TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 9

After staying in the hunting cabin for three days, Albin and Zeman waited for the merchant from town, and they left the border village on the merchant’s cart.

“You’re going to the Rose Kingdom? That’s at the southernmost tip of the continent,” the merchant said, surprised when he heard their destination.

Previously, Zeman had briefly drawn a map for Albin, so he now had some basic understanding of the geography.

This strange world’s continent had a peculiar shape, resembling a majestic eagle soaring through the sky.

Thorn City was located at the eagle’s chest, the heart area. The border village was slightly northeast of that, and their destination, the Rose Kingdom, was at the far southern tip, the eagle’s tail feathers—a considerable distance away.

The merchant, who was sitting in front, surrounded by purchased crops, called out over the sound of the cart, “Although I can take you to the town, you won’t find any merchant caravans heading south for a while.”

Albin frowned. “Why not?”

“This is the reason,” the merchant said, pointing to the ground. “It’s October now, and the Reeds Grass Kingdom is about to hold its carnival. It’s an annual festival of revelry, and countless caravans are heading north to the capital to sell their goods during this period. So, naturally, no one is going south at the moment.”

“What’s a carnival?” Albin asked, having never heard of it.

“It originally began as a grand ritual held by the Temple of the Wine God to honor the god before winter arrived. But now, with so many followers of the Wine God in the Reed Grass Kingdom, it has gradually become a national holiday.”

The merchant turned his head and saw the curious light in the child’s eyes.

“Will there be good food?” Albin asked.

“Of course!” The merchant laughed. “The carnival lasts for four days, with plenty of delicious food, wine, wild dances, bonfires, parades, and the Temple of the Wine God provides drinks. The nobles also give away food, and merchants from all over bring the best wines. People can party all night long.”

The merchant’s mouth watered as he spoke, and he grabbed a flask from his waist and took a big swig of alcohol, letting out a burp.

Albin could smell the alcohol and said seriously, “Uncle, don’t drink while driving. Drink only when not driving. If you drive irresponsibly, it will bring tears to your loved ones.”

The merchant laughed at his serious tone.

“For us, this is like water—it’s water that’s been purified by the Wine God.” The merchant shook the flask. “All the local water sources are polluted by monsters, and drinking them would make us sick. Only water purified by the gods is safe, just like how the followers of the Sun God prefer to drink boiled water.”

Albin remembered that in his previous life, the adults told him that drinking untreated water could cause illness and that only boiled or purified water was safe.

So it’s the same here.

“But you’re right. Last time, a drunk guy fell into a ditch after drinking too much,” the merchant continued, putting away his flask and praising Zeman. “Your son is a good kid.”

Albin proudly accepted the compliment, lifting his head high.

The merchant suggested, “Since you’re here, if you’re not in a hurry, why not stay and enjoy our carnival?”

Zeman noticed the interest in Albin’s expression and nodded in agreement. “Sure, we can leave with a caravan heading south after the carnival.”

Albin cheered in excitement.

Since they were going to attend the carnival, they had to travel further north. The weather was getting colder, and it would get even colder the further they went.

After passing a mountain, the wind felt much chillier.

Leaving behind the warm hunting cabin with its crackling fireplace, the clothes Albin bought from the villagers seemed insufficient, with wind seeping in through the cuffs and collar. Sitting in the open cart, he sneezed several times.

Zeman wrapped him in a cloak and planned to buy him warmer clothes once they reached town.

“But Father will also be cold,” Albin said, allowing Zeman to keep the cloak while he curled up inside like a little kangaroo, sitting in Zeman’s lap and poking his head out.

He didn’t waste the time on the road and continued practicing releasing his magic.

Zeman watched the sparks of light in Albin’s hands and asked, “What magic did Uncle Edward teach you?”

“Uncle Edward taught me an emergency summoning spell,” Albin replied. “He said it’s a gift from the Love God for children like me, so I can use the magic within me to protect myself in a dangerous situation.”

Given the nature of the Love God’s magic, it wasn’t easy for people to use magic if they couldn’t find what they loved, so a backup like this was often necessary.

Zeman nodded, somewhat satisfied.

Albin hummed and added, “Uncle Edward also introduced two magic systems to me, ‘Love Magic’ and ‘Divine Magic,’ but I can’t learn them right now.”

It was frustrating, like when you’re thirsty and there are two drinks—apple juice and orange juice—right in front of you, but you can’t afford either.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zeman reassured him. “It’s not important which magic system you choose. The key is to solidify your foundation.”

Zeman’s calm voice helped to calm Albin’s frustration.

“Whether you’re praying to the gods or unlocking your inner potential, magic’s essence is still the control of natural elements—earth, fire, wind, water, lightning, light, and darkness.”

Zeman said this confidently, as if he had already mastered everything.

“If magic requires prayer to the Sun God, then I could never commit sacrilege. My magic no longer needs the help of any god.”

