Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 50: The Fatal Gift

Antis staggered to his feet.

He stood there blankly for a moment, then hurriedly pulled open the curtains and shoved the clutter all over the floor under the sofa. He covered the unfinished body with silk cloth and carried it into the corner.

Then he nervously smoothed down his hair and slapped his cheeks hard, hoping only that he wouldn’t look too pale.

He nearly ran to the door.

Iver looked terrible too.

When they first met, Iver had been like a gem wrapped in coarse linen, radiant all over. Now his young, handsome face had sunken in, his eyes were dull as carved wood, and his hair was as rough as dry grass.

Perhaps to balance it out, Iver was dressed with extreme precision, almost to the point of formal splendor. There were no traces of paint on his clothes, nor on his hands. It was obvious he had washed carefully.

“I-Iver,” Antis stammered. “You need a cup of hot tea, I mean, you look a little cold… no, you look fine…”

His mind had turned to mush again.

Iver sighed and walked in on his own. He quickly found an armchair and sat down weakly.

“I looked into the yard. Pinecone doesn’t seem to be in great spirits. Have you been feeding him on schedule?”

“The gardener comes once a day. I asked him to help feed Pinecone,” Antis said softly, like a child who had done something wrong.

“I thought as much. After all, you haven’t even been feeding yourself on schedule.” Iver tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Everyone at the Red Amber has been saying that the famous Mr. Perfect has turned into a vagrant. They made such a fuss I couldn’t even lie comfortably in bed, so I had to come see the spectacle for myself.”

Antis stared desperately at Iver, trying to find some proof that Iver’s body had improved.

He discovered in despair that though they hadn’t seen each other for two months, his own heart was still pounding wildly, while no miracle had happened to Iver.

“If I just die like this, then this parting can hardly be called dignified.”

After only a few sentences, Iver had to stop and rest for a few moments. “Anti, I really was angry with you before. But I’m not going to collapse completely over… over something like that.”

“So many people admire my paintings. I’m not about to die wallowing in self-pity, so you don’t need to blame yourself too much. But the things you said about bloodlines really were rotten. Don’t ever say things like that to other people again…”

“I never looked down on you.”

Antis hurried over to him. He didn’t want to look down at Iver, yet didn’t want to stay too far away either, so he simply dropped to one knee. “Iver, listen to me. I truly regret it…”

“All right, enough of this boring subject.”

Iver coughed twice. “What you should regret most is not buying more of my paintings. Once a painter dies, their work is bound to become more valuable…”

“Oh, you should have saved one in particular and hung it in this prim and proper house of yours. It would definitely have become a delightfully unruly flaw. Or a highlight.”

“You can’t die.” Antis raised his reddened eyes. “You’re still so young. How can you die?”

Think, Antis. How do you make a heart that can keep beating forever?

“Don’t be sad for me. It’s not like I only just found out I was sick. I’ve already done my best to enjoy the world, and I’ve left behind plenty of traces.”

Iver gently touched his disheveled hair. Then he braced himself on the arms of the chair and rose with difficulty.

“No.” Antis shook his head hard.

Iver was going to leave him again, leave him completely.

Antis had an intense premonition that if Iver walked out through this door, he would lose him forever.

He always seemed to miss the most perfect moment. It had been that way the last time he blurted out the truth, and it was the same now with the body he had made. Antis’s breathing quickened, and fine red veins spread across his eyes.

Iver, still unaware, said, “Now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, I should be going… speaking of which, at the Red Amber…”

“No, you don’t understand.” Antis stood up and pressed Iver back into the chair. “You can’t die, and you won’t die.”

He decisively dragged the replacement body out from the corner and yanked the silk cloth off in front of Iver.

The instant he saw another “himself,” Iver stopped breathing for a beat, and the smile on his face froze completely.

“What is that?” Iver’s voice trembled.

“This is the new body I made for you.”

Antis spoke in a rush. “It’s only missing the last component. I’ll be able to finish it very soon!”

“As long as I move your brain and your Magibase into it, there won’t be any rejection anymore. You’ll be able to live, Iver. You’ll be able to keep painting, Iver. You’ll be able to live longer than anyone else—”

“I refuse.”

Iver’s voice rose sharply, something he rarely did.

Antis looked at him helplessly. He had never even considered this possibility. Why would Iver refuse?

“You are… a lunatic.”

In anger and shock, Iver straightened up. “Open your eyes, Antis. How is this any different from your specimens? It’s just a dead object!”

“I’ve spent my whole life using my brush to capture fleeting moments, and now you’re telling me my destination is some lifeless cage?”

“It’s not a cage!”

Antis shouted, “It’s perfect. It can save your life! I want you to live!”

“Really? You sound like a child who can’t bear to part with a beloved toy, only wanting to turn me into part of your collection.”

Iver’s voice had never been so cold. “Answer me, Antis Crosien.”

“Can it see colors properly? Can it taste the sweetness of apple wine? Can it feel the warmth of an embrace? …Can it grow wrinkles and white hair so we can laugh at each other?”

Antis froze. “Not—not yet. But we can think of ways slowly. I can spend my whole life improving it—”

“Ah, yes. So not only would I have to enter this specimen-like cage, I’d also have to remain under your control for the rest of my life.”

Iver said almost viciously, “All my needs would be under your control. Only you would be able to repair my damage. That sounds wonderful.”

“You vanished for so long, refused even to see me, and it was all just to make something like this…”

“But it can let you live.” Antis repeated the words desperately, terrified that Iver would miss that point.

Iver clearly didn’t want to die. Iver clearly treasured him too. Why could Iver not understand his feelings?

“No.” Iver’s voice was clear and cruel. “I said no.”

“When facing death, yes, I do have regrets. But life is full of regrets. I’m glad I’m the one who made you remember that lesson…”

Iver looked at him once more with that tender gaze—the gaze of a lover.

“…Leave this damn room, Antis. The grass outside was just trimmed. It smells wonderful.”

His cheek felt itchy. Antis raised a hand and found tears on his face.

“Are you really leaving?” he choked out. “Without you, I’ll…”

“You’ll have a beautiful blank space.” Iver interrupted him softly and held out a hand. “It’s getting late. See me out.”

Tears spilled uncontrollably down Antis’s face. He wiped at them haphazardly, and his right hand twitched.

He wanted to take Iver’s hand. He should have taken that warm hand. But his hand was unbearably heavy, almost impossible to move.

No, his brain screamed inside his skull.

No, you don’t want to do that. That body is an unprecedented masterpiece. You’re only one step away from saving him. You can’t—

In the next instant, his fingers touched something.

…The wax seal bearing the mark of V.O.R.

Beneath Antis’s palm, a letter had appeared at some unknown moment.

It wasn’t especially noticeable amidst the clutter, as if it had simply been pressed under something by accident. Yet Antis was certain it absolutely hadn’t been there before.

In the end, instead of taking Iver’s outstretched hand, he opened the letter.

What baffled him was that V.O.R offered no suggestion at all. There were only a few short lines on the page:

[Farewell, Mr. Flaw, my dear friend.

Perfected Creation: We shall meet again in the season of harvest.

—V.O.R]

Pain pricked Antis’s fingertips, like the time he had cut himself with a dissecting knife when he was a child.

Something pulsed gently in his palm, radiating a horrifying magical fluctuation. Feeling that powerful, strange magic, Antis slowly smiled.

He had never felt so fulfilled before. Not even when he first managed to create a qualified specimen had he ever known such release.

…He knew he could do it, because he had just touched the realm of “God.”

This power was enough to imitate an existing magical circuit, enough to preserve Iver’s consciousness and Magibase.

As for Iver’s dissatisfaction with that shell, now that he possessed the power of imitation, he could let that body improve itself, endlessly approaching perfection. His creation would have the keenest eyes, the most agile body, everything finest in the world.

It lacked only one final part. A core that could keep running forever.

“I know what to do now, Iver.” Antis’s voice brimmed with joy. “I can give you a truly perfect body. I can prove my feelings to you—”

Right in front of the stunned Iver, Antis raised the dissecting knife. Wrapped in a happiness as thick as warm honey, he cleanly slit open his own chest.

He thrust his right hand into the open cavity and pulled out his own blood-soaked heart.

Clinging to the heart was a bean-sized lump of pure white magic. From it spread countless fine threads. One end connected to the wound in Antis’s body, while the other wrapped around the heart like nerves, gradually darkening into black.

The world before Antis’s eyes blurred and sharpened by turns. Iver seemed to be screaming something, but he couldn’t hear it clearly.

He had no idea why he could still move after losing his heart. He only used the last of his strength to set that heart into the hollow chest of the creation.

“—I never wanted to collect you. I just didn’t want you to die… I’ll use this pain to prove it…”

At last, he had designed a perfect closed loop.

His heart would constrict because of so many flaws, ache because of so many regrets.

Just as V.O.R had said, a creation could only endlessly approach eternity, just as humans could only endlessly approach perfection. So his heart would keep beating for a very long time because of that pain, driving the creation to perfect itself and continue evolving.

In truth, had he not known it all along?

Regret and pain were both stairways leading toward perfection.

The black heart beat powerfully.

Perfected Creation slowly opened its eyes, while Antis, wearing a drifting smile, gradually fell still. His spreading pool of blood swallowed V.O.R’s letter, swallowing the soles of Iver’s shoes.

It was as though all strength had left Iver’s body. He barely held himself up on the chair, trembling all over, tiny cries of pain escaping his throat.

“Your condition is extremely unstable. You are about to die.”

Perfected Creation opened its mouth and spoke in exactly Iver’s voice. “Please allow me to transfer your consciousness and Magibase. This body was born for you.”

Iver paid it no attention.

He stumbled forward two steps and embraced Antis’s still-warm body.

“Antis Crosien, just look at yourself, you foolish idiot.”

He stroked the smile at the corner of Antis’s mouth, tears spilling from his golden eyes. “So your father’s most perfect work was you.”

“Please, accept me.” The Perfected Creation walked in front of him again and pleaded patiently. “Everything you worry about will be made whole. You will obtain incomparably great power, a life close to eternity.”

Still, Iver didn’t respond to it.

“These past two months, I prepared a gift for you.” He whispered to his dead friend, “I had the mail room hold it for me. After I left, when everyone began to think you needed help, you would receive it… I had wanted to give you a surprise.”

“It seems we always miss each other. What a pity.”

“I only need your permission.” The Perfected Creation said earnestly, “I exist only so that you may live perfectly.”

Its eyes too grew wet, a few beautiful blood-amber tears spilling out, as though it wanted to preserve something.

“No. I’m not a perfect person, not a perfect friend, and I have no need to live perfectly.”

At last Iver turned to the Perfected Creation. His gaze brightened once more, almost as luminous as when he had still been healthy.

“Let the two of us rot together in ugliness.”

Iver gently kissed Antis’s forehead and held him tightly.

Then he picked up the blood-stained dissecting knife and drove it cleanly through his own heart.

The Perfected Creation stood where it was in silence. When the final light of sunset faded, it arrived at an answer.

It had been rejected because it wasn’t perfect enough.

So it needed to improve its abilities and body as quickly as possible.

It had been rejected because its creator—Antis’s love—hadn’t been perfect enough to move the other person.

So it needed to find perfect love.

…Until it did, those two couldn’t be allowed to disappear entirely.

A few more blood-amber tears fell into the blood. The Perfected Creation walked through the pool and picked up the dissecting knife.

The next day, in the study of the residence.

[Thank you for your help. Your gift was very useful. I will definitely save Mr. Iver.]

Under the Perfected Creation’s watch, the living specimen “Antis” wrote out the reply in a stiff, orderly hand and filled in V.O.R as the recipient.

When he finished, he revealed a perfect smile.

Next, all he had to do was take it to the Red Amber and send it out, just as Antis Crosien would have done.

……

In the span of a heartbeat, an overwhelming flood of information poured into his mind. Myss opened his eyes and rushed straight toward Salaar.

“That thing is Anti’s creation. Its heart carries Anti’s spiritual imprint. It’s driven by the pain of imperfection.”

Myss immediately cut to the point. “Have you ever heard of a spell like that? If there’s an existing solution—”

“You saw its memories?”

Salaar instantly pieced together what had happened.

“That’s right. V.O.R again.” Myss said irritably. “So do you know a solution or not? Its regeneration is too damn troublesome!”

Judging from those memories, imitation and repair were the Perfected Creation’s innate abilities. It couldn’t be weakened by destroying its “collection.”

Myss had already spent more than three hundred years entangled with one bastard skilled at healing. He had never expected that after leaving the seal, he would still have to fight such an obnoxious opponent.

Salaar thought for a moment. “Three questions.”

“Spit them out.”

“How much of Mr. Anti’s spiritual imprint remains?”

“It’s not like our kind of soul transfer, but it’s not just some crude set of instructions either.”

Myss ducked behind Salaar and used the hero as a shield against another wave of attacks. “It’s better than the Fallen Child’s situation. There’s still a little bit of awareness left, but not much.”

Salaar didn’t panic in the slightest. He put all his power into defense. “What is the relationship between Anti and Iver?”

“Iver got sick. Anti dug out his own heart to make that thing to save him. Iver would rather kill himself than accept it. That kind of relationship.”

Myss summarized confidently, “But they also looked kind of like friends. It’s weird.”

Salaar: “…”

After a few seconds of thought, Salaar said, “Did Iver leave anything behind for Anti? Preferably something still inside the Red Amber.”

“How do you know that? Did you peek into my brain?”

Myss was shocked. What terrifying mental magic.

Salaar quietly sighed. “That part is not hard to guess. Where is it?”

“Iver said he had left a gift in the mail room for Anti, but Anti never got it, so it’s probably hard to find.”

Myss muttered.

