TBR CH53

Chapter 53: A Hug

The God was very clear, he was not Tar.

That little demon with pomegranate-red eyes had died a thousand years ago, all alone, without companions, and had never been saved.

But sometimes Edwin made him feel as if he hadn’t forgotten. Tar existed in the world, had once existed, and now, for the time being, existed as well.

The torrent of time acted directly on the soul, not the flesh. He didn’t consider himself one to dwell on the past, so he could only attribute it to the latent side effects of manipulating time.

For instance, in a situation like this, the God found it difficult to suppress the thought of his past self.

In any case, Edwin now stood before the door like a statue, his pupils not even moving slightly. Tar knew he was afraid of what he would see. He still held expectations. He longed for guilt, for regret, for compensation…

He longed for love.

Because people said family affection was a given, but he had never had it.

The sunlight slanted into the garden of the house before them, while Edwin stood under the doorway, covered in shadow. On a certain day a thousand years ago, there had been such beautiful sunlight as well—

Under the sun, the demon with pomegranate-colored eyes had cunningly and nimbly bypassed the guards’ line of sight and broken into the most heavily fortified royal city. The closer he got to the appointed place with that lady, the more Tar felt an indescribable ache in his chest. At that time, he had also clenched his hands, his palms sweaty, not even daring to make his footsteps too heavy.

He had lingered at the entrance of the alley, not daring to walk into the trap of fate, yet in the end, he had fallen deep into it.

That was… many years ago, wasn’t it?

The God couldn’t remember clearly anymore, because he had spent an immeasurable amount of time in the bottle. He now only had an impression of the result, and the result was the worst of all predictions, although the demon had long suspected it.

But, at that time, he had been very, very, very sad.

Through the demon’s translucent, pale red pupils, the God focused on the Bishop’s expression, from his tense jaw to his damp, dark black curly hair, as if studying a very interesting puzzle.

He was now feigning composure, sizing up this unremarkable residence with the look of one sizing up the most dangerous evil creature. The Bishop’s expression almost made one suspect that this was the den of some terrifying monster, requiring the most powerful Light magic to suppress.

But, of course, it didn’t look like that at all. One could even faintly hear the happy laughter of a child coming from the garden.

Edwin’s palm unconsciously clenched, as if trying to grasp something. But there was nothing in the Bishop’s palm. He was facing his past alone. It was unclear if it was intentional, but he did not ask the Tar behind him for help.

His fingers did not tremble when he pushed the door, like the most precise instrument. The hem of his coat fluttered slightly with the movement. He no longer pursed his lips; there was a gap between his lips and teeth, but it still looked impenetrable. From his eyes, one could see that he had already built the strongest barrier to protect himself, determined not to be easily shaken by any emotion.

The God’s sigh-like gaze fell upon the Bishop.

He was braver than he had imagined, at least braver than his past self.

So… providing a little help could be understood.

Tar silently circled from behind the Bishop to the front. His black leather boots tapped lightly on the ground, his soft hair brushing against Edwin’s cheek, until the demon stood directly and frankly in front of the Bishop, blocking the entrance.

The Bishop’s pupils contracted slightly. The demon in front of him, however, seemed to be just trying to curry favor, holding out his hand to him.

“Edwin,” he said, “don’t forget me.”

After only a second’s hesitation, Edwin took the demon’s offered hand.

Tar’s body temperature was maintained at a comfortable level. The Bishop let out a silent sigh, his strength somewhat uncontrolled.

This was his…

The first thing he truly possessed, a demon that would absolutely not leave him, one that could be tamed.

The demon shook his arm. “You’re hurting me.”

Edwin subconsciously released the shackle-like grip on Tar’s fingers. He stiffened his fingers, a little lost, unsure how to adjust to a suitable strength.

But Tar bent his knuckles, clasping the Bishop’s left hand, one finger at a time.

“This is fine. Let’s go.”

What kind of person was Edwin’s father?

The young child had woken up countless times from abyssal dreams. Like all his peers, he yearned for the love and care of his relatives, and like other abandoned children, he imagined his parents’ appearance.

However, Edwin knew that “dirty blood” flowed in his veins.

