TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 14

The room provided by the tavern was likely a storage room originally, hastily tidied by the landlady but still cluttered with miscellaneous items.  

Zeman cleared off a table they would later use for dinner and went downstairs. Albin couldn’t possibly carry two full meals by himself.  

As he passed the stairs, Zeman noticed traces of residual magic.  

It wasn’t unusual for taverns to witness brawls or even small spells being cast in the chaos. Yet, Zeman couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease.  

Frowning, he quickened his pace to the main hall, scanning for the lively, radiant figure of Albin. But the child was nowhere to be seen.  

The surrounding patrons confirmed they hadn’t seen the boy come downstairs or noticed anything suspicious.  

—Albin was missing.  

A gust of wind tore through the tavern, and Zeman vanished from where he stood.  

Leaping onto the rooftop, his scarlet eyes dimmed as his sharp gaze surveyed the bustling crowd below.  

Since the traces of magic were fresh, Albin couldn’t have been gone for long.  

But no matter how hard Zeman focused or searched, the child seemed to have vanished like water into the earth, blending seamlessly into the vast sea of humanity.  

If only he could use magic…  

But within him, only turbulent demonic energy surged, crashing against his meridians with the force of his growing anger.  

The demonic energy seized every opportunity, howling incessantly:  

*Kill! Destroy!*

*Give in to your deepest desires! Unleash your power!*  

*Slaughter everything here until no one escapes alive.*  

Closing his eyes, Zeman reined in the energy and began to think.  

If the lingering traces were of magic, this had to be a deliberate act by humans, not monsters. And humans always left trails.  

He deliberated briefly before heading to a trading guild marked by a honeysuckle emblem within the capital.  

Merchants who traveled far and wide formed guilds to protect their interests and foster trade. These guilds, with branches in major cities, were often the best sources of information.  

The Honeysuckle Guild was one of the largest on the continent. In some countries, its influence surpassed that of kings, with nobles seeking their favor for personal gain.  

When Zeman presented a Honeysuckle badge, the local branch leader greeted him with immediate respect.  

“Whatever you need, just let me know.”  

“I’m looking for a child,” Zeman said, quickly describing Albin’s appearance. The leader wasted no time, mobilizing guild members to gather information.  

This territory was under Gold’s control.  

That night, Zeman hadn’t killed Gold.  

Gold wielded influence in both human and demonic realms and had shown an interest in protecting Albin. Zeman needed his resources to investigate certain matters—things like curses and their rebound effects, which Zeman, once human, had no knowledge of.  

In exchange for a small price, Gold gladly agreed, delivering a unique token the next day that allowed Zeman to leverage the Honeysuckle Guild’s network.  

As the sun set, the guild brought back news.  

“Our sources in the city guard report that the High Priest of the Wine Temple ordered the search for a white-haired, red-eyed child days ago. Today, the gate guards recorded Albin’s entry into the city. It’s likely that he’s been taken by the Wine Temple.”  

The Wine Temple…  

Zeman’s gaze turned piercing.  

The Wine Temple priests were widely regarded as madmen, their ethos clashing with the distant Sun Temple. Zeman had no ties or understanding of their inner workings, and his relationship with their perpetually inebriated High Priest was limited to nodding acquaintanceship.  

The guild leader explained cautiously, “It’s the festival season, and rumors suggest the boy was chosen as a candidate for the Holy Child. The selection ritual is set to take place tonight—offering him as a sacrifice to the Wine God.”  

A chill emanated from Zeman, causing the guild leader to falter in his words.  

“Do you know where it’s happening?” Zeman asked coldly.  

The guild leader had anticipated this and handed him a map.  

“According to past intel, candidates are usually sacrificed in the underground sanctum. Here’s the layout we found. However, extracting someone without alerting the temple will be extremely challenging. Hiring mercenaries might…”  

“Unnecessary.” Zeman glanced at the map.  

His voice was as frigid as a looming snowstorm.  

“I can handle it alone.”  

—

Meanwhile, in the Wine Temple, the High Priest, Latu, made no attempt to hide his malice toward the two children.  

His face, ravaged by years of drinking and devoid of restraint, bore a mocking smile. It was as if he was inviting them to follow his path and sink into the mire of sin alongside him.  

Latu relished watching children suffer, using their pain as his entertainment.  

