Chapter 56: A Boring Night
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
The bloodkin servants still delivered invitations to each of them, along with a single rose for every guest.
The mansion where the party was held was less than a three-minute walk from where the guests were staying, yet Arthur insisted that everyone arrive in pairs by carriage. At the hall’s entrance, bloodkin attendants in tailcoats registered guests, guided them inside, and checked their belongings; anything that could potentially cause harm was strictly forbidden.
It was John’s first time seeing such a large gathering of his kind. The men kissed the ladies’ hands, their formalwear accentuating their tall, slender frames. Most of the women carried feathered fans and wore seventeenth-century-style gowns; lower-ranking bloodkin bowed before their superiors. In the hall, phrases like “Praise be to your elders and kin” or “May the moonlight bless you and your bloodline” rang out repeatedly, making the scene feel just like the bloodkin gatherings he had seen in movies.
The four of them from the Association, however, were unmistakably more human in appearance. Liz and Carolyn wore short cocktail dresses that ended above the knee, their hair loose. Coraci and John wore simple white-collar suits rather than the crescent-collared dress shirts and stiff-collared jackets the other guests wore.
“What do we even look like right now?” Carolyn whispered. She couldn’t see herself clearly.
Liz replied, “You look like a middle schooler wearing a party dress for the first time at prom. Coraci looks like a journalist or small-time businessman who snuck into a high-society event. John…looks like a male socialite.”
Coraci’s tie had torn, so Liz gave him John’s tie, which luckily matched the color of his suit. John, meanwhile, had skipped the tie altogether; Liz had him change into a darker shirt, loosen the collar slightly, and substitute the invitation’s rose for a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his black suit.
“What’s a male socialite…” John muttered under his breath. He was the only guest whose shirt collar was undone, and several bloodkin ladies covered their faces with fans while sneaking glances at him and whispering.
Coraci scanned the room, his expression complicated. He leaned toward John and said in a low voice, “Arthur has all sorts of guests. Mostly bloodkin, of course, but there are humans, too. And then…”
He gestured toward two laughing ladies holding champagne flutes. “Werewolves and elves who had undergone ear surgery.” Then at a chubby old man at the snack table grabbing mini cakes. “Ural Mountain bear-man.” At a small girl with hair down to her knees. “Bewildering Monster.”
“…and some mortal-born demons,” he added, nodding at a chattering family of demons walking in with their children.
Behind them came someone familiar: Hunter Paul. His beard was neatly trimmed now, and he looked around nervously, tugging at his collar, clearly unaccustomed to formalwear.
If Danny hadn’t greeted them first, John and the others wouldn’t have recognized him. It was their first time seeing Danny without a hooded robe. His golden hair was cut short and his warm smile almost childlike, like any college student you might see in the city.
Soft music floated through the hall, and guests chatted in small clusters. Arthur had yet to appear. Paul maintained his hunter’s habit, standing in a spot with a clear view, legs apart, monitoring the room full of monsters.
“Danny, I want that blueberry cookie,” Paul said, chest out and head high.
“Get it yourself!”
“I need to stay alert.”
Danny eventually handed him snacks and a glass of raspberry juice before joining John and the others. “Paul’s always like a kid! We’ve been partners for over forty years, and this guy has grown in height but not in sense.”
“Over forty years?” John said in surprise.
“Well, we didn’t really start as partners. When I first met him, he was still a kid. Once his little arms could handle a gun, we became partners.”
John glanced at Paul, now middle-aged. In another twenty or thirty years, Paul might no longer be able to hunt, and eventually, he would leave Danny. Decades didn’t count for much in bloodkin terms. John didn’t know how Danny could remain so calm about Paul. Inevitably, thoughts of Burton and Crystal started creeping in.
He decided to ignore these thoughts to keep his mood intact. Thinking further would only make him imagine an aging Coraci.
In the depths of the ballroom, a projection screen was lowered between the double spiral staircase. Lights gradually dimmed as the Menkovár family’s servants made an announcement over the microphone; Master is still preparing. Now we will first show some entertaining vacation footage that Master wanted to share. Please enjoy.
Liz, curious about Arthur’s appearance, immediately looked at the screen.