The nuns and priests all told him that, besides his succubus mother, his father must also be a despicable, shameless, and utterly vile character. As a human, he had consorted with a demon, and after leaving behind offspring, he had passed the burden onto the monastery.

…Even so, that would be fine.

Once, a child in the monastery was taken home by his father. The man was burly, with a yellowish beard, looking like a drunken slob. But when the father and child embraced, a pair of naive gray eyes in the crowd stared at the scene with greed and jealousy.

What did a hug feel like?

The young Edwin yearned for it, tightly clutching the medal a nun had rewarded him for his outstanding performance. The sharp edge of the medal cut his skin, but he didn’t care at all.

He would trade a hundred medals for it.

Even if he were ten thousand times worse than the sloppy man before him, he could be more outstanding than all the other children. He had always been the best one.

So, take him home.

—Edwin had long since discarded such foolish wishes.

From a certain point, his only wish was to climb upwards. This ambition had recast his soft bones and heart, forged his flesh and blood, causing him to abandon meaningless emotions, able to find the satisfaction he wanted in money and power.

The meaning of his life was not to obtain that kind of ethereal love.

This made him hard, ambitious, and ready to strike. He was a self-aware fool. Even if he started with empty hands, he would pluck the golden apple at the very top.

The image of his father also grew increasingly blurry. Occasionally he would think, that must be a selfish, foolish man who dared not take responsibility.

Until today, he saw this person for the first time.

Within the walls was a small garden, though most of it was planted with vegetables. This was how commoners lived. In the garden, two boys were chasing and playing with each other. Their faces were carefree, their eyes pure, wearing old but clean clothes.

The older boy was about ten or so. He accidentally used too much force during a shove, so the younger boy stumbled and fell, screaming and starting to cry with a hint of petulance. He got up and ran to the middle-aged man who was watching them with a gentle gaze. He tugged at his sleeve, crying and complaining about his brother’s crime.

The middle-aged man bent down, easily picking up the child. He checked his body and gently comforted him in his ear, then called his older brother over. The boy who had caused the trouble was a little reluctant, but his father’s firm gaze gave him courage. So he mumbled as he walked over, saying softly, “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

The young boy quickly stopped crying, a triumphant look on his face. But after his father gave him a slightly reproachful look, he also knew what he should do. His father put him down. He ran to his brother like a cheerful little deer, gave him a light hug, expressing his forgiveness.

Afterward, they both started clinging to their father, wanting him to put aside his work and play with them a little longer. The man helplessly held the two boys in his arms, smiling and coaxing them, as if looking at the most precious treasures in the world.

What a happy, perfect family.

Until the man finally felt the gaze on him. He turned his head and saw the pale young man in the black robe, his gray eyes as thick as mist, staring at them without blinking.

He had a completely different temperament from them, commoners. He had been in a high position for a long time, noble and honored.

He was definitely very dangerous.

The man’s face turned pale, seemingly realizing something. He immediately shielded his two children behind him, his expression humble and respectful. He addressed Edwin as “My Lord,” asking his purpose, and begging him not to harm his wife and two children.

Tar felt that Edwin’s hand was even colder than before.

The Bishop revealed a gentle smile, the kind that was very official, completely devoid of any personal emotion. He looked at the man before him, his deep gray pupils moving slightly, not even resembling human eyes.

“We meet for the first time,” Edwin said. “I think we need to talk.”

“Please…” the man was almost incoherent. “Please don’t harm my two children. You can do anything to me. I… I am willing to offer everything, as long as they can be safe.”

What a great father, who loved his children so deeply.

The two boys, shielded behind their father, had not yet figured out the situation. They sobbed in fear, tightly gripping their father’s sleeves. This was the figure that sheltered them from wind and rain, enough to block all misfortune. They still believed this now.

And a woman ran out from the house. She was an open book. One glance was enough to know that she would devoutly attend Sunday prayers and treat all her neighbors with kindness and friendship.

This mother now looked at the scene before her with a terrified expression, covering her mouth to keep from screaming. Her gaze was so earnest. If given a chance, she would not hesitate to trade places with her children, to drive those frightened little chicks into the warm and safe house.

What sincere, selfless family affection.

