TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 40

The room was filled with a stale smell. Slave Number Thirteen sat quietly in a shadowy corner, his black hair hanging low, completely still. His weary body could no longer think of ways to escape, and the iron muzzle on his face felt unbearably heavy. The anger and struggle in his heart were mercilessly suppressed, making it hard for him to breathe.

His thoughts drifted back to the moment his mother passed away.

That day in Thorn City was as rainy as ever—fine sheets of rain shrouded the whole city, wrapping everything in a suffocating sense of despair.

His mother’s body had already grown frail beyond recovery, her breathing weaker and weaker. She must have sensed what was coming. At the moment of parting, her eyes were filled with regret, guilt, and reluctance.

She held his hand tightly, tears flowing without end, her own hands trembling.
“I’m sorry… my child… it’s because of me that you’ve been branded a slave…”

He had been too young then, never having known any other life. He could have been like the others—accepting his fate as a slave without a trace of resistance—but his mother had always told him that he was not meant to be a slave.

He didn’t understand why his mother blamed herself, nor what his true identity was supposed to be. But he wanted to fulfill her dying wish—to no longer be a slave.

He began trying to escape. In the grip of iron chains, tormented by hunger and exhaustion, he kept searching for chances.

Yet every time he tried to flee from the slavers, he was brutally captured, beaten, locked in even more chains, and sometimes thrown into a dog cage.

He could only grit his teeth and keep looking for the next opportunity.

No matter what, he would never become an obedient slave!

Pressing himself against the cold wall, he peered through a spyhole into the room next door, watching the “fool” inside.

The boy wore a simple linen tunic without any gold or gemstone adornments. His snow-white hair gleamed in the darkness like a bright moon in the night sky.

The white-haired boy always seemed cheerful, as if expecting something. From time to time, he would gaze out the window in a daze.

In the mornings, the boy would stand in the small patch of sunlight that reached into the room, stretching and moving his body in strange ways.

That young face was always lit with a light, easy smile, and his eyes were even brighter than the rubies Slave Number Thirteen had occasionally glimpsed in the castle.

He didn’t know what others meant by calling him a “Sin-Eater,” but it didn’t sound like a good thing. He had also heard that this child had been locked away alone for many years—an abandoned child.

Slave Number Thirteen couldn’t understand how this boy could remain so joyful. They were both imprisoned in this cold, oppressive castle—shouldn’t they both be consumed by despair?

And yet, every time he saw that lively expression, some life would return to his own numbed heart, and the tight knot of tension inside him would strangely loosen.

When the white-haired boy finally drifted off to sleep as usual, Slave Number Thirteen quietly stepped into the large room and approached his bed, watching him.

Moonlight didn’t reach here, so he couldn’t really see the boy’s face.

By the rules of the castle, he wasn’t even supposed to look directly at a “master.”

But he said nothing, just stood there silently staring.

Perhaps he wanted to figure out the source of the boy’s joy, or perhaps the act of breaking the rules reignited the unyielding flame in his heart.

After a moment, he began tidying up as usual.

But this time, walking around the room in the dim moonlight, he found there was nothing to clean.

He froze, unsure what to do.

He felt more like a passing visitor than a slave.

When he picked up the basket and walked into the strip of moonlight, he noticed slices of ham inside. The folded pieces looked like pink carnations. He didn’t understand why the boy hadn’t eaten them—after all, the boy clearly liked them. Whenever he ate them, his eyes would light up and his smile would grow even more endearing.

Was he too full?

Hesitating, Slave Number Thirteen took out the pink “ham flowers” and placed them on a napkin beside Albin’s bed.

Albin squinted his eyes and caught sight of that figure.

To his surprise, the figure was rather small—almost like a child about the same size as him.

The next morning, he was still thinking about it and even got out of bed to compare their heights.

If it really was a child, then that was just too much!

While he was still fuming, his peripheral vision caught a hint of pink at his bedside.

It was the slice of ham he had purposely left yesterday—the other person hadn’t eaten it at all.

Was that kid too dumb to understand his intention? Or did they just not like it?

Feeling like his gift had been rejected, Albin stuffed the little ham flower into his mouth in annoyance, deciding that today he’d leave something else instead.

After finishing his morning calisthenics as usual, he scanned the room.

He was sure now—he hadn’t heard the main door open yesterday. The very first sound seemed to have come from the direction of the tapestry.

Albin walked over to the heavy tapestry by the wall, lifted a corner, and unexpectedly discovered a small wooden door with no lock.

Wow—a secret passage!

His eyes lit up with excitement, instantly stirring his urge to explore.

He opened the wooden door and stepped lightly inside, finding a pitch-dark little space behind it.

Channeling his magic to control light elements, he illuminated the space. Aside from a straw mat on the floor, there was no furniture—only another small door.

This door was held shut by a simple latch and looked far flimsier than the main one. Albin fiddled with it using wind magic for a while and successfully opened it.

What came into view was a spiral staircase leading down the tower—he could leave the room!

Albin let out a gleeful whoop and cautiously explored the tower, using wind magic as a lookout to avoid others. Before long, he returned to the room.

Being able to leave the room didn’t mean he could escape the castle, and he didn’t want to get that kid into trouble.

But still, the ability to get out made his heart race with excitement.

