TBR CH59

Edwin was exactly that kind of person—someone who would never be satisfied. Standing on a road flickering with endless radiance, looking back indifferently at the bones he had stepped over, he didn’t feel fortunate to still be standing tall—for that was what he believed he deserved.

The bishop had always known what he wanted. He pursued power not because fate forced him to, but because he was certain he liked it. Ambition burned from his bones—sometimes lightly, sometimes heavily—sometimes like oil, sometimes like tar.

He didn’t just want to obtain the supreme authority; he also wanted the compliance and admiration of all.

His words would become thunder, and his thoughts would turn into hurricanes. In the foreseeable future, his every move would be closely watched by all. With just the lift of a finger, he could influence any corner where humans existed on the continent.

Now, he stood quietly before the steps. Everything was already very near.

Sometimes, the bishop would liken himself to a spider, stationed within a vast, sticky web, its silken threads glimmering and sprawling across all places touched by human footprints. And he was at the center—unable to leave. There were no living beings around, only prey.

Weaving the web had been a long process, one he had poured his energy into.

But he had bound everything he could attain tightly in the web, and that brought him a sense of satisfaction.

And then…

One day, a beautiful moth he had never seen before came crashing into the heart of the web. Its wings were translucent like garnet-red agate, and every thread quivered at its arrival.

It came from another world.

The spider’s world was the web—even if it spun a bigger web, it would never grow wings. Edwin had suppressed his bloodline, acknowledged his identity as a human, and walked toward the peak a human could reach—and thus, was fated to bear all the curses of humankind.

He felt jealous—just like every time he was dissatisfied.

But this time, what he wanted was no longer as clear and visible as before.

He wouldn’t give up what was in his hands to chase the marvelous and unbelievable world the moth had described, but all of it was so beautiful—only by keeping that bright-eyed treasure could he truly feel his heart begin to beat, little by little.

Edwin was pulled out of his thoughts by the demon’s slender fingers waving in front of his pale gray eyes.

Candles were lit in the room. The flickering flames flowed through his fingers, stretching into patterns of unclear meaning.

“I feel like you’re not listening.”

Tal sounded a bit like he was complaining, and Edwin admitted his fault without hesitation.

“Sorry. I was a little distracted just now. But it absolutely wasn’t because you weren’t telling the story well—I was just thinking, what would that meteor at the Dragon Ridge you mentioned really look like?”

“Ah,” the demon narrowed his eyes, bright laughter flickering in them.

“Can’t imagine it, huh? I think it’s hard to describe, too. At first, I thought it was a sudden snowstorm—the stars were white like snowballs, rolling down from the distant sky, almost close enough to touch. Really, I’ve never seen meteors like that. I heard if you caught one, it would feel cold in your hand, but it would burn you. I almost caught one—”

“That’s too dangerous.”

The bishop said with a bit of blame in his tone. That wasn’t the point. He knew the demon didn’t care about danger. Free and wandering travelers only pursued fleeting beauty. But when he thought of Tal possibly getting hurt, he said it instinctively.

“It’s fine.”

The demon seemed to enjoy his reaction a little, so he forgave Edwin’s earlier distraction.

“And then, the meteors would fall into the lake guarded by the dragons. During the dragons’ coming-of-age ceremony, they have to stay in the lake and undergo a baptism of the stars—but I think they’re really just dodging meteors falling on their heads. Mmm, a friend of mine said it really hurts to get hit in the face by a bunch of stars. But the dragons never imagined that this would become the local tavern’s signature selling point.”

A friend of his.

Edwin sharply caught that key phrase, then immediately felt guilty for his sensitivity.

But the bishop thought a little jealously—yes, the demon had surely known many people. And they could accompany him on many journeys. But Edwin couldn’t—he could only force him to stay, using a human life as fleeting as a flower’s bloom.

Would Tal remember him, like remembering a meteor shower at the Dragon Ridge?

“Edwin, you’re daydreaming again—”

The demon elongated his tone and leaned over to touch his hair. “But maybe I didn’t tell it well. You won’t really understand until you’ve seen it yourself—most journeys are like that. I think you should go and see it in person.”

He spoke so lightly about an ideal that was impossible to realize. Edwin was about to become a firmly established archbishop, and after that, the pillar of the church. He couldn’t leave the Holy See. That wasn’t something a child could toy with.

The bishop lowered his eyes and gave a soft laugh, taking Tal’s words as a bit of whimsy—even if, deep down, he really wanted to see it.

Lately, Tal had told him many stories—memories of a demon wandering the world.

Magnificent, legendary, far removed from humanity, even removed from civilization. Edwin couldn’t tell whether the occasional longing that arose in him was for those free and mysterious things, or for the barely visible but truly existing hope that the demon would stay with him.