Tar felt this scene was almost fated, like a family tragedy predestined to be staged before Edwin’s eyes. Scene after scene was too rich, full of emotion, perfectly displaying the most harmonious of families to Edwin.

If the master of this house were not the father who had abandoned him twenty years ago, perhaps everything would have seemed more sincere.

Not to say the emotion wasn’t real; the man’s determination to protect his wife and children was beyond doubt.

But, this determination revealed an even greater irony, as if Edwin’s half-life of suffering and loneliness was a complete joke, melting like butter in front of this happy family, as if it had never happened.

“I…”

Edwin paused. He wasn’t trembling at all at this moment. He looked even more impregnable, only his voice was deeper, like the rustle of velvet rubbing against marble.

Also, his five fingers couldn’t help but tighten again.

But this time Tar didn’t speak, just let Edwin grip his hand tightly without any resistance. His nails pressed hard against the back of his hand. Fortunately, the Bishop kept them well-manicured, so they wouldn’t break the skin.

The smile on the Bishop’s face did not fade one bit. “I just need to talk with you,” he said to the man. “Before our conversation ends, I promise no one will be harmed.”

It still sounded just as terrifying.

But a father’s responsibility ultimately drove the man to soothingly pat his child’s head. With an expression of one willing to offer his neck to the blade, he turned to Edwin, while at the same time looking warily at the Tar behind him.

The demon blinked at him, pretending to be harmless.

“If you don’t mind, please come inside to talk.” The man said in a weary voice, pulling open the door. The furnishings inside the house also showed that this was a family that lived a simple yet happy life, not welcoming anyone to destroy their happiness.

But, wasn’t this ridiculous?

Even though he had so easily taken control of the situation, Edwin still felt that his own circumstances were wretched and utterly ridiculous.

The man’s eyes were also gray, gray, but like dust, an insignificant existence.

He was almost direct, even catching Edwin off guard. “I know why you’ve come,” the man’s tone was respectful, even so. “Your Excellency the Bishop, I… am very sorry, but, you can ask me to do anything, I will do as you command. I beg you, do not harm my children, do not harm Sarah. Just… please, I beg you, please don’t tell them all this. I will absolutely keep my mouth shut.”

“You knew…” Edwin murmured, the fact making him a little dizzy. “You’ve always known.”

He was unwilling to look at him, his gaze wandering hesitantly around the room. This was a happy and warm family. Traces of a detailed life were everywhere. It looked like they had lived here for decades.

At the same time, the master of this house had always known of his existence. His own flesh and blood had grown up in the monastery a block away, and he had never cared.

“You don’t have to acknowledge me, this humble man,” the man said cautiously, sensing a change in Edwin’s mood. “Your Excellency the Bishop, please believe me, I will not do anything to hinder you. I am a sinner who has done wrong. All these years, I have felt very sorry. I just didn’t have the courage to face it—”

“Enough,” Edwin said calmly.

He hadn’t come here to listen to a man’s boring confession. And the other was looking at him with such caution, like an ant staring at a massive creature that could crush it at will.

His gaze finally found a stable point to rest.

That was the only tolerable pair of eyes in the room, those beautiful eyes as bright as garnets, belonging to a demon.

Seeing Edwin intend to rise, the other man was clearly thrown into a panic, unable to speak a word, just murmuring, “Oh God.” And at this moment, the representative of the God of Light, the high-ranking Archbishop of the Holy See, placed his hand on his scepter.

If the other party knew nothing, perhaps there was a chance to spare his life. But his father in name knew everything clearly. Edwin knew he had to cut the roots. The gray-haired man from before was a lesson.

Patricide is a grave sin.

But that was not his relative, just the person who had abandoned him.

Even now, what was reflected unclearly in the man’s gray pupils was a monster. He feared him, respected him, kept a respectful distance from him, treating him as a different creature to be shunned, and yet also came to worship him.

Enough. Edwin tried to pick out a more concrete thought from his muddled ideas. He felt tired from his very soul. The bloodline of a close relative was indeed affecting him. Sometimes his mind went blank, wanting to give up thinking.

Then end it all now.

