TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 46

Albin worked hard to heal the man lying in a pool of blood. He had treated quite a few people recently, but this was the first time he had encountered someone so gravely injured.

Fortunately, thanks to the training over these past days, his healing magic had improved a lot.

Even so, he still thought that real healing magic must be much stronger than his — after all, he still didn’t even know how to chant spells.

Hearing the other man speak, he studied the brown-haired man’s condition. He looked a little dazed — could he be losing consciousness?

Albin remembered that when he had died before, his own awareness had grown fuzzy, followed by a heavy pull of sleepiness. This man didn’t look like he was in good shape at all!

Anxious, Albin quickly struck up conversation, determined not to let the man drift off.

“God? Of course I’m not.”

“I see…” The man’s eyes were half-closed, his tone low. “That’s true… for more than twenty years, no god has ever answered my prayers…”

Seeing the man’s expression, Albin’s heart sank.

Oh no, was this one of those stubbornly devout types? Did Thorn City even have people like that?

Had he just said something wrong?

“Don’t give up on yourself…” To spark the man’s will to live, Albin hastily backtracked. “N-no, that’s right! I am a god! I didn’t think you’d actually find me out! I now order you to live well!”

The brown-haired man suddenly opened his eyes and looked at him.

“You heard my prayers?”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” Albin lied with a straight face. “Of course! I’m a god, after all! I heard your prayers, so I came to find you.”

“…What’s your name?”

“Albin.” The name slipped out before he could stop himself, and he quickly tried to cover. “Ahem, that’s the name I use when I hide my identity in the human world. As for my real name, don’t you already know it? I’m the god you worship.”

He had no idea which god the man believed in, so he simply tossed the question back.

“Thunder God Vande?”

“Yes, yes, that’s my name. Very good, you’re very devout.”

So the man was a follower of the Thunder God.

To make his story more convincing, Albin kept casting healing magic while raising one finger, releasing crackling sparks of lightning from the tip.

Ah, having all-elemental magic really was convenient!

The sky above was dark and oppressive, thunder rumbling in a way that set one’s nerves on edge.

Albin’s heart skipped a beat, but he still said, “See? All that thunder in the sky is under my control. If you have faith in me, you must hold on and live — that’s divine will!”

“Divine will… I understand.”

The next second, the storm clouds that had been brewing finally burst, unleashing a downpour that drenched Albin like a drowned rat.

That was Thorn City’s weather for you — completely unpredictable.

Albin: …

Thankfully, he had already managed to bluff his way through. The brown-haired man didn’t seem to doubt his identity.

Albin made sure the rain didn’t fall on the man, surrounding him with a ring of fire to keep him warm. He knew blood loss made people feel cold, and getting rained on would be miserable.

They were still some distance from the mouth of the alley, and shouting for help brought no response.

Healing, blocking the rain, and maintaining warmth all at once drained his magic quickly. His stamina ebbed, his teeth clenched as he forced himself to keep going, until his body swayed unsteadily.

The brown-haired man propped himself up to sit, and Albin hurriedly stopped him.

“Don’t move! You’ve stopped bleeding, but your wounds aren’t healed yet.”

Leaning against the wall, the man examined his now partially-healed injuries. His voice was hoarse. “It’s fine. I can use my magic to speed up recovery.”

“Eh? You can use magic too?”

“No. My talent’s too low to cast spells, but I can control my body’s internal magic flow to heal faster. It’s a warrior’s skill.”

But no sooner had he finished speaking than he coughed up a mouthful of blood, hardly looking convincing.

Albin stayed close, continuing to heal him slowly while regaining some of his own strength.

The brown-haired man studied the white-haired boy squatting in front of him. Weakly, he asked, “If I worship you, will you protect my country?”

Albin hesitated. That wasn’t something he could casually promise — he couldn’t speak for the Thunder God.

After thinking for a moment, he dropped the disguise and told him his own view.

“Protecting a country… Maybe praying to a god would help, but instead of pinning your hopes on a god who might not answer, it’s better to do it yourself.”

He added, “I don’t know which country you’re from, but I’ll do my best to help the people I meet.”

The man asked again, “If the priests of your temple committed evil, twisting right and wrong…?”

“Of course I’d teach them a lesson and make them behave! And the nobles who turn people into slaves, too!” Albin said indignantly. “Once I have the power, I’ll make them all work the fields instead! No more bullying people.”

After all, with magic, they’d make great laborers — what a waste otherwise.

This world’s food options were far too limited. The expensive meats were one thing, but he couldn’t even find potatoes for French fries.

The man seemed thoughtful.

After a pause, he said, “You saved me. What do you want in return?”

“Hm?” Albin blinked. “I don’t really want anything.”

His eyes were full of worry. “Why are you so badly hurt? Was it that man in the black robe who did this to you? Why would he do that?”

“Yes.” The brown-haired man lowered his head and said quietly, “I don’t know why. He’s a priest — maybe… he was following a god’s orders. Maybe the god wanted me dead. After all, I’ve never been favored by the gods, and I was banished to this godforsaken place.”

“You don’t have to take everything a god says at face value! There are bad gods, just like there are bad people. Whether divine will is good or bad is something you should judge for yourself, not obey blindly.”

