TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 77

Outside the window, the sun was quietly sinking beneath the horizon. The light in the sky gradually dimmed as dusk descended. In the room next door, someone lit a stove, the crackle of firewood filling the air as they began preparing dinner.

The sound of burning wood drew Zeman’s thoughts deep into fragments of distant memories—hazy images rising bit by bit, floating upward like smoke.

The flames had roared wildly back then, turning everything into a sea of fire. Heat waves devoured everything in sight, and familiar yet distant cries echoed in his ears.

At only four years old, he had stood frozen in place, not knowing what to do—until someone whose face he could no longer remember picked him up and ran. His field of vision wavered like the flickering fire.

The roof beams collapsed with a thunderous crash. He hit the ground hard, but somehow was unharmed—only his vision stopped moving.

Someone had said something to him from behind, but it was too long ago—he could no longer recall the words. Smoke filled his sight, and he passed out.

When he awoke again, his vision was swaying once more. He was on a jolting carriage, being taken to the Temple of the Sun—chosen to become the Sun God’s holy child.

Whenever he tried to seek his past, to learn about his parents, the high priest would always tell him firmly that they had perished in the fire, and that he, an innocent child, had been blessed by the Sun God. His selection as the holy child was said to be the god’s divine reward.

At the Temple of the Sun, dying in a fire was not considered tragic. To those few who knew the truth, it was a disgrace. How could the holy child have parents who were sinners?

So the temple never spoke of it publicly, and deliberately downplayed Zeman’s curiosity about his parents.

Instead, they announced to the world that Zeman had stood within the sea of flames without being burned—proof of his divine sanctity, evidence that the Sun God was just, and that fire was the embodiment of divine punishment.

After turning sixteen, Zeman had traveled across the continent. He once reached the Kingdom of Lilybell, said to be his homeland—but found no trace of himself there. He left, disappointed and empty-handed.

Out of gratitude for his childhood rescue and years of divine care, even after he slew the god with his own hands, he was still tormented by the pain of betrayal.

But now—Zeman had suddenly learned another possibility.

The ones who had truly protected and sheltered him were not the gods, but the parents he had long forgotten.

That priest who had “guided” him to the temple—he might not have been following the will of the Sun God at all. He might have been the very one who caused the fire that killed his parents.

And the Sun God… yes. How could a god like that ever have protected him?

Zeman lowered his head, covering his eyes with his hands. He sank into a suffocating regret, too overwhelmed even to respond to Albin’s concern.

After a long silence, his voice came out hoarse. “Could you tell me… about my parents?”

The old woman nodded gladly. As she spoke, her tone was slow and heavy with memory, but Zeman and Albin listened patiently.

“Doctor Star was a child of this town,” she began. “Like everyone here, he worshipped the God of Healing. Since childhood, he dreamed of becoming a priest. But he had no gift for magic, and wasn’t suited to be a warrior either, so he stayed at the temple as an apprentice to the priests.”

“Later, he became a skilled doctor. He returned with his wife—who worshipped the God of Love—and together they opened a small clinic, treating townsfolk and their livestock. The clinic stood where the Temple of Healing is now. Back then, it was almost completely burned down.”

The old woman continued in fragmented recollections, speaking until the candles were lit and her sons returned home. They added their own bits and pieces, and even the neighbors who gathered contributed their memories.

By the time exhaustion showed on the old woman’s face, Zeman and Albin thanked her sincerely and left.

Standing in the familiar yet foreign streets, Zeman no longer knew where to go.

He looked toward the newly built Temple of Healing, standing there for a long time, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what the original clinic had looked like.

“Papa,” Albin said softly, carefully watching his expression. “Let’s go see Grandpa and Grandma.”

“Alright.” Zeman could hear the concern in his voice. As before, he reached out to gently stroke Albin’s hair, trying to reassure him—but Albin only grew more worried. Zeman’s face looked pale and unwell.

Following the address given by the old woman, they found the nearby cemetery.

Night had fallen, and a cold wind swept through the air.

The Kingdom of Lilybell lay in the south-central region—warmer than the lands they’d passed before—but it was still winter, and after dark, the temperature dropped sharply. The graveyard, shrouded in darkness, felt eerie and somber.

