TBR CH197

Concerned for the safety of the royal family members, the Royal Knights swiftly mobilized.

The theater was completely surrounded, the brightly lit building illuminating a small patch of sky, and the guests’ complaints were deafening.

Madame Nightingale hadn’t yet removed her makeup, still wearing her magnificent evening gown, forced to stand anxiously at the theater entrance. She occasionally lowered her head to check her pocket watch. When the routine search of all belongings began with her, she glared at the knight.

“Please,” Madame Nightingale shook her head, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about at all. The cage backstage has been there for three months; the circus used it to keep their lions. And I just casually picked up a handkerchief from the prop room; there are hundreds of identical handkerchiefs there, the manager can testify. As for the black cards you mentioned, I’ve never seen them…”

“You never saw any suspicious figures or beasts there?”

“Of course not,” Madame Nightingale retorted, “otherwise I would have been eaten by a beast long ago.”

“Madam, this matter is very serious. His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen are extremely concerned,” the knight said unmoved, “It concerns the princess’s safety. We are dealing with a vicious and reckless opponent.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are one of the primary suspects.”

“Damn it.”

She glanced at her pocket watch again. The thin night had soaked her dress hem. She looked a little haggard and anxious, finally whispering, “I had planned to go home early.”

“If you please,” the knight said coldly, “that will have to wait until the investigation is over.”

The once lively and joyful theater quickly became an empty shell. The King and Queen acted quickly, taking control of all relevant individuals, who would be handed over to the church for interrogation.

They indeed adored their little daughter. The dazzling light, as bright as day, shone on every inch of the theater, yet they never found any trace of the so-called hellcat, and even the backstage cage was spotless, showing no sign of black fur.

Those who were permitted to leave hurried their steps. Madame Nightingale moved reluctantly, her crimson evening gown shimmering in the moonlight, like a blood-drenched fish tail.

“But isn’t this too obvious?” a murmur came from a corner.

Upon noticing that it was an amber-eyed black cat speaking, Madame Nightingale, who was about to leave, couldn’t help but be greatly surprised.

The black cat noticed her gaze and smiled at her, friendly and thoughtful: “Thank you for your handkerchief. You are indeed an exceptional actress. What I cannot decide is—are you consciously acting in a carefully rehearsed play, or are you unconsciously re-enacting a role from it? In any case, please be extremely careful recently.”

Madame Nightingale stared at it blankly.

But in that fleeting moment of distraction, the black cat had already disappeared into the darkness.

“Student Bai Shi,” the young man politely thanked him. His amber pupils were like a cat’s in the sunlight. “Thank you very much.”

He stood under a plane tree, a standard sight on university campuses. The plane tree in autumn had already begun to shed dry yellow leaves. The student he called Bai Shi let out a hearty laugh. He was tall, sweating profusely, holding a basketball, clearly having just returned from the sports field.

He conversed casually with the stranger without any hesitation and completely believed Roland’s casually fabricated introduction.

As his figure gradually walked away, Roland took out a small notebook from his trench coat pocket and crossed out a line of text with a fountain pen.

He wasn’t looking for this “Bai Shi.”

Although this name wasn’t particularly common, it was exceptionally simple, and there were many students with the same name in various colleges and universities.

In modern society, student enrollment lists for universities have become transparent. Roland compiled a list of the schools and departments where various “Bai Shis” were located and, carrying the black book on his phone, directly blended into these schools. He had the appearance of a good student and was polite to people, easily earning goodwill.

The “Bai Shi” buried in a pile of books, studying intently in the library, was dozing off. A pair of amber eyes, reflected through the bookshelf, showed the deep dark circles under his eyes and a stack of professional books beside him.

The owner of the eyes sighed softly and casually put the book he had taken down back in its place.

While the “Bai Shi” in the coffee shop was chatting excitedly with friends, the customer sitting at the table in front of him, wearing a khaki trench coat, lowered his head and saw the login notification from the black book.

