TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 27

Upon hearing Zeman’s question, Albin jolted awake, instantly alert.

With a sweet smile, he threw off the blanket and pounced on Zeman, clinging to him. “Of course, there’s only one dad. Good morning, Dad~”

“I just had a dream last night. In it, Dad came to wake me up too. But the dad in the dream was much colder!” He spoke proudly, “But I immediately knew something was off. Because my real dad is super nice to me, isn’t that right?”

Wrapping his arms around Zeman’s neck, Albin bounced energetically on the bed, a bundle of morning joy.

Zeman’s furrowed brows softened, and a trace of helplessness flickered in his cold eyes.

He averted his gaze and responded softly, seeming slightly awkward about Albin’s affectionate words. Quickly, he scooped up the lively boy and set him down by the bedside, deftly changing the topic.

“It’s cold. Get dressed first.”

He handed Albin his clothes piece by piece, occasionally straightening the boy’s collar or smoothing his sleeves.

Such tender gestures were unimaginable for the Zeman of the past, who had never even handed anyone a cup of water, let alone helped a child dress. Yet now, caring for Albin daily, he had learned these tasks naturally and grew adept over time.

Albin struggled with the intricate designs of the otherworldly clothes Zeman had bought him. They were beautiful but overly elaborate, with all those buttons. Dressing quickly was nearly impossible. Often fumbling with the fastenings, Albin risked catching a chill.

Zeman knelt on one knee, methodically buttoning up Albin’s outfit. Before long, the boy was thoroughly bundled up.

From the innermost layers to the outermost, the layers of clothing made Albin resemble a little snowman. His neck was wrapped with a new brick-red scarf, and a fluffy hat perched on his head to ward off the wind.

Surveying Albin’s adorable appearance, Zeman nodded in satisfaction.

After washing up, Zeman took Albin to the dining hall for breakfast. Strangely enough, the innkeeper’s reaction mirrored the one in Albin’s dream exactly: no greeting, just silently placing their breakfast on the table.

If not for watching Zeman crack an egg with a spoon, Albin might have thought he was still dreaming.

As he watched his father peeling the egg for him, Albin recalled the events in the dream and couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Zeman shot him a curious glance.

Albin shook his head, his smile growing brighter.

Though peculiar, meeting his brother in a dream was indeed a beautiful experience.

It was a pity that, after he exposed the dream as fake, his big brother disappeared in a flash.

He wondered if he would ever see his brother again.

How was his real brother living in his previous life?

Lost in these musings, Albin found even the plain breakfast extraordinarily enjoyable.

Zeman, however, couldn’t ignore the innkeeper’s increasingly blatant stares during the meal.

The innkeeper, clearly a puppet controlled by Moon, no longer bothered to hide his intentions after their confrontation the previous night.

Zeman’s feelings toward Moon were extremely complex. On one hand, they shared a common goal of protecting Albin, making them quasi-allies. On the other hand, Zeman hadn’t forgotten how Moon initially sought to replace him and monopolize Albin’s affection.

Friend or foe?

At this moment, they leaned closer to being enemies, though not the kind to engage in direct combat.

Feigning nonchalance, Zeman broached a topic, “Albin, have you had any other interesting dreams?”

Albin tilted his head in thought and immediately brightened. “I dreamt of a dragon before! Remember I told you about that super cool silver-white magic dragon? I dreamed I was riding it! It was amazing!”

Of course, Zeman remembered. Ever since encountering the dragon, Albin had been enamored with it, muttering “Dragon Sir” even in his sleep—something Zeman himself had never enjoyed.

After all, Zeman was the magic dragon.

Excitedly, Albin recounted his dream of being a dragon rider. Bound by a promise to Zeman not to tell anyone else about his ability to communicate with magical creatures, Albin could only confide in him.

Zeman could almost feel Moon’s scorching gaze behind him, threatening to incinerate him on the spot.

He could easily imagine Moon’s current feelings because he, too, felt a mix of emotions whenever Albin spoke fondly of “Dragon Sir.”

Yet today, amidst his usual complex reactions, Zeman experienced a new sensation—a fleeting thrill reminiscent of his younger days, when defeating a rival brought him joy.