“…I’ll go.” The Dragon Fae suddenly spoke up. “I know the defensive spells there, and I know where the boxes from that time period are.”

“Anyway, you’ve already flipped the table. I can force my way through the defenses and bring it back.”

“No. We go together.”

Salaar reached out and yanked Myss over as if he intended to tuck him under one arm.

“What do you need that thing for? It definitely isn’t some powerful magic artifact.”

Myss stared at the magical attacks flying everywhere as he layered black-veiled defenses one after another.

“You’ll know soon enough.”

Between the black defenses, Salaar wedged in strands of golden magic wherever he could.

It was still not mealtime, so there was hardly anyone on the first floor. The cats wandering idly around took one look at this vicious battle and fled with frightened cries. Salaar and Myss charged forward all the way, entering the mail room together with Tass.

The corridor was narrow, so the living collections couldn’t swarm them all at once. The defense here was far simpler than in the main hall. Hero and Archdemon almost blocked off the corridor leading to the mail room, carving out a rare pocket of peace.

The young woman on shift didn’t even have time to speak before Salaar cleanly knocked her unconscious. Ignoring the wounds all over his body, the Dragon Fae quickly shattered layer after layer of defense.

The Perfected Creation proved to be formidable. The corridor defenses broke even faster than the mail room defenses. Myss slapped more than a dozen layers of black veil over the mail room door, sweat all over his forehead. “Not done yet?”

“Almost!”

Tass quickly locked onto the box he had searched before. He soon found the stored packages and floated all of them into the air with magic.

Not this one…Not this one either… Iver… Iver…

A few seconds later, every package but one square parcel fell to the floor with a series of clatters. Tass snatched the one marked with Iver’s name and threw it directly to Salaar.

At almost the exact same moment, the twins’ living specimens smashed through the doorway, clearing a path for the Perfected Creation.

Myss had just been about to attack when Salaar grabbed him and shoved him behind himself. Salaar seemed to have forgotten how fragile defensive magic could be. He kept raising barrier after barrier without pause.

“Antis Crosien. I don’t know how much of your awareness remains, but I know your awareness is still there.”

Salaar held up the small package, displaying Iver’s name on it.

“You wear very little blood amber. The Perfected Creation and the other collections pay special attention to your specimen body, and its emotions toward you are different too. Clearly, your heart still affects the Perfected Creation.”

The moment it saw the package, the Perfected Creation stopped in its tracks, and the gentle look on its face vanished completely.

“…Just as I thought. Your heartbeat sped up.”

Salaar said softly. “How tragic. Unable to control your creator’s heart.”

Rippppp.

Protected by the barrier, Salaar tore away the wrapping. Behind the ruined parchment was a beautiful portrait.

Under brilliant sunlight, Antis was making a golden retriever specimen. He was looking off toward the painter’s direction, his face carrying a dazed expression, his dissecting knife just barely missing his own fingers.

The complicated studio background and the giant dog corpse were rendered in only a few sparse strokes. In the warm sunlight, only Antis stood out vividly—

He was obviously dressed neatly, yet all his movements were in disarray, and his expression was full of shock and foolishness, to the point of seeming almost cute. Beside him stood a bouquet of blazing flowers, and everything was disorderly and full of life.

A tiny card hung from the frame.

[—To all the imperfect moments I love.]

“Myss!”

Salaar suddenly called out.

In truth, he didn’t need to remind Myss. Myss had already sensed the Perfected Creation’s flaw.

That heart driven by pain had briefly stopped beating.

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The author has something to say:

King Myss: Utterly clueless about human emotions, yet brimming with confidence. [cat paw]

Myss: Anti and Iver must be archenemies.

Myss: Salaar and I are archenemies too.

Salaar: …[thumbs up]

Next chapter will wrap things up and open the next arc.

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Kinky Thoughts:

Ahhhhh… This arc is so good!!!

*Sobs* Please Nian Zhong, begging you, give Iver and Antis a HE or I will rage!!!!!!!! They deserve to be together!

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 49: Your Foolish Friend

The day after Father’s funeral, day one.

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

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

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

The day after Father’s funeral, day two.

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

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

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

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

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

The day after Father’s funeral, day three.

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

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

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

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

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

The day after Father’s funeral, day four.

Iver invited Antis out to relax.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine,” Antis replied politely.

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

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

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

“Can I ask about anything?” Antis said.

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Antis looked at him, only half comprehending.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then Sunday it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Your foolish friend, Antis.]

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

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

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

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

The day after Father’s funeral, day seven.

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

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

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

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

“Look! Look at this. It’s for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” Antis said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…What does your ideal family look like?”

Iver suddenly asked out of nowhere.

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

An ideal family?

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

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

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

At least this answer has no flaws, Antis thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s over.

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

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

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

“Perhaps this will answer part of your question.”

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

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

Of course Antis knew that illness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he left without turning back.

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

Another “exceptionally gifted child,” Myss thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

Antis couldn’t produce a suitable magical vessel.

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

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

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

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

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

Antis tore it open almost instinctively.

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

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

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

—V.O.R]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—V.O.R]

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

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

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

Antis drew in a trembling breath.

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

What followed were several more sleepless days.

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

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

“It’s me. Iver.”

A familiar voice called out, weak but steady.

“Antis, we need to talk.”

---

The author has something to say:

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Kinky Thoughts:

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

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

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

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 48: Origin

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

Salaar could feel an outside force tugging at his mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But was that really the best option?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, Salaar smiled and gave up resisting.

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

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

Salaar lied.

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

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

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

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

Once again, he had bought them time to investigate.

…And now, their investigation was over.

Drip. Drip.

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

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

“So you understand me that well.”

A familiar voice spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

“Utter nonsense!” Myss hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Salaar let out an interested little hum.

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

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

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

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

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

Smack!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Salaar, meanwhile, pulled back to a safe distance.

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

Three steps. Two steps. One step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

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

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

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

“Give up. All of this is—”

Smack!

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

The Perfected Creation: “…”

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

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

With his eyes closed, Myss flashed a provocative smile.

Got you.

His power was capable of much more than just annihilation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I remember your face!”

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

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

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

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

He was practically Antis’s polar opposite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The server nodded in visible relief.

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

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

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

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

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

Antis looked at Iver in disapproval.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Antis replied in his usual stiff way.

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

Antis fell silent.

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

“I’ll consider it.”

That was all he said in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

Utterly incomprehensible.

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

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

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

That look reminded him of Iver.

“From today on, your name is Pinecone.”

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

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

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

His father had chosen Iver.

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

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

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

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

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

—Myss skipped through this memory quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

---

The author has something to say:

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

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

Salaar: [good]

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

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 47: The Traitor

Myss was acutely aware of his own shortcomings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you don’t believe me?”

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

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

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

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

…Wasn’t that just a spider’s web?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Found you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tass sounded uncertain.

“No. It’s here.”

Myss’s dilated pupils locked onto the figure below—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Did that count as a specimen?

For a second, Myss genuinely wasn’t sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I found the Perfected Creation.”

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

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

Myss grunted in satisfaction and narrowly dodged another strike.

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

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

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

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

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

Buzz!

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

Damn it. That was Salaar’s magic!

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

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

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

Buzz!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Perfected Creation gave a flawless smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…They personally abandoned life.”

There was satisfaction and joy in its tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still haven’t noticed the problem?”

Myss stood proudly in the distance, sounding completely unruffled.

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

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

Then he turned toward “Salaar” on the stairs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve seen enough, you bastard.”

Myss hissed the words.

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

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

---

The author has something to say:

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

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

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

---

Kinky Thoughts:

In a sense the most perfect one for Salaar.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 46: Return to Owner

…It was Antis’s voice.

Tass immediately held his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

Myss couldn’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Myss loathed this sense of powerlessness.

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

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

It was blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell, so it isn’t Salaar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Myss hissed in frustration as though he had a toothache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The work area was quiet.

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

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

The most common theme was love.

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

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

But this boring everything would soon come to an end.

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

…Here it comes!

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

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

“Meow—!”

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

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

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

The cats hardly cared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Miss Claws: “Meow meow mew!”

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

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

“Meow!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A shrill magical alarm rang through the entire building.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was too late.

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

A little snake wrapped around a lump of blood amber.

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

“Salaar” narrowed his eyes.

“Look. Your heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Myss sneered and yanked a jeweled pendant from his pocket.

“Go on, Tass—!”

---

The author has something to say:

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

Salaar’s Rationality and Heart: “…?”

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 45: Flaw

“It has been pretty hard to get used to,” Myss shot back almost immediately. “Your body is too boring. There’s not even any fun in imagining ways for it to die.”

“Really? If just a few hours apart is already this unbearable, then if you ever kill me, we’ll be separated forever.” Snake-Salaar hissed.

“That’s different. What belongs to me should be destroyed by me personally. Having it stolen is another matter entirely.”

Myss snorted. “Forget that for now. How did you pull this off?”

“For safety’s sake, I didn’t permanently fix the communicator shell fragment into the badge. If you know where to apply the force, it’s easy enough to pry off.”

Snake-Salaar sounded a little slow and weak. “So before I was sealed into blood amber, I bit it off and hid it in my mouth.”

“My guess is that that ‘me’ will keep you close under watch. He has no need for communication, so he won’t notice the missing shell fragment any time soon.”

“Can you get out on your own?” Myss asked.

“No. Blood amber is more troublesome than I thought.”

Snake-Salaar sighed softly. “It took me hours just to carve out a little breathing room. I don’t know where I am. It’s very dark here, and the Perfected Creation’s presence is extremely strong.”

“I understand myself. If my body dared throw me in here, that means it has great confidence in the security of this place. Even if that thing discovers the shell fragment is gone, it still won’t risk putting me back out where I can be searched for.”

“So, Myss… cough… don’t come looking for me. Right now I’m not much use in a fight, and I can’t help you much. It’s enough if we can stay in contact…”

Myss raised an eyebrow. “What, do you think I need that snake brain of yours?”

Snake-Salaar: “…”

“I’ll kill whoever I want, and I’ll rescue whoever I want. You don’t get a say,” declared the Archdemon. “You say the Perfected Creation’s presence is strong over there? Good. It had better stay there and wait for me to beat it up.”

Snake-Salaar: “……..”

Snake-Salaar: “Looks like you really are in pretty good shape.”

“Not that good. I was still affected a little by the Perfected Creation. Just a tiny bit.” Myss grumbled under his breath. “Listen, I’ve got an operation planned for tomorrow. If it goes well, I’ll definitely find you. I’m absolutely going to snatch you back. Just wait and see.”

“Mm, I’ll wait and see.” A trace of laughter entered the fine little voice. “Do you mind telling me the plan?”

Three minutes later.

“You’ve lost your mind,” snake-Salaar said. “In theory it’s workable, but this method can only be used once…”

“If my ideas started sounding human, that would be madness.” Myss sounded supremely confident. “Just cooperate obediently. The one being rescued shouldn’t talk so much.”

“I’ll do my best.” Salaar laughed quietly. “All right, go eat your meal. It won’t be convenient to act on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Yes, yes, Lord Myss.”

After the meal, taking advantage of the lunch break, Myss openly slipped away from “Salaar” for a short while and sent out that letter.

To his surprise, “Salaar” actually allowed it without interference of any kind. Salaar’s rationality really was impossible to get a handle on, Myss clicked his tongue to himself.

The cat army wouldn’t arrive until nine the next morning. Until then, he only needed to do one thing—

“Oh no, Cinnamon got loose,” Myss exclaimed in a tone so obviously fake it was almost insulting.

Cinnamon’s ears twitched, and it sprang up as if someone had bitten its backside, leaping straight into Salaar’s paint palette. Salaar steadied the palette, but not well enough to survive a full set of cat paw attacks—the paints all got mixed together, and some splattered onto the canvas.

The culprit held its tail high and scampered out the door, leaving behind a trail of colorful little footprints.

“Salaar”: “…”

He set down his brush in silence and looked at Myss.

Myss didn’t even bother meeting his eyes. The Archdemon sprang up in a flustered rush, chasing after the cat while trying and failing to hide the upward curl of his lips.

“Salaar” shook his head, carefully put away his painting tools, and followed him out.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and everyone in the employee area was working. The moment they saw one of the central topics of conversation suddenly shoot out of his room, the employees all stopped what they were doing and stood up to watch.

Cinnamon clearly understood the art of running through a crowd. At times it ducked under cabinets and tables; at others it sprang onto passing carts. Throughout it all, it didn’t knock over a single thing, moving like weightless, fluffy phantom.

Myss stayed close behind it, letting out little cries as he ran. He kept himself at just the right distance—always about to catch up, never quite doing so—his expression full of sheer delight.

The afternoon sunlight had taken on a honeyed tint. It poured in through vast floor-to-ceiling windows, bright gold washing over every room.

The cat ran forward on its riotously colored little footprints, while Myss followed behind with light, quick steps, the balls of his feet brushing the thick carpets and drawing fresh tracks through them.

It would be more accurate to say he was joyfully running with the cat than merely chasing it.

“Salaar” followed behind like a shadow. Several times he tried using defensive magic to force Cinnamon to stop. Every time, the spell was shattered the instant it appeared by a strand of black magic.

Whenever that happened, Myss would turn his head and pull a face at “Salaar.” A look of brazen amusement danced across his features; he looked utterly delighted.

And so Myss ran lightly onward. His shadow swept past framed hallway paintings, vase after vase of fresh flowers, and glance after glance full of contempt or disdain, rushing deeper into the ever-brighter sunlight.

“Salaar” continued the pursuit as well, his face expressionless, impossible to read.

Myss ran through the first floor’s dining hall, appraisal room, and reception lounge.

The first floor was too close to the exhibition halls, so it had been designated as a transition level. Almost no creative employees worked there.

No one came out to stop him.

