TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 15

Albin’s face, once filled with anxiety, began to soften into a smile of joy.  

Earlier, he had been worried—what if his father stopped looking for him and simply left? But this… this was proof that his father was still searching for him.  

Just the thought alone brought him an immense sense of relief, as if no matter how far he was lost, his family would always come for him, never abandoning him.  

For Albin, this sense of reassurance was beyond compare.  

“Thank you, Uncle, for bringing this good news.” Though Albin faintly sensed that there was something off about the guard, he chose to ignore it for now. He didn’t want to question this glimmer of hope.  

Believing he had earned Albin’s trust, the guard reached out a hand to him.  

“Let me take you out of here.”  

Albin shook his head, taking a step closer to the blood-wine pool and refusing the offer.  

“I still have something to do. Knowing this is enough for now.”  

He gazed at the dark red, nearly black, blood-wine pool and began removing the new clothes Zeman had bought for him.  

The Kingdom of Ryegrass was situated in the cold north, and this underground chamber was particularly frigid. Even with warm clothing, one might shiver. Yet Albin stripped off his bright red outerwear, leaving only his white shirt.  

This strange pool would ruin the clothes his father had bought for him.  

Even when given the chance to escape, he chose not to take it. If he left now, it would mean pushing Margot into the abyss himself.  

He had no intention of breaking his word.  

Albin didn’t intend to save everyone; he just wanted to do what he could.  

He disliked many aspects of this world—peculiar cults and incomprehensible ideologies. But those detestable things existed regardless, and no one seemed to want to change them.  

If he stayed silent and did nothing, then he’d be no different from those who supported such bizarre beliefs.  

It was like seeing trash on the ground. Scolding passersby who ignored it wouldn’t make the trash disappear. He didn’t understand why adults refused to pick it up, but since he was there, he could do it himself.  

For that reason, he needed the identity of the Saint’s candidate.  

With power and status, he could achieve more and change what he disliked.  

And right now, the opportunity was right before him.  

He knew success wasn’t guaranteed. At worst, he would die—and he had already died once. He wasn’t afraid of that anymore.  

Albin forced a smile and said to the guard, “Uncle, you should leave quickly. If anyone finds you here, it’ll be bad. Please tell my father this: if I make it out, I’ll find him.”  

Taking a deep breath, Albin turned and dove into the blood-wine pool.  

Time to take out the trash!  

The rat controlling the guard was utterly stunned.  

Rat: …?  

—

In the blood-wine pool, Albin held his breath as he plunged into the liquid, but his strength quickly waned.  

Pain.  

Searing pain engulfed his entire body, as if every inch of his skin was being burned by flames. Needles seemed to stab him all over, sending overwhelming signals of agony through his nerves.  

Albin had always feared pain.  

He wanted to scream and cry, but submerged in the viscous liquid, he could only thrash helplessly.  

“Dad… Brother…”  

Blood-wine filled his nose and throat as he lost control of his body, suffocating him. He thought he might drown, but he didn’t.  

His consciousness blurred and dimmed, the pain numbing and his body growing heavier. Eventually, he sank to the bottom.  

Lying on the rocky, uneven floor, he peered through the crimson haze, slowly making out his surroundings.  

Bones. Piles of skulls, ribs, and other skeletons lay beneath him, steeped in blood-wine. The empty sockets of the skulls seemed to radiate unending hatred.  

These were the victims of the past. 

In his previous life, Albin had lived in a peaceful world and had never encountered death, let alone so many remains at once.  

What little awareness he had left was consumed by terror—fear that he, too, would become one of these bones.  

Albin feared death.  

But alongside that fear, he felt an overwhelming sadness for these remains. If there had been no cult, these children would still be alive.  

Then, visions flooded his mind.  

—

[A man with a greedy expression opened a pouch of coins.] 

“This much? I can gamble for days! I can’t believe this brat is worth so much…”  

He hurriedly stashed the money and smiled obsequiously at the priest from the Wine God Temple.  

“Of course, no problem. It’s an honor for my child to be a candidate for the Saint. Take him away. If he dies, don’t bother returning him.”  

Behind the adults, a small boy silently witnessed the transaction.  

—  

The visions shifted.  

[A couple discussed eagerly.]

“The neighbor’s child was chosen last year, and the temple paid them this much!” The husband gestured excitedly. “They moved to the city right after. If only our Romani could be taken this year…”  

“But Romani doesn’t have the talent. He was tested last year.”  

“Maybe we could bribe the temple’s priest in town. I hear he’s greedy.”  

“Are you sure? If it gets exposed…”  

“It doesn’t matter. The talented ones all die anyway. Might as well send ours and take the money.”  

Eventually, their freckled-faced boy was taken away, terrified, as his parents and the priest beamed.  

—  

The visions cycled through countless memories of the Saint candidates, their struggles, and their tragedies. Albin felt them all.  

—

“Does it hurt?”

Whether it was a hallucination or something else, he thought he heard a voice asking him. It seemed to come from a distant place yet felt as though it was drilling directly into his eardrums.

“Come and enjoy the pleasure.”

Albin didn’t understand what those words meant until… he realized he seemed to be smiling.

His mind was filled with memories of misfortune and pain, yet he felt an inexplicable joy, his lips curling against his will.

The joy washed away the despair and suffering, leaving his entire body feeling lighter.

No, this isn’t right…

How could he find joy in others’ suffering?!

This was outrageous!

Those emotions weren’t his.