“Besides, the affinity for elements decides what type of magic you can use, and the amount of magical energy you possess determines how much magic you can release.”

Albin understood. In gaming terms, affinity = skill points, and magic = mana (MP).

“What about chanting?” he asked.

Zeman’s eyes darkened slightly.

“In ‘Divine Magic,’ chanting is a shortcut—using magic to ask the gods for help instead of relying on your own magic.”

Albin thought for a moment and suddenly understood.

Gods were like platforms—if you wanted to buy something, you’d go straight to the platform, which was quicker than doing it yourself.

This was certainly convenient, but the problem was, he couldn’t use that method yet.

He would have to work hard on the basics first.

“I’ll rely on myself then. How do I improve my affinity and magic power?”

Zeman glanced down at his child, who truly had extraordinary insight.

“Familiarize yourself with the things you want to control. Keep releasing magic until you run out, trying to control a small element, like a drop of water.”

Ah, so you can’t start with something big!

This was like grinding for proficiency in a game!

Albin eagerly began practicing, feeling like he was playing a game.

Zeman closed his eyes and continued practicing controlling his internal magic.

Before long, he heard Albin’s excited shout.

“Father!”

Zeman opened his eyes to see Albin eagerly holding out his hand with a little water droplet bouncing around on his palm. “Is this how I do it?”

Zeman blinked in surprise, glancing at the sun. It hadn’t been long since he had closed his eyes.

Could someone really learn to control water elements so quickly?

Most priests relied on divine power, and some never even tried to control the elements themselves.

This was no easy feat.

This child was even more talented than he thought, and it was hard to say if the gods wouldn’t take notice of him…

Zeman’s gaze grew colder.

“Father?” Albin blinked up at him, his voice almost coquettish, his beautiful red eyes filled with “Praise me, Father!”

Zeman’s gaze softened when it met those bright eyes. The ice in his expression slowly melted, like cold tea mixing with warmth.

“Well done.” He awkwardly placed his hand on Albin’s head, ruffling his soft white hair.

Albin grinned and rubbed his father’s hand. “Father, you should praise me more! That way, I’ll work even harder!”

Zeman paused for a moment before copying Edward’s gesture, gently ruffling Albin’s hair.

“Good.”

“Then I’ll continue practicing!” Albin exclaimed eagerly, returning to his studies.

Zeman watched as Albin continued working on his magic points, silently strengthening his own magic control.

He couldn’t let his son outdo him.

—

Later, the merchant led them to a nearby town.

This small town near the border wasn’t particularly bustling, but it had its fair share of shops.

As the sun began to set, Zeman found a merchant planning to transport goods to the capital for the upcoming festival. He arranged to travel with them the next day and then took Albin to the market to buy clothes.

Just as they reached a clothing stall, Albin heard shouting not far behind them.

“Get lost, you filthy, stinking thing!”

Turning toward the source of the voice, he saw a burly man at the entrance of a tavern, kicking at a shadowy figure on the ground and yelling angrily.

The burly man gave the figure a few more kicks, knocking them over, then spat on the ground and walked away.

The figure on the ground paid no attention, devouring the unrecognizable slop spilled into the corner. Their hands and feet were caked with grime, and they were wrapped in a filthy, water-stained rag as clothing. Thick, matted hair and a bushy beard, both encrusted with filth, obscured their face.

That was a person!

Seeing Albin craning his neck to watch, the clothing stall owner explained, “That’s a vagrant who appeared out of nowhere. Deaf, blind, and mute, living like a stray dog, fighting for scraps of slop to eat every day.”

A vendor from the next stall, who had just finished packing up, joined in the conversation. “I heard he showed up a while ago, dressed decently with gold and silver on him. But within two days, he was stripped of everything. No one’s come looking for him all this time, so he’s probably no one important. Maybe all that fancy stuff was stolen to begin with.”

Albin stared unblinkingly at the figure who seemed to blend into the dismal surroundings, a heavy feeling pressing on his chest.

He had never seen anything like this.

Could that filthy mess on the ground really be edible? How could anyone be reduced to such a state, forced to eat like this? Was it because they couldn’t afford food?

This was a world without technology but filled with magic. Magic could make flowers bloom from the earth, so why couldn’t it make grain grow to feed everyone? Why did people still have to resort to eating things like this?

What was it like to be deaf, blind, and mute? Unable to see or hear, could he feel the rejection of those around him?

The shock hit Albin like a wave, leaving him frozen, unable to comprehend the scene before him.

He clutched Zeman’s coat, raised his pale face with misty red eyes, and spoke in a trembling voice, “Father, I don’t want new clothes anymore. I want to help him.”

The clothing vendor overheard and scoffed, “It’s useless. He won’t last much longer like that. No matter what you do, he won’t survive this winter.”

Albin frowned.

“But he wants to live.”