And then…

Suddenly, the door opened. Like a gust of wind, the little boy who had been crying from his brother’s push just now rushed into the room. The child’s naive pupils glared angrily at Edwin. He stood in front of his father and stammered, “B-bad man, don’t you hurt my daddy. My daddy is a good person!”

The man’s eyes widened in an instant. He reached out with surprising speed and pulled his child behind him. It was as if he thought his body could serve as some kind of shield, as if his flesh alone could block the Holy Light driven by Edwin, not knowing that the Holy Light was all-pervasive.

Edwin closed his eyes for a moment.

The man said, “Your Excellency the Bishop, I have never said anything. I beg you, spare my child.”

He was even tired of the thought of it.

Among everyone present, only Tar knew that his spirit was already fragile to the point of collapse. The others probably thought Edwin was all-powerful and unscrupulous. The father and son hugged each other, clinging tightly as if the world were about to end. A great fatherly love.

There was a child who had never had a father. He watched everything before him with his gray eyes, unable to understand.

The dull pain of twenty years, like death by a thousand cuts, finally arrived as scheduled, falling upon Edwin again.

Those children, the Bishop couldn’t control his thoughts, thinking with malice, they didn’t have to do anything after being born, and they could hold a solid, unquestionable love in their hands.

But he had been running for twenty years, and the things in his hands were still not held securely.

“Edwin,” Tar’s voice was soft, as if afraid to disturb his dream. “Gently.”

The demon just sat behind, watching everything.

Edwin looked incredibly stable, so only Tar, whose fingers were being tightly held by him, could feel his uncontrollable slight trembling. Also, if his body continued to be this cold, there would definitely be a problem.

The father and son opposite them cowered at Edwin’s silence, guessing the Bishop was thinking of a way to decide their fate.

Tar felt that his own hand was being squeezed to an unbearable degree. “Gently,” the demon said, while reaching out to touch the Bishop’s hair. He was covered in sweat, but it was cold. Edwin looked at him as if waking from a dream. The Bishop had been looking at him. Looking at other people was more or less unbearable for him.

That’s right, Edwin thought. He could own something. He had to hold on tightly to the gift that fate had given him.

Tar.

The demon’s drooping hair was soft, his pupils bright. He let him hold his hand and was trying to show him concern. This was his thing, the Bishop’s heartstrings were suddenly and inexplicably tugged, and then he thought with firmness and conviction.

He looked at the other as a child would look at their first Christmas gift.

And this Christmas gift hadn’t fallen from the sky. He had chased it for many years and obtained it through his own efforts.

So no one could take it from his hands, not even Tar himself.

Even a god cannot peer into the human heart, so Tarksius could not fully understand Edwin’s thoughts from his suddenly unpredictable expression. He just felt that Edwin seemed to have finally shed a part of the heavy burden he had been carrying. The Bishop turned his head to look at the father and son before him. His hand covered his scepter.

The scepter flashed with a dazzling light. Edwin’s use of the Light power was masterfully proficient.

Under the pure white Holy Light, no one had anywhere to hide. The middle-aged man held his child tightly, tears streaming down his face as he imprinted a kiss on his forehead. However, when his eyes slowly recovered from the astonishing brightness, everything around him faded from the brilliance and returned to its original state.

He was not dead. He quickly checked the child in his arms. The other looked at him with innocent and surprised eyes. In any case, his small heart was still beating sluggishly but firmly at this moment.

“Thank you, thank you…”

Edwin looked at the middle-aged man prostrating at his feet. That was his biological father.

This is where it ends.

“I’ve placed a secrecy spell on you,” the Bishop’s voice was calm and brooked no argument. “If you try to say what you know, the child in your arms will die. No one visited your family today. You know nothing.”

This was a risky spell.

Edwin didn’t quite understand what he was thinking. Clearly, killing all who knew would have been foolproof. But perhaps this was better. Just as the other had forgotten him, the Bishop could also gradually forget his blood relative from his own regrets.

The sin of patricide must be borne for a lifetime, and Edwin did not want to give this man such an honor.

Perhaps he had wavered after all. He actually couldn’t destroy someone else’s life the way others had destroyed his.

At the last moment, his biological father raised his head, looking up at the child he had abandoned more than twenty years ago, who had now grown into a figure he had to look up to, wielding a power he could never touch in his lifetime.

