then what?”

Covington choked. It was as if he suddenly sobered up; a fine sweat broke out on his forehead.

Myss had used no magical artifacts and didn’t chant any incantations.

Mages would spend their lives trying to shorten casting time. Covington had heard of mages who cast with extreme speed; without exception, they were powerful figures.

And this kid was young and arrogant. Could he be the prized disciple of some archmage?

“That demon, well,” Covington replied dryly. “That’s classified. I can’t disclose it…”

But if he didn’t talk… he was in the wrong right now, and if this guy went back and complained, his career could be finished.

“The Demon of Rosha” was a thorny case. He had already been anxious to the point of life and death, and his migraines were getting worse by the day. Damn it, how was he supposed to clean up this mess?

Maybe he should confess to this kid, say he had been under too much pressure lately and that was why he had done something so ridiculous…

From the bottom of his heart he wanted to get out of this hellhole…

…He was homesick…

“Mom…” Covington let out a faint, abrupt cry.

Myss found himself standing up without realizing it.

He smelled the fragrance again. It came from Covington a few steps away, even sweeter and richer than the woman in the bookstore.

Myss knew it was just beneath Covington’s skin, seeping out as a warm aroma. It was like freshly baked butter cookies slipped into a paper bag; all he had to do was tear the wrapping and devour it.

Maybe he could eat Covington and see what would happen.

But a part of his mind—the part Salaar had nagged ragged—told him not to. Covington’s status was troublesome. If he ate him on a whim, they could forget about a quiet investigation afterward.

Fine. The priority was to ask about the demon.

Lord Karns had tried to summon a demon, and a demon had actually appeared in the city of his pen pal. What were the odds? The “demon” was almost certainly connected to that mysterious correspondent.

Myss was still thinking when that wonderful scent suddenly weakened.

Covington gave a bewildered burp, his limbs twitching like an insect’s. A moment later his staff clattered to the floor, and his arms and legs bent rapidly, folding unnaturally across his chest.

Covington was obese and this posture didn’t suit him. Yet his bones curved stubbornly, sinking his head and limbs deep into his own flesh. His skin sealed over as swiftly as honey, drawing out flesh-red threads.

A translucent wild rabbit poked its head from the back of his neck, but it had barely emerged halfway before it snapped back, as if yanked to where it came from.

Like that, Covington arched high and began to float, his whole body congealing into a flesh-colored egg, or a chrysalis.

His heartbeat grew fainter and fainter until it vanished into the silent room. The fragrance vanished with it, slipping away and leaving only a tasteless husk behind.

At the instant Covington died, a hoarse caw of a crow sounded outside the window.

The transformation was so swift that Myss hadn’t even finished his roast quail. With the quail bone between his teeth, he regarded the corpse in displeasure.

How did this guy transform at the drop of a hat and then die in such a grotesque shape—

Bang!

Covington’s door flew open. Salaar rushed into the room, then fell silent.

Why did the scene look so familiar? He had just finished appraising the Old Aiken mincemeat, and now he was greeted by Lord Covington’s corpse.

The body was curled like an embryo, bobbing in the air like a nightmare. In the dim light, the space right around it warped slightly; something was clearly off.

Salaar threw a cup at the corpse. The little wineglass passed straight through, as if it were only a phantom.

“Believe it or not, this time it wasn’t me.”

Myss picked up a bowl of custard from the table. After saying it, curiosity struck him. “Did you come to save him?”

“More or less.” Salaar sighed. “That little girl is very brave. She hesitated for a bit, then still ran to find me and said my companion was in trouble… Speaking of which, why did you go with him?”

He didn’t think Myss had been trying to help the girl.

Chewing custard, Myss said, “He claimed to be a royal investigator, so I wanted to pry some things out of him. I wasn’t planning to kill him.”

“But he’s dead,” Salaar said. “You say it wasn’t you, and I believe you. Others may not see it that way.”

“‘You believe me’?” Myss couldn’t help repeating. Was this guy really that trusting?

“All right, my Demon Lord, there’s no need to lie about something like this.” Salaar snatched the custard from his hand. “We can discuss details later. For now let us leave—”

Crash!

Another huge sound, this time from the window.

Countless shards of glass crashed to the floor as a pitch-black figure hurtled into the room.

The man was swathed in a tattered cloak and stood nearly two meters tall. He wore a top hat and a mask that looked like a bird’s beak.

With his heavy breathing, a choking herbal smell spread through the room. Three to five crows settled at his feet, cawing at the top of their lungs.

Myss tensed at once. A rainstorm of power slammed into his brain. Without a doubt, another predator had stepped into his territory.

At the same time, dozens of chaotic footsteps sounded outside the door, clearly rushing towards them.

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The author has something to say:

The beaked mask is a plague doctor’s mask!

Salaar: My friend, why does anyone who is alone with you end up dead? Am I the only survivor?

I am planning a new novel—if you are interested, little angels, click on it and bookmark it.

A Crime Unworthy of Death

Original • Pure Romance (BL) • Modern and Contemporary • Fantasy

Childhood friends (?) becomes sworn enemies

Tags: strong x strong, soul swap, twist of fate, supernatural abilities

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Kinky Thoughts:

Summary for Nian Zhong next upcoming novel:

On the night of their decisive victory, General Luo Xia was mysteriously attacked and his consciousness slipped into a parallel world.

In this unlucky timeline, they failed to stop the apocalypse, the base was destroyed by enemy espers, his special-ops unit never even existed, and he lost contact with all his subordinates. His childhood best friend and brother-in-arms, General Yi Beiwang, had no memory of him at all.

Then Luo Xia discovered that in this worldline the enemy organization’s world-ending boss—whose identity was shrouded in mystery and “deserves a thousand deaths”… seemed to be himself.

Grim, justice-obsessed gong × adaptable, sly shou

Post-apocalyptic espers. A story where he tragically becomes the enemy boss and, while being hunted by his comrade (?).

————

A note: The title is based off the idiom “Deserving of (ten) a thousand deaths” (罪该万死), which refers to a crime that is so great, even a thousand deaths won’t be enough to atone for it.

In this case, one word is replaced to make it “Undeserving of death” (罪该不死), which basically means the opposite, where the crime doesn’t deserve death.

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