TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 37

Flames surged forward with overwhelming momentum, a fanatical force intending to burn the enemy to ashes.

The strong and fearless king didn’t flinch. In an instant, he drew the longsword from its scabbard and, faster than the eye could see, swung it with force straight into the oncoming fire—actually cleaving the blaze in two.

He moved so quickly that the court mages behind him were half a beat slower, only then casting their defensive and counterattack spells.

The king frowned, sweeping his sword across the incompetent mages. His gloomy, dangerous gaze made them feel as though thorns pricked their backs; they shuddered involuntarily and poured all their strength into casting grand spells, terrified that if they didn’t put in enough effort, they might be beheaded on the street as an example.

“Catch him!” the knights charged forward.

But the black-robed figure who had cast the spell from a rooftop didn’t flee. Instead, he jumped down and cast multiple earth-element spells. The ground surged and cracked as if struck by an earthquake, and the tremors spread quickly toward them.

The horses reared in panic, nearly throwing their riders.

The king’s black horse was also restless, but he firmly tugged the reins and expertly guided the horse into a high leap, avoiding the assault with ease.

The noble beside him was not so lucky—thrown hard to the ground by his horse, he lay there groaning.

The king was so furious he laughed. He looked down at the noble and questioned him coldly, “Sir Bowen, is this your idea of a welcome ceremony?”

The noble cried out in fear, “No! Your Majesty, please believe me—this has nothing to do with me…”

“Explain that to your god,” the king cut him off, not interested in excuses, and immediately ordered his arrest.

Two soldiers dragged the noble away like a pig awaiting slaughter.

The tremors also spread to nearby buildings and residences. Some of the weaker structures collapsed with a crash, and people scattered in panic.

“Dad!” Albin called out in a panic, turning to grab Zeman and Padma to flee with them.

Zeman scooped him up in one swift motion, dodging the aftershocks and falling debris.

Albin clung to his father’s chest, hearing the calm and steady heartbeat that helped ease his fear.

“How’s Brother Padma?” he asked, peeking over.

Padma smiled reassuringly. “I’m fine.”

Albin let out a sigh of relief.

So magic could be this dangerous…

He was still shaken, glancing around at the others to check if anyone was trapped in the rubble.

Thankfully, they were on a broad central street. People had already started fleeing as soon as the attack began, so only a few had stumbled—there were no serious injuries.

While surveying the area, Albin suddenly spotted a familiar figure.

He tugged on Zeman’s clothes, urgently asking, “Dad, is that Uncle Edward?”

A handsome young man with golden hair rushed toward the chaos, face tense, and joined the battle ahead.

“That’s definitely Edward,” Zeman confirmed.

Edward’s arrival unsettled the black-robed man. He began attacking nearby civilians, forcing Edward to split his focus and rescue people, giving the attacker a chance to flee.

Edward turned to say something to the king, who frowned and then led the knights away.

Before leaving, the king looked back toward the crowd—and once again locked eyes with Albin.

He said nothing, but after a pause, turned and left.

Edward stayed behind to handle the aftermath, using magic to restore the cracked and risen ground.

“Uncle Edward!” Albin called, waving once Edward finished.

Edward looked up in surprise, and when he recognized them, his face lit up with a broad smile. He strode over with long steps.

He crouched and gave Albin a high-five. “Hey there, little Albin, long time no see. What brings you here?”

“We went to the northern countries first,” Albin explained. “Now we’re heading south.”

“Nice, nice. Take your time and enjoy yourselves,” Edward nodded in approval. His gaze landed on Zeman’s practiced way of holding Albin, and his smile widened.

To Zeman, that smile looked downright smug. He shot Edward a cold glare in response.

Albin, curious, asked, “Uncle Edward, what just happened back there?”

They found a tavern that was still open and sat down to talk over a meal.

Edward explained, “That black-robed attacker who ambushed Sutanlei is a traitor I’ve been tracking. He holds a grudge against the king. I’ve temporarily reached an agreement with the king to stay and deal with this.”

Zeman remembered. This was the same reason Edward hadn’t been able to adopt Albin earlier—he had been on a mission, cleaning house.

“Ugh, dealing with that king is exhausting,” Edward sighed like a worn-out worker after a long shift. He slumped over the table, chin resting on the wood, slowly spooning stew into his mouth.

Albin was amazed. “What happened? I heard that king is called a tyrant—why’s that?”

Edward tousled his hair affectionately, clearly relaxing.

“Well then, let’s start from the beginning—when Sutanlei reclaimed his throne,” he said. “After taking power, Sutanlei began purging all the nobles who had supported his uncle’s usurpation. His methods were brutal. He executed them all and confiscated their property, including the family of that traitor.”

“He even imprisoned clergy—he despises religious figures involved in politics. I had to put in a lot of effort just to get him to agree to work with me.”

“His bloody tactics drew a lot of backlash and resentment, so some nobles banded together to revolt.”