If only I could see all this with my own eyes.

If by then the demon could stay with me, that would be even better.

Even though he knew both those wishes were far from reach.

Tal withdrew the hand that had been stroking his hair. The demon crossed his arms and looked at him. The sudden loss of that touch left Edwin a little at a loss. Tal looked at him with a hint of reproach—and disappointment—that stung Edwin’s eyes.

“I…”

His lips moved, instinctively trying to apologize.

The demon looked at him coldly:

“I don’t think the bishop needs to hear such boring things anymore.”

Tal wasn’t truly angry. But the demon had never gotten upset at him before—even this much was enough to throw Edwin into a panic. In an instant, the rose-scented demon felt very far away from him, along with all the intimacy they once shared. He began blaming himself. He shouldn’t have overthought, shouldn’t have been so obviously distracted.

His words came out clumsy as he tried to explain—yet it only seemed to make things worse.

Tal dragged his chair to the other side and casually pulled a book from the shelf. The story was left unfinished, but the demon clearly had no intention of speaking to Edwin anymore. His attitude was unmistakable.

The bishop had no experience comforting others.

Especially since his mind was flashing with so many fragments. Though he had seemed distracted, he had actually taken in every word Tal said, chewing over them in his heart—like experiencing them himself. Tal was great at telling stories—it wasn’t that he told them badly. Listening to Tal talk was one of Edwin’s few pleasures. The bishop had given himself that indulgence, almost like a reward.

“I…”

Edwin said, “Let me promise you one thing, okay? I may not be able to go to places that far away—but if there’s somewhere you want to go, I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” The demon peeked out two bright red eyes from behind the pages, as if he had already guessed the bishop’s reaction—calm and with a hint of mischief. “You’re not busy tonight?”

“I can take care of things in advance.”

Truthfully, Edwin had been busy to death lately. That was because the Holy See was preparing a charity banquet for the New Year, just a month away. The banquet essentially covered all groups—on the outer edge, commoners and those receiving charity would get soup and bread distributed by the church; at the center, royal members would visit the Holy See to participate in the feast and ceremony.

The bishop was in full charge of the event.

And it was far from a simple banquet. They all knew that very well.

In Edwin’s bookshelf, deep black demon seeds were crashing around inside their container, unable to break free from their bindings. The blood on the collar was also separated out, used as an index for a magic formation. The bishop coated the silver blade with the blood, then ignited the tattered collar. The stench it released during burning was stored in a bottle—it made the best kind of bait.

He was patient and prepared everything methodically—he even didn’t forget to cleanse his scent completely before returning to the room. The scent of incense mixed with holy water had a suppressive effect on dark powers. Edwin worried it might make Tal uncomfortable.

But after so many days of busyness, Edwin didn’t mind carving out a bit of time.

Perhaps it was because he subconsciously didn’t want to miss the things he could do in that time.

Every time the bishop returned from outside, he would first cast his gaze toward the three defensive formations at the door. The previous lapse in attention was still fresh in his mind. So Edwin had gone to great lengths to reinforce the formations, ensuring they could protect the demon inside the room.

Protect—that’s what the bishop believed, of course.

But there wasn’t much difference between that and locking a demon in a room.

When he opened the door, Tal would always be doing something different. He usually read, sometimes dazed off, and sometimes brewed tea seriously, studying the small print on the tea packaging. Later, Edwin brought back lots of little knickknacks—he guessed the demon would like them. And some he did. He had spent several days working on a puzzle—the image was the White Tower of the Holy See.

Probably made by a believer for their children.

After completing it, Tal asked Edwin to hang it on the wall. The bishop did just that—along with the rose-red carpet they had picked out together, and a bouquet in a pen holder used as a vase. The room held more and more unspoken signs of the two of them—like a world of its own, safe enough to live in, filled with the fragrance of roses.

That was always how Edwin saw it—maybe he had just convinced himself.

Until one day, when he returned to the room and found the demon observing the sacred vessel containing the demon seed, placed right there on the table.

The demon seed had no intelligence, yet it quite resembled something… something alive. It crawled and rolled like an insect, trying to find a gap, occasionally crashing desperately against the glass. But it was completely, tightly bound to a corner of the holy artifact. Watching the demon seed struggle inside the container, sometimes it felt as if time had fallen into a loop—it never tired, always attempting to escape.

Edwin’s footsteps were too light. Tal seemed unaware of his arrival, simply staring intently at the glass container, where the pitch-black seed crashed repeatedly into the walls, leaving a small shadow in his red pupils.

The demon’s eyes were deeper than usual.

