Chapter 57: Lies
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
Coraci stood where the servants had last seen Arthur, drinking the wine in measured gulps. The liquid contained several strange ingredients and tasted unpleasant. His vision blurred gradually, the spell mixing with the alcohol’s effects. He saw Arthur changing clothes, posing in front of the mirror, spraying cologne… Voices of the servants came faintly from outside his view. That was probably the last moment they had seen Arthur.
Arthur pushed open the window and turned around. From the shadows of a corner, someone emerged. After tripping slightly over a hatbox and shoe box on the ground, his face finally illuminated by the moonlight.
Coraci swayed; the spell was ending. The warmth from the wine began replacing his clarity. In the last moment, he saw two bloodkin lunging at each other and falling out the window together.
“What did you see?” John asked, moving a single-seater sofa behind Coraci and guiding him to sit down.
Coraci’s skin was flushed from cheek to earlobe to neck. He had never handled alcohol well, and drinking over 500 milliliters in one go was already extraordinary.
Leaning back, limbs slack, Coraci moved only his fingers. “Arthur…and…”
“What?” everyone leaned in.
“Fighting…they jumped outside.”
“Fighting with whom?”
“Two Arthurs. One inside, one here…”
There was a moment of silence. Danny spoke first. “Mr. Coraci, are you fully conscious?”
“Both in white shirts…two Arthurs. I can’t tell the difference…shouldn’t…” Coraci’s words were slurred, several syllables were mumbled.
John crouched in front of him, checking that he was awake, though his eyes were narrowed. He placed the Association badge in Coraci’s palm.
“Coraci, don’t sleep. Look here — how many badges?”
“Two… Four? No, six…”
“It’s reproducing on its own?” Danny rolled his eyes as he grabbed Paul and pushed open the door. “Before sunrise, we’ll first go search. Jibi Island isn’t large, and bloodkin can cover every corner quickly.”
The butler nodded. “I’ll arrange staff to accompany you.”
“Do you need our help?” John asked.
The butler frowned. “No. Master Arthur dislikes troubling guests. Your colleague offering magical assistance is already more than we could hope for.” His glance at Coraci was filled with unspoken exasperation and mistrust.
Before leaving, he addressed Liz. “You and your friends are esteemed guests. You’re welcome to use all the facilities here. I apologize that we cannot host you personally.”
Liz gave a brief acknowledgment. The busy bloodkin servants dispersed to search the island for Arthur. Carolyn muttered about her eye drops, while Coraci slumped on the sofa and fell asleep.
“I think Coraci was serious,” Liz said.
John considered for a moment. “If two Arthurs really jumped outside, who’s the other one?”
“The hunted Fallen One?”
“No. Coraci has the Eyes of Truth,” John said. “If one of the Arthurs were fake, he should be able to tell. He said the spell works with Eyes of Truth even being able to see invisible enemies.”
Liz shrugged. “I should have cast the spell myself. At least I wouldn’t be this drunk.”
They started to walk back to their rooms. Coraci was briefly alert and able to teeter a few steps before soon collapsing again.
Because John carried him in his arms, Carolyn mocked them relentlessly. She said they looked like a “classic monster movie poster” — a vampire holding a long-haired woman in a formal gown.
“Only the genders aren’t right. If John were male, it’d be perfect,” she teased.
“I am male, thank you,” John said, carefully watching the corridor walls to avoid bumping Coraci’s head. Handling a single human’s weight was nothing for a bloodkin, but Coraci’s body had a really strong presence. The alcohol made his skin hot; the temperature was almost like that of freshly drawn blood.
Back in the room, John placed Coraci on the bed. He paced uneasily, flipping through a magazine filled with finance and investment articles. He recognized the words individually but the sentences as a whole made no sense to him. He wanted to turn on the TV but that risked waking Coraci.
After a few minutes, he realized — Coraci was human. He couldn’t just sleep sprawled across the bed. Recalling human sleeping routines, John carefully removed Coraci’s shoes, took off his suit jacket, and loosened his tie. He gently shifted his position and placed his head on a pillow.
While undoing Coraci’s shirt cuffs, John inadvertently caught a glimpse of his hand — there was a small puncture mark on the back. It had nearly healed but was still visible, and it looked like an IV needle mark. John knew Coraci had “seen the dentist” recently, though he didn’t recall dentists using IVs…
After a moment of thought, John undid Coraci’s cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.
Coraci had two needle marks in the crook of his elbow. The older ones were completely healed, but the newer ones still showed bluish bruising beneath medical tape. Needle marks don’t require medical tape; Coraci must have been trying to keep John from smelling his blood.
The other arm was the same. Though the back of his hand was free of IV marks, the insides of his elbows bore the traces of healed punctures. John cautiously rolled his sleeves back into place, frowning as he looked at Coraci’s sleeping face.
Coraci slept deeply, breathing slowly and steadily, and had shown no sign of waking when John moved him earlier. To be sure, John reached out his hand, letting his fingertip brush against the first button of Coraci’s shirt.
He noticed his fingers trembling. For a moment, John felt as though he were in a tawdry porno: two colleagues returning to a hotel room after a drunken party, the sober one pressing the drunken one onto a soft, round bed, and began to remove his clothes… And, worst of all, he was the lead role.
Even though warning bells rang in his mind, John unbuttoned Coraci’s shirt.
The human chest rose and fell with each breath. The alcohol caused the skin to flush faintly pink.
As the fabric parted and his fingers brushed the warm flesh, John’s heart raced. He was as tense as the time they fell down the elevator shaft. Then he froze.
A round mark, roughly the size of a cup’s base, was burned into Coraci’s chest. In its center was a radial design of ancient magic script. John couldn’t read most of it, but could recognize three words: Response, Time Limit, and Line of Sight.