Albin gasped. “That sounds really hard to deal with. What did he do?”

He remembered Padma’s lessons—how interconnected nobles and clergy were through marriage and alliances. That kind of opposition was nearly impossible to control, especially since a king couldn’t rule over a vassal’s vassals directly.

“All the opposition died.”

“Huh?” Albin was stunned.

“And they all bizarrely changed their minds before dying—renounced their rebellion and donated huge sums of wealth to beg the king for mercy.”

“After that happened again and again, the once-mighty rebellion fell apart. Some nobles, afraid of being targeted, voluntarily paid ‘atonement money.’ No one could tell whether it was all coincidence—or Sutanlei’s doing.”

Padma asked, “Did he use magic?”

Edward shook his head. “That’s the thing—there’s no known magic that can do that. And because no one knows how he did it, no one dares to oppose him. In just one year, Sutanlei turned the entire kingdom into a place where only his word matters. A true tyrant. Countless people have tried to assassinate him, but not one has succeeded.”

Albin didn’t quite understand.

Can someone even do that?

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Padma glanced at his expression and twitched the corner of his mouth.

Don’t corrupt the kid.

Although he knew Albin would never become such a tyrant—and certainly wouldn’t care about human life either way—he still didn’t want him hearing things like this.

After dinner, Padma offered to take Albin out for a walk.

Albin also sensed that Zeman and Edward had things to talk about, so he agreed. “Let’s go get those baked apples we saw earlier!”

He also wanted to bring something back for Emerald, who was napping at the inn.

“Dad, we’ll bring you something tasty too!”

Zeman helped him put on a scarf and patted his back. “Go on.”

Edward waved. “Bring me one too—I love baked apples~”

Once the two left, Edward grinned.

He barely held back a laugh, then cleared his throat and said, “Zeman, you’ve been taking care of my son pretty well.”

Zeman instantly turned cold, frowning at him—clearly unhappy with the way Edward referred to Albin.

Edward pretended not to notice. “But why is my son calling you ‘Dad’? No way… Are you trying to steal my kid now, Your Holiness? You didn’t object back then.”

Zeman shot him a withering glare and changed the subject without answering. “A priest with a grudge against a king shouldn’t be enough to label someone a traitor.”

This kind of matter didn’t normally warrant the personal attention of Edward, the High Priest himself.

Edward dropped the joking tone and turned serious.

“You’re right. A personal vendetta isn’t the problem. The problem is… he wants to reverse fate. He’s trying to kill Sutanlei before he took the throne—to change the course of destiny.”

Reverse fate.

Zeman’s eyelashes trembled as he stared at Edward intently.

“There’s a spell that can do that?” Zeman cast a wind-element soundproof barrier. “Sounds like trouble. Do you need my help?”

Seeing Zeman cast magic again, Edward was visibly relieved.

“That would be ideal. Normally this spell isn’t dangerous,” Edward said, pulling a red apple from his pocket and taking a bite. “Like this, for example…”

He showed Zeman the bitten apple, then began chanting softly in a language Zeman didn’t understand—ancient, drawn-out, and impossible to remember.

A moment later, the apple magically returned to its unbitten state.

“At the Temple of Love, we often have treasured keepsakes—little dolls or figurines. They may seem ordinary, but they’re actually vessels of divine affection. If one gets damaged, it can drive us mad and lead us astray, so this magic lets us fix them.”

“But even small reversals require a lot of power. Larger things—especially fatal wounds—are nearly impossible to restore.”

“And the traitor…”

“He made a pact with monsters,” Edward’s eyes turned cold. “From what I saw during our last battle, he firmly believes he can reverse fate. I’m worried about what he might do, so I’ve been working with Sutanlei to draw him out and eliminate him early.”

“But he was even more impatient than I expected. He attacked the moment Sutanlei arrived.”

Zeman recalled the rat-related intel he’d received, and his expression darkened.

Could the rats be involved too?

“What do you need me to do?” he asked.

On the street, Albin tugged Padma toward the baked apple stall.

But once again, he saw the black horse—and the tyrant king atop it.

Everyone around them fell silent and quickened their pace to flee, afraid the tyrant might suddenly lash out.

To Albin’s shock, Sutanlei dismounted and strode straight toward him, exuding overwhelming presence.

Padma immediately sensed something wrong and stepped in front of Albin.

But Sutanlei ignored him and stopped directly in front of the boy. He held something in his hand, but his tall figure towered like a mountain, and his piercing gaze was intimidating.

“Your Majesty… do you need something?” Albin asked timidly, heart pounding.

They hadn’t done anything illegal, had they?

But to his surprise, Sutanlei suddenly dropped to one knee and held out a warm, steaming baked apple to Albin.

His expression was no longer cold or sharp. His movements were awkward and stiff, and his voice was hoarse and low:

“Please accept this baked apple.”

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