This was the first time Albin and Margot had experienced such blatant hostility from an adult.  

Their small bodies trembled, powerless against the overwhelming malice.  

Yet even in the face of fear, Albin stood steadfast in front of Margo.  

“Why do you insist on tormenting others?” Albin questioned.  

“I’ve never experienced your pain and can’t understand your perspective. But the same goes for you—you can’t understand the victims or their families either.”  

“Families?” Latu sneered. “Take that little girl behind you, for instance. The Wine Temple would compensate her family handsomely. Who’s to say they wouldn’t gladly sell her? Perhaps they’re merely pretending to be sad in front of her, secretly overjoyed behind her back.”  

Margo looked up in alarm.  

“That’s too much!” she cried.  

Albin furrowed his brow, realizing that he and Latu would never understand each other. Continuing the argument was pointless.  

Instead, he asked, “You said earlier that one of us would become your junior. Does that mean only one of us will pass the selection?”  

“Correct,” Latu said. “That little girl was initially the candidate, but a divine decree from Lord Wine God requested a white-haired, red-eyed child. Now there are two of you. What shall we do?”  

Leaning on his couch, Latu smirked mischievously.  

“Let’s have you decide who goes first. The one who stays behind may live until next year. If the first candidate succeeds, the second will be spared forever.”  

It was a blatant provocation.  

But before he finished, Albin spoke without hesitation: “I’ll go first.”  

Margo tugged at his sleeve.  

“No…”  

Albin turned to her with a confident smile.  

“The Wine God wants me, so there’s no point in you going.”  

Latu’s expression darkened as his smirk faded.  

Despite his fear, Albin sounded more relieved than afraid.  

“If I succeed, no other child will suffer. That’s good enough for me.”  

Finally, he wasn’t powerless.

Through this experience, he had learned an important lesson: to help others, he needed strength and status.

Latu’s face darkened, his expression menacing. “Don’t get too confident. The God of Wine may have sent that revelation, but he’s known for being capricious. Don’t think you’re guaranteed to be chosen just because of that. It’s happened before.”

Albin’s resolve didn’t waver. Instead, he met Latu’s gaze and asked firmly, “If I become the High Priest, will everyone in the temple listen to me?”

*So, he’s just a kid who wants power?* Latu thought, his expression softening slightly.

In a smoother tone, Latu replied, “Of course. If you wish, you could even command this entire kingdom. You wouldn’t have to wait until you’re High Priest; as soon as you’re chosen as the Holy Child, you’d wield considerable authority. Commanding the faithful would be a mere trifle.”

Albin’s eyes lit up with excitement.

Latu asked curiously, “So, what would you have them do? Revenge? Kill? Pillage? I wouldn’t mind any of that; I’m just curious.”

Albin responded without hesitation, his voice crisp and clear. “Farming!”

The innocent, childish voice echoed in the vast prayer hall.

For a moment, it was as if time stopped. Latu’s expression froze, his usual smug grin replaced with a blank stare. Then, in apparent disbelief, he cupped his ear.

“What did you say?”

Albin looked at him with pity. *How can someone so young already be as deaf as an old man? Must be karma for all the evil he’s done.*

“I said if I become the Holy Child, I’ll have everyone who knows magic help with farming.”

Latu burst into laughter. “This is your plan to get back at the temple? Making the priests and mages farm? Hahahaha…”

“No,” Albin said earnestly, his eyes sparkling with a vision. “On my way here, I noticed the soil in this country is black and fertile. It could produce so much food. If we use magic to farm, crops could grow in no time, and then no one would go hungry!”

He had heard on the news before: black soil is fertile and perfect for farming!

*If I have power, I’ll never let these cultists kidnap children again. They can farm instead! There’s so much unused land waiting to be cultivated.*

He looked at Latu with bright, expectant eyes. “You’re the High Priest chosen for this role, so your magic must be incredible.”

The implication was clear: *You’ll help farm too, right?*

Latu’s expression stiffened at Albin’s sincerity. “I don’t know whether you’re naïve or audacious…” He drained his wine cup. “According to scripture, the black soil is a blessing from Lord Wan, the God of Wine, who governs [Revelry], [Brewing], and [Fertility]. Yet no one has ever thought to make priests farm. Do you know what that would mean?”