The guards saw that he was only chasing a cat and hadn’t knocked over or damaged any property, so they took it as an act of “making amends,” and their expressions were almost pleased.

Myss ran through the second floor’s painting and sculpture work areas, artifact-making area, textile and tailoring area, and materials storehouse.

Most people were concentrated on the second floor, and his and Salaar’s studio was there too. Cinnamon slipped deftly between pairs of human feet, and still no one bothered to stop it.

Either they were shielding their precious work from possible cat collateral damage, or they were looking down on Myss with disdain, terrified of becoming associated with someone so “degrading.”

Myss ran through the third floor’s jewelry design area, finishing and mounting area, and artwork packaging area.

There he saw Truman again. The moment Truman caught sight of Myss charging through, his whole body visibly shook.

His workstation was tucked away in the most remote spot of the entire area. Clearly, smearing Myss’s name had done nothing to improve this “thief’s” treatment.

When Truman saw “Salaar” following behind Myss, he perked up and tried to help catch Cinnamon. But the cat merely ran over his shoe, left a brilliantly colored pawprint there, and escaped without even letting Truman touch the tip of its tail.

During working hours, the fourth floor’s residential section, lounges, and reading rooms were completely empty. Even the servants responsible for cleaning were absent.

Like a lively fish darting through still water, Myss ran on and on without tiring, until—

“The fifth floor is off limits.”

The guards at the stairwell stopped him.

The entrance to the stairs leading up to the fifth floor wasn’t particularly obvious. Two guards stood watch at the steps. The location was extremely hidden. If he hadn’t just plowed through the place like Cinnamon, Myss probably never would have noticed the corner at all.

The two guards weren’t weak. Their Magibases were a pair of large Dobermans. They wore the specially made defensive Red Amber badges, and on their belts hung a row of delicate protective magic artifacts, giving off strong yet tightly controlled magical fluctuations.

Unless he intended to ambush them with lethal force, it would be very hard to take them down quickly. Forcing his way through wasn’t a good idea.

Myss withdrew his gaze and lifted his chin. “My cat ran up there.”

“Rest assured, there’s a sealed security door above. I can bring it back down for you.”

One of the guards spoke with polished courtesy. Sure enough, he soon returned carrying a panting Cinnamon in his arms.

Cinnamon stretched out its paw pads and mewed insistently, clearly with a great deal to say.

“Such tight security?” Myss arched a brow. “Well, that tracks. I haven’t seen the display halls or the vaults yet. I guess all the valuable things are on the fifth floor.”

The guard responded with a flawless smile and no answer.

Myss clicked his tongue.

Then, carrying the warm cat in his arms and the freshly completed “Red Amber map” in his head, he left in satisfaction.

“Did you enjoy your terrain survey?”

Back in the studio, “Salaar” asked him. He was patiently cleaning the spilled paint from all over the floor, with not the slightest trace of impatience on his face.

“I’m pretty happy, since you didn’t start any trouble for me for once.”

Myss said it carelessly, his tone full of that easy satisfaction unique to the victor.

Salaar looked at him with those blood amber eyes. “I simply wanted to know how you intended to get past the defenses. After all, when we were inside the seal, you never attempted anything similar.”

Myss’s hand paused in the middle of stroking the cat.

He was just about to answer, then realized that it was a probing question—he certainly couldn’t say, “I discovered your power can actually hurt me, and my true body can’t take risks.”

Come to think of it, both the Fallen Child and the Perfected Creation were, in a certain sense, able to harm him as well… Things were becoming more interesting by the moment.

In the end, he simply snorted through his nose and went on petting the cat in silence.

……

That evening, at “Salaar’s” explicit insistence, Myss grudgingly moved back into the painter’s suite.

“There won’t be another disturbance like that tonight. We both know those methods are ineffective against you.”

“Salaar” changed into sleepwear with practiced ease. “Still, from now on we’ll be living here together. You’d best get used to it sooner rather than later.”

Myss immediately turned his back on him. He headed straight for the bathroom and locked the door with a sharp click.

The Archdemon turned the bath’s mood music up to its loudest setting, cupped the communicator shell fragment in both hands, and buried himself in a mountain of foam.

“I moved back into the painter’s room,” he muttered to snake-Salaar. “What about you? Still alive?”

“For the time being, I have no intention of dying before you.”

Snake-Salaar’s voice still sounded weak. “Fortunately, Knife is an alchemical creature. It doesn’t need to eat or relieve itself. Otherwise things would be slightly awkward.”

Myss chuckled softly, then quickly filled Salaar in on everything he had discovered during the day. For the first time, he realized he actually had rather a lot to say.

“It’s not safe for me to stay here too long. You remember to tell Kalen about the layout of the collection hall later,” Myss said. “I absolutely have to get out of this damn place. It’s only the second day, and I’m already sick of it.”

Snake-Salaar was silent for a moment. “I know.”

“I’m sleeping in the bathtub tonight. The water stays warm anyway,” Myss continued angrily. “I don’t want to stay in the same space as that thing. Those eyes are unbearable.”

“No. That would ruin your skin, and if you fall asleep you could drown,” snake-Salaar said softly. “If you’re sleeping at night, you shouldn’t have to see the eyes.”

“No, still no.” Myss grumbled on. “He smells like the Perfected Creation’s magic. I hate that smell.”

As he spoke, he also washed Cinnamon’s fur.

Cinnamon had gotten plenty of paint and dust on itself. At the moment it lay obediently in the foam, eyes blissfully narrowed, making loud purring sounds.

“You love the feeling of superiority that comes from looking down on someone so much, I thought you’d keep using ‘me’ as a cushion,’ snake-Salaar remarked.

“What’s the point in winning against an empty shell? That isn’t the real you.”

Typical Knife’s brain to ask such a stupidly simple question. Myss sighed with exaggerated weariness and blew out a few fat soap bubbles.

There was a perfectly decent chaise longue in the room. In a little while, he would simply shove that thing over there and take the double bed for himself.

Yes. That was what he would do.

……

Tass painfully poked his head out of the gem in the wax seal and emerged from the envelope.

The rot across his body still showed no sign of improving. Without Salaar’s treatment, the injuries had spread several times farther than they had in the daytime. The decaying flesh gave off a sweet, rotting scent of pus, and the pain made his vision blacken at the edges.

Myss had said that Mr. Anti’s Magibase still existed… In truth, Tass didn’t know whether that was true or not. He only knew that if he was going to hold out in this hell, he needed some sliver of hope to cling to.

From what he had observed, the mail collection room had a dedicated storage room inside it, layered over with one protective spell after another.

The storage room was even bigger than the reception room outside. Countless letters and documents had been sorted into categories and placed into boxes, then stacked neatly on shelves. Each box bore a label with its time range and person in charge. Everything was arranged with impeccable perfection.

Sometimes, “perfection” did have its advantages, Tass thought bitterly.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time.

At dawn, the attendant at the front desk would change shifts and send out the checked letters. Tass would be able to escape the room through the jewelry on the attendant’s body.

If he missed this chance, he would be trapped inside this room for an entire day with no food or water. Leaving aside whether that would delay the investigation, it was doubtful whether he could endure it at all.

Reciting “Flaw’s” mail dates under his breath, Tass located the corresponding box. It too had quite a few spells laid over it, all of which he quietly and effortlessly moved aside.

The box was rather heavy. Besides the letter records, it also contained a good number of packages wrapped in parchment. Tass gave them a cursory glance. Most seemed to be items that had failed to be delivered and had never been reclaimed.

“Flaw,” “Flaw”… there!

Sender pseudonym: Flaw

Sender’s real name: Antis Crosien

Type of mail request: Plea for help

The moment he saw that name, Tass felt as though he had fallen into an ice pit.

“Flaw” was Antis. The handwriting in the signature was unmistakably Antis’s, the Antis he knew.

…How could that be?

Even with the limitations of the situation, snake-Salaar had only recited the content to him. But the tone and style of that plea-for-help letter sounded nothing like the rigid Antis in his memories.

Tass stretched out a trembling hand and began turning through the records one by one in chronological order.

Plea for help. Plea for help. Plea for help. Still plea for help.

Among the strange recipients, Tass found a few familiar names: scholars with notable achievements in the field of “Magibase vessels.”

Unfortunately, there were only records here, not the actual letters. Tass had no way of knowing what exactly Antis had written, nor what those scholars had written back.

Tass numbly flipped to the very end.

The third-to-last letter had been sent to “Patience.” The second-to-last and the very last had been sent to someone named “V.O.R.” There were no corresponding reply records for Antis’s last three sent letters.

After that, Antis never sent another letter again.

From madly sending letters to total silence, Antis had remained active for less than two months.

Ironically, in this little box Tass found a record of a letter whose recipient had been himself.

It was the earliest one. Antis hadn’t used a pseudonym, so the record had been filed separately. In the field for type of mail request, it said simply: “Friend.”

Tass remembered that letter. Antis had written that he had been rather busy recently and might need to reduce contact for a while, so Tass shouldn’t worry.

The rest had been a few dry greetings and an update on recent circumstances, all as dry as a report form. But at the end, he had unusually added a short passage—

[You were right. I should be brave enough to cast off my father’s ghost. I believe things will improve, my friend.]

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

[Your foolish friend, Antis.]

After those two months of silence, Antis had begun writing to him again. His letters had never changed after that. The format was always identical, the small talk always the same tired topics, even the times he sent them remained almost fixed.

Antis never mentioned “that sliver of hope” again.

Perhaps from that moment on, his friend had already ceased to be… the friend Tass knew.

Tass wiped at his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether it was seepage from his wounds or quiet tears; both tasted like blood.

Focus, Tass. This is absolutely not the time to fall apart.

The Dragon Fae jabbed hard at a wound on his arm, then shook his head violently.

Now that he thought about it, Antis had once sent out desperate cries for help.

If Antis’s human body had been in danger, or if he had suffered some injustice, Antis absolutely would have asked him for help. Which meant the thing Antis wanted help with belonged to a field Tass was utterly powerless in.

As a Dragon Fae assassin highly skilled in magic, the areas in which Tass was “powerless” were extremely limited.

For example: interpersonal relationships, romantic entanglements, or… illness.

…Creak.

Tass was still thinking furiously when the door behind him suddenly opened.

“I knew it was you.”

The newcomer spoke softly.

---

The author has something to say:

Today I found that a comment about shipping had been reported as “unrelated to the text” and deleted, and honestly, I’m pretty angry about it. So let me make this clear.

It’s normal to disagree with someone else’s interpretation, CP, or character reading. As I said before, as long as it’s not the kind of anti-ship / ship-breaking / self-insert-fantasy mudslinging comment, I’m fine with it. If something is genuinely unrelated to the text, I’ll reply to it myself or delete it myself if I see it.

→ I strongly do not recommend arguing under someone else’s comment—or even reporting their comment—just because you disagree with their character interpretation or what they find cute. ←

The comment section is not, and should not be, a place where only one voice is allowed. As the author, even I don’t think everyone has to enjoy the story or CP in exactly the same way.

Honestly, people read web novels to have fun. No one opens the comments section because they want to watch people fight, and no one likes feeling like they have to weigh every word of a comment in case they get attacked or deleted.

That’s enough already.

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 44: A Mysterious Call

Myss’s fingers were suddenly empty, and it felt as though all the blood in his body had frozen solid.

A second ago, he had still been enthusiastically planning out the day, with snake-Salaar wriggling against his skin. The next second, everything was gone.

The feeling was hard to describe. It was like being dragged out of a comfortably warm bath and thrown straight into the freezing wind. The whole world became cold and heavy.

The first time Salaar had been snatched away, a solid, unquestioning trust had still remained in Myss’s heart. He knew Salaar wasn’t that weak, that he would never be defeated so simply.

But this time… This time, the one who had acted wasn’t the Perfected Creation, but “Salaar.”

Of course, this was Salaar’s fault too.

A “Salaar” with no heart, a broken, incomplete “Salaar,” still probably counted as Salaar.

But the pain didn’t stop there. Bitter, sour, sticky foam seemed to churn up from the bottom of Myss’s heart.

He shouldn’t have underestimated the Perfected Creation’s attack. He shouldn’t have ignored weak little Truman and focused only on guarding against “Salaar”…

He should have checked more carefully before going out. He should have hidden Salaar in a more concealed place. He should have handled the ambush more calmly. He should have… Should have been more perfect…

With just that single thought, Myss suddenly realized something had wrapped around his heart. He felt like a butterfly whose wings had gotten caught in a web, unable to think freely.

A vast panic seized him. The scene from a few minutes ago replayed over and over in his mind, squeezing out endless “what ifs.”

“Salaar” dispelled his defenses and took two steps forward.

As usual, he ignored Truman’s fawning praise about how amazing his defensive magic artifacts were, then gently reached out and laid a hand on the back of Myss’s head.

Myss’s thoughts were such a tangled mess that he failed to dodge in time.

“Acting on emotion is unwise. Sometimes what people call ‘dignity’ is merely another form of arrogance.”

“Salaar” said this in a gentleness that made the skin crawl. “Surely you didn’t really think I would casually choose just anyone as a partner?”

“I assume you’ve discovered by now that the god here is different from the Fallen Child. It’s not some crude harvester, but a tamer. Which means It will not exterminate humanity outright.”

“So long as humanity continues to exist, the world still has hope. Besides, It’s not the only god born from an Abnormal Fruit. It cannot so easily seize full control over the human world.”

“But I can use Its divine power, along with the contract between you and me, to trap your mind here. Just as I said, Mr. Myss. Now that you possess emotions, emotions breed madness.”

“Salaar’s” voice remained unwavering.

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

Those words pried open Myss’s ears and threw his thoughts further and further into disorder. Just like a butterfly struggling ever more violently while more and more silk threads cling to it.