On his navel, there was a tattoo that began at the left side of his waist, resembling a gently curved spine. Each vertebra was made of runes, tapering into a thin, sharp point that penetrated the navel. The dark ink was surrounded by faint redness, indicating it was recently done.
Even without being a magic expert, John knew this wasn’t an ordinary tattoo. He hugged Coraci’s waist and rolled him over, forgetting entirely that he might wake him.
Lifting up his shirt, he could see the black tattoo extend down to the small of his back, ending in a triangular mark. Beside it, at the center of his waist, was a square bandage.
Coraci shifted slightly, hair brushing the pillow, almost waking. Before he could open his eyes fully, John peeled back the bandage.
Beneath was another small wound, slightly larger than a normal injection mark. John had never encountered it personally, but he’d seen similar images online… It looked like the aftermath of a lumbar puncture.
“John?” Coraci tried to sit up. Still woozy, he only rolled onto his side, remaining on the bed. Then he noticed his shirt was undone and John was staring at him, motionless.
“I just went for a checkup…” he said.
“I just wanted to help you change your clothes!” John blurted.
They both spoke simultaneously, then fell silent at the same time.
Coraci didn’t notice John’s anxiety. He was more concerned about the marks on his body. He had sobered somewhat and was searching his mind for explanations. The puncture marks were easy — he knew John had never been to a modern hospital. Even if John recognized the marks, he wouldn’t understand the specific medical procedures. Making up a few random medical tests would suffice.
The magical markings were more troublesome. The circular sigil monitored soul fluctuations in real time, like the magical equivalent of continuous electrocardiography. The waist tattoo excavated deep memories; magical power gradually penetrated the body, reconstructing shattered memories while isolating them. The subject felt no effects, but the caster could extract and study them.
Coraci decided to act naturally; overacting would be suspicious. He slowly sat up, removed his shirt entirely, and grabbed a loose top from his luggage by the bed to change into.
“I’ll change myself,” he told John. “Thanks. I’m a bit dizzy; I rarely drink.”
John stammered, “I… I just wanted to help you change. Those…those marks on you are…”
“This?” Coraci said, half-truthfully. “The punctures on my arms are from blood draws. You know, sometimes it takes more than one needle — though that’s rare. And the one on my lower back… that’s for checking the nervous system. The procedure’s a bit scary, but don’t worry. Humans only do it occasionally, not routinely.”
“I’ve seen diagrams of lumbar punctures online,” John said. “Is that considered a routine check?”
“Not exactly. It’s only done if you request it. I didn’t tell you about this, and I even covered the puncture marks… because I remembered you saying you didn’t like hearing words like ‘wound’ or ‘bleeding.’”
John nodded. “Yes, I really don’t like hearing that… But you actually went through with it? What were you trying to check?”
He couldn’t help but think of those tragic art films he’d seen: the protagonist, gravely ill, hides the diagnosis from loved ones, refuses to stay in a hospital, and travels alone to spend his last days in peace…
“Uh…” Coraci found an explanation in time. “Remember the time we helped that middle-school bloodkin? After that, I came into contact with some infected patients. I didn’t tell you because you’re bloodkin — it wouldn’t affect you anyway. So I secretly got tested, and did a bunch of other exams too, just to be sure everything was fine.”
“So it’s all confirmed that you’re okay?” John exhaled in relief.
“Yes. Besides that, I visited the dentist a few times. That’s it.”
John’s posture relaxed. “What about the tattoos? And the one on your chest…”
The act of unbuttoning Coraci’s shirt by hand felt vaguely intimate. The black design around his waist, the flushed skin from alcohol along his neck and chest… John couldn’t help but look down at the carpet at his feet.
Coraci explained the true purpose of the runes on his body. He had to be honest here — John was also an Association member, and would eventually study the related texts himself, even if he rarely did. Coraci spoke lightly, downplaying the monitoring and reconstruction aspects, describing them instead as protective, precautionary magic.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” John asked.
Coraci smiled. “Most spellcasters and exorcists don’t do this. I’m a bit cautious, so I went ahead. Because the process is a little painful, I didn’t want to mention it.” He thought, Actually, it was more than just a little painful, it was quite painful. “And I worried that if I mentioned it, you’d get all worried. Just like now.”
Fortunately, John was bloodkin, not a shapeshifter. Coraci felt immensely relieved.
“Does it hurt now?” John asked carefully.
“No, not at all. It only hurt briefly at the time.”
John nodded. His questions were answered, and Coraci didn’t ask why he had been flipped over or why his shirt had been removed. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
John stood up and headed into the dressing room to change out of his suit. As he changed, he said, “I want to help the Menkovár family search for Arthur. I’ll be back by dawn. You just keep resting.” Coraci murmured a few words in response. Humans should already have been asleep at this hour.
After putting on a T-shirt, John hesitated, then added, “Coraci, I don’t overreact anymore. I might have before, but I’m much better now. You can trust me. I’m your partner, not some uptight parent. I won’t stop you from doing what you need to do. So you don’t need to worry about me getting anxious… What I’m saying is, whether it’s going to the hospital or dealing with ancient magic, you can tell me. And if you need it, I can even help.”
He walked out of the wardrobe. Only the soft glow of a bedside lamp lit the room. Coraci was laying on a fluffy pillow, already asleep again.
John checked the room’s AC — he couldn’t judge if the temperature was comfortable for a human, but it seemed fine. Using the gentle, quiet steps unique to bloodkin, he approached the bed and turned off the bedside lamp.
“Good night. Rest well.” He placed his fingers on Coraci’s neck. His skin was no longer so hot, and his pulse was normal. He couldn’t help but let his fingers linger a little longer than necessary. Then, John quietly left the room.
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