TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 39

At the instant the cage was opened, Slave Number Thirteen lunged forward, ramming past the butler and darting out.

The very next moment, one of the slave trader’s enforcers grabbed him and yanked him back hard. Lifted clean off the ground, he could only thrash in midair, baring his teeth and trying to bite that arm—yet the muzzle on his face made it impossible.

“Knew you wouldn’t behave, brat!” the slave trader snarled. In front of the butler, he beat and kicked him savagely, mocking with cruelty, “Damn little slave, you think you can escape?!”

The butler watched without expression. He was long accustomed to such scenes, his cold gaze fixed on the curled-up black-haired boy as if examining a disobedient piece of livestock. When the boy’s resistance finally weakened, the butler fastened a slave collar around his neck.

On the collar hung a tag—besides stating his identity, it bore a notice that whoever recaptured this runaway slave would receive a handsome reward.

Every slave wore such a collar. It was their identity mark—if they escaped, they would soon be caught and brought back.

Slave Number Thirteen was taken back to the castle by the butler. Along the way, he could see the grand architecture and wide courtyards, but none of it concerned him.

The servants lived in the basement, where the air was thick with damp and mold. They could never see the luxurious splendor above; here, there was only darkness and moisture, a constant atmosphere of oppression and despair. Slaves with burn scars like him could only work in the shadows.

The butler threw him to other, more experienced slaves for training. These people were numb and weary, the light long gone from their eyes, with no will to resist.

Once the butler left, the slaves began instructing him, sighing as they did.

“Such a young kid… Were you kidnapped and sold to the slave traders? From now on, be obedient. If you get punished, you won’t just be beaten—you’ll go hungry. The work won’t be any less either.”

The black-haired boy stayed silent, not replying, but clenched his fists in defiance.

“Maybe his parents were slaves,” another remarked.

Such cases were common—a slave’s child could only be a slave, property of the master, even needing the master’s approval to marry.

Suddenly, a raw, hoarse growl tore from the boy’s throat, like an enraged young coyote. The metal fittings on his muzzle rattled and clanged.

“She wasn’t!”

The others fell silent for a moment, then returned to their work, unmoved.

The slave assigned to train him said, “At least you’ll be serving the Sin-Eater. That child’s a year younger than you, doesn’t talk, a bit slow in the head—never makes trouble, very easy to get along with.”

The boy still didn’t speak, tugging at the metal collar around his neck. Through his black hair, his eyes occasionally flashed with a firm, unyielding fire.

He followed the slave group like a shadow, a lone wolf unable to blend in.

That night, after training ended, the butler led the boy down a long corridor to a hidden corner of the tower.

There was a tightly locked wooden door, and beside it a narrow little one. The butler used a ring of rusted keys to open the small door. Inside was a cramped, dim space with no windows and a strange smell in the air, though it was still a bit better than the servants’ basement rooms, where several people were crammed together.

“You’ll live here from now on. Remember your duty—take care of that idiot, and don’t let him die of sickness. In the daytime, work with the other slaves. No slacking off, and don’t even think about running away.”

The black-haired boy was shoved into the small room, his figure melting into the shadows as he fell onto the icy floor. His body gave a slight shudder when the impact touched his wounds.

When the door shut, the room was plunged into pitch darkness. Feeling his way around, he found a corner and sat down. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and through a crack in the wall, he caught a faint glimmer of light.

The small room had a hidden door that led to a larger one, as well as several peepholes for breathing and watching what was happening outside.

Holding his breath, he pressed his cheek against the wall and brought his eye to one of the peepholes. There, he saw the source of the light—

It was the faint moonlight spilling through the window of the adjacent room, dimly outlining the shapes within.

Of course, the “fool’s” room had no candles or other dangerous things. At night, it was as dark as his own, lit only by moonlight.

But in that darkness, he saw a white-haired boy who seemed to glow.

It was the fool.

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Albin lay sprawled on the bed, rolling back and forth like a restless little rice dumpling, his fluffy white hair a tousled mess.

He couldn’t think of a way to return to his original time.

He’d seen a few cartoons with time-travel elements before, but there was nothing useful to copy.

Should he try to find that black-robed spellcaster in this era?

But he didn’t know the man at all, and in the vast sea of people, he had no idea where to start looking.

Or… maybe he couldn’t go back at all? Would he have to live through the future all over again?

But last time, he hadn’t even properly said goodbye to his father.

Hugging his knees, Albin curled up in confusion.

The castle tower’s room had a very high ceiling, the emptiness above making him feel tiny, as though he’d stumbled into a giant’s country. Light streamed in through a narrow window high above, casting a dim, overcast glow. The place felt like a gloomy cavern, and his heart felt just as hollow and lonely—like ants were crawling all over him.

He wanted to find Emerald.

If he had come to the past, Emerald should be here too.

But where could he possibly find him?

Albin was lost in thought.

Maybe he could find his father and Brother Padma as they were at this time?

He wanted to, but he didn’t know where either of them were.

He didn’t know his father’s identity in this era, nor which noble family Padma might be serving as butler for.

Even Uncle Edward was nowhere to be found.

In this world, he was utterly alone.

“Dad…” Albin clutched at the fabric over his chest. A sour ache spread through his heart, and tears welled up unbidden. His lips pouted in wounded grievance as he sniffled softly.

The father here didn’t know him, and would never come to find him.