Finally, he felt a little shaken, but it was more self-comfort.

The man murmured, “You… you’re doing well, aren’t you? I’m sorry I abandoned you then, but now… you’re famous, excellent. This was the right choice—”

He suddenly stopped talking.

These words were not for Edwin, but for himself. He was trying his best to escape the condemnation of his conscience, pretending that the abandonment back then was justified, that the twenty years of forgetting were also without issue.

The Bishop left cleanly and decisively. He had no lingering feelings, not staying there for even a second longer. Tar obediently got up, following the force of his arm, while the man opposite them, in his long torment, didn’t even dare to ask a single question, such as who was the person holding the Archbishop’s hand.

He had seen the demon’s flashing red pupils, so he was still filled with lingering fear.

It was a fruitless trip. The Bishop did not speak again until he returned to the Holy See.

Edwin didn’t look well.

The demon thought, he should have stopped that man from saying those last words earlier.

“You’re doing well, aren’t you?”

Too self-righteous, too matter-of-fact. Edwin was summarized into a symbol, a microcosm, with only the Archbishop’s crown on him remaining. Everything else didn’t matter. The person who abandoned him had found a reasonable excuse for the abandonment. He had lightly admitted his mistake, and then marveled at the beautiful flower that had grown from that mistake.

If it were Tar making the decision, this person would be dead by now.

Even if he wasn’t a bad person, even if he had two other children to raise, even if everything looked extremely happy, the one who breaks this happiness is destined to be deeply sinful, not to be understood. The Dark God didn’t care about so much.

The God only cared about his current object of observation.

Edwin forced himself to sit at his desk as soon as he returned. His back was ramrod straight. He looked like he would not be crushed by anything, and his emotions were not abnormal. He took out parchment and began to record noteworthy information, complex formations, obscure clues, things that could easily fill his mind.

Until the quill pen suddenly tilted, and a large splotch of ink stained the scroll.

The Bishop was stunned, and the ink was still flowing continuously from the pen. He had used too much force, and the nib had broken.

The carefully maintained facade was suddenly destroyed. He lowered his head, staring at the mess.

The young demon silently walked up behind him. Those black lacquer boots seemed to make no sound at all. Tar reached out to touch Edwin’s eyes. The Bishop flinched but did not move away.

His neck was exposed, a weary curve. His forehead was as hot as a branding iron, while the rest of his body was damp and cold. A high fever had destroyed his defenses. He was tired.

“You…”

The demon’s hand moved down little by little, and Edwin did not stop him, nor did he make a sound. He was like a statue at the desk.

Long fingers covered his eyes, gently exploring, then were silently lowered.

“Edwin, are you… crying?”

He didn’t think his situation was tragic enough to warrant tears, but Tar was right.

The Bishop dazedly touched his own eyes, then quickly pulled his hand away as if burned.

Wet. His gray eyes were mixed with the mist of a bay.

“I…” he murmured to himself, and the demon caught his fingers, prying them open one by one to reveal the tears held within. “Crying is not good for a human’s body.”

Was he a little too fragile? The Bishop thought, yet his heart truly yearned for a little warmth. Those things he had never sought, he thought he didn’t need, but at this time, just a little bit, and he would surely melt like cut butter.

The roses Tar had picked were still by the bed, emitting a rich, faint fragrance.

At a time like this, a normal family would have someone with them. Was he sick? Perhaps he needed some treatment.

How ridiculous. He himself knew how to use Light magic.

“Tar,” the Bishop spread his hands. The sky had already darkened. The moon that had just risen outside the window was twinkling. The surroundings were deserted and silent. Of course, it wasn’t really deserted, but no idlers would approach the white tower late at night. The white doves had also been taken in by the people who raised them.

At a time like this, there was a demon before his eyes.

The devil he had summoned, responding to his expectations. His deep red pupils were like some kind of beast, watching him with hunger.

For at least this one moment, he owned something other than wealth and fame.

“Tar, Tar,” Edwin didn’t even know what he was saying. “Stay in my sight. Do not leave.”

“Is this a transaction?”

Devils are such an infuriating race, haggling over every ounce, taking something for everything they provide.