“Salaar” draped an arm around Myss’s shoulders and led him toward the studio.

The familiar whispering started up again, wrapping around him strand by strand like spider silk.

“I heard he changed rooms last night. He acts like he doesn’t care, but clearly he does.”

“It’s obvious he feels guilty. If he and Karns were a proper couple, would there be any need to stage this little show for everyone?”

“See? Trash stays trash. Once Karns comes knocking, he still has to obey. That kind of person deserves to suffer a little…”

The buzzing voices slid past Myss’s ears, making him increasingly irritated. After Truman’s ambush, he could no longer avoid the crowd. He had to guard against every single person.

Because he couldn’t find Salaar’s heart anymore.

Salaar’s body still counted as Salaar. He couldn’t stay too far from that body for too long. He had to… He had to follow “Salaar” for now. Until he found a solution, he had to abide by the Red Amber’s contract…

[…Remedy…]

Just as “Salaar” had said, that thing would never miss such a perfect chance, with the Chaos Archdemon whose “mind had been separated and power weakened”… He had to get Salaar’s heart back. And until then, he couldn’t create more conflict…

[…Compliance…]

That was right. He couldn’t act recklessly again. Sincere or not, he had to follow Red Amber’s rules.

Hadn’t he understood that already? A difficult environment only obstructed the investigation. He had to earn the approval of these hateful little insects…

[…Submission…]

Fork lay stiffly around Myss’s wrist, motionless like a real silver bracelet. Invisible thoughts had become shackles weighing a thousand pounds. Myss followed after Salaar mechanically, desperately thinking through the next move.

His plan had to be flawless. He couldn’t allow the enemy to seize on any weakness. He absolutely couldn’t make another mistake…

Creak. The studio door was pushed open.

Sunlight poured in like molten gold into Myss’s eyes, so similar to Salaar’s golden defenses. Everything from just now rose over him again like poison, and Myss couldn’t help freezing for an instant.

“Myss! Remember, it’s not your fault!”

Suddenly, a tiny voice shouted out from within Myss’s memory, cutting across the spiral of thoughts dragging him downward.

Myss stopped in his tracks.

Wait a second. Even Salaar had said it wasn’t his fault. That annoying Salaar!

The Great Hero had never been stingy about throwing blame onto him, yet just now he had actually said it wasn’t his fault!

Myss wasn’t good at handling complicated situations like this. But he understood Salaar. If it were Salaar—his Hero Salaar, the one he had known for more than three hundred years—what would Salaar do here?

That annoying face popped into his mind again, clearing its throat with that equally annoying voice.

Think, Myss. The Perfected Creation isn’t acting on impulse. Every one of its attacks against us has a very clear purpose.

First, it made me remember a huge number of painful memories in order to destroy my mind. You escaped because you lack those painful memories.

After that, it guided the Red Amber’s employees into a kind of mental siege against you. The methods escalated each time, trying to force you into self-reflection. But you don’t acknowledge human rules at all, so its efforts were pointless.

And finally, it snatched me away from your side.

Think about it. What are the conditions for its attack? I can figure it out even with Knife’s brain. You’re not going to tell me you can’t, are you? …Surely not?

…Of course he knew!

Fuming, Myss grabbed the imaginary Salaar and gave him a fierce hug.

Because Hero Salaar was the only being in the world he truly cared about. Only Salaar could genuinely affect his heart.

Yes. The Perfected Creation’s attack conditions were simple and vicious—

It merely needed him to doubt himself and begin to waver. Then its divine power could slip in through the cracks. The moment he started actively striving for perfection, that divine net had clung to him.

And stealing Salaar’s heart also forced him to stay near “Salaar,” which was practically the same as planting a surveillance spell on him. Quite simply, killing two birds with one stone.

Mm. In less than ten minutes, he had figured everything out. He really was a genius.

The storm of self-reproach came to a halt at once, replaced by a furry sort of delight. Myss settled himself on the model’s chair, scooped up Cinnamon from the floor, and buried his nose in the cat’s soft fur, hiding his expression.

Between the twitching ears of the cat, Myss secretly looked toward “Salaar.” That thing had once again taken its place before the easel, continuing to paint that unbearably boring canvas.

That’s right. Salaar’s heart would never submit. The Perfected Creation could do nothing to that heart. Knife and Fork had both been born from the power of an Abnormal Fruit. They were sturdy things.

And he would never submit either. How could he possibly lose to a Salaar running around with Knife’s brain? He was definitely going to get the Great Hero’s heart back and then mock him mercilessly right to his face.

The instant he completely sorted it out, Myss’s mind cleared considerably. Unfortunately, that force binding him was still there, making his emotions harder to control.

He absolutely couldn’t yield to the Perfected Creation again, Myss thought. But how was he supposed to ensure both “not leaving Salaar” and “searching for Salaar’s heart” at the same time?

…Wait. I got it!

……

Father Kalen had once considered whether he might be able to destroy the blood amber scattered throughout the city and weaken the influence of the divine power.

To that end, he had gathered quite a few cats and discussed the possibility of seizing the blood amber and destroying it in one place.

Unfortunately, Miss Claws informed him that the entire city of Semper had more than a thousand cats, but among them, at most six hundred were young and sturdy enough and willing to participate.

Compared to that, the amount of blood amber in Semper was practically a plague.

Every commoner household had more than three full sets of blood amber jewelry per person. Even beggars could be stripped of a few chipped scraps. Not to mention the enormous collections held by nobles, pieces of jewelry locked away in iron cabinets, secret rooms, and underground vaults.

The blood amber seemed like the nodes of a spiderweb.

The closer one got to the city center, the more nobles there were, and the denser the blood amber became. Even if they destroyed all the blood amber in commoner households, it would have very limited effect on the overall situation.

In short, the cats had the will but not the means, and Kalen could think of no better solution.

But Myss and Salaar were still suffering inside Red Amber. He could not allow himself to lose heart at a time like this.

…And so, at this very moment, Father Kalen once again stood before the home of Danton’s parents.

Since he couldn’t eliminate the blood amber, he had to at least understand how it exerted its influence.

The last time, Kalen had dropped the blood amber ring, then claimed he had urgent business and hurried away without taking it. He had noticed the old couple’s displeasure as he left.

This time, Father Kalen came to apologize, bringing gifts and explaining that his behavior during the last visit, when accepting the ring, had been discourteous.

The old couple wore dark clothing, but their complexions were oddly flushed and cheerful.

Every corner of the house had been tidied up, and several new portraits of Danton now hung on the walls. In them, Danton wore a free-spirited smile and looked radiantly happy.

The old couple’s smiles deepened the moment they saw the visiting priest.

“Oh my, I was wondering whether perhaps we had not hosted you well enough.”

Danton’s mother, Madam Domini, said, “After you left, we reflected on it for quite some time.”

“My apologies. My conduct last time was wholly inappropriate,” Father Kalen said. “I didn’t damage your ring, did I? You don’t seem to be wearing it today.”

She had instead changed to a more luxurious piece with a larger blood amber.

Danton’s mother smiled and waved to a servant. “Go fetch that ring. I’ve had it kept for you all this time. Such a meaningful gift.”

The servant quickly returned carrying a silver tray. The blood amber ring lay quietly upon soft silk, gleaming like new. Kalen lightly touched the blood amber with his fingertips, and once again a surge of burning pain raced through him.

Kalen lowered his hand without a flicker of expression and instead picked up his teacup.

“It’s a beautiful ring. This time, I’ll accept it properly.”

His voice came out a bit dry. “When you say it has commemorative meaning, do you mean ‘the good news regarding Mr. Danton’?”

“Oh yes, the very best of news!”

Mr. Domini stood with Danton’s enormous portrait behind him and laughed aloud. “Our son, our son we are so proud of, has fixed himself forever in the state closest to perfection!”

“Was it truly necessary to go that far?” Kalen swallowed. “I had heard that blood amber symbolizes perfection. I thought it would be enough simply to collect more of it…”

“The commoners must have misled you.”

Madam Domini smiled in a reserved way, with a faint touch of contempt mixed in.

“Oh, those poor things.” She elegantly lifted her teacup and took a sip. “All they can do is scrimp and save to buy some blood amber, then collect a few trifling little objects so they can pretend to be refined. Their minds can hold nothing more than that.”

“Believe me, true perfection isn’t something built on piles of money.” Mr. Domini said this with growing enthusiasm. “There is much more to consider. The size and setting of the blood amber, the reputation of the jewelry designer, how fashionable the combination is… and above all, the wearer must be flawless.”

“In other words, someone as outstanding as Mr. Danton,” Kalen said with a forced smile.

“Exactly. Whether outwardly or inwardly, we must not have even the slightest flaw.”

The Dominic couple spoke in unison, as though using the same tongue.

“One must never miss the newest fashions, never make the slightest mistake, never let even the smallest scandal erupt, never possess second-rate goods that don’t match one’s status. Even one’s private interests must be of the highest elegance, the sort no one can criticize.”

Father Kalen looked silently toward the portrait of Danton Domini.

The dead man in the portrait still smiled, draped in countless dazzling blood amber jewels.

“…In short, those who refuse to correct flaws have no right to earn respect.”

The old couple’s tone was filled with absolute conviction, like the most innocent and moral souls in the world, or else like judges filled with righteous indignation.

“An imperfect background can be compensated for through superior artistic taste. An imperfect appearance can be adorned with more beautiful blood amber jewelry. If one fears one’s conduct isn’t perfect enough, one only has to remain careful at all times… What’s difficult about that?”

Then the two of them even began discussing examples on the spot.

They went from, “A certain noble lady’s grandfather’s former wife was a fraud, so she has no right to claim that her family upbringing is excellent,” to, “A certain gentleman’s neighbor got drunk and injured someone, and since that gentleman once invited the neighbor to dine at his house, his own morals must also be rotten.”

When they reached the point of, “In the capital’s social circles, calling a handkerchief a ‘rag’ is terribly vulgar and rude,” Kalen finally couldn’t listen any longer.

“I heard you abandoned a cat,” he said despite himself.

The old couple’s faces changed at once. The look on them was one of sheer panic and helplessness, the kind ordinary parents would wear upon hearing news of their son’s death.

“H-how did you know that?”

Mr. Domini stammered, tears springing into his eyes. “N-no, that’s not right, we didn’t abandon it… We gave it to a servant! Yes, that’s right, the servant lost it!”

“You must have been mistaken. The cat we used to keep was completely ordinary, and there are as many lookalikes as one could want.”

Madam Domini was putting on a show of composure, but her voice trembled slightly. “Please don’t spread such rumors. That would be a terribly grave slander against us.”

Kalen rose to his feet. “I think it’s time for me to leave.”

Madam Domini cast a look toward the servant, and the servant swiftly removed the silver tray bearing the ring. Clearly, as an imperfect guest, Father Kalen wasn’t worthy of receiving that ring, symbol of perfection.

A few seconds after he left the house, frightened shouting rose up inside the residence.

Father Kalen thought for a moment and reached toward his communicator.

But just before he activated it, it rang on its own.

“Hey, Talen.”

Myss’s voice came through the device. He was speaking very quietly, and there was some noise in the background, as though he were in a public dining hall or somewhere similar.

“It’s Kalen,” Father Kalen corrected him patiently. “I was just about to contact you myself, Mr. Myss.”

“Then your business can wait. Your Grandma Black Cat finished probing things out, but I can’t understand what she’s saying.”

The next moment, a hoarse, scratchy series of meows came through the communicator.

“…That’s what she said.” After the cat had finished meowing, Myss took the communicator back.

“She says the rule for the Divine Realm is simple: once you enter the employees’ work area, you can’t leave again,” Kalen said. “She also says the lunch meatballs were pretty good, and you should take more.”

“Oh.” Myss responded. “How many cats do you still have on your side? I mean, what’s the most you can gather?”

“Miss Claws can mobilize about six hundred. Why?”

“That’s a bit too few…” Myss fell into thought.

Seeing that Myss was silent for a long time, Father Kalen took a breath and explained everything that had just happened, from the fact that he couldn’t remove blood amber from the outside, to the turmoil during his second visit to Danton’s house.

“The nobles who died in such strange ways likely died for the same reason as Mr. Danton.”

He summarized, “Under the influence of a high concentration of divine power, the nobles’ pursuit of ‘perfection’ has become pathological. The moment they find a flaw in themselves, they are thrown into enormous panic.”

“Once they realize that they can ‘never again attain perfection,’ they are likely to end themselves. If possible, the two of you should avoid provoking those—”

“Well, six hundred cats should suffice,” Myss said. “Your findings are quite good, Kalo.”

“It’s Kalen,” Father Kalen said, sounding bewildered.

“Tomorrow at three in the afternoon, send all six hundred cats in,” Myss said. “Grandma Black Cat will go receive them. She knows a very hidden entrance.”

“As for the rest of the plan, I’ll have Cinnamon relay it. The cats only need to follow my instructions. Don’t worry, I’ll guarantee their safety.”

“…What exactly are you planning to do?”

“Steal Salaar’s heart back.”

Kalen: “Huh???”

Before he could ask anything further, the call was cut off.

The Red Amber, a corner of the public dining hall.

Using “getting a drink” as an excuse, Myss crouched behind a tall potted plant. Fork stood lookout for him. “That especially annoying Salaar is still sitting over there eating.”

Myss stroked the faintly vibrating badge.

He had just finished talking with Kalen, and “Salaar” had done nothing. Which meant this incoming communication request…

Myss activated the magic device.

“Who is this?” His heart clenched with a sort of expectation.

“It is I, your ever-haunting shadow.”

A thin, reedy voice spoke. The sound was blurred and weak, but Myss would never mistake it.

“The fact that you actually didn’t start doubting yourself… Impressive,” snake-Salaar continued in that infuriating tone.