Even if that vagrant knew his death was near, he still wrapped himself in filthy rags and crawled to lick scraps of slop. Wasn’t that proof he wanted to survive?

From that man, Albin felt an overwhelming will to live.

He wanted to help someone who wanted to live.

Zeman didn’t reject him. Instead, he looked down at Albin and asked, “How do you plan to help him?”

Albin began to think hard.

Find him a job?

But someone deaf, blind, and mute wouldn’t be able to work normally.

“Can I take him with us to the Rose Kingdom?” Albin asked.

“And then what?” Zeman pressed.

Albin froze.

Right… he didn’t even know what would happen to himself three months from now.

Buy him clothes?

What if they got stolen again?

Albin wracked his brain. He was still too weak himself and didn’t seem capable of offering much help.

Recalling his past life, he asked, “Are there places that could take him in?”

“There are,” Zeman replied. “The Temple of Love often shelters and aids people like him. We could take him to one of their shrines in a nearby city on our way to the capital.”

Although the Kingdom of Ryegrass primarily worshiped the Wine God, the mythology acknowledged that the Wine God, Wain, was once the lover of the Love Goddess, Laf. As such, the Temple of Love had a presence in the kingdom and wasn’t ostracized.

Albin’s expression brightened instantly, and he beamed. “That’s perfect! Let’s do that!”

The Goddess of Love and her temple must be full of kind people!

“Thank you, Love Goddess!”

“I need to tell him this good news! If he’s willing to come with us, that would be wonderful.” Albin eagerly started planning. “I’ll help him wash up, and I can share half my dinner with him.”

Zeman raised an eyebrow. “Why share half?”

He had more than enough money to cover another person’s food and lodging.

Albin replied matter-of-factly, “Because I’m the one who decided to help him. I should take responsibility. Father is already helping me plan this out and has no obligation to help him. I can’t push the effort onto Father.”

Taking responsibility for his decisions—that was what Albin had resolved to do. He couldn’t stand idly by while dragging others into it, making them spend their money and energy.

Albin hugged Zeman’s waist, his eyes brimming with gratitude.

“If I hadn’t met you, I might’ve ended up like him.”

He had never considered what would’ve happened if he’d been alone. But now that he thought about it, he realized he knew nothing about this era. If left to fend for himself, he would’ve ended up on the streets, fighting to survive, just like that deaf, blind, and mute vagrant.

“I’m so lucky to have met you!” He gave a satisfied smile.

His dad truly was a kind, beautiful person with a heart of gold!

Scarlet eyes gazed at Albin’s radiant smile, and an indescribable emotion began to swell in Zeman’s heart, soft and tender like a gentle wave.

Albin let go and hurried toward the vagrant, eager to share the good news.

He stopped after a few steps, slumped his head, and walked back.

“Father… I don’t know how to write…”

To communicate with the deaf, blind, and mute man, he had thought of writing in the man’s palm. But then he remembered—while he could speak the local language, he didn’t know the script, let alone how to write it.

Curse it. His basic education had been reset to zero!

—  

In a world of utter darkness, the surroundings were deathly silent, as if he were in a deep, bottomless, pitch-black cavern.  

He could feel the air currents brushing past him but had no way of knowing what caused them.  

Was it a human, a beast, or a galloping carriage?  

He could only follow the faint scent of food amidst the stench, groping the slimy ground with his fingers, searching for anything that might be edible.  

Was it kitchen scraps, or perhaps a rat that had died by the wall?  

As long as it would keep him alive, he didn’t care what it was.  

He could feel the beatings inflicted on him by humans—day and night, someone would kick or punch him. He had no idea why; maybe they were searching for hidden gold or silver.  

Regardless, he could easily imagine how humans mocked him, sneering that he was less dignified than a dog.  

Humans… damned humans!  

Damned gods! Damned curse!  

His heart was constantly filled with overwhelming hatred.  

When he regained his strength… when he reclaimed his identity…  

Suddenly, his nose caught the scent of food nearby. He lunged forward to snatch it.  

Grasping the warmth of the food, he froze for a moment.  

Sniffing carefully, he detected the long-lost aroma of wheat.  

It was flatbread.  

Without hesitation, he shoved it into his mouth, swallowing quickly even as it scratched his throat.  

Then something lightly touched the back of his hand.  

Again, he smelled the faint aroma of wheat—the same as the flatbread, but milder.  

He became wary.  

A trap?  

Yes, it must be a trap!  

Without money, why would humans ever harbor goodwill?  

He readied himself to retaliate at any moment. Though his body was frail and skeletal, he could still flee if necessary.  

A small, delicate hand cradled his own.  

A child?  

In his palm, the child slowly, hesitantly traced letters in an unfamiliar and clumsy manner.  

What could a child possibly want to say to him?  

He concentrated carefully.  

The child wrote:  

“Can we help you?”

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