The people he knew… didn’t know him.

He wouldn’t meet them until he was eight years old…

Eight years old!

The thought struck him, and his tears stopped. He began to think hard.

When he was eight, he would meet his father in the forest on the northern outskirts of Thorn City!

If he could be there at that time, he would definitely see him!

That memory was like a spark, instantly igniting hope inside him. His eyes lit up with vitality in the faint light, and a new sense of purpose filled his heart.

According to the maid, he was six or seven right now, which meant he would only have to wait a little over a year before he could see his father again!

The tears at the corners of his eyes weren’t even dry yet, but Albin was already impatiently thinking about what he would say to his father when they met again.

Mm… This time, no silly “limited father-son” arrangement!

He wanted his father to be his father forever—his only father!

Albin rolled around in excitement, his mind buzzing with a jumble of thoughts.

He even randomly remembered not to order the same “trap dish” at that one tavern they’d gone to before.

Was this… considered being reborn?

He would have to study hard, learn magic in advance, and become a little prodigy!

Jumping off the bed, Albin rummaged through the room for books and writing tools.

Unfortunately, after searching the shabby desk from top to bottom, he found nothing—no books, no pens.

Well, that made sense. He’d been a fool before, after all.

Rubbing his chin, he thought seriously.

This seemed to be some noble’s household—what was his status here, then?

He had a faint feeling he must be an orphan… Could it be the master of the house was just kind enough to take him in?

He had no one to ask, so he buried the question in his heart and began practicing magic alone.

His magic power was so low now—much less than when he had first begun learning magic before.

He kept practicing until evening, when his stomach began growling. Suddenly, he heard the sound of metal locks clinking against the wooden door outside.

Someone was coming!

Albin tensed, focusing. He hesitated—should he say something? But he worried he wouldn’t know how to explain himself, so after thinking it over, he decided to keep pretending to be a fool and see what happened first.

It was only the first day, after all. No rush. And he didn’t even know who was coming.

The heavy wooden door creaked open slowly, the sound low and muffled.

Albin didn’t know exactly how foolish his past self had been, so he just crouched in the corner of the bed, mind wandering. It was like those times when he didn’t want to take a nap but had to pretend to sleep—he forced his eyes to stay still and tried his best to focus.

The man who entered was wearing a butler’s uniform, the style somewhat like the one Brother Padma wore, though of course, Padma wore it far better.

The butler set down a basket of food and water in front of Albin—about enough to last him for a day. It was all simple fare like cheese, ham, or porridge, the sort of things suitable for a child to eat.

Then, he handed Albin a slice of white bread.

The food wasn’t bad, but Albin, remembering that he was pretending to be a fool, didn’t take it right away.

The butler urged impatiently, “Eat it!”

Hm? Was this his way of feeding him?

Before Albin could react, his body moved on instinct—he accepted the bread with both hands and began nibbling it slowly, as if the habit had already been ingrained.

The butler watched him until he finished the white bread, then turned and left.

Although it seemed like he was “feeding” him, the butler didn’t care whether Albin ate the other food—only whether he ate that bread.

Was there something special about it?

Albin smacked his lips but didn’t notice anything strange.

He suspected it had something to do with why he was being kept here, so he decided to wait and see if he could overhear anything from the idling servants.

Each day followed the same routine—training his magic, practicing by trying to arrange elements in the air to form words, being watched while eating the white bread at dinner, and then listening by the window to the servants’ chatter.

Below the tower seemed to be a small platform, and because it was remote and unsupervised, it had become a favorite spot for servants to loaf around.

In the past few days, he had trained his wind-element magic enough to stir a breeze in the stuffy room, and even to carry the servants’ voices to him more clearly—no more struggling to climb the window.

But the servants, of course, didn’t casually talk about anything related to him. After several days of listening, all he heard was gossip—how stingy the butler was, that the city lord had been ill for a long time… The only time they mentioned him was calling him the “Sin-Eater,” which meant nothing to him.

Not getting the information he wanted left him frustrated, but he did make a new discovery.

The food basket would disappear the next day, along with his dirty clothes. Every few days, clean clothes would be left for him. Even the mess he sometimes made in the room would be gone by morning, the place restored to order.

Could it be like a house elf from a magic story?

He thought about it and decided it was more likely the “new slave” the servants had mentioned—though he had no idea how they managed it.

Slave… The word made him frown.

They were all human—why should there be slaves?

He didn’t want to be served by one.

He could do his own things!

Albin worked hard to keep his room tidy so the person wouldn’t have to clean up after him. If he forgot something, he would check before bed to make sure it was in order.

And to thank the person for their help, he would leave some untouched food in the basket as a gift in return.

It was the only thing he could give right now.

Still, he found it strange. The door was clearly locked, and if it were opened, he should have noticed—so how did this person get inside to clean the room?

It had been many days since he’d seen anyone besides the butler, and his curiosity grew. He decided that tonight, he wouldn’t sleep—he would secretly watch for the person.

In the unlit night, he lay in bed early as usual, ears pricked to listen.

Without electronics to pass the time, the night felt endless. Just lying down made him drowsy, and he nearly drifted off several times.

He didn’t know how long had passed when he finally heard it—

A faint metallic clink.

He instantly perked up, cracking his eyes open just a sliver. Once his vision adjusted to the darkness, he could vaguely make out a shadowy black figure moving toward his bed.