“…Not having me by your side—hasn’t it been hard to get used to, Lord Myss?”

---

The author has something to say:

The king of cats is about to charge out with his cat army! [waving][cat paw][cat paw][cat paw]

An upgraded deluxe version of “then nobody gets to sleep” (not really)

And besides, how could the Great Hero’s heart possibly just sit there waiting to be rescued? [Ok!]

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 43: That Heart

“I want a room of my own,” Myss said.

Iver didn’t look especially surprised. “And what about the two of your cats?”

“I’m taking all of them,” Myss said without the slightest politeness. “Give me a quiet room. Preferably one farther away from that bastard.”

“A wise choice.” Iver smiled.

He paused politely for a moment, then added, “I’ve heard there are some rumors about you inside the Red Amber, and I can understand your displeasure. But regarding the incident where you hurt someone, it would be best if you came forward and apologized.”

“That kind of behavior reflects poorly on you. I would advise you to maintain a more appropriate demeanor.”

“Oh, I’m not displeased, and I have no interest in apologizing.”

Myss said, “To put it in your terms, I feel that everything about me is perfect. I’m extremely satisfied with myself.”

The only thing that could truly make him unhappy was Salaar. But even then, it was his own choice to avoid the risk and not strike the killing blow. If time returned to more than three hundred years ago, Myss would still make exactly the same decision.

Yes. His decisions were perfectly flawless. If the outcome didn’t satisfy him, then that was Salaar’s fault.

Likewise, Myss didn’t feel in the slightest that beating up those people had been wrong. If it happened again, he would only enjoy beating them more.

Iver’s gaze grew complicated. “Very well, if you insist.”

Before dinner, Myss had already been given a room of his own. The model suite’s dressing room and bath were more spacious, though it had no dedicated painting area and the light wasn’t as good.

Myss took all three cats with him. “Salaar” didn’t try to stop him in the least. Cinnamon and Butter took it in stride, but the ragdoll cat Apple looked confused, rubbing itself back and forth against Myss’s trouser leg and mewing questioningly.

Unfortunately, Lord Archdemon didn’t possess Father Kalen’s gift for affinity with animals. He simply hung the magic badge on the cat and had the priest explain the situation on his behalf.

“It’s fine now.” A few minutes later, the priest said, “I told it the two of you had a fight and were breaking up. It understands completely.”

Myss: “…?”

“What else was I supposed to say? They can’t understand topics like Divine Realms.”

Snake-Salaar poked his head out from Myss’s collar and rested comfortably along the fold of the fabric. “At last, we can talk freely. Wonderful.”

He craned his little head, peering around inquisitively as he surveyed their new base. As for Tass… they had lent him Cinnamon’s tracking magic artifact, so they weren’t worried the Dragon Fae would be unable to find his way back.

Myss casually picked out a tea saucer and stuffed a soft tea cloth into it. Then he lifted snake-Salaar into it and gave him a few squeezes on the way.

Fork circled curiously around Salaar, its tongue lightly brushing over his head.

Salaar rested his tiny snake head on the edge of the saucer, looking completely unruffled, as though losing his body were no big deal. Unfortunately, that relaxed mood didn’t last long.

Before the dinner Myss had ordered even arrived, Tass returned first.

Tass looked in exceptionally bad shape. His skin was ulcerated all over, the membranes of his wings were full of holes, and he flew so unsteadily he nearly pitched headfirst onto the floor.

Only now did Myss truly understand the Dragon Fae’s terror.

If the Dragon Fae had merely been attacked by magic, he could have “washed” the effects away using gemstones with ease. But if the entire environment itself was poisonous, then there truly was nowhere to escape to.

Salaar hurriedly slithered out of the saucer and used his meager magic to heal Tass’s injuries.

But Tass himself seemed to have forgotten his pain. He hugged his knees in a daze and haltingly recounted everything he had seen and heard. The words sounded less like something drawn from memory than something he was vomiting up from his heart.

“So you’re saying Danton was made into a living specimen, and Mr. Anti is a living specimen too.”

“And the blood amber is most likely made by that so-called god, the ‘Perfected Creation,’ and only Perfected followers of it are allowed to leave the Divine Realm.”

Myss murmured, “But Salaar’s body wasn’t turned into a specimen…”

“Oh, that might be because my conversion was incomplete, so ‘I was not fully accepted.’” Snake-Salaar cut in. “Seen that way, separating out my heart was actually for the best. At least I won’t hesitate because of reason.”

“In other words, the ‘you’ acting right now is purely on emotion?”

“And what of it? You didn’t meet me yesterday. I’ve always been emotional,” snake-Salaar said openly.

True enough, Myss thought.

After all, he couldn’t imagine any rational leader naming every mushroom on a plate before dinner, giving each one a funeral speech in order, and only then eating them.

But that wasn’t the main issue right now.

With snake-Salaar’s cool and smooth body wound around his finger, Myss began to formulate a plan. “We can’t stop investigating ‘Flaw.’ That’s the closest lead we have to V.O.R. And now, we happen to have the most useful kind of manpower.”

He looked at Tass without the slightest mercy. Tass remained blankly hugging his knees, making no response to Myss’s gaze.

“Mr. Anti may not be entirely dead. As far as I know, he still has a Magibase.”

Myss said, “A Magibase is a symbol of the mind. Since it still exists, your friend’s mind still exists too, even if only as a remnant.”

Tass’s green eyes shifted. “Really?”

“He wouldn’t lie about something like that. I guarantee it,” snake-Salaar affirmed, lifting his head.

Tass pursed his lips; the deathly pallor had finally started fading from his face.

After the first day, everyone was utterly exhausted.

Tass ate some fruit and pastries, then spread out a tea cloth for himself as a bed and quickly fell asleep.

Salaar recovered a little magic at a time and spent every bit of it healing Tass. Even so, Tass’s condition improved very little. Snake-Salaar seemed a little downcast, lying motionless in Myss’s palm.

As for Myss, he cupped both hands around his tiny enemy, pressed him to his chest, and then curled up around him.

The Red Amber’s bedding was actually quite good, but Myss simply found it cold and hard, uncomfortable no matter how he lay on it.

Later, in the middle of the night—

Bang bang bang bang bang bang!

An earthshaking pounding came at the door. Myss opened his eyes in irritation. His left hand tightened around Salaar while his right wound itself with black threads of magic. “Who is it?”

No reply came.

Still on guard, Myss pulled open the door and found several sheets of paper scattered on the floor. Looking more closely, he saw that many slips had also been stuck onto the door itself.

They were unsigned, and every one of them was covered in vicious ridicule. The general meaning was much the same as the whispers during the day: he was a filthy, arrogant male whore, utterly unworthy of entering the Red Amber, and he ought to repent for “defiling art.”

There were also accusations like “violent lunatic” and “disgustingly crude,” all written in a tone of perfect moral righteousness.

Myss: “……”

He picked up one of the sheets and sniffed it carefully. Sure enough, it carried a faint blood amber scent… Was the “Perfected Creation” serious? Did it intend to attack him with these flimsy bits of paper?

“How boring.”

Myss paid them no mind at all.

The servants could clean them away in the morning. He gave a huge yawn, draped Salaar over his collar, and sleepily crawled back into bed.

Snake-Salaar, however, stared silently at the stack of papers, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark.

Myss buried his face in the pillow and quickly fell asleep again, but the moment his mind began to settle—

Bang bang bang bang bang bang!

The pounding started at the door again. This time, even two of the cats woke up. They let out unhappy little meows and jumped off the bed one after another.

Myss glanced at the time. It wasn’t even two in the morning yet. A faint killing intent rose inside him as he yanked the door open.

This time, he caught sight of two fleeing figures. They vanished quickly around the corner, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. The pile of papers on the floor had grown higher, and the words “WATCH YOUR CONDUCT!” had been assembled across them in giant cut-out letters.

The paper used was different from sheet to sheet, clearly from different hands, but every message was the same.

His door had become damp and sticky, smelling faintly sweet and bloody. Narrowing his eyes, Myss saw that “WATCH YOUR CONDUCT!” had been painted in huge strokes across the door itself.

The words were written in blood. In the weak light, they looked nearly black.

All right, then. He had been wrong. The followers of the “Perfected Creation” did have a move or two. He was actually getting a little annoyed now.

If only Salaar’s body were still here, Myss thought resentfully, poking the snake—at the very least, Salaar’s defensive magic had been remarkably effective, especially when it came to soundproofing.

Myss ignored the mess outside yet again and slammed the door shut. He buried his head in the pillow and went back to sleep.

Naturally, it went exactly as expected. The moment he drifted into that half-dreaming state again, the pounding began anew.

Myss practically sprang to the door in one leap and charged outside. Just as he was about to attack the fleeing culprits, a sharp pain shot through the sole of his foot.

Looking down, he found several sharp vase fragments underfoot. They were just pointed enough and just hard enough to pierce the soft indoor shoes the Red Amber provided.

Blood welled up at once. Myss pulled the bloody shards out of his sole and slowly drew in a breath.

The pile of papers before him had grown even higher, almost like a paper grave mound. This time, the words written on them were no longer mere “warnings” or “advice.” Myss sensed the presence of curse magic—far from deadly, but enough to injure someone.

“This isn’t a prank. This is deliberate harm and sleep deprivation.”

Snake-Salaar spoke in a grave tone, his body rigid, his anger no less than during the day. “Go back into the room quickly. I’ll heal you.”

“Cough… maybe you should just take all the papers inside?” Tass, who had also been woken by the disturbance, offered. “It looks like if you don’t accept them, they won’t stop.”

“Compromise for now. Recovering your strength matters most.”

“Compromise? Me?” Myss snorted. “So they don’t want me to sleep? Fine. Then no one sleeps.”

He didn’t let Salaar heal his foot. Instead, leaving bloody footprints, he strode out into the hall. Black threads swept up the papers and spread them evenly into every corner of the corridor.

In one hand Myss held a square silver serving tray. In the other he brandished a broken chair leg, hammering away with deafening force. The shrieking metallic scrape tore through the night, enough to burst anyone’s eardrums.

“Somebody—left something—outside my door—Who is it—throwing garbage around—in the middle of the night—”

Imitating the Salaar from the seal, Myss began to sing in a high, trilling voice. The hideously off-key melody paired perfectly with the noise, enough to wake even the plants in their flowerpots.

“Hurry up—and come claim it—”

Salaar was trembling where he sat against Myss’s neck. At first Myss thought the little snake couldn’t endure it. But after a moment’s glance, he discovered that Salaar was actually swaying to the rhythm.

“Come on, I’ll teach you the song.” Instead of stopping him, snake-Salaar urged him on at once. “I know one that’s even worse. The lyrics are unbelievably awful. Perfect for tormenting those bastards.”

How novel. Usually it had always been Salaar harassing him one-sidedly. Rare indeed was the chance for the two of them to join forces and harass other people instead.

Myss immediately perked up. “Let’s go!”

The corridor was dimly lit, the flames casting swaying shadows.

Doors, carpets, wallpaper—everything was immaculate, repeated with the sameness of an endless collage, radiating a silence so perfect it turned the skin cold.

Snake-Salaar stood straight up on Myss’s shoulder, leading the song in a fine, high little voice while Myss followed in rhythm. Once they were familiar with the tune, they even added bits of harmony.

Myss and the little snake swayed as they walked, silver-white hair mingling with silver-white scales in the warm dim light. Bits of torn paper flew everywhere in their wake like tiny falling petals.

Two cats trotted along with their tail held high, occasionally knocking over an exquisite vase or two. Each time Myss sang a line, they followed it by shrieking at full volume, their voices wonderfully piercing.

Chaos rapidly devoured order. Bright paint splashed itself over blankness. Myss never used annihilation magic, yet the result was somehow even more chaotic than annihilation itself.

The Archdemon’s talent for imitation was astonishing, and that terrible song was astonishingly awful. With a tune like sawing wood and lyrics of unbelievable vulgarity, Myss sincerely suspected that if the Abnormal Fruit weren’t sustaining the place, the song alone might be enough to send the “Perfected Creation” to the grave.

The faintly sensed web in the air was trembling—whether from provocation or anger, who could say.

From behind countless doors came restrained clicks of the tongue. These perfection-seeking creatures dared throw threats at him, but not one of them dared be the first to step out and curse him to his face.

…Strange. This actually felt pretty good, Myss thought.

He began to understand why Salaar liked howling—no, singing—in the darkness.

The only regret was that Salaar had quietly healed his foot after all, ruining Myss’s chance to stamp bloody footprints all along the corridor.

After nearly an hour of this traveling concert, Myss returned to his room feeling utterly refreshed and immediately collapsed into sleep. Snake-Salaar lightly coiled around Myss’s wrist, resting his head against the warmth of his enemy’s fingers, sleeping just as soundly.

This time they slept in perfect peace. No one dared trouble them again until the sun rose.

Morning.

Myss didn’t leave the room right away. On a sheet of paper he wrote, “Hello, how is the weather?” and carelessly stuffed it into an envelope. When he sealed it with wax, he deliberately pressed a gemstone into the seal.

That would be Tass’s hiding place.

While Myss prepared the letter, snake-Salaar recited “Flaw’s” old correspondence to Tass. Once Tass successfully infiltrated the mail storage area, he would be able to search through the records based on the relevant dates.

As a seasoned assassin, Tass was high adapt at gathering information, and he agreed without hesitation.

“…But how are you planning to fool the registration process?”

Once the letter was ready, Tass couldn’t help asking, “I know that lie-detection magic. It’s no joke. If Mr. Myss uses a false name, the registration form will definitely react.”

“Oh, I’m not like this bastard.”

Myss glanced at snake-Salaar out of the corner of his eye. “My real name—the only name I myself recognize—is ‘Myss.’”