The projection showed a dark ocean. The golden sands of Jibi Island glimmered under lights, which were shaped like palm trees, casting a warm glow that softened the nighttime waves. Someone off-camera was muttering, seemingly arguing about what music to play. Soon, a rough-sounding rap song played, as if from a phone near the camera.
A small white dot appeared on the dark waves, bobbing with the surf in an S-shape toward the shore. As it drew closer, everyone realized it was a person lying on a surfboard. The figure paddled back to shore, stood in shallow water, and waved while running toward the camera, surfboard in hand.
A muscular, dark-haired man smiled brightly, wet medium-length hair clinging to his neck. His tight white shirt outlined his sculpted muscles, and a two-legged, long-horned winged dragon — the Menkovár family crest — was painted across his chest.
From the reactions of the attendants and lower-ranking bloodkin, it was clear this was Mr. Arthur himself.
He flexed his biceps and chest, striking several sun-soaked beach poses. All the guests went still, even the Ural bear person who had been munching on snacks stopped mid-chew.
John glanced sympathetically at Liz. Her eyes were wide, almost as if her contact lenses might fall out.
Arthur was one of the ancestors of the Blackmoon family, though no one knew how many generations back. Clearly, everyone — including Liz — had pictured Arthur as a regal elf king straight out of a fantasy movie. No one expected to see…this indescribable spectacle.
“What’s wrong with him…” murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.
Being a bloodkin and still going on vacation to a tropical island — surfing at night, lying on a folding chair on the shore with a sunshade propped nearby, wearing sunglasses, sipping on a cup of blood through a straw…
One video ended and another began. This time it was daytime. Arthur lay on a massage table, his lower body covered by a white towel, enjoying a local massage while describing the sensations to the camera and explaining the scents of the essential oils being used.
John couldn’t help but whisper to Coraci, “I heard that a few very old bloodkin go mad. Do you think he…”
“There’s a rumor,” Coraci said, trying to keep his expression neutral, “that too many memories can destroy the will. Some bloodkin lose their sense of judgment — like a kind of bloodkin-specific dementia. I’ve never seen a real case, so I don’t know if Mr. Arthur counts…”
The host, Arthur, was still nowhere to be seen, and the servants continued playing video after video: Arthur painting sand pictures, Arthur watching dance performances and fireworks, Arthur playing with elephants, Arthur rolling in fields of flowers…
The guests gradually grew restless. No matter how unusual the footage was, this endless sequence was boring. Attention drifted away from the screen as people began talking to one another.
A few bloodkin ladies took the initiative to speak with John. He had assumed Coraci would be more popular at this sort of event, but it turned out to be the opposite. Coraci was chatting with a mage about animated golems; the bloodkin ladies paid him no mind. Perhaps it was because he was human and outside their range of interest.
John noticed that these ladies were all domain bloodkin, each speaking with an accent different from his. He wasn’t skilled at this kind of conversation, but he had prepared a little: when unsure of what to say, just reply with “Oh, yes,” “Indeed,” “Thank you,” etc., while nodding and smiling. The ladies could tell he was a “wild” bloodkin, and they took amusement in his inability to understand some topics. John stole glances at Coraci and heard him discussing “micro-carving techniques on core materials” — a topic he had no idea about. Both sides were speaking a language he couldn’t follow.
Two ladies in Victorian dresses tried to lure John to the terrace. One was bloodkin; the other was the werewolf lady Coraci had noticed earlier. The bloodkin lady chatted endlessly about trends in the city and new films, while the werewolf lady gracefully took John’s arm, her strength subtle but unmistakable.
Suddenly, Carolyn approached, visibly impatient. Though unarmed, her hunter’s instinct made her glare deadly enough that the werewolf lady instinctively let go of John’s arm.
Carolyn tugged the hesitant John back into the brightly lit hall.
“I know you’re John, but I can’t stand it anymore!”
John frowned, not understanding. “What?”
“My hallucinations!” she hissed. “In my eyes, I saw two immoral dressed-up playboys trying to drag a silly girl onto the dark rose terrace! Don’t look at me like that — the silly girl is you! What can I do? That’s literally what I saw!”
“You’re a real knight, Carolyn,” Coraci’s voice came from behind. “It’s strange that John is always popular with the werewolves.”
John turned to him. “You’ve been drinking?”
Coraci lifted his champagne glass. “Everyone has some.”