He wanted to learn more about that kid.

With his wind magic, Albin could keenly hear movements in the hidden room, so he waited quietly.

It wasn’t until night that he heard something from next door.

Albin didn’t rush to speak—he didn’t know if the kid was the brainwashed kind of slave who might report him, nor was he sure if today’s visitor was the same one from yesterday.

That night, he opened his eyes to confirm.

Good—it was still that same shadow.

This time, he left a piece of cheese and a ham flower, arranged together to look like a small cake. He wondered if the kid would understand his meaning.

He waited with anticipation and soon heard the kid return next door, though they didn’t place it at his bedside this time.

After a bit more waiting, he finally heard the faint chewing sounds—accompanied by a strange metallic clink.

Yes! He ate it!

Albin twisted happily on his bed, as if he had just made a friend.

Over the next few days, he gradually figured out his little neighbor’s routine.

Around the time he did his morning exercises, the kid would head out. But at night, their return time varied—sometimes early, sometimes late.

After being alone all this time, having someone his own age next door—even without much interaction—gave Albin a feeling that he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Whenever he overheard the kid’s steady breathing, he felt content.

He made a habit of waiting until the kid came back before sleeping.

He thought about when he might try talking to him. Even if he had to play dumb in front of the other boy, it didn’t matter—he just wanted to know what kind of person he was.

If the kid was trustworthy, maybe… maybe he could gain a friend.

He didn’t have any friends his own age in this world yet!

The thought alone filled Albin with giddy anticipation.

But that day, the little neighbor came back especially late—and with strange rattling chain sounds.

Waiting in bed, Albin felt something was off.

Then he noticed the kid’s breathing was different from before.

Normally it was steady and even, but now it was quick and irregular. Every breath sounded as if it was squeezed painfully from his throat, threaded with faint tremors—like he was enduring pain but desperately suppressing any sound of it, as though he didn’t want to alert anyone.

Even so, the kid still opened the secret door between their rooms and came into Albin’s.

Albin’s eyes snapped wide open.

He could smell a faint trace of blood.

Slave No. 13 had gradually gotten the hang of the work inside the castle. He was fairly strong, able to lend a hand in all sorts of tasks.

Today, his job was to help with the laundry. Washing clothes meant going to a nearby water source—one of the rare chances to leave the castle and the basement.

The moment the servants stepped outside, they began chattering nonstop, passing around every bit of gossip about happenings inside the castle.

Naturally, the conversation turned to the newcomer, Slave No. 13.

“So, how’s it feel taking care of that little idiot?” someone asked him.

Under his black hair, his eyes scanned the terrain around them. He didn’t reply, and they didn’t seem to care, carrying on by themselves.

“As long as you feed him, help change his clothes, and make sure he doesn’t get sick or die, that’s all. No need to clean his room or run around doing chores—what a cushy job.”

Slave No. 13 paused.

No one had ever told him how to serve the white-haired boy specifically—only the rules for serving a “Master.” He had thought that was all he needed to do.

He was puzzled.

Things like eating and changing clothes—the white-haired boy could do those himself, and quite neatly too. No matter how he looked at him, he didn’t seem like an idiot at all.

“Are you crazy? Did you forget he’s a Sin-Eater?”

“So what if I talk about him? It’s not like I really plan to go near him.”

They seemed to have some taboo around the title “Sin-Eater,” quickly changing the subject.

Slave No. 13 kept his head low, eyes still alertly sweeping the surroundings. A guard with a hunting dog stayed near them.

But chances to go outside were rare, and he had to seize this one.

On the way back, Slave No. 13 trailed at the end of the line, following the muddy path toward the castle. Seeing the overseers ahead of them, he suddenly tossed aside the wet laundry in his arms. While they were distracted, he leapt across the stream and dashed into the forest.

His freedom didn’t last long. Soon after, he was caught again and given another round of brutal punishment.

This time, the beating was even harsher than before. He was knocked unconscious for a while, and when he awoke, he was back in the castle’s basement, heavy shackles on his feet to prevent escape.

He clenched his fists but did not lose heart.

It was just a beating—he was used to that.

His body healed quickly; after some time, he would recover.

By the time he returned to the small room in the tower, it was already deep into the night.

Enduring the pain, he peered as usual through the peephole into the next room.

As he had expected, the white-haired boy always went to bed early and was surely fast asleep by now.

But tonight he had returned too late. In the pitch darkness, he couldn’t see the boy’s expression, which left him a little disappointed.

He opened the hidden door, carefully lightening his steps as he entered the next room.

He didn’t know why, but the white-haired boy he had seen these past few days never seemed like the fool others described.

Moonlight streamed through the narrow window onto the floor. He looked toward the basket at the edge of the light. As always, there was some food left inside, arranged neatly and beautifully, coated in a faint glow like a painted still life.

If he wasn’t a fool, then why would he do something like that?

His gaze trembled slightly as he slowly approached the bed, making sure the clink of the shackles and the sound of his breathing wouldn’t wake the boy.

He wanted to see him.

But just as he neared the bed, a soft hand suddenly gripped his wrist with precision, stopping him in his tracks.

The white-haired boy sat up, crimson eyes glimmering faintly in the moonlight—wide awake, with no trace of dullness in his gaze, staring at him intently.

“—Got you!”