“And what if they refuse to send the letter? This place is becoming increasingly hostile to you,” Tass said, still full of concern.

“They won’t.” Snake-Salaar cut in confidently. “This place places extraordinary emphasis on following the rules. As long as Myss is still fulfilling the contract, he’s entitled to the corresponding services.”

“Otherwise, Iver could simply have rejected Myss’s request yesterday and forced Myss to eat and live together with my body.”

Before snake-Salaar had even finished speaking, another piece of good news arrived: Father Kalen had found a volunteer cat.

“It’s willing to help test the boundary of the Divine Realm. You can call it ‘Grandma Black Cat,’” Father Kalen said. “She even knows a few secret entrances used only by cats.”

“She might get trapped. Does she really understand that?” Myss asked in return. “Oh, and I’ve sort of gotten Salaar back, by the way. He’s the one making me ask.”

“No problem. Grandma Black Cat was seriously ill before and is still physically weak. By your description, the Red Amber will provide medical treatment and food for her.” Father Kalen said, “As I said, she’s old enough that even if she can never get back out…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Myss understood what he meant.

“All right. I’ll wait for her good news.”

Myss ended the communication and let out a long breath.

Excellent. Everything was going smoothly.

Tass would handle the mail collection room. A volunteer cat would test the boundary of the Divine Realm. Now he could finally free his hands and go looking for this so-called “Perfected Creation.”

This Divine Realm was nowhere near as large as the Fallen Child’s had been. That Perfected Creation had to be hiding in some corner. He had no intention of negotiating with it. He wanted to tear it apart with his own hands.

“If you don’t recover soon, I’m going to deal with that thing myself.” He toyed with Salaar between his fingers and declared with satisfaction, “All of its little tricks are useless against me.”

Before opening the door, Myss deliberately extended his senses. There was no especially heavy human presence outside, nor any suspicious magical fluctuation.

All right. He twisted the doorknob, determined to begin the second day of his divine-realm adventure.

Click.

The instant the lock turned, Myss collided head-on with a golden defensive barrier.

…Bad. It was “Salaar”!

Myss hurled an annihilation spell back at it immediately, clutching snake-Salaar tightly against his chest. As always, he didn’t retreat—he only tried to break straight through the thing blocking him.

“Salaar” smiled.

The moment the barrier shattered, two ordinary-looking models suddenly rushed out from the side. One wrapped around Myss’s waist, the other pinned his shoulder.

At the same instant, a streak of red light scorched the back of Myss’s hand. The spell was extraordinarily powerful, and his fingers loosened by instinct.

Only for a moment.

Truman burst out from behind “Salaar.” A golden defensive barrier covered his body, and in his left hand he clenched a magic ornament forged from the Saint’s Blood. With his dexterous right hand, he snatched at Myss’s chest, then flung what he took straight toward “Salaar.”

As the thief who had once swapped out the Saint’s Blood, Truman’s hands were astonishingly quick. By the time Myss reacted, snake-Salaar was already in “Salaar’s” grasp.

In an instant, layers upon layers of defensive magic wrapped around “Salaar,” ensuring that not a single thread of annihilation magic could get through.

“I—I caught that snake.”

Truman’s voice shook with excitement. “Mr. Karns, Mr. Karns… now you approve of me, right? You approve of what I said, don’t you?”

“Salaar” ignored him completely.

He pinched the frantically struggling “heart” in his hand, the blood amber eyes curving slightly.

“I know where I would place my ‘heart,’ Mr. Myss.”

“Salaar’s” tone was full of regret. “You’re even more dangerous than I imagined… You have had too corrosive an effect on my ‘heart.’ I must place it somewhere safer.”

Snake-Salaar seemed to realize something at once and jerked his head upward. He sprang toward “Salaar’s” chest, as if trying to attack his own body.

“Myss!”

The tiny shout pierced through all those layers of shielding, carrying a certainty that could not be doubted.

“Remember, this is not your fault!”

“I understand the precondition for Its attack now! You absolutely must not sus—”

The voice cut off abruptly.

Drop by drop, blood amber appeared out of nowhere and engulfed the little snake completely.

The next second, “Salaar” peeled that beautiful blood amber from his chest and tossed it upward, letting it vanish into empty space.

“Now, in accordance with the contract.”

“You cannot leave me anymore, Mr. Myss.”

---

The author has something to say:

The first time, Salaar was attacked by the Perfected Creation, and his heart fled to Myss’s side. [doge head]

The second time, Salaar’s heart was attacked by the Perfected Creation—but don’t worry, everyone, he’ll still be back at Myss’s side at top speed. [dog with rose in mouth]

Mr. Hero, isn’t that amazing? …Take a guess how he’s going to do it. [OK]

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 42: Resurrection

Myss’s mind instantly flashed through the contract terms.

They had to share all information related to “body-swapping,” had to ensure each other’s safety, and had to stay by each other’s side.

…If Salaar truly wanted to keep him trapped here, that wouldn’t actually violate the contract.

“Salaar” kept speaking, his voice growing ever more coaxing. “Don’t hesitate. I am you. I have all your memories.”

“You know very well that you’re not the Chaos Archdemon’s match at all. Even when you sealed Him back then, your goal was only to ‘buy time for humanity,’ not to ‘bring an end to the Night Scourge’ once and for all.”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Mr. Myss’s power is far from restored. As long as you trap the Archdemon’s consciousness here, you can buy humanity more time—an eternity of time.”

“As for Abroma Fruit, V.O.R., or the nascent god here… Yes, they are dangerous. But ask yourself honestly: are they truly more dangerous than the Night Scourge?”

“Of course not. They don’t hold a candle to the Night Scourge,” Myss answered at once.

This thing wasn’t Salaar. The feeling was completely wrong. Even though the voice and expressions were very similar, it was more like some kind of rigid “reproduction.”

“Salaar”: “……”

“You’ve got the wrong idea, impostor.”

Myss bared his teeth and casually pressed a hand over snake-Salaar at his chest. “I only agreed to play that ‘contract game’ with the Great Hero because the investigation requires it.”

“I need the investigation to stay simple and efficient. Wanton destruction would only bring trouble. But if you’re trying to keep me trapped here, then take a guess—will I still care about that pestering ‘trouble’?”

He took two steps forward and stopped right in front of “Salaar.” “Besides, if that so-called god were truly strong enough, it should’ve dealt with me the same way it dealt with you. But it didn’t.”

As he spoke, Myss grabbed “Salaar” by the throat, his tone turning colder and colder.

“…So I’m very curious. If that thing and I both bet our lives all the way to the end, who would be the one left standing?”

Black threads spread out from Myss like a spiderweb in an instant.

The beautifully decorated studio trembled slightly. Paint peeled off the walls at high speed, the flowers withered in a blink, and rough wooden boards were exposed beneath the floor. Everything was annihilated as though they had been burnt.

Amid the falling ash, “Salaar” narrowed those amber eyes. “I suppose so. Now that you possess emotions, those emotions will breed madness.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

Myss’s face remained expressionless. “I’m only reminding you of one thing. Whether it was the past three hundred years or now—you’re alive only because I permit it.”

With that, he sat back down in the model’s chair, as though it were some sort of throne carved out of darkness.

“Now you should shut up and keep painting.”

“Salaar” said nothing more, nor did he show any emotion. Wearing a Salaar-like smile, he picked up the brush again and continued sketching in silence.

“Wow, how cool,” snake-Salaar remarked with a hiss.

“Is that so? Because if you want to become that disgusting thing—” Myss began threateningly.

“I wasn’t praising that thing. I was praising you.”

Snake-Salaar shifted slightly against his chest. “Everything it said was nonsense. Rather than kneeling under the feet of some unknown god and begging to survive, I’d rather die standing.”

Myss’s anger immediately turned into curiosity. “Even if the fate of the human world were at stake?”

“The fate of the human world belongs to everyone. It shouldn’t be decided by a mere individual like me.”

Snake-Salaar’s tone held not a single shred of doubt. “If the human world were to end just because I refuse to obey a monster, then believe me, humanity would be far too fragile.”

Good. This was the Salaar he knew.

The knot of foul irritation in Myss’s chest loosened somewhat. He grumbled in satisfaction, and his body relaxed a little.

…By evening, servants came in as usual to clean. They let out cries of alarm at the annihilated wreckage inside.

Those cries drew quite a crowd. People crowded the doorway to look, their whispering growing louder and louder. Truman was squeezed in at the back of the crowd, shivering as he watched.

Myss walked toward the group as if it were nothing, intending to leave the studio first.

Salaar’s body had chosen to cooperate with the “god,” which meant the god of this place wouldn’t do anything to that body for the time being.

Myss had no desire to remain in the same room as that impostor. After all, the real Salaar was tucked against his chest. According to the contract, that didn’t count as being separated from Salaar.

But the crowd at the door didn’t make way for him.

Their gazes came from all directions, pinning themselves into him.

“He actually ruined such a beautiful studio. What a low-class lout…”

“His clothes have no taste either. He doesn’t even have the most basic jewelry coordination. He probably thinks he’s special…”

“He only has one single work to his name, and on the very first day he dares to be late. I really don’t want to work with someone like that.”

“Someone saw him talking to Mr. Iver at noon, and he even picked a secluded corner. How filthy… And his name doesn’t even sound noble. Who knows how he latched onto the Karns family…”

Their volume was perfectly calibrated—loud enough for Myss to hear, low enough that it was hard to tell exactly who was speaking.

Unfortunately for them, this sort of sneering had no offensive power whatsoever against Myss. Irritated, he waved a hand. “All of you, get out of my way.”

“I—I know him!” Truman suddenly raised his voice.

Instantly, every gaze turned toward him, including Myss’s somewhat surprised one. Truman licked his lips and avoided Myss’s eyes.

“We rode in the same carriage to Semper. The whole way, he was sleeping with Karns. Back then he was dressed like some shabby ranger, definitely not a noble. I couldn’t even stand the sight of the way he fawned over Karns!”

“Sleeping with him and fawning over him—how is that different from a male whore?”

“Maybe that’s exactly what he is. That Karns has a terrible reputation and not much money left. How could he possibly have a respectable lover?”

“This is testimony from a member of the Manning family! The lead figure of ‘The End of the World’ is actually a male whore? Oh dear…”

People’s voices rose slightly, and their eyes slid toward the other lead figure—the “Karns” at the easel.

“Salaar” said nothing at all. He merely continued sketching quietly. The sketch showed Myss sitting in the model’s chair. At a glance, there was nothing remarkable about it, and people quickly lost interest in him again.

Truman, on the other hand, gained several looks of amused interest and faint approval. He puffed out his chest, and a little color returned to his pale face.

“I should’ve punched him back then.”

Snake-Salaar muttered unhappily. The Great Hero seemed genuinely annoyed, wriggling irritably in place. “Rather than being trapped together in this infuriating place, I’d rather go back into your darkness for another three hundred years.”

Myss couldn’t be bothered to answer.

He genuinely didn’t care about the slander from these insects. To him, this level of attack was as absurd as calling a human “a rotten soybean.” He wasn’t a soybean, and he had no interest in understanding a soybean’s emotional life.

But the fact that this ridiculous accusation had infuriated the Great Hero Salaar was interesting. It meant that if someone was a person at all—even one with very little humanity left—they would still be affected by the current atmosphere.

Myss’s dark red eyes swept back and forth, his attention focused entirely on the blood amber ornaments.

Amid the buzzing voices, he vaguely sensed something. Some sort of presence flowed ceaselessly among the beautiful blood amber objects, weaving an invisible net.

Along with the whispering, that indistinct web drifted around him, but failed to stick to him. Myss shook his head, trying to see it more clearly, but the net was hidden too skillfully. He simply couldn’t make it out properly.

Still, he did catch one interesting little weakness.

Truman was new here. He wore only one blood amber badge, and the connection point on him was clear and weak. Myss strode over and grabbed Truman by the collar.

Truman bit his tongue in fright. “Y-you—what are you trying to do? Hurting people is strictly forbidden inside the Red Amber!”

Then his eyes darted left and right, and he raised his voice even louder. “Even if you threaten me, it won’t erase all those filthy things you’ve done!”

“A-and besides, no-no matter what, my mistake was an internal matter among nobles. Trash like you have no right to provoke me, got it?!”

By the time he finished, he actually sounded aggrieved, his eyes glistening with tears, as if he were some brave champion of justice.

Myss ignored him entirely. His eyes were fixed on Truman’s Magibase—a possum curled up tightly.

The possum’s state was strange. It looked as though it were being strangled by invisible cords, unable to struggle, able only to pant desperately, its blood-red eyes bulging outward.

Myss couldn’t find the cords, and in front of so many people it wasn’t exactly ideal to use Truman for practice.

So he tilted his shoulder and nudged snake-Salaar with his cheek. “Hey. Use your magic to seal off that blood amber.”

Snake-Salaar lightly bit his skin, then stretched his body taut as though trying to wring every last bit of magic from himself.

A faint golden glow spread across Truman’s badge. Snake-Salaar’s magic was pitifully weak, but fortunately the blood amber piece was small, and the protective spell neatly sealed it.

At the same time, the possum seemed to have been released. Its breathing calmed, and Truman’s eyes turned blank and confused. He stopped shouting, his expression slipping into bewilderment.

“Myss, is that enough? I’m done for.” Snake-Salaar was stretched as rigid as a branch, and he sounded as if he had truly reached his limit.

“My, before this, you’d never have admitted in front of me that you couldn’t do something.”

This was far too amusing. Myss pressed his lips together, holding back a smile. “Well, these are special circumstances. I’ll let it slide, just this once.”

“I’m only providing necessary information!” Snake-Salaar jabbed his chest with the tip of his tail.