Tar was especially so.

“Yes.”

He was very tired, looking like a candle that had burned too quickly, flickering in the wind. The Bishop sat quietly at the desk.

The young demon seemed to approach him in the hazy shadows.

Tar had a very beautiful pair of hands. At this moment, these hands were covering the Bishop’s forehead. Even the demon was surprised by the muddled heat.

“You’re sick,” he sounded a bit, “should I call… what do you humans say, a doctor?”

The Bishop looked at him quietly. The depths of his pupils were like still sails, gray and indifferent. “I’m just a little tired.”

Yes, this was just the latest of the countless exhaustions in his upward climb. Even if it confused him more than any emotion before, he just needed to rest, and he couldn’t rest for long.

He was tired, that was all. He just needed a little…

He couldn’t figure it out.

“You need a hug,” the demon seemed to have found some business opportunity. His hand moved from his forehead to the back to stroke his hair, wanting to make another soul transaction with him.

A hug, how strange.

He thought of the ordinary family he had seen during the day, thought of the two boys laughing and playing with each other, rushing into their father’s embrace after a quarrel, and then solemnly hugging each other to show peace was restored.

Just thinking about it, the base of his little finger began to burn slightly, and then it spread throughout his body.

A hug has warmth.

He was a patient. He needed warmth at this moment. This was logical.

Like the warmth brought by Tar’s hand stroking his hair. The demon just gently and patiently brushed his brown hair with his hand. The hair clearly couldn’t block anything. It was a strange warmth, floating from the strands of hair to his eyes.

He couldn’t help but turn his head. The Bishop was still wearing his robe, which had intricate patterns on it, looking holy and bright.

“Tell me the price.”

He was prepared for the demon to name a price. Perhaps it would be expensive. Even a small piece of his soul was not unacceptable, the Bishop thought, if sacrificing one of countless fragments could keep him from falling apart.

However, Tar was the world’s most astute merchant.

When the young demon leaned forward to hug him, the Bishop had no time to react at all. He just unexpectedly accepted this overly intimate gesture, being held in the embrace of a living creature. He heard the demon’s lively heartbeat, felt his warm warmth.

There wasn’t actually much skin-to-skin contact, but the Bishop still felt a strange palpitation.

He had never had this kind of pure, simple, large-scale physical contact, as if all his feelings could be resolved by the person hugging him. He seemed to be able to fall forward with abandon, without falling in the morning wind.

Something could be let go in a hug, because you know that even if you don’t use any strength at all, you will be completely picked up and carefully stored as a precious thing.

Tar’s voice sounded next to his ear, like a rose. The Bishop’s gaze roamed the room, but settled on the bouquet by the bed, and then he inexplicably made a comparison: “This one’s not on your bill,” his voice was very sweet, seemingly mixed with honey. “Hmm, as a bonus, a free gift for you.”

How could this be?

Even though he was the lucky recipient of a promotional offer, the Bishop already pessimistically foresaw the future.

Tar was a smart merchant. He knew how easily one could become addicted to what he was selling.

A hug and lovemaking are completely different. It seems to have a purer core, meaning you offer yourself, completely without reservation, to another person.

Edwin felt his dull heart melt in a thorough embrace. He didn’t know what his heart was beating for, only that it was trembling, each beat a strange palpitation. He clumsily reached out to hug the other, his fingers covering the demon’s waist, a sweet, soul-selling touch.

Now he was a human who had been hugged.

Would he be destroyed by a desire that shouldn’t have arisen?

The Bishop thought, he was afraid he would continue to squander what little he had left, again and again, demanding more from the demon.

Perhaps he was a sinner destined to fall into the fires of hell, he thought sadly, and then hugged him tighter, resting his head on the demon’s neck, sniffing the rich and sweet scent of roses on the demon.

But even if he traded his soul for this hug, it was surprisingly affordable.

Edwin had no thought of stopping, so the demon didn’t let go either. He just felt the Bishop’s dark black curly hair brushing against the side of his neck. The human he had his eye on had once again struggled out of a state of near-collapse. Tar was very indulgent with him.

The God is willful. The God does what he wants.

Including spending a night comforting a certain human soul.

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