Albin’s eyes widened. *A fertility god? No wonder people worship this cult—they’re desperate for food.*

But this realization only strengthened his belief in his idea. Fertility priests farming? It made perfect sense!

“Producing, brewing, and consuming—this country has so much potential! They’ve been doing it wrong all along.”

He confidently replied, “It means the priests need to get down to the grassroots.”

Latu paused, as though trying to process this bizarre reasoning, before brushing it aside. “Among the priests are many nobles. Forcing them to farm would be an insult, and they would hate you. Meanwhile, farmers would lose their jobs to magic, leaving them unable to pay taxes to their lords. They, too, would hate you.”

Albin hesitated. *Oh, right. Farming is the peasants’ livelihood. If mages took over, what would happen to them?*

After some thought, he proposed, “Then let the priests use magic to improve seeds! That way, everyone benefits.”

*This world doesn’t have science yet, but magic could fill the gap!*

He nodded seriously, determined. “I understand. I’ll study hard and find better solutions.”

Latu: …You *really* understand?

He considered kicking Albin out of the selection. But then again, wasn’t this lunacy perfect for the temple’s reputation?

Albin decided. “It’s settled—I’ll go this year. Can Margot go home now?”

“No,” Latu replied dismissively. “But she can stay and learn magic.”

Margo clung to Albin’s arm, pleading. “No, big brother Albin, I can—”

Albin patted her head, smiling confidently. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine! And Margot, study hard, but don’t believe everything they say, okay?”

“Dad must still be waiting for me somewhere, right? And your mom too, Margot?”  

A guard easily pried Margot away and took her away.  

Latu noticed Albin’s slightly trembling hand and glanced at Margot, who kept looking back even as she was taken away.  

Murmuring as though drunk, he said, “I can’t believe I’m a bit jealous of that little girl…”  

Why hadn’t he encountered someone like this back then?  

Why could others have what he had never been given?  

Raising his hand, he caught some wine flowing from a statue into his cup and downed it in one gulp.  

Yet his face bore none of the usual joy that came with drinking.  

“Let’s go. Lord Van must have been waiting for you for quite some time.”  

He tossed aside the cup and stood to leave.  

Albin followed his lead, while another guard trailed behind, watching him closely.  

They walked toward the right path of a T-shaped road. Latu strode straight through the grapevines, and only then did Albin realize there was a hidden path beyond.  

This path led them to a space behind the prayer hall.  

Here stood an altar, and at its center was a massive golden chalice filled with a dark red liquid.  

The liquid resembled wine but was darker and exuded a repulsive aura.  

Latu led him to the chalice’s edge and tossed a grape leaf into it.  

The delicate leaf sank straight down, as though the chalice had no bottom.  

“This golden chalice is the divine artifact of the Wine God, Lord Van. If you dive into the blood-wine and emerge after enduring the trial, you will be the Holy Son chosen by the Wine God.”  

He gazed down at Albin’s frightened face with a heavy expression.  

“Little madman, I’m quite intrigued by you. Letting you stay by my side for another year wouldn’t hurt. I’ll give you one last chance: do you want to bring that little girl back?”  

Albin pursed his lips tightly, nervously tugging at his clothes.

Yet he decisively said, “No.”  

“Heh…” Latu covered his face and sneered coldly. “You’ll regret it.”  

He seemed to want to say more, but at that moment, a guard approached with urgent news and whispered a few words in his ear.  

Albin caught fragments like “Holy Son of the Sun Temple.”  

A visitor for Latu?  

He guessed.  

But Latu’s expression shifted, not like someone expecting a guest, but as if a god of death had arrived.  

He instructed one of the guards, “Keep an eye on the child and make him jump. The ritual outside is ongoing; he mustn’t miss the timing.”  

Leaving those words behind, Latu hurriedly departed.  

As soon as he disappeared into the grapevines, Albin suddenly noticed one of the guards collapse without warning.  

Perplexed, he looked over and saw another guard had struck down his companion.  

He didn’t understand what was happening.  

The guard who attacked his comrade said to him, “Lord Albin, please come with me.”  

“Who are you?”  

Albin had never seen him before.  

The guard’s voice was stiff. “Lord Zeman sent me to retrieve you.”  

“Dad?” Albin was stunned.  

However, out of his sight, a rat with black, star-like pupils was biting the back of the guard’s neck, controlling him like a puppet.

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