“And besides…” Albin patted his head, puffing out his chest proudly. “Who says you’re not favored? I’m here, aren’t I?”

The brown-haired man stared at him for a long moment, then let out a faint laugh.

“You’re right.”

He used the wall to push himself to his feet, swaying.

“Where are you going? You’re not healed yet.” Albin supported his arm, unable to let it go. “I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t just follow strangers around, little god.” The man’s large hand ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I’ll follow your divine will — I’ll live on. Only by living can I do what I need to do.”

He pried Albin’s hand off and walked forward, steadying himself against the wall.

“That…” Seeing that the man had recovered reasonably well, Albin nervously admitted the truth. “Sorry… earlier, when I said I was the Thunder God, that was all a lie.”

The brown-haired man froze, then turned to him, his deep gaze fixed.

“I know. I knew from the very beginning that you weren’t the Thunder God.”

He had pored over every story about the Thunder God, prayed before the god’s statue daily — he knew what the Thunder God was truly like.

The Thunder God was a burly, muscular, decisive warrior — he would never have such a cute appearance, nor would he thoughtfully shield someone from rain and cold.

He realized that this boy had clumsily pretended to be a god just to awaken his will to survive and respond to his prayers.

Yet in his heart, he wished this boy was the Thunder God he worshiped.

At least the real Thunder God had never saved him, never answered his prayers. But this boy did.

The gods wanted him dead, the priests wanted him dead, yet this boy wanted him alive.

He didn’t care what this boy’s true identity was — to him, this was a little god he had met, a miracle that had descended upon him.

It was a strange and wonderful feeling.

His heart still burned with anger at his enemies, but he felt a new force deep inside — a power pulling him away from death, a feeling that he was no longer alone or abandoned by the gods.

Because he had received the care of a little god.

He left the alley where the miracle had occurred, still in the rain. Soon, the people from the arena found him.

He followed them back without resistance, because he knew he needed strength.

If the gods wouldn’t protect his country, he would. If the gods wouldn’t restrain the priests, he would.

---

Albin watched the brown-haired man disappear into the rain, unable to rest until he saw several shadowy figures take him away, then finally exhaled in relief.

Wait — he had forgotten to ask the man’s name.

Was this person really Sutanlai? But the hair color didn’t match — it wasn’t orange. Could he be a relative?

Albin went back to his daily life.

A few days later, after finishing a shift at the tavern, he had to try his luck at the market to find new work.

At the market, there was always someone in charge of hiring, and everyone gathered around, hoping to grab a suitable job.

This person would stand on a high wooden barrel and shout to the crowd below: “The West District needs a few masons…”

“I!”

“Me!”

“I repaired a house last time at the tannery!”

People clamored, raising their hands and loudly stating their skills.

The foreman almost knew everyone here. He would select a few people, ask a few questions, and those chosen got the job.

At first, Albin listened carefully to the requirements, considering if he was suitable. But he found he could never compete with others, so he stopped overthinking it — he would just grab a chance first.

Being small and soft-spoken, he struggled to get noticed, pushing his way forward.

Finally, he reached the wooden barrel.

The foreman was shouting: “Arena workers needed, good pay…”

“Me, me, me!” Albin shot up his hand like a student eager to answer a question in class.

To be honest, he still wasn’t clear what the arena was. He’d only overheard a few tavern-goers mention it — always in the context of bets — and it made little sense to him.

But whatever! Grab the chance first!

Many would compete for a high-paying job, and he might not even get it.

Yet unexpectedly, when the foreman announced arena work, the previously noisy crowd fell silent. Not a single hand was raised, making Albin’s voice and hand stand out.

The foreman looked down at him, frowning.

“Too small…” But scanning the crowd, there was no one else. “Fine, you it is.”

And so, a confused Albin obtained a new job he didn’t yet understand, but it paid well.

It wasn’t until he reported to the circular open-air building in the city center that he realized his duties.

—He was to feed the monsters.

The arena was a place where people watched humans fight beasts.

Those fighting the beasts were usually criminals, slaves, prisoners, or exiles. The arena housed numerous ferocious beasts, and to make things more exciting, some low-level magical creatures were included.

Albin’s task was to feed the only mid-level magical creature in the arena.

Compared to low-level monsters and beasts, a mid-level magical creature had a certain intelligence, did not obey the trainers, and was extremely dangerous.

Albin dragged a bucket of raw meat to the dungeon outside the arena.

Inside was the mid-level monster.

Its orange mane burned like flames. Lazily, it opened its eyes, its starry pupils reflecting Albin’s figure.

It was a lion monster, full of wildness and ferocity.

Seeing it just waking, Albin whispered, “Mr. Lion, it’s time to eat!”

The lion glared at the small bucket, growling disdainfully: “Is this enough to fill anyone’s stomach? Is this little cub supposed to be today’s meal too?”

Albin put down the bucket quickly and explained.

“Mr. Lion, you can’t eat me! I just didn’t have enough strength to carry all the meat.”

The lion’s dangerous gaze fell on him.“Oh? Little one, you understand me?” It narrowed its eyes, rapping its claws against the iron bars. “Come here.”