Light magic illuminated the area around them. Zeman held Albin’s hand and wrapped him in his cloak.

“Are you afraid?” he asked quietly.

Albin shook his head. “Grandpa and Grandma won’t hurt me.”

Zeman’s eyes softened.

Yes, his parents would surely protect them.

They found the doctor couple’s gravestone—but there were no bodies buried beneath it.

Followers of the God of Healing also practiced cremation. The priests of the Sun Temple claimed it was because the God of Healing followed the Sun God, as written in myth—but the priests of the Healing Temple believed it was to burn away the illnesses clinging to the dead, having nothing to do with the Sun God.

Zeman traced the engraving on the gravestone. The chill of the stone seeped into his bones, making him shiver.

In the middle of winter, Albin ran around the cemetery searching for flowers but found none. Crestfallen, he returned, pulling a few sweets from his pocket and placing them before the grave. Then he used magic to create colorful light patterns, dispelling the graveyard’s gloom.

“Hello, Grandpa, Grandma! I’m Papa Zeman’s child. My name’s Albin! These are my favorite snacks—they’re really tasty. You probably haven’t tried them before, so please have some.”

He spoke brightly, then crouched down, trying to use magic to make flowers bloom on the ground—just like Edward once had.

If he had seeds, it would’ve been easy. He’d practiced that kind of growth magic before in Thorn City, making wheat sprout instantly.

But with no suitable seeds here, he couldn’t do it.

The magic that created life from nothing was too difficult; he wasn’t capable of that yet.

Here, there were no seeds—only a few blades of grass sprouting, tickling his palms.

He tried again and again, nearly failing—until a large hand covered his own, glowing softly.

He looked up—it was Zeman.

A complex magic circle unfolded beneath their hands. Before Albin’s wide, astonished eyes, the withered field around them turned green. Tender shoots broke through the earth, growing taller and fuller with each passing second. Leaves unfurled, and little bell-shaped buds appeared—then, in the blink of an eye, bloomed into a sea of lilies of the valley, surrounding the cold gravestone.

The night wind brushed past, and the white bells swayed gently, ringing in silence.

When the spell was done, Albin held Zeman’s cold hand tightly, channeling warm magic into it.

Zeman suddenly pulled him into his arms.

“Papa?”

Zeman gazed at the gravestone beside them—at the lilies of the valley blooming softly around it, symbols of happiness—and said quietly, “Albin, there’s something I need to take care of.”

Albin looked up at him, concerned. “Papa, are you going to turn into Mr. Dragon again?”

During their travels these past days, Zeman had occasionally struggled to maintain his human form. Only then did Albin learn that all those times his father had disappeared from the group before were because of that.

“No…” Zeman took a deep breath. “This time, it’s something real.”

Albin clutched tightly at his clothes, afraid he would suddenly vanish.

He tilted his head up, looking pitifully at Zeman. “Will Papa come back? Can’t you take me with you?”

Ever since the time Zeman had once left him behind, Albin had grown deeply anxious whenever his father left—terrified that it would happen again.

Zeman noticed that unease in his son’s eyes—but this time, he had to go alone.

“I’ll be back very soon,” he promised over and over.

After sending Albin back to the inn, Zeman’s figure disappeared into the night.

A silver-white magic dragon with eyes like starlit blood soared into the sky, cutting through the darkness. It flew swiftly over the lands of the Tulip Kingdom, through the storming rain of Thorn City, and finally arrived, carried by cold winds, at a city devoted to the worship of the Sun God.

There, he shed his dragon form and became Zeman once again, his clothes soaked with cold mist, and slipped silently into the high priest’s bedroom.

The thick aura of magic startled the high priest awake. Seeing Zeman before him, he thought the man had just slain the monster that had infiltrated the temple and immediately began to flatter him with obsequious praise.

Zeman’s voice, however, was cold. “I went to the Kingdom of Lilybell. I found my hometown. Tell me—how did you take me away back then?”

The icy gaze in Zeman’s eyes filled the high priest with dread. Instinctively, he stumbled backward until he struck a cabinet, trapped.

He couldn’t read Zeman’s intent and didn’t dare ask why he was suddenly being questioned. “I… followed the guidance of the Sun God,” he stammered. “It’s been twenty years, I don’t quite remember the exact place.”