He finished his last sip of iced Americano, and the wind chimes jingled crisply as he pushed open the door and left.

…

Although he hadn’t yet found the person he was looking for, more and more information on the list was being crossed out.

Roland walked out of the gates of Licheng University. He mingled with students of all kinds, which made the Archmage feel a bit like he was back in his apprentice days. As he reminisced about his youth, he walked along the student street on the west side of Licheng University.

This street, thriving due to its proximity to two universities, had Licheng Vocational College on its other side.

…Although this place was different from where Roland had visited earlier, the Archmage’s disguised image as a well-behaved student was actually unwelcome here. Roland pulled his trench coat tighter, thinking that perhaps not dyeing his hair would make it easier to blend in.

“Roland,” what first caught his eye was a vibrant red, extremely saturated. Shan Bin’s hair hadn’t faded at all; in fact, it looked even more vivid. He excitedly waved at Roland, “Look here, look here!”

He was sitting in a street-side barbecue joint, surrounded by a throng of people.

From the aesthetic of hairstyles and hair colors, Roland could tell that this group of people, who he should have been grouped with, were different from him. The moment Shan Bin spoke, countless hot gazes from unruly youths fell upon Roland. The Archmage instinctively felt a bit odd.

But before he could ponder what those gazes meant, he heard Shan Bin introduce him with a sense of honor:

“This is the guy I told you about, the internet cafe manager who fought one against eight against that group of people last time.”

The gazes on him intensified.

Of course, there was also suspicion. Roland looked slender standing in the autumn wind, his black hair appearing exceptionally plain and understated, making him starkly different from the legendary heroic image.

“I must point out,” he cleared his throat and corrected them earnestly, “those people just had an upset stomach.”

Roland didn’t know how these people interpreted his words, but Shan Bin looked at him with sparkling eyes, and the others, far from showing disappointment, were more or less impressed. The excuse was too absurd, leading these people to believe he was merely deliberately covering up his heroic feat.

“You’re really like a movie protagonist,” Shan Bin said, “Amnesiac, but with great skills, and always mysterious.”

He held up a skewer of grilled meat and asked if Roland wanted some. Roland stared at his greasy fingers, paused, but politely declined.

Shan Bin took a bite of sizzling beef, and, without knowing what thoughts crossed his mind, mumbled while chewing:

“But movie protagonists usually stay single, I mean, at least at the beginning of the story,”

It was good he didn’t mention Christmel, but thinking of the Demon Lord now, Roland couldn’t help but curve his lips.

Compared to the Archmage himself, the Demon Lord was clearly the one who looked truly evil. If Christmel stood here, fighting one against eight would seem like a natural small matter, everyone would think so.

Perhaps he could take Christmel out for a barbecue. Though the other party would surely not want his wings to smell of oil smoke.

Was His Majesty the Demon Lord still eating uncooked meat?

Roland forcibly suppressed his wandering thoughts. He slowly exhaled in his heart, because he had—it had been a long time since he had thought of Christmel so lightheartedly. Perhaps the warm, pervasive aroma in the surrounding air had somewhat dispelled the autumn chill, making him feel a lightness he hadn’t experienced in a long time for a moment.

But then his expression quickly darkened.

Shan Bin noticed his expression and subtly skipped the topic, casually bringing up: “So how’s your Abyss game going recently? After the version update, many NPCs are different. Do you have any particular favorites?”

Roland’s fingers moved slightly.

He was now sitting on a plastic stool beside Shan Bin, but he had no appetite.

He raised his eyes, paused for a negligible moment, then calmly said, “Christmel.”

“Seriously?” Shan Bin stared at him. “Most of the players I know hate the Demon Lord. Besides, he was strengthened again in the new version. Now he’s even impossible to fight, it’s too terrifying. Are you sure you don’t have a masochistic personality? Or does he look a lot like… uh, maybe I shouldn’t have brought up that person.”