“Your capillaries are dilating,” John said, looking at him. “Your heartbeat’s way faster. What did you drink? Just champagne? You…you usually don’t drink much, do you?”
Carolyn laughed. “Ha! He doesn’t. I remember last Christmas — Coraci had two small glasses of cherry beer and suddenly started reciting Shelley.”
“Don’t talk about me. I’m fine,” Coraci waved dismissively. “Don’t you think this party is…a bit peculiar?”
No host’s speech, no dancing, just an endless loop of videos. The servants in charge of projecting the videos whispered and gesticulated nervously to one another and exchanged anxious glances.
Then the video stopped. A bloodkin who looked like a butler stepped up to the microphone, looking conflicted, and cleared his throat.
Everyone stared at him as he said haltingly, “Ladies and gentlemen… I’m very sorry, but I must share…some…unlikely news. Originally, Master Arthur intended tonight to be unforgettable, but it seems…we’ve run into a little trouble.”
“Could you just say it all at once?” Carolyn muttered.
The butler struggled on. “We…cannot find Master Arthur anywhere. Master Arthur… is missing.”
A commotion erupted. Some guests had seen Arthur earlier that day; he hadn’t left the island recently. The butler gave a few words of comfort to everyone and arranged for carriages to return the guests to their residences. He requested that Danny and Paul stay behind, and the four from the Association voluntarily remained in the ballroom.
Once everything calmed down, the butler approached, face drawn, reaching for Liz’s hand before withdrawing slightly. “You must be Miss Lizbeth of the Blackmoon family. I’ve seen your photograph, and I recognized you immediately. You resemble Master Arthur very closely…”
Liz bit her lip, shooting him a glare that said, I’d rather die than resemble him, forcing a stiff smile.
The butler explained that he had seen Arthur just five minutes before the guests arrived, tidying his hair and grooming his eyebrows. When Arthur was discovered missing, the servants searched the villa and nearby recreational areas. Arthur had vanished without a trace. A window had been left open — perhaps he had jumped out — but no one could understand why he would do such a thing.
“This has to be connected to that Fallen One,” Hunter Paul said, chewing on his cheesecake. “I heard Mr. Arthur knew the Fallen One was nearby. He probably went to deal with him.”
Danny reached over with a napkin and wiped the crumbs from Paul’s beard, doing so with practiced ease. John knew their relationship was far from ordinary. Ever since learning that Danny had watched Paul grow up, he couldn’t help but imagine Danny wiping the mouth of a boy not yet ten years old.
“How would he know the Fallen One was around?” John asked.
Danny raised an eyebrow. “High-ranking domain bloodkin always have ways.”
The butler nodded in agreement, though his expression seemed to say, I really don’t know.
“If it’s convenient, could we take a look in Mr. Arthur’s room?” Coraci asked, pulling the Association badge from his suit pocket. John followed suit. “We’re staff from the Unthreatening Creature Protection Association. Some unexpected…situations have come up. Perhaps we can help”
The butler agreed. Arthur’s room was on the third floor of the building — a very spacious suite. The dressing table was cluttered with more bottles and jars than any woman might own; just styling products and male foundation alone numbered six or seven kinds.
The window beside the table was open, sheer curtains drifting gently. At that height, it wouldn’t be unusual for a bloodkin to jump and escape.
“I know a spell that can recreate what happened in a specific time frame,” Coraci said.
Liz crossed her arms, standing off to the side. “No. That requires a revelation crystal, old parchment, and floral bone powder. We don’t have that ready.”
“No, I mean a different one. Its advantage is that it’s easy to prepare and requires no materials. Its drawback is that only I can see, and the viewing time is very short. The spell you mentioned can show an entire hour, but this one lasts at most five minutes. Fortunately, it can determine when Mr. Arthur went missing.”
He added, “It works especially well with the Eyes of Truth — even if someone was invisible at the time, I could still see them.”
The Menkovár servants gathered the materials according to his request. They were simple: mint leaves, onion skins, dust from the scene…and a bottle of wine larger than 500 milliliters. Coraci needed to mix the ingredients while reciting the incantation, then use ancient magical script to specify the time frame he wanted to observe. For the final step, he would drink the concoction in one go and close his eyes in silence.
“Coraci! After you drink that…will you be able to stay awake?” John asked nervously.
Coraci had already finished casting. He picked up the bottle and said, “I’ll do my best.”
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