Chapter 1037 Returning to the Resting Ground <TOC> Chapter 1039 Ouroboros
Translator: SumTLMan
There were two items once held by Angel, which had caught the eye of Balalaika.
First was his right hand, and the second was Toby.
However, Angel didn’t choose to trade with Balalaika at that time. The Tomb Knight remembered very clearly that Balalaika once said that if Angel ever wished to barter, he could find her in the Resting Ground.
Now, seeing him again here, the Tomb Knight naturally assumed that Angel had come with the intent of making a deal with Balalaika.
Given that, he was considered a guest.
“I’d like to conduct a trade, if it’s possible?” Angel posed his question. His Abyssian was rather fuzzy, resembling a baby babbling incoherently.
No sooner had he asked this than Stian, standing on the other side of the tavern door, broke into laughter. “Young one, this isn’t a demon city tavern. If you want milk, it’d be best to find another place,” he taunted.
Of course, Angel heard Stian’s mockery. However, his understanding of Abyssian wasn’t good, and though he heard it, he didn’t grasp the specifics. As such, he didn’t spare Stian even a glance.
Stian huffed coldly through his nostrils at Angel’s attitude. Yet to maintain his perfectly composed expression, he didn’t say anything. Besides, the mark on Angel’s ear felt somewhat familiar to him, also giving off a vague threat. He felt as though he’d seen it somewhere.
Nevertheless, Stian’s perfect composure solidified in the next second.
The Tomb Knight didn’t halt the young man with peculiar speech, unlike he did to him. Instead, he nodded, took a step aside, and even extended his hand in a gesture of welcome, “Please, this way.”
The Tomb Knight’s action made Stian finally drop his long-maintained façade, his cold voice emerged, “What’s the meaning of this, sir knight? Why is this wet-behind-the-ears lad allowed in? To trade? Based on what?!”
Stian’s change of expression didn’t escape Angel’s notice.
Upon earlier mockery by Stian, Angel hadn’t comprehended completely, but had merely caught a vague understanding of certain terms, such as “milk”. This time, he picked up the term “milky taste”, causing Angel to secretly wonder. Could it be that this fellow possessed the spell of mind-reading, discerning his own preferences? However, his expression appeared to be quite irate. Was it because he had been stopped from entering while Angel himself had been allowed?
As Angel was deep in contemplation, the Tomb Knight uttered a derisive laugh, “Stian, you better keep your mouth shut. Besides, do you believe the choice of patrons is a decision that can be influenced by my will?”
Before Stian could respond, a hypnotic voice, seemingly capable of stirring souls, abruptly emerged from behind the tavern’s cloth partition, momentarily stunning everyone present.
Only when Stian regained his composure did he realize that Balalaika, who had remained silent in the tavern, had actually initiated conversation.
What’s more, she seemed to be saying,
“Come in.”
The subject of this sentence, naturally, wasn’t him. Making a quick deduction, Stian looked towards Angel with furrowed brows.
How could this young man, with negligible power, actually have Balalaika agree to trade with him? What allowed him to be worthy of such a thing? Stian scrutinized Angel, his malevolent eyes glowing with envy.
Angel could feel the prickling gaze on his back, but he quickly dismissed it because he had already stepped into the tavern.
After Angel had entered, Stian’s face had become so gloomy, it looked as though it might start to drip.
He felt like he was the punchline of a joke, standing at the entrance of the tavern.
He refused to believe that Angel could produce something enticing enough for Balalaika to trade with him. If he himself couldn’t, how could someone whose power was comparable to an ant?
As Stian was burning with envy and his mind was in turmoil, a sudden, surprised “Oh?” sound echoed from the graveyard.
Stian and the Tomb Knight simultaneously turned their heads to look, and saw that at one side of the graveyard, a tall woman with short hair had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
Dressed provocatively with her tanned skin and curvaceous long legs poised, she sat not far from a tombstone.
Who was she? And why did she enter so silently, without a trace of life?
The Tomb Knight’s hand gradually eclipsed the longsword strapped to his waist; in the face of this unanticipated visitor, he prepared himself for combat.
“Who would have thought that the lowly human would truly dare to enter,” the newcomer was Fafnir, her emotions a swirling tapestry of complexity. She’d heard tales of the Resurrection Witch and was no stranger to the traditions of the Resting Ground. Baralaika harbored a particular distaste for humans, and she could surely see through Angel’s guise. It was utterly baffling that, in this scenario, she still permitted Angel entrance to the tavern.
As arbitrarily as when Odeklaes had delegated that task to Angel, it was completely without rhyme or reason.
Fafnir’s mind flashed back to when she was in Whispering Wind Valley, the subject of a piercing gaze from a pair of eyes that crossed the boundaries of space-time. A smirk played at the corners of her lips, it seemed that the mysteries shrouded within this human’s existence were indeed plentiful…
Elsewhere, as Angel pushed aside the cloth partition and stepped inside, the cacophony from the outside world halted abruptly at that moment.
It was as if an inbuilt sound barrier divided the tavern into two separate worlds — one inside and one out.
