TuxedoTranslations

Chapter 79

After two doses of medicine, Zeman—whose constitution wasn’t bad to begin with—already felt much better.

But Albin didn’t think so. He insisted that Zeman rest properly for a few more days and not rush to set out. With his hands on his hips and a stern, righteous expression, he looked just like a family elder.

Zeman had no choice but to agree helplessly. It also gave them a reason to stay here a few more days.

Aside from mealtimes, sleep, and the hours spent learning magic with his father and brother, Albin practically lived in the Healing Temple. Healing magic was never taught casually, so Albin could only be a little apprentice there and learn whatever he could.

He craned his neck to watch the clerics treat townsfolk and livestock, studying very seriously. He even showed everyone the portrait of Little Black, hoping to find his good friend.

That clever Samoyed would follow him around wagging its tail, barking to warn them whenever animals caused trouble, protecting everyone, and even helping Albin and the clerics carry herbs.

The elderly man whose bone had been magically mended still needed many days of rest—the bone was healed but remained fragile.

His son, a carver, worked in a distant city and usually didn’t return for months. The old man now lived alone with his dog, so he moved into the temple and entrusted others with looking after his sheep pen.

The old man’s memory came and went. He still mistook Albin for little Zeman.

Albin no longer corrected him. Instead, he played along, and in the process heard many stories from his father’s childhood—stories he would happily carry back to tell Zeman.

“I heard that when Dad was little, he used to cling to Grandpa’s lamb and wouldn’t let go!” Albin laughed, amazed by the childhood antics of his father, though he simply couldn’t imagine the stern man’s expression back then.

Was he hugging the lamb with a perfectly serious face?

Albin pictured a small child wearing a mature, stern expression while doing childish things and immediately burst into giggles.

Zeman remained expressionless. “I don’t remember that.”

It was before he was four, after all—of course he didn’t remember.

“Maybe I treated the lamb as family back then,” Zeman murmured, gazing at the pure white–haired child in front of him, a faint smile curving his lips.

Sometimes, the old man in the temple would recall things correctly.

He would stroke the Samoyed, who had been neglected for a few days, and listen with satisfaction as Albin talked about Zeman—then proudly talk about his own son in return.

Pointing at the ornate carvings in the temple, he’d proudly say they were all done by his son. He’d add that his son was helping build the grand sanctuary—his son’s work would be seen by countless people.

Albin praised this, though he seemed slightly unconvinced.

That night, he muttered to Zeman, “I’ll make Dad proud of me too, someday!”

Zeman wanted to tell him that he already felt proud of Albin—but clearly, Albin thought that wasn’t nearly enough.

Following Albin’s words, Zeman couldn’t help thinking of himself.

Would his parents be proud of someone like him?

What right did he have to be Albin’s father—someone Albin could proudly introduce as, “This is my dad”?

After a few days of rest, Zeman walked through the streets.

This was his hometown, but it stirred no memories. The supposed familiarity felt hazy and unreal.

It wasn’t until passing townsfolk greeted him warmly and naturally that that sense of “familiarity” finally seemed to take shape.

How would his parents have treated these people?

Without realizing it, he used magic to fix drafty roofs, move haystacks, chop firewood for winter, clean the messy square… Soon he earned himself the title “Dr. Star’s warm-hearted son.”

The townspeople’s simplicity and enthusiasm left him a little overwhelmed.

Using the excuse of picking up Albin, he finally escaped.

But upon reaching the temple, he learned that Albin had already left.

The cleric thought for a moment, then said, “Lately he’s been saying he wants to learn some dish.”

Just as Zeman was wondering, the Samoyed spun around him wagging its tail, as if urging him to follow.

Zeman did so and arrived just in time to see Albin walking out of a tavern. The child’s crimson eyes lit up at once upon seeing him.

He took Albin’s hand and walked him back.