Roland stared at him for two seconds.

The young man’s beautiful amber pupils changed color little by little in the twilight, but in the end, he said nothing.

“But it’s understandable,” Shan Bin continued happily, talking to himself, “Some players just like challenges, no helping it. Although the Demon Lord is a terrifying, inhuman existence, if he’s just an enemy—”

“Not as an enemy,” Roland interrupted softly.

There was a diluted emotion in his voice, yet it was still so heavy that it was suffocating.

He said as if nothing was amiss: “As a lover, I adore Christmel.”

Roland’s statement would be understood as a death-seeking madman in the world of Midral Continent, but in the modern world, it probably wouldn’t even qualify for the ranks of madmen, clearly a sign of mental abnormality. Even Shan Bin stared at him in utter shock, worried that he had played too many games and damaged his brain.

“But,” Shan Bin said blankly, “that’s Christmel.”

“So what?” Roland was unyielding.

“He’s a game character,” Shan Bin said, confusing himself. “Wait, you didn’t break up with that person… for this reason, did you? I don’t think anyone could confuse games and reality. Even if you’re deeply immersed in anime, it wouldn’t be like this. I’m sorry, I think you probably don’t mean that.”

“Christmel is the only companion I will ever recognize in this life.” Roland calmly dropped another bomb. “One day I will marry him.”

He finally said this sentence aloud again, feeling a bit parched. So he poured himself a cup of orange juice from the barbecue stall in a paper cup. The overly sweet orange juice flowed over his tongue. Shan Bin looked at Roland warily, feeling that the young man in front of him was making himself the most unconventional person he had ever seen.

All the delinquents here combined couldn’t say something so bizarre.

Shan Bin inappropriately recalled the stern-faced man in a suit he had seen at that time, who looked very much like Christmel. Could it be that Roland chose his lover based on this preference and even asked the other party to cosplay?

…It sounded a bit messed up.

“No,” Shan Bin said, “even if Abyss emphasizes realism, it shouldn’t be to this extent. Look at my roommate, every few days he brags to us about changing his in-game wife, from childhood sweethearts in a small town to elven princesses, all kinds of types like collecting stamps. But this is just a game; normal people wouldn’t consider being with an in-game character. He never took it seriously.”

Yes.

Roland thought, none of them could understand.

From the first moment he arrived here, he and Christmel became people of two worlds. They made many attempts, but until now, they were still separated by a world’s gap. He looked at his familiar homeland through a screen, always a strange alien in this world.

But he would go home one day.

Roland lifted his head from his arms, slowly exhaling, his hair slightly disheveled. The bamboo skewers on the table still held the grilled meat, and the cold grease seemed to have a chemical reaction with the twilight, making him no longer intend to stay here long. He mentally listed his next destination.

So, the next stop should be Licheng Vocational Technical College, where Shan Bin was.

Roland propped himself up with his elbow, about to leave, when he suddenly stopped. He remembered the small coincidence on the list he had consulted. Although such a coincidence, like who might know whom, was irrelevant to finding someone, Shan Bin’s voice slowly began to play back in his mind.

In his amber eyes, some fragments seemed to glitter in the gloom. He suddenly asked:

“You just mentioned your roommate—is his name Bai Shi?”

Shan Bin didn’t expect to hear this:

“How did you know?”

“Because I’m looking for him.” Roland curved his lips. He whispered, “At least I hope it’s him I’m looking for.”

The golden-haired hero strode along the road in front of the palace.

He looked radiant, his golden hair as brilliant as prophesied, and his deep blue eyes were filled with profound emotion.

He held the king’s bounty order he had torn down. Along the way, people cast admiring glances at him, and the few players following behind him faithfully served as the hero’s entourage.

Most striking was the sword at his waist.