He resisted the force manipulating his feelings, but soon, his emotions shifted again.

From joy to despondency, from anger to hatred… his mood changed erratically, uncontrollably.

He knew his reactions were unnatural, but he found it hard to regain control.

Voices of countless revelers filled his ears, their thoughts and feelings, heightened by alcohol, surging into his mind.

People were celebrating, singing, and dancing above ground.

He could no longer distinguish his true emotions and thoughts, feeling as though he was being consumed.

Albin thought of Latu.

Had Latu gone through the same thing? Was this what being consumed looked like?

Would he become such a complicit monster too?

No, never!

He refused to become that!

If his future was destined to end that way, he would rather…

With his last shred of consciousness, Albin whispered the one spell Edward had taught him—a spell meant to protect young magic users.

He didn’t even know if it would work at this moment.

“Merciful goddess of love and fate, Laf, please help me… grant me release…”

[Miraculum]

—

Outside the chapel.

The entire underground palace seemed to have been struck by a massive earthquake. The once intricate and magnificent structure now lay in ruins, and the priests and berserkers of the Bacchus Temple had all perished.

Even the usually nonchalant and arrogant high priest was gravely injured, blood flowing down like the wine behind him, seeping into the cracks in the floor.

He gazed up at the creature before him.

That familiar face, now cold and expressionless, bore eyes glowing with a ferocious starlit crimson. Once blessed by light and flame, the man now had demonic wings sprouting from his back, his body emanating an overwhelming aura of malevolence—a demon incarnate.

Yet in front of this demon, none of the priests or berserkers of the Bacchus Temple stood a chance.

Latu couldn’t help but recall the Abyssal Demon King. Was this how the king had felt back then, powerless to stop this man’s onslaught, forced to watch as he advanced unrelentingly?

“Ha! The Son of the Sun God Temple reduced to a demon.”

He could imagine the uproar this would cause across the continent if word got out.

“I heard the old pope is dead and that you disappeared. Could it be that you killed your foster father?” Latu speculated maliciously. “But now that you’ve become a demon, naturally, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.”

“What does it feel like to kill your foster father? To seize power? To manipulate humanity and see them worship you as their strongest weapon?”

Zeman, having just dispatched the last berserker, glanced at Latu.

Thorned black spikes shot toward him like a storm, merciless and relentless, as Zeman asked, “Where is the child?”

The altar’s location was not marked on the underground palace’s blueprints.

“Cough… It’s already too late,” Latu sneered, coughing up blood as his lungs were pierced. His breathing grew labored, but he still summoned tendrils of wine from the surrounding pools, weaving them like a spider’s web to bind Zeman.

As the Bacchus priest, he could control wine, and here in the temple, he was at the height of his power.

Yet all he could manage was a temporary delay.

“Then I’ll raze this place to the ground.”

“When did your attacks become so predictable? Where’s the white flame you’re so proud of, White Flame Zeman?”

Latu continued to provoke him, deliberately trying to anger him.

This wasn’t some calculated tactic. The moment Zeman revealed his demonic form, Latu knew he wouldn’t survive the day.

But his sharp eyes quickly noticed Zeman’s restraint.

That self-control and suppression made him want to break Zeman’s composure. He didn’t care what Zeman was suppressing or what would happen if it was unleashed.

Even if the world were destroyed, so be it.

He just wanted to enjoy his final moments.

But none of his words truly riled Zeman, and the wine tendrils were all severed.

Shifting his approach, Latu sneered again: “Does the child know you’re actually a demon? Hahaha, when Albin finds out the truth, he’ll surely leave you!”

Once again, jealousy consumed him. Why could a monster like Zeman have someone like that child?

Why did someone like him, with a monster’s heart, never encounter such fortune?

Zeman’s pupils contracted sharply.

In that instant, Latu launched a final attack using the alcohol-infused blood hidden in the floor’s cracks.

It was futile.

Zeman unleashed a surge of overwhelming demonic energy, severing Latu’s limbs, cutting his body in half, and then decapitating him. Even the enormous statue of Bacchus behind Latu was shattered.

As his head flew through the air, Latu saw the faint shadow of a demonic dragon radiating from Zeman, its restraint finally broken.

His severed head hit the ground, his lips curled into a satisfied smile, and life left his body.

At that moment, the underground palace was struck by an earthquake.

Blinding white light erupted from behind the shattered statue.

Zeman completely destroyed the wall, and a flood of bloodied wine surged forward.

Avoiding the ominous liquid, Zeman stepped into the space beyond the wall. There, he saw a massive golden chalice, imbued with divine power but cracked, spilling bloodied wine and exposing a pile of corpses within.

A strange weapon that had damaged the chalice and bore divine energy was also present.

And sitting atop the corpses, a blood-soaked boy.

It was the child he had been searching for.

Zeman’s heart clenched painfully as he dismissed all traces of his demonic energy and waded through the bloodied wine to reach the boy.

The boy sat dazed, his head hanging low.

He had just escaped the endless sea of emotions that had overwhelmed him, leaving his mind blank, unable to recall his own identity.

Who was he again?

Fragments of chaotic memories flashed through his mind, and names surfaced one by one.

Rafi? Romani? Onaya?

“Albin.”

The boy lifted his head, looking at the white-haired man approaching him.

In that moment, a powerful surge of emotion erupted from his heart.

It was his own emotion.

“Papa…” Albin sobbed, opening his arms to embrace the man. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. “I was so scared…”

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