“What were you doing over there? Learning something?” Zeman leaned closer and sniffed the faint lingering scent on him. “Stewed veal?”

“Ugh, Dad found my surprise!” Albin puffed up his cheeks, then reluctantly confessed: “That day, Dad seemed to really like the veal here. I asked around, and they said the recipe was something Grandma brought with her when she moved to town. She cooked it for Dad every year on his birthday—is that true?”

Zeman slowly nodded.

“I don’t know how to cook it yet, but I’ve memorized the recipe!” Albin thumped his chest triumphantly. “From now on, I’ll make it for Dad!”

Zeman thought of the child in his dream, of that unfinished promise.

“Alright.” He followed Albin’s lead and asked, “Then what do you want to eat on your birthday? A little cake?”

“Eh? How did Dad know?” Albin stared at him, wide-eyed.

“A secret.”

Whoever had cast that time-reversal magic—Zeman was deeply grateful to them for bringing this child back to him.

That evening at the tavern, one of the grandmothers Zeman had helped earlier in the afternoon brought over some eggs and cheese as thanks.

“Wow!” Albin lifted the eggs excitedly, proud. “These are thanks for Dad! Dad is amazing!”

He beamed at Zeman. “See? I told you—Dad can do all kinds of things!”

Zeman blinked, stunned for a moment, then softly answered, “Mm.”

Moon and Padma were looking at him with the gaze one would use on a scheming villain, but Zeman merely gave them a cool glance.

Zeman had fully recovered, and they would continue their journey the next day. Carrying raw eggs on the road was inconvenient, so he used magic to cook them on the spot, then skillfully peeled them with a spoon.

The usually lazy Moon stared at his every movement with sharp, sparkling eyes, leaving Zeman a little puzzled.

After the eggs were cooked, Zeman casually chilled the steaming eggs with magic so they would be at a comfortable temperature to eat.

Then he tapped open the top of the egg with his spoon.

In the Holy Sunflower Theocracy, soft-boiled eggs were more common—people usually just removed the top and ate them with a spoon.

But Albin wasn’t used to runny eggs, so Zeman always cooked them fully, then used a spoon to help separate the shell with his thumb, preventing fingers from touching the pristine egg white.

And just like that, a perfect egg was peeled.

A perfect dinner came to an end.

The next day, Albin and Zeman went to the cemetery once more.

Albin declared solemnly, “Grandpa, Grandma, don’t worry—I’ll definitely protect Dad.”

He absolutely wouldn’t let Dad run off and throw his life away again.

Afterward, he headed to the temple, bringing small gifts to say goodbye to everyone.

The elderly man was in good spirits today, and the Samoyed, as always, stayed loyally by his side.

The old man had never named the dog, so Albin had privately been calling him Ye-Ye these past days.

“Bye-bye, Ye-Ye~ Make sure you take good care of Grandpa, and take care of yourself too.” Albin hugged the fluffy Samoyed and gave him a thorough petting.

He held up the custom dog collar he’d bought and asked, “Can I give this to you? I drew a little picture of you on it! And it has Grandpa’s name too.”

The Samoyed snuggled affectionately into his arms. He stared at the bead-eyed sea urchin drawn on the tag with some confusion, but still barked happily in agreement.

After putting the collar on him, Albin waved goodbye to the townspeople and set off once more.

They continued southward, and as the journey went on, the barren winter scenery around them gradually turned lush and green. Their heavy clothing grew thinner—not because spring had come, but because they had reached the very southernmost tip of the continent: the Rose Kingdom, where it was spring all year round.

The climate here was pleasant, flowers bloomed like oceans, grass spread like velvet, sunshine was warm and bright, and the fragrance in the air was intoxicating. Everything before them was vivid and colorful, like a kingdom out of a fairy tale.

After passing inspection at the gates of the capital, Rose City, they stepped inside—only to immediately see Edward waving at them, dressed impeccably from head to toe.