“Continue,” Zeman ordered.

“I—I sensed your divine gift,” the priest said shakily. “I realized you had been chosen by the Sun God, so I persuaded your parents to let me take you.”

The word “persuaded” was all Zeman needed to hear. “So they refused.”

The high priest swallowed hard. “That’s because your father wanted to send you to the Temple of Healing—or perhaps to the Temple of Love in the Rose Kingdom. They thought the Sun Temple was too far. They didn’t want to be separated from you.”

“What did you do?” Zeman asked flatly.

The high priest tried to sound righteous. “Of course I respected their decision. I gave them a few days to think it over. But unfortunately, their defiance angered the Sun God, and their sins brought divine punishment upon them—”

Before he could finish, black thorned spikes burst from the air and pierced through his body, pinning him to the wall.

He spat blood, eyes wide in horror, staring at the black starlight reflected in Zeman’s gaze. “Y–Your Holiness…?”

“You set the fire that killed them,” Zeman said, his voice glacial.

Terror spread across the priest’s face—terror of being exposed. “No, no! It was divine punishment! Their own sins drew the god’s wrath! They refused the Sun Temple’s will—it’s their own fault!”

Even now, he showed no remorse—only excuses.

But if the fire had truly been an accident, why would the truth have been buried all these years?

Zeman yanked the thorns free. The barbed vines tore flesh from bone, and the high priest collapsed heavily to the ground.

Zeman’s eyes gleamed dark and cold. Now, he knew the truth.

His father had once rescued an injured priest in the wild and brought him home to their clinic. The priest had discovered the child’s innate gift and, thrilled by it, proposed to take him to the Temple of the Sun.

But because of their differing faiths—and because the Sun Temple lay in the far western lands—his parents had hesitated. The priest, fearing the boy might be taken by another temple and tempted by ambition, deliberately set the fire that killed them, and took the young, helpless Zeman away.

Two streams of fire ignited across the bloodstained carpet, swiftly reaching the high priest. His nightclothes offered no protection—flames hungrily consumed him.

Zeman used the same ordinary fire—the same kind from that night—to let the man taste the “divine punishment” he had spoken of.

Reflected in the blaze, the high priest saw the dark star-patterns swirling in Zeman’s eyes.

“You… you’re—”

The rest of his words dissolved into a scream. Desperately, he tried to douse the flames, to flee, but the fire under Zeman’s control devoured him faster. He couldn’t even finish his incantation, his pleas for mercy breaking into choked sobs.

Zeman watched coldly. His voice was quiet, merciless. “That night—did they beg you for mercy too?”

The priest froze. His breath caught in his throat.

Zeman had struck the truth.

Of course they had begged.

Just as they’d been about to escape, they had seen the priest standing outside the burning house.

But instead of saving them, he had summoned more fire—cutting off their last path to life.

Just like Zeman was doing now.

The flames grew fiercer, twisting the high priest’s body as he writhed in agony. His screams grew weaker and weaker, until at last, there was only silence.

In Zeman’s crimson eyes, the reflection of the fire danced wildly—yet there was no satisfaction, no sense of vengeance fulfilled.

Were his parents in this same pain that day? he wondered.

The fire inside him did not die with the high priest’s death. It burned hotter, searing through his chest.

At first, it was as if thousands of needles were stabbing his heart—then the pain became unbearable, spreading through his whole body.

He left the charred corpse behind, stepped onto the windowsill—and at that instant, shed his human form, becoming once more the silver-white dragon.

His wings beat with such force that a hurricane tore through the streets, waking the sleeping townsfolk. The ground quaked beneath his landing—people thought it an earthquake. Panic spread through the city like wildfire.

His barbed tail lashed once, shattering the great statue of the Sun God that stood in the city’s central square.

Then, like a tide of black mist, his destructive breath tore through the temple’s magical defenses. Razor-sharp claws ripped through the golden dome. A blast of fire—divine and merciless—engulfed the grand hall, burning the Sun God’s statue to ash. The symbol of light and power was obliterated in an instant.

The dragon let out a low, furious roar—announcing his existence to humankind.

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