Over the years, victory had become routine, and even slaying the Abyssal King had left him unmoved. But now, to his surprise, he felt that surge of satisfaction again.

However, considering Moon’s lack of emotional comprehension, Zeman felt a twinge of guilt, as though he were bullying a child.

Seizing a lull in Albin’s excitement, Zeman asked coldly, “What about other dreams? Besides dragons?”

Albin froze.

Oh no. Other than last night, he hadn’t dreamed of his dad before.

“N-No, nothing else,” Albin stammered, blinking guiltily.

Occasionally, he dreamed of fragments from his past life, but they were hazy and hard to remember upon waking.

“But whether it’s reality or a dream, I always look forward to seeing Dad. Because I really, really like Dad!” His crimson eyes shone brightly, reflecting Zeman’s figure.

Zeman felt as though he were being burned.

It was unlike Moon’s deadly glare. Albin’s gaze surrounded him with warmth, a blazing fire that scorched his very core. Yet, strangely, he had no desire to escape.

“And what about you, Dad?” Albin suddenly countered. “Have you ever dreamed of me?”

Zeman’s eyes flickered as he shook his head.

“Hmph!” Albin pouted, crossing his arms. “You need to try harder to dream about me!”

“Bang -“

The sound of putting down the dinner plate suddenly interrupted their communication.

Albin tilted his head back and saw the innkeeper delivering a plate of fried bacon.  

He exclaimed in delight, “Wow, we get this for breakfast too?”  

“Thank you, sir!” Albin cheerfully dug in, oblivious to the terrifying glare the puppet innkeeper shot at his father.  

After breakfast, they went to find the book merchant feeding the horses and checking the goods at the stable. They packed their things and set off.  

Once they were far from the village, Zeman glanced back.  

The illusion that had shrouded the village rippled like water before dissolving, as if Moon no longer needed to observe the puppets learning about emotions.  

Moon’s magic was of the dark attribute, aligned with the traits revered by the Night Temple.  

After meeting Moon the previous night, Zeman deduced that, judging by Moon’s goals and the nature of his power, he was likely unrelated to the village fire.  

Upon leaving the castle, Zeman had conducted further investigations. The fire had started in a small clearing, and from the traces left on the ground, it seemed the villagers were holding a pyre execution. The flames must have spread in the dry winter air, and with the village located in a valley where smoke couldn’t disperse easily, coupled with their fear of the Sun God’s wrath, they had failed to extinguish the fire in time, leading to the death of the entire village.  

Zeman had heard of similar incidents before, but the Sun Temple only used such villages as examples of divine punishment by the Sun God.  

The Sun God…  

Thinking of the fragment of the Sun God still lingering somewhere, Zeman withdrew his sharp gaze and noticed a crow following their carriage.  

Initially, he intended to get rid of Moon’s spy. But before acting, Zeman glanced at Albin, who was quietly reading in his arms, and changed his mind.  

If he had to leave temporarily due to his transformation, having the crow around might add an extra layer of security for Albin.  

At least it wouldn’t be like last time, when Albin naively approached a pink-haired fox spirit and ended up almost walking straight into a demon dragon’s lair.  

The carriage traveled for an entire day and reached an even smaller village by dusk.  

This village was so tiny that it had neither an inn for lodging nor a charity house run by the Temple of Love. They had no choice but to stay with a hospitable elderly couple.  

After letting them in, the old man squinted at a distant spot, then quickly grabbed a broom and shouted with vigor, “You wretched death bird, get away!”  

The old man charged at the crow, waving the broom aggressively.  

The crow flapped its wings, cawing hoarsely before disappearing into the night.  

“A death bird?” Albin asked curiously, craning his neck to look.  

The old man put the broom back and explained, “Death birds are crows, symbols of the God of Night and Death.”  

Albin glanced at the sunray emblem carved from wood hanging over the fireplace. This family clearly worshiped the Sun God.  

In the myths his father told him, the God of Night and Death was always at odds with the Sun God. No wonder the old man chased the crow away.  

When it came to faith, Albin was especially curious.  