“Zeman~” he called out, striding toward them with open arms, as if preparing to give Zeman a warm embrace.

Zeman frowned deeply, ready to block him with magic.

Unexpectedly, Edward feinted—then bent down and hugged Albin instead.

“Little Albin, long time no see~” He ruffled Albin’s hair, then looked up at Zeman and said, “Zeman, thank you for bringing my son here.”

Albin: ?

Albin was completely baffled.

“Stay away from him.” Zeman shielded Albin instinctively, glaring at Edward.

Recalling Zeman’s earlier assumptions, Edward couldn’t help himself and let out a snort of laughter.

“Hahaha, just kidding.” He waved his hand casually, then greeted Muen and Padma in turn. “How was the road? Tired? I’ve arranged lodging for you already—want to rest first?”

Albin shook his head. “It’s still early. I want to look around first.”

“Alright then, I’ll show you around.”

Edward led them down the central avenue.

Looking around, colorful hanging flower baskets adorned the windows, brilliant blooms were everywhere, their tender petals swaying gently in the breeze, filling the air with enchanting fragrance.

Though it was called the Rose Kingdom, roses were far from the only flowers here.

Albin looked around excitedly—one moment peering at a stall selling flower-filled pastries, the next listening to a bard’s music.

The architecture and atmosphere here felt like a city of romance.

Gradually, they arrived at the most bustling central plaza.

As in many nations, a statue of the city’s patron deity stood proudly here.

From afar, Albin noticed it and asked curiously, “Eh? Isn’t the Rose Kingdom devoted to the Goddess of Love? Why are there three statues?”

Did the goddess actually have three forms? Or were there three deities worshipped here?

Edward seemed to know he would ask this, and explained with a smile, “These are the three aspects of the Goddess of Love and Fate. They’re sometimes displayed together, but here they’re shown separately.”

As he spoke, they reached the statues.

The three statues stood in a triangle, each crafted by master artisans, capturing the goddess’s expressions with lifelike precision.

Albin looked up at the first one: the goddess, in a long dress, was slightly lifting her skirt mid-stride, as if running toward something. Her face was bright with joy and happiness.

The statue had no color—but the crown woven from fresh roses atop her head was vivid in red and white, adorned with tiny scattered flowers.

“The one with the rose crown is the Goddess of Love.”

Beautiful…

Albin held his breath. For some reason, he felt a strange sense of familiarity when looking at her.

Padma squinted at the statue, also feeling that it looked somewhat familiar.

Edward guided them to the right, toward the next statue.

This goddess was entirely different in aura.

“The one with the halo of the Wheel of Fate is the Goddess of Destiny.”

On the high pedestal, the goddess stood solemn and dignified, her gentle gaze filled with compassion. The enormous golden Wheel of Fate behind her bore intricate magical engravings, resting crookedly on her head like a tilted halo.

Zeman examined it quietly.

Who exactly had cast the time-reversal magic?

They continued to the final statue.

This goddess wore a holy mother’s crown, her expression full of tender love. She held a round apple in both hands, and her belly was slightly rounded.

“Mom…”

The moment Albin saw this statue, a powerful, nostalgic emotion surged in him, and he blurted the word out subconsciously.

Everyone stared, taken aback—except Edward, who was used to this reaction. He chuckled and explained:

“This is the Holy Mother statue. There are records saying the goddess once carried a child and holds the divine authority of [nurturing], so this statue was created. Many people feel as though they’re seeing their own mother when they look at her.”

“The Goddess of Love had a child?” Zeman asked, confused—he had never heard anything about this.

“Yes, it’s mentioned only in a very small number of records kept in the Temple of Love.”

Padma asked, “Then who was her child? Are they one of the current Twelve Main Gods?”

Edward shook his head. “The texts don’t go into detail, nor do they mention whether the goddess ever gave birth. We know nothing about the divine child. But we generally call them the Child of Miracles.”

“Because—love can create miracles.”

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