“And I’m only objectively repeating facts,” Myss hummed cheerfully. “Take it down, Great Hero.”

The next instant, the fragile shield shattered apart. The possum Magibase was almost immediately caught again and left hanging inside Truman once more.

Truman shuddered and let out a soft “oh.” His eyes darted about wildly. The confusion was gone, leaving only fear and hostility—as if the surrounding crowd had to select a living sacrifice, and that sacrifice would either be Myss or him.

Invisible threads of divine power had woven themselves into an invisible net. As for those people covered all over in blood amber, whether their Magibase was even capable of moving freely was questionable.

Compared with Mina, who fished one victim at a time, this giant net was vastly crueler. The only question was where all the fish ensnared in it would eventually be taken.

Myss gave Truman a radiant smile and let go of his collar.

Truman let out a huge sigh of relief, puffed out his chest, and wore an expression that said at least you know your place. And then—

He took a flying kick straight to the face from Myss.

The strength of the Archdemon was no joke. Truman went flying like a ball and crashed straight into the gossiping crowd. The people there were knocked over on the spot by the human projectile, all toppling sideways to the floor.

Salaar: “…”

Salaar: “Sigh…”

“Don’t like it? Then take your body back sooner.”

Myss swaggered out of the room, tossing the annoying commotion behind him.

It was all the Great Hero’s fault for being so useless. Myss had ended up doing far too much work today again. Really, if they turned Tass into a lantern, who knew how much trouble they could save.

……

Tass held his breath and hid inside an emerald.

The warm, smooth gemstone was like cool ointment, temporarily soothing his pain. But the faint ache hadn’t disappeared. It felt as if his entire body had been soaked in acid; every second was agony.

Luckily, as an assassin, Tass was good at enduring things. He was currently carrying out a brand-new task: tailing Mr. Anti.

This wasn’t an easy assignment. Mr. Anti’s workshop was extremely plain, with very few gemstone decorations. Fortunately, he had prepared a jar of gemstone eyeballs in all colors, and that gave Tass a place to hide.

Antis… no, the Red Amber employee Mr. Anti, was in the middle of turning Danton into a specimen.

After meticulously measuring Danton’s body, he picked up a specially made dissection knife and began stripping the skin.

The knife had no sharpened edge, but a pale bluish-white magical glow clung to its blade. Anti’s movements were steady and precise, the knife gliding lightly along the corpse’s skin without leaving the slightest cut. Not a drop of blood was spilled. At first glance, it looked less like butchery than a physician gently giving a massage.

After carefully scraping over every inch of Danton’s body, Anti set down the knife and activated the huge magic array beneath the table.

In the blink of an eye, Danton’s corpse collapsed inward.

The muscles he had worked so hard to train, the internal organs he had carefully maintained, the eyes once kissed by countless painters’ brushes—all of it turned into a reddish murky fluid.

The liquid poured out from the wound in the corpse’s neck, followed the blood grooves in the metal table, and drained into the outlet prepared below. The once-famous model, having lived in glory, now mixed with household waste water and slowly flowed into the sewers of Semper.

The only things left on the metal table were a perfect skin, a still mostly intact head, and the faintly protruding frame of the skeleton beneath the skin.

Once the sticky murk had been cleaned away, Anti took a brief rest. He stared at some point in empty air. More than daydreaming, the state looked like a machine that had stopped running.

Five minutes later, he stood up and walked directly toward Tass.

Fear slowly wrapped itself around Tass’s throat.

In an instant, countless thoughts flooded his head. Was he in too poor a state and had let his presence leak? Or had he simply stared at Anti too long without hiding it, allowing himself to be noticed?

Had he been too rash, and should he have recovered more before acting? No, if he had known this would happen, he should have brought a cat with him and had it draw Anti’s attention instead… Damn it, why had he not thought of that sooner?

This was amateurish… He should never have made a mistake like this…

Mr. Anti drew closer and closer.

Thoughts of regret spun wildly, tormenting Tass’s nerves. To his horror, that pain and anxiety began to turn tangible, corroding his skin with a faint hissing sound. Compared with a moment ago, his state deteriorated drastically.

Click.

Just as Tass stood on the verge of collapse, Anti picked up the jar of eyeballs beside him. He calmly took out a pair of human artificial eyes, then returned to the metal table.

Inside the gem, Tass went limp, and the damage to his skin immediately began to improve.

Grinding his teeth, he decided to keep watching.

Anti fitted the nearly lifelike gemstone eyes into Danton’s head, then took a strip of white silk and covered them.

Next he lowered his head and silently recited something. Tass strained to read his lips, barely piecing together the chant—

“May this one advance one step further, erasing flaws through immortal existence.”

“May this one advance one step further, adorning You with pure talent.”

“…Honor to the ‘Perfected Creation.’”

The magic array below the platform spun at high speed, erupting in brilliant red light. Before Tass’s terrified gaze, something fell down out of empty space, drop by drop pouring over the shriveled corpse.

It was like a rain of blood that had been made unnaturally narrow, or like blood tears being cast down from some supreme height.

Those scarlet drops soaked into the human skin and wrapped around the bones, and the corpse swelled full once more. The wound at Danton’s neck was glued shut by the liquid, growing finer and finer until at last it closed completely, leaving not the slightest trace.

As the red liquid filled him, color returned to Danton’s cheeks and lips. His appearance became exactly the same as it had been in life, as though he were merely resting on the metal table.

At last, the rain of tears came to a stop. Anti took out a beautiful wooden box and collected the scattered “teardrops” that hadn’t soaked in.

At that moment, Tass Ga recognized their sheen and texture with absolute certainty—they were blood amber, blood amber of exceptionally high quality.

…Myss and Salaar had been right. Blood amber truly was a huge problem.

Tass clenched his trembling fingers together and widened his eyes. He tried to memorize every last detail, terrified of overlooking even one.

Not far away, Mr. Anti quickly finished gathering the blood amber. The metal table was spotless again, leaving only a naked Danton lying there with silk over his eyes.

The next step should be dressing the specimen, Tass thought uneasily.

But Anti didn’t bring over a support frame or clothes. He merely removed the silk covering Danton’s eyes.

And then… then Danton blinked.

The corpse sat up on its own and rolled its neck. Its joints were supple, its movements natural, no different at all from those of a living person.

Danton touched his own face and smiled—a dashing, open smile that fit him perfectly

“Please get me a set of clothes, Mr. Anti,” Danton said with a grin, giving him an energetic wink. “The outfit I wear most often will do.”

Anti nodded and took down a basket from the cabinet, already filled with folded garments. He had even prepared boots, their toes spotless, as clean as if they had never been worn.

“And the girl who was working with me?”

Danton looked around.

“She will sleep forever in the embrace of God. Her influence was insufficient. She wasn’t fit to become one of God’s disciples,” Anti explained calmly. “Your state isn’t stable yet. For the next seven days, you must stay in the specimen display room.”

“When your body has fused completely, we will arrange for you to return to the work area. At that point, you will be free to enter and leave the Red Amber as you please. As one of the ‘Perfected,’ you have earned that qualification.”

Tass stared blankly at the resurrected dead man, clutching his mangled arms tightly.

In a certain sense, he had just learned the method for leaving this place… but the answer filled him with despair.

Suddenly, an even more desperate thought hit him.

Tass drew a shaky breath. After hesitating again and again, he finally raised a blood-smeared fingertip. Using magic, he created a grain-sized chip of gemstone, letting it quietly slip out of the jar and drift toward Mr. Anti.

It hovered trembling in the air for a few seconds, then tapped against Mr. Anti’s eyeball.

Tap.

A tiny, crisp sound of impact.

Like a grain of sand striking a piece of cold, hard stone.

---

The author has something to say:

When Myss faces “Salaar,” he’s the Chaos Archdemon.

When Myss faces Salaar, he’s just Myss. [cat paw] (?

Oh Lord Archdemon! Such a two-faced character!

As for all those people trash talking him—a certain someone is keeping score of every grudge. [dog holding rose]

---

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

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

---

Chapter 41: Severely Weakened

Never before had Myss’s killing intent boiled like this.

Not even back in the darkness, when Salaar sang that stupid dancing-snake tune to his tentacles, had he been this furious. His enemy—his enemy—had actually been stolen away by some unknown thing, and right under his nose at that.

He was absolutely going to tear that damned thief apart with his bare hands.

“You go to the studio first.”

Holding Cinnamon tightly in his arms, Myss said stiffly, “I have something to deal with. We’ll talk later.”

“Handle it tonight. It’s our first day of work. We shouldn’t be too casual, or people will gossip,” Salaar—or rather, that thing that looked like Salaar—said very gently in an attempt to stop him.

“Oh, my stomach doesn’t feel so great. I need to go throw up. If you dare follow me, I’ll vomit in your face. And if you insist I hold it in, then later I’ll vomit on your canvas. You know how much I ate for breakfast.”

Myss hissed, staring fixedly at those blood-amber eyes.

“Salaar” let out a sigh that was quintessentially Salaar. “Fine. I’ll wait for you in the studio.”

With Cinnamon in his arms and Tass in his pocket, Myss dashed back to the residential quarters.

He shut the door, tossed Tass into a teacup, and connected to Father Kalen’s communicator. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Seeing that it wasn’t Salaar on the line, Kalen froze slightly. “Mr. Myss?”

“If you’ve got something to say, say it. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Myss snapped. He had no intention of saying something like something happened to Salaar.

Fortunately, Father Kalen wasn’t the sort to drag things out, and in only a few sentences he explained the strange situation at Danton’s parents’ house.

“There’s something very wrong with blood amber. It’s extremely ominous,” the Father said gravely. “I could only sense it the moment I touched it, which means its power may be no weaker than a holy relic. That likely means…”

For the first time, hesitation entered his voice.

Myss urged him, “Go on.”

“…That likely means it is a form of ‘Divine Power’,” Father Kalen said, sounding as though he had steeled himself to say it.

“The anomalous space where the Fallen Child existed was very much like the ‘Divine Realm’ my brother once described. But it wasn’t strong enough, so I couldn’t be certain. That’s why I never mentioned it to the two of you.”

“Divine Power… Divine Realm.” Myss rolled the new concepts around in his mind. “You’re saying there’s a god in Semper—and unlike the Fallen Child, this one may already have been fully born.”

“As for the power inside the blood amber, I can think of no other explanation.” Father Kalen’s voice tightened. “The two of you should leave the Red Amber first. There are only more blood-amber ornaments there, not fewer. Semper is far too dangerous. I suggest suspending the investigation for the time being.”

“Too late,” Myss said expressionlessly.

According to Father Kalen, a god could construct a special space and use it as a nest in which to reside. In a Divine Realm, there would be many things beyond common sense. It would be even more dreamlike than a dream.

In that case…

“By your standard, the Red Amber is very likely that god’s Divine Realm. Salaar and I are trapped inside it. Even the cats can’t get out.”

Father Kalen was stunned. “But you were able to enter and tour it before.”

“Maybe the employee area is special. At the very least we didn’t enter the employee area last time,” Myss said.

He realized, not very happily, that Salaar had been right. Fortunately, they hadn’t brought Kalen in with them. Otherwise, this would have been a total wipeout.

Then he realized even more unhappily that Salaar wasn’t here right now. In more than three hundred years, this was the first time they had been separated for so long.

“The test is simple. Find a cat and try it,” Myss said, speaking faster and faster. “Don’t worry. So far, the lunatics here only kill themselves. They won’t trouble animals.”

Kalen: “…”

Kalen: “I’ll look for a volunteer. But if this really is a Divine Realm, then the two of you likely can only either get its master to spare you, or—”

“Or find some way to kill the god here, the same way we dealt with the Fallen Child.” Myss snorted. “You keep investigating the blood amber. I’ll think of something.”

“Mr. Salaar…?”

The instant he heard that Myss would be the one thinking of something, Kalen immediately caught on.

“I’m not sure yet,” Myss said. “But that bastard isn’t so easy to get rid of. Otherwise, I’ll never let him off.”

Kalen did not ask further. He merely gave a solemn “Mm.”

Myss cut off the communication neatly, grabbed the badge, and directly annihilated the blood amber on it.

“So you trust me that much?”

A thin little voice spoke.

The voice was wrong, but the irritating tone was perfectly right. Myss paused slightly and instinctively reached toward the source.

The little snake Knife coiled itself around his finger. Its movements were unexpectedly clumsy, and a pair of lapis-lazuli eyes stared fixedly at Myss.

It’s Salaar’s snake, Myss thought blankly.

Just now, in order to restrain Tass, it and Fork had both helped bind up the Dragon Fae, and Myss had stuffed them into his pocket. Knife wasn’t as unruly as Fork, nor would it make such a ridiculous joke.

Unless…

“It’s me. I’m Salaar.” Knife coiled elegantly in Myss’s palm. “I transferred my consciousness over. I told you before, I’m very good at mental magic.”

Myss couldn’t quite sort out what he was feeling. He pinched the cool little snake and locked eyes with those bean-like blue eyes.

“So it seems you understand ‘body-swapping’ quite well,” he said, slipping into mockery with practiced ease. “Are you sure you know absolutely nothing about our situation? You really haven’t been hiding anything from me?”

“Oh, that’s different. Knife was born from my mind. Our compatibility is extremely high, and it’s willing to lend me its body.”

Snake-Salaar tapped the tip of his tail against his mouth as if stroking his chin. “Actually, it was the body-swapping situation that gave me the inspiration for this… ow!”

Myss reached out and gave the snake’s head a light, gentle poke. The soft little head flattened slightly under the pressure.

That inexplicable irritation faded away, even though this version of Salaar, well, looked even more useless.

“All right. I know it’s you. Knife isn’t this irritating.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Myss noticed Tass perking up his ears, and decided to change the subject first. “Forget that. Tell me what actually happened just now.”