It was a legendary artifact, instantly recognizable. It had a snow-white blade forged through countless trials, marked by history, a hilt inscribed with reinforcing spells, and a scabbard flowing with golden light.

To possess the strength to be acknowledged by such a sword, one must truly be a worthy hero.

Player “Bai Mingchen” tearing down the bounty order also meant that this hero had accepted the “Protect the Princess” mission personally issued by the king. Rumor had it that Christmel had attacked the kingdom twice, specifically targeting members of the royal family. Huge bounties were posted everywhere in the kingdom. Even so, the Demon Lord’s name still deterred most people.

Of course, for the King and Queen, this was just the obvious objective.

Although there was no creature more terrifying than Christmel on the continent of Midral, the couple’s minds were actually in a mess because of a few dark small cards.

After all, being targeted by Christmel could even be considered an honor. In the long past, no human besides the Archmage Roland had ever made the Demon Lord so captivated.

But the cards with vaguely worded texts were a very real threat.

The Queen of the Kingdom still remembered a morning in her childhood when her mother rushed upstairs in a bathrobe, barefoot, her expression panicked. Seeing her still safely in bed, her mother embraced her tightly, tears soaking her neck.

She later learned what misfortune other noble families had encountered.

Every family that lost a child had received black cards. The children were given flower names and were easily broken like flowers.

These names had already been forgotten by their families, because when they were found again, it was a scene of a hopeless, hellish sight.

The only one who survived was the youngest son of Duke Xavier.

—Now more widely known as Archmage Roland.

The Queen stayed awake all night, arguing with her husband, trying to convince him how terrible this matter was. At dawn, her husband finally relented. Although those organizations had been declared defunct decades ago, he signed the bounty order.

She truly couldn’t imagine her dearest little Debbie encountering these things.

Although she meant no offense to the deceased Archmage, she vaguely heard how that experience had affected him back then, so much so that the Xavier family, once so proud of him, quickly concealed his existence.

Even now, the Papacy had sent the Knights, and the Mage Tower had also provided timely support. But the shadow lingering over the Queen’s heart was still the well-known ballad—only the prophesied hero could defeat evil.

Fortunately, today, the hero finally appeared.

“Good day, ladies,” his bow was a bit impolite, and his words were not respectful, but for some reason, the Queen breathed a sigh of relief and didn’t mind at all. The moment she saw the hero, she felt an instinctive trust and relief. Without anyone’s confirmation, she had already decided that this was the true hero, and he should be by her side to protect her Debbie.

Debbie also liked him, clamoring to see his legendary sword.

The hero’s deep blue eyes held a subtle smile, looking at everything before him. In the favorability bar that quietly appeared on the screen, the Queen and her daughter’s favorability towards him were set at a high eighty percent from the start.

Bai Shi thought, now this truly counts as a game.

After he was dug out of the ground, the first thing he did was to properly groom himself. He changed into brand new game attire, displayed the divine artifact in his hand, and was ready to start anew. The kingdom was his new stage. He was filled with new ambitions and desires for revenge, thus appearing more composed.

As long as he could win over the little princess and her mother, even the Mage Tower would have to make concessions out of respect for the Papacy…

The thought of revenge made Bai Shi feel a bit lightheaded. He controlled the hero to follow the Queen into the palace. The magnificent building leaped into his eyes. He looked around and smiled, but his smile froze halfway.

That woman.

That purple-haired witch, with a huge and terrifying python coiled around her neck, was elegantly leaning on the palace railing, looking down at him. Her face clearly bore a demon’s curse, as if openly mocking him.

And by the hero’s side, little Princess Debbie, who had just been curious but forced herself to maintain composure, let out a suppressed, delighted little squeal the moment she saw Hilda and the python around her neck.

She didn’t even look at the hero again, quickly running towards Hilda on the steps.

The python hissed its welcome to her.

“Sister Hilda,” Debbie’s gaze was filled with unprecedented anticipation, “Are you here to accompany me too!”