The tavern’s interior was as it appeared from the outside: exceedingly cramped. Aside from the counter, there were only a few tables that stood isolated against the wooden plank walls.
“As expected, you’ve arrived.” A voice, possessing an ethereal beauty, accompanied by a soft chuckle, flowed into Angel’s ears.
—This was the common language of humans.
Angel shifted his gaze to the counter.
There, a woman with a vibrant red skirt and voluminous wavy hair rested her hand on a long, smoky pipe, leaning against the back of the counter with one leg casually crossed over the other.
She was barefoot, her delicate and fair feet poised delicately, her rounded toes painted the same rouge as her nails.
She was not conventionally beautiful; her eyes were long and upturned, her lips a touch too thick with a small, crimson beauty mark by the side.
But the more one looked, the more intriguing she became.
Angel performed a respectful bow, his voice a soft whisper, “Good evening, captivating Miss Balalaika.”
……
Angel sat at a round stool in front of the tavern counter, a stemmed glass placed before him. The glass held a burgundy liquid that wafted a cloying fruity aroma.
Occupying the opposite side of the tavern was Balalaika.
She elegantly rested her cheek on her hand, her disheveled hair cascading over her lips, painting a tantalizing picture.
“Are you proposing a trade with these trinkets?” Balalaika cast her gaze downward, examining the Three Peculiar Curios displayed on the tavern before her.
A crystal harp seated on a pedestal, a diamond-shaped monument inscribed with a strange ring-like pattern, and a ring with a serpent biting its tail.
“On what grounds do you believe I’d be inclined to trade?” Balalaika arched an eyebrow, puffing away on a long-stemmed pipe. Her countenance concealed by the smoky veil, betraying no hint of emotion.
Truth be told, Balalaika failed to discern anything particularly unique about the three items before her.
As a seasoned trader, she naturally possessed a keen eye. Previously, she had instantly recognized the two valuable items carried by Sineva.
These three curios, while admittedly aesthetically pleasing in appearance — particularly the strange ring on the diamond-shaped monument that possessed a certain captivating charm — didn’t stand out in terms of uniqueness. There was a trace of an anomalous energy node, but this wasn’t sufficient to pique her interest or make her believe they bore any special magic.
Thus, despite the faint smile that remained at the corner of her lips, she was growing slightly impatient.
“Miss Balalaika,” proposed Angel, “how about you give it a try?”
“Give it a try?” Balalaika nonchalantly picked up the crystal harp on her left, her slender fingers caressing it, “Very well, I’ll give you one chance. Let’s hope I won’t be disappointed.”
As she activated the first crystal harp, her world underwent a transformation as a beautiful melody she’d never heard before echoed around her…
As Balalaika experimented, Angel’s gaze was also fixed on the three items.
These three items, or two curios and a piece of jewelry, were actually a collection of Angel’s past work, used for practice in alchemical illusion creation. They weren’t the most outstanding, but certainly the most distinctive.
The first, the crystal harp, was essentially a musical box fused with alchemical illusions.
However, this music box was different from his past creations. Instead of containing just a single tune, it housed several nocturnes of similar rhythm but distinctive styles.
Lyrically expressive, passionately lingering, deeply sorrowful, intensely melancholic.
Balalaika held the crystal harp for nearly two hours without ever breaking away from the illusion.
As the illusionary environment was nearing its conclusion, Balalaika set the crystal harp to one side. A subtle smile played at the corners of her mouth, but she refrained from uttering any words.
Indeed, the music box contained within this crystal harp was exquisite. Its melody was both intriguing and befitting of the frozen night of this antiquated world.
Balalaika herself bore a fondness for music, a fact revealed by her frequent hums and melodies. This was precisely why Angel decided to present the music box.
She had a particular liking for this music box. It was unfortunate that she had listened to all the music it contained, etching it into her memory.
Consequently, the allure of the crystal harp began to dwindle slightly for her.
Balalaika felt like she had gained an advantage, which dissolved her initial impatience.
Even though she remembered the music from the music box, it couldn’t be denied that the accompanying illusionary world was a sight to behold. Therefore, as her gaze drifted to the second monument-shaped trinket, her heart filled with anticipation.
As she picked up the second trinket, Angel added in a timely manner, “This is the Monument of the Strange Ring. I hope Miss Balalaika will enjoy it.”
As Balalaika activated the second trinket, and her surroundings started to morph, her eyes lit up with interest.
The Monument of the Strange Ring was a captivating little game that could easily ensnare the likes of Sanders and Canter.
The protagonist of Monument Valley, just like Balalaika, was female, which naturally led to stronger feelings of immersion than Sanders, Canter, and their ilk could attain.
This time, Balalaika immersed herself in the illusionary environment for an even longer duration. It was only after more than four hours that she reluctantly emerged. The time felt too brief and, because the game within the illusionary environment was played from a first-person perspective, many clever nuances took time to appreciate. As a result, Balalaika felt a hint of regret; she hadn’t played the Monument of the Strange Ring through to its conclusion.
Chapter 1037 Returning to the Resting Ground <TOC> Chapter 1039 Ouroboros