For some reason, the bishop did not make a sound either. He silently and greedily swept his gaze over the demon, then noticed that Tal’s emotions were unusually unsettled. Of course, the demon could sense his arrival, yet he did not speak to him. He simply propped himself up halfway on one arm, unmoving, staring at the struggling demon seed in the bottle.

It was at that moment that Edwin finally understood what was meant by empathy.

He looked very lonely.

Why? The bishop had never been so eager to know the answer, to understand the other’s urgent desire. His thoughts spun rapidly, multicolored inks swirling together, trying to find clarity.

—As if the one he was watching, trapped inside the bottle, was himself.

For a brief moment, such a thought flickered past. However, Edwin did not understand its meaning. Besides, in the story the demon had told him, there had never been such a heavy note of tragedy.

Tal was free, radiant, clever, and unbound.

The bishop could not clearly determine the source of that loneliness. But thinking of those words startled him—those words, beautiful as glittering jewels, slipped past the tip of the tongue. Edwin had never had such a life. He suddenly speculated—though perhaps incorrectly…

Was locking the demon in the room too much of a waste?

This thought made Edwin feel slightly parched. He looked at the demon in the room and suddenly felt the room was too cramped. Of course, this was just a temporary arrangement. His future plan to tame the demon would be on a grander scale. When he became the Pope, when he grasped power, he could even build Tal a palace, adorned everywhere with smooth rubies.

But even that wouldn’t be enough.

No matter how large, a container was still a container. It shouldn’t be like this. Tal shouldn’t suffer any form of restraint. Though it went against his wishes, the bishop couldn’t suppress this thought. At the very least, he shouldn’t be locked in the room forever.

Edwin’s eyes darkened, a storm of dark and light gray rising and falling.

Until the demon suddenly seemed to realize something and turned his head—those crystal-clear pomegranate-red eyes were like the eye of a storm, freezing all chaotic thoughts with a single gaze.

“You’re back?”

Tal casually tossed aside the container holding the demon seed. He had always been this way, never truly caring about the fate of the demon seed, nor hesitating to crush it without mercy. Still, that struggling appearance reminded a god—however faintly—of the past.

Edwin said, “Maybe…”

At the far edge of the royal city was the finest tavern on the entire continent. Every late night, the scent of grilled meat mingled with beer would drift out from beneath the honey-colored lights. This place gathered all kinds of strange, homeless, enthusiastic people. Information and ambiguity passed over greasy tables. Sometimes people came here with empty stomachs and left full of complaints.

Perhaps there would come a time—like now.

The archbishop of the Church of Light tugged a little uncomfortably at his collar. Tal had asked him to wear casual clothes, and then the demon discovered that everything in Edwin’s wardrobe was strictly modest and severely ascetic in style. All very proper. Clearly not suitable for a place like this.

So now, he and the young demon stood in front of the tavern “Azure Tongue.”

Edwin felt at a loss, trying his best not to seem too stiff. The demon had suggested a place to go, and he had agreed. That’s how it all started—just that simple. Now, Tal held his hand, eyes sparkling, composed and confident, clearly excited.

“I didn’t expect you to actually agree.”

Tal curled his lips into a smile, and it made the bishop feel it was all worth it—and that the demon was no longer angry with him.

“Is this… a date?”

The demon said it on purpose. The word “date” was spoken lightly and softly. The bishop had always been good at suppressing emotions, but perhaps it was too warm in here, or the lights too flickering—his heart was starting to waver, heating up from the center of its beats. Edwin hoped his ears weren’t turning red.

Said like that—it really did feel like—

A date.

Edwin couldn’t even remember how he walked into the tavern. Tal walked ahead skillfully and chatted with the tavern owner. He didn’t need to worry much, because Edwin had used light magic to disguise them both. No one would notice their presence.

Only, the demon briefly let go of the bishop’s hand.

The bishop stood where he was, surrounded by a world he didn’t recognize at all. Some were chatting, some already drunk. A bard plucked a few strings and, noticing someone’s gaze, gave him a smile. Edwin pretended not to be too surprised, while the bard hesitated upon seeing those indifferent gray eyes.

Someone was telling a story. Edwin listened to a few lines and realized it was full of blasphemous comments about the God of Light, and everyone was laughing. Then the topic turned to the gossip of Prince Anquiro.

Others were simply focused on eating. Like the young man in black sitting in a prominent spot. He gnawed on fig-grilled meat, his cheeks puffed full, still concentrating fiercely on battling the sinews on his plate. Even if a war broke out around him, he seemed unlikely to care.

Edwin lowered his eyes. He still wasn’t used to this. He couldn’t blend in.