After dinner, he pulled up a small stool in front of the fireplace, rested his chin on his hands, and asked the old man, “Grandpa, why do you worship the Sun God?”  

Although he had visited a Sun Temple once, Albin still didn’t have a good impression of the Sun God.  

He thought, *Why would anyone worship such a discriminatory god?*  

The old man looked at him kindly and said, “The Sun God brings us light. Of course, we should worship him.”  

That wasn’t the answer Albin was looking for. He pressed further, “Why is that?”  

The old man chuckled and patiently explained, “Because the Sun God is a great hero. Everyone worships him. From birth to marriage to death, we rely on that golden temple in town.  

“When a child is born, they must undergo a ceremony at the temple to receive the god’s blessing. For marriage, we make vows before the Sun God and the God of Love. And when we die, priests perform cremation rites to purify our bodies and guide our souls to the divine kingdom.”  

Albin wasn’t satisfied yet. “Is there any other reason? There are so many gods in the sky. Why choose the Sun God?”  

The old man pondered for a moment before replying, “For farmers like us, we have to depend on the Sun God’s mercy. If he’s angry, the land cracks with drought. If he neglects us, heavy rains cause floods. We must pray to him with utmost sincerity for good weather.”  

The old woman passing by added, “We also pray for the ability to cook delicious food with fire and for flames to burn away diseases.”  

Albin fell into thought.  

He began to understand why people worshiped the Sun God: to pray for food and health.  

The book merchant nearby chimed in, “And for legal matters, like notarization or court trials, they must be conducted under the Sun God’s witness. He is also the God of Justice.”  

It suddenly occurred to Albin that the Sun Temple was like a courthouse.  

He then thought of the Love Temple running charity houses, realizing that temples weren’t just ritual spaces—they also took on social responsibilities.  

“And magic!” The old man slapped his thigh and added, “By worshiping the Sun God, the temple sends priests to drive away monsters and protect us.  

“Magic is amazing. It can destroy monsters in an instant. If used on a person, it would be catastrophic.” He clicked his tongue in wonder. “If only one of my descendants could learn magic and become a priest. Then they’d be on equal footing with the nobles.”  

Albin quietly reflected.  

People sought protection, but they also feared magic’s power.  

Nobles relied on bloodlines and generations of accumulation, but commoners with talent could ascend to a different world and gain special status. Like Margot, who, after becoming an apprentice priest, could bring her mother to live in the city.  

The temples’ roles were more complex than he’d imagined.  

“But why do monsters attack humans?” Albin asked, puzzled.  

The old man, clueless about this, simply said, “It’s in their nature to be bad! Just like wild beasts, they love to eat meat.”  

Albin wasn’t convinced. The few monsters he had met didn’t seem evil.  

For now, no one could answer his question.  

He thought to himself, *Maybe I’ll have to ask Jade and the others next time I see them.*  

That night, Albin’s mind buzzed with the old man’s words, keeping him restless until he heard movement beside him.  

Zeman was getting up, preparing to leave temporarily.  

“Dad…” Albin tugged at his father’s sleeve, murmuring sleepily, “Come back soon, okay?”  

“Goodnight, Albin.” Zeman gently stroked his hair before slipping away.  

Outside, he glanced at the crow hidden in the shadows, then disappeared into the depths of the forest.  

Under the Sun God’s powerful curse, Zeman uncontrollably transformed into a demon dragon, falling into a deep slumber in the quiet night.  

But this time, perhaps influenced by Albin’s words during the day, he had a dream.  

It was a vivid dream. He saw a silver demon dragon in a completely different forest, and a slender white-haired boy, about fourteen years old, was walking toward the dragon’s lair.  

He stared intently at the boy, but the dragon in the dream seemed not to recognize Albin. It opened its icy starlit blood-red eyes and exuded an unfriendly aura.  

The white-haired boy stopped at the entrance of the lair, gazing at the dragon with awe in his crimson eyes, breathing heavily in excitement—just as Albin had the first time he saw him.  

The boy hesitated, took a deep breath, and gathered his courage to speak.  

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Dragon. My name is Albin.” 

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