“When I was talking to Anti, I was mentally attacked.”

The little snake wrapped around Myss’s finger, its tone turning serious. “I suddenly became terribly dizzy, and in an instant I remembered many… awful things. The pain is hard to describe. It made me want to disappear immediately.”

“Luckily, you were beside me. I couldn’t just throw away such a huge nuisance and ignore it, so I managed to preserve a sliver of clarity. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t control my urge toward self-destruction, so to escape the attack, I had no choice but to resort to this.”

The little snake pointed at itself with the tip of its tail and sighed.

“My consciousness fled into Knife’s body. That human body was left mindless. The attacker may have assumed I had mentally collapsed, and the attack didn’t continue.”

“But my body was taken over by something else. It’s imitating my behavior. You absolutely can’t trust it.”

Myss snorted. “That’s it? …If that thing is so ridiculously powerful, why didn’t it attack me too?”

“Maybe because you’re too thick-skinned and heartless, and don’t have many painful thoughts?”

Snake-Salaar said, “My guess is that a god’s influence requires conditions. Just like the Fallen Child could only infect a Magibase if ‘the victim recognized Mina as Mother.’”

Myss listened seriously, waiting for Salaar to offer an actual theory. But the little snake simply closed its mouth, tilted its head, and flicked its tongue lightly.

Myss: “And then?”

“I don’t know.”

Salaar looked at him innocently, resting his head between Myss’s fingers. “Knife’s brain capacity is too small. I got dumber along with it.”

“And right now I can’t use very strong magic. According to our agreement, you absolutely must protect me properly.”

Myss: “………………”

This was bad. The Great Hero had somehow become even more useless.

After all this, he still had to rely on his own brain. Worse, Salaar’s body had been snatched away by that ill-intentioned god, which meant it would no doubt cause him trouble.

He should be angry at Salaar.

But Salaar kept rubbing around between his fingers and somehow rubbed the anger out of him too. All that remained in Myss’s heart was a faint sense of helplessness.

“…Still, don’t worry.”

Snake-Salaar lifted his head again. “Even if Knife’s brain isn’t great, it’s still more than enough to assist y—hey, hey, what are you doing?”

Myss stuffed the snake’s head straight into his mouth, then drew the rest of the body in after it.

He could feel snake-Salaar struggling hard inside his mouth.

The supple snake body was toyed with effortlessly by his tongue, bumping around against the soft interior of his mouth, the silver tail tip poking out between his lips from time to time. Salaar twisted desperately and made tiny little shouts.

“I was saying, my decision-making experience is greater than yours… Don’t curl your tongue around me, ugh—”

A few dozen seconds later, Myss magnanimously opened his mouth.

Snake-Salaar slithered over his bright red tongue and plopped back onto the tea cloth. The little snake curled up and used a thin layer of magic to clean itself off.

“This feeling of looking down on you… really takes me back.” Myss poked the soft little snake head again. “That’s your punishment for losing your body and for your insolent remarks. How does it feel to be ‘sealed away,’ hm?”

Salaar looked at him with those round blue eyes. “Not as bad as I’d imagined. Next time, do you want to try toothpaste with a spearmint flavor?” 

Myss was displeased at once. “Then I definitely won’t.”

“Can you two pause the flirting and bickering for a minute?”

Tass, who had watched the whole thing, finally could not help himself. “What god? What Divine Realm? Who’s going to explain this to me? …And what’s with this name Salaar?!”

“Oh, it’s a very long story.”

Snake-Salaar turned his head with great seriousness. “You’ll have to trade a story of your own too, friend of Mr. Anti.”

……

Tass Ga and Antis Crosien had first met by accident.

As a highly individualistic Dragon Fae assassin, Tass belonged to no organization. He had only three requirements for the jobs he accepted: the pay had to be high, the method of death could not be specified, and the target had to be a verifiable scoundrel.

Still, working alone had its downsides.

One day four years ago, Tass completed an assassination, only to be injured by the target noble’s magic artifact and pass out in a bird’s nest.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on a spotless wooden table.

A young man sat nearby, feeding a nestling with a pair of tweezers. His movements were precise and cold, as though what he held wasn’t tweezers but a sharp dissection knife.

There wasn’t an ounce of warmth in the man’s face, making the whole scene especially unsettling.

And yet he had prepared a soft warm cloth for the bird and heated its food to exactly the right temperature. Tass himself had even been given a chocolate pastry and milk loaded with sugar.

“You’re awake.”

The young man turned his head sharply. He looked down at Tass with dead-looking eyes.

“You should apologize to that chick. That nest is soaked in your blood scent now. Its parents won’t come back.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Tass asked bluntly.

“My name is Antis Crosien. I wish to hire you, ‘Tass Ga the Unfailing.’” Antis said, “Please count this rescue as part of your compensation. My funds are somewhat limited.”

His tone was completely flat, as if they weren’t discussing murder. The chick chirped and rubbed its beak against Antis’s fingertip.

Tass remained noncommittal. “Since you’ve heard of me, then you know my standards. I don’t take just any job.”

“I know.”

Antis nodded without surprise. “Believe me, my father fits your standards perfectly.”

“Your what?”

“My father,” Antis said calmly. “Please allow me to explain…”

…The Crosien family possessed a hereditary taxidermy craft.

Antis’s skill had been taught to him directly by his father. Or rather, everything he knew had been fed to him little by little by his father, who acted as his sole instructor.

Antis’s mother had died young, and his father had been extraordinarily strict. If Antis ever displeased him, he usually received a whipping from a vine rod that drew blood, or two days of confinement without food or water.

Antis described his father’s character objectively, as though none of it had anything to do with him.

“Our family rarely makes specimens from human beings, unless the deceased explicitly left such a wish.”

Antis spoke slowly. “But my father would occasionally accept commissions from nobles to kill beautiful young people and turn them into specimens.”

“He even converted my confinement room into a secret chamber, and he kept some… humans there as part of his personal collection.”

“The commoners my father sponsored always went missing. I found several of them among those hidden victims. So he wasn’t being forced. He simply liked doing it.”

Tass scratched his nose. “If you can produce evidence, I’m not unwilling to take the job.”

Antis’s tone remained calm and detached. “That won’t be a problem. I’ve been gathering physical evidence all along. It’s just that all the current victims are commoners, and there was numerous implicated nobles, so the process could drag on for a very long time.”

“My father has recently found a new target. If I don’t stop him now, he’ll kill again.”

“Can’t you do it yourself?” Tass asked curiously.

Antis didn’t look weak, nor helpless.

Tass could sense an astonishing amount of magical fluctuation in this human. The boy was plainly a genius. If he truly wanted to kill, he could absolutely do it cleanly and beautifully.

“My father carries many protective magic items, and I have never killed anyone before. The first time is hard to do perfectly.”

Antis lowered his eyes, and at last some emotion entered his voice. “My father always said that in all things, one must… strive for absolute perfection.”

All right then. A thoroughly broken man. A pitiful creature whose mind had been crushed into obedience, only just beginning to wake.

“Fine. I’ll take this one for free,” Tass said generously.

And so old Mr. Crosien quietly “died of illness.”

After that, Tass and Antis exchanged letters now and then, and sometimes Tass came to see how he was doing. Antis still wore that same unbearably perfect ghostly demeanor, but there was now a trace of life in his eyes. He no longer looked quite so much like a specimen.

“You’re a decent human. You should make more friends—friends as great as me.”

Tass hugged a giant chocolate cookie. “That old bastard didn’t teach you the truth of the world. You need to shake off his ghost sooner rather than later.”

“I know, but it’s harder than I expected.” Antis said this earnestly. “Lately I’ve been thinking that I should establish rules that belong only to me. For instance, never using human beings as specimens.”

“Not bad. That’s a good rule.”

“I think so too.”

Antis showed the faintest trace of a smile.

It was somewhat stiff, not entirely perfect, but it was unquestionably sincere.

“In order to assassinate Kendrick Karns, I asked him to pretend to be a trusted associate of the Karns family. Antis’s reply looked completely normal… He even drew a little chick in the corner of the envelope, just like before. That was our private signal.”

Tass said this in pain. “How did he suddenly become this? Turning his own kind into specimens without hesitation? That’s not the Antis I knew…”

“Very useful information,” Salaar said, lightly biting the tip of his own tail. “And to show my own sincerity, I’m willing to be frank as well. I’m not Kendrick Karns. I’m simply an unfortunate man who happens to resemble him.”

“My name is Salaar. As you can see, I know a little magic.”

The instant he realized his professional standards were being challenged, Tass forgot his pain. “Resemble him? What kind of bullshit are you spouting?”

“I looked into it thoroughly. Karns has been carrying out live sacrifices and likely got his magic from that! You’re him—the very same one who ran off with the slave he just bought—”

“Ah, then I suppose Myss also happens to resemble that slave.”

Salaar said this with great sincerity, pointing toward Myss with his tail tip. “My Lord Myss explodes at the slightest provocation and has an insufferably arrogant personality. How could he possibly have been born a slave?”

One of Myss’s brows twitched. Maybe Knife really wasn’t operating with a full brain, because even he thought that explanation was too perfunctory.

And yet Salaar somehow still sounded perfectly justified, while Tass looked close to passing out from sheer fury.

Salaar innocently flicked his tongue and added more fuel to the fire. “The world is very large. There are lots of people who look alike.”

“When Mr. Anti came to fetch me earlier, I simply went along with the situation. You people were already using fake identities, and so were we. Round it off and call it even.”

“Damn it. I don’t care if you’re possessed by evil spirits, shapeshifters, or some other weird thing.”

Tass gnashed his teeth, wings drooping tragically. “As long as you get me out of here, then I—”

“Good,” Salaar interrupted briskly.

Tass choked. “…Huh?”

“I said good. We’ll get you out as soon as possible, and—”

Snake-Salaar climbed up onto Myss’s wrist, his lapis-lazuli eyes gleaming.

“—we’ll also help you uncover the truth behind Mr. Anti’s transformation. In exchange, you will obey our instructions without question.”

Tass fell silent for a few seconds.

When he spoke again, he sounded less like a desperate Dragon Fae nor like a cornered assassin.

“Fine. If you’re willing to investigate Antis’s matter, then taking a little damage doesn’t matter.”

This time Tass didn’t shriek, even though his body was still trembling nonstop from pain.

At that moment, he sounded like a friend.

……

“You’re using Tass.”

On the way to the studio, Myss squeezed snake-Salaar lightly. “No matter what, we were going to investigate Mr. Anti anyway. His transformation resembles what happened to you.”

“I would rather call it ‘cooperation.’”

Little snake Salaar turned his head and gently bit Myss on the collarbone. He was currently tucked into the hollow above Myss’s collarbone, invisible from the outside but in a very convenient place for conversation.

“If we’re exploiting him anyway, I still think stuffing him into a lantern would be faster,” Myss muttered.

In truth, he understood perfectly well that directly provoking “Salaar” wasn’t a good idea. Even if the thing on the other side possessed only Salaar’s body, that body was nothing to underestimate. Mr. Anti was a much safer research subject.

Just the thought of facing that “Salaar” who wasn’t truly Salaar made his stomach twist.

Soon enough, he arrived back in the Red Amber’s work area.

The afternoon sun was perfect, filling the whole area with bright light that poured like molten gold.

Danton’s body had been removed, but the new female model still lay sprawled on the floor. The pool of blood around her glowed a vivid warm red under the sunlight, like a carefully arranged bed of roses.

Myss had no interest whatsoever in the corpse. His gaze swept instead over the people around him.

Necklaces, bracelets, rings, brooches, hairbands, buttons—every accessory imaginable seemed to exist here in a blood-amber version.

That red showed boldly on some people and subtly on others. The staff here were already luxuriously dressed, and Myss had never noticed before just how much blood amber they all carried.

For some reason, more eyes than before lingered on Myss this time. Murmurs wrapped around him like scattered feathers. Stepping through that whispering cloud, Myss pushed open the studio door.

“Salaar” was waiting for him.

Myss scrutinized that face over with extreme displeasure. The eye sockets of “Salaar” were still filled completely with blood amber, yet Myss could distinctly feel his gaze.

“You’ve come, Mr. Myss,” “Salaar” greeted him politely.

“Oh, he’s even calling you ‘Mr. Myss’,” snake-Salaar snickered from inside Myss’s collar.

Myss didn’t find it amusing. That single form of address made his skin crawl.

All he could see was the master of the Divine Realm having stolen away his enemy and now flaunting the prize in front of him.

With ill-hidden resentment, Myss sat down in the model’s chair, refusing to look at “Salaar.” But his whole body remained taut, and he focused with all his might on chewing over the magical fluctuations coming off “Salaar,” searching for a flaw.

“Don’t be angry. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Salaar” spoke gently. “It’s true. The Master of this place chose me specially, and I accepted Him. Regrettably, I was not fully accepted. A part of me—a very important part—escaped.”

Salaar’s voice. Salaar’s way of speaking.

Goosebumps rose along Myss’s arms, and snake-Salaar fell silent too.

“I haven’t been controlled. Every action I take comes from my own reason. It’s the optimal plan I derived through calculation.”

That body said this in a leisurely tone. “I don’t know where my ‘heart’ has gone. But what I want to say to it is this: this is an excellent opportunity, Hero Salaar.”

“Myss can’t leave this place. This is a newer, better, more perfect seal.”

“What you should do is not help him escape but keep him trapped here forever.”

“Forever.”

---

The author has something to say:

See? I told you the little couple wouldn’t really be separated—

If anything, they’re stuck even closer together now. [smile]

After all, isn’t “Hero” Salaar just another one of the Archdemon’s precious little treasures? It’s only natural to feel utterly lost and unaccustomed to things when you suddenly lose one. [hugs]

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