Tal returned after finishing the price talk and saw the bishop obediently standing where he left him. A small circle had automatically cleared around him—Edwin didn’t look like someone easy to approach. What he projected wasn’t unease but coldness, as if he could eliminate all obstacles with a deadly blade at any moment. The patrons could tell he didn’t belong in their world, and no one came to provoke him.

But that was fine, too.

Tal cheerfully took Edwin’s hand and led him to a cleaner corner to sit, practically the farthest seat in the tavern, away from all the chatting and drinking contests.

“I ordered absinthe for you, and also fig-grilled meat.”

The demon spoke while smiling at him, red eyes flickering in the bright candlelight of the tavern. He was in his element here. Those seasoned travelers exchanged words, and Tal seemed exactly the kind of person they’d ask for directions.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be mead…?”

Only after sitting down did Edwin finally relax a little. He still remembered the sweet drink the demon had once described—it sounded sweet, even though he didn’t particularly like sweets. Still, he really wanted to try something Tal liked.

“Ah,” Tal seemed to realize something. The two of them sat at a table that barely fit two people. With only a thin board between them, leaning on their arms and smiling at each other, they were very close.

“I just thought absinthe suited you better. If you want mead, we can just share mine.”

The lighting was dim, but it was a bright kind of dim. Under the honey-colored lights, alcohol evaporated into the tavern, everything turning hazy, carrying a touch of vague, ambiguous flavor. For a brief moment, neither spoke. They simply looked at each other, in a place Edwin had never imagined himself being.

Then, the things Tal ordered were brought up. This kind of tavern wouldn’t let customers wait too long—efficiency first.

Both the mead and the absinthe were pushed toward Edwin by Tal. The demon looked at the large glass cups of fizzing liquor and couldn’t help but find it funny. Edwin looked at them a bit awkwardly—he was the kind of person who grew up drinking the Church’s wine.

“You choose first.”

The amber-colored light swayed in the demon’s eyes. The bishop reached out and picked up the amber liquid. It was the mead.

—As expected, very sweet.

He held himself back from drinking too much. The liquor was cold and spicy, carrying the sweetness of honey, and it felt exactly like how the demon across from him made him feel. Edwin returned the cup to Tal—that was his drink. The demon, taking it from his hand, also took a sip.

Was it on purpose? Or was he just being overly self-conscious? Tal drank from the very edge of the cup Edwin had just sipped from. The demon licked the liquor that had trickled down along the cup’s edge.

Edwin’s heart skipped a beat.

But Tal unexpectedly pushed the mead back to him, and snatched the absinthe cup from in front of him.

“The mead’s yours, Bishop. I think changing the taste every now and then isn’t bad.”

He had clearly noticed what Edwin liked. The bishop knew it, but still, some part of his heart softened. Softened, and even carried a trace of sweetness. He looked at the demon before him and realized he liked him terribly much.

Then the roasted meat was served too.

Different from the delicate dishes of the Church and royal palace, the roast was steaming hot, its aroma wantonly spreading across the corner of the tavern. The oil glistened on the evenly marbled beef, and spices and butter were sprinkled as the finishing touch.

The demon took a big gulp of absinthe and began cutting the meat with knife and fork. The first slice revealed a perfect pink cross-section, and with just a gentle press, the juices flowed out. Edwin stared at the demon’s movements with focus, then paused for a moment, because unexpectedly, that piece of meat was handed right in front of him.

“You definitely haven’t eaten this before.”

The bishop hesitantly opened his mouth. Being fed was, without a doubt, an intimate gesture—but of course, he couldn’t bear to refuse.

As expected, the roast was delicious.

The ice in the glass clinked as it hit the sides, the temperature gradually rose. Edwin had never allowed himself to get drunk before, and he wasn’t now either. He was sure his emotions were clear, and mead wasn’t even that strong.

But everything had been coated in a mesmerizing, beautiful tint.

As he raised the glass again, the ice already halfway melted, the demon across from him suddenly reached out and stopped the motion of Edwin lifting the glass. Tal seemed to have just thought of something new. His eyes were sly and gleaming, and even without speaking, Edwin already knew—he couldn’t refuse any of the demon’s requests.

“Hey, Edwin,”

The demon said, “Have you ever heard of a game—it’s called Truth or Dare?”

Truth or Dare. The name of this game blatantly revealed its contents. The bishop only felt his cheeks grow warm. He shook his head in feigned ignorance, pretending he still needed an explanation.

“One question, half a glass of wine.”

Tal swirled his glass, the deep green liquor inside spinning. His drink had a higher alcohol content. “How about it?”

Edwin began to feel a little nervous. His lips were dry. This could hardly be called a game, but in this kind of setting, it seemed like exactly the right thing to do.

He agreed.

Tal ordered a new bottle of wine. And so, the wager began.