My Dad Is a Popular Villain in a Comic Book - Chapter 12

Zeman returned to their room at the post station, his body radiating a chilling aura. Inside, a faint candlelight flickered on.

“Father!” Albin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Zeman return and placed the candlestick on the table.

He ran over barefoot, only to feel that Zeman’s entire body was covered in cold, damp mist. He looked up, confused: “Father, why did you go out into the rain so late at night? And what about Gold?”

Albin busied himself, handing Zeman a towel while simultaneously channeling warm mana into him. He said with a pout, “I woke up and saw that the room was empty; I thought you didn’t want me anymore and had left me here.” It was meant to be a room for three, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to find himself alone, he had been terrified.

Zeman’s gaze flickered. He took the towel and wiped the moisture from his body. Then, he picked up the barefoot Albin, put him back into bed, and tucked him in. Only then did he say, “Someone came looking for Gold, and he has already gone home. He didn’t want to wake you, so I walked him part of the way.”

“Oh, he left in such a hurry…” Albin was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. “It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d woken me up; one can sleep anytime, but saying goodbye is more important. I don’t know if we’ll ever have a chance to meet again.”

“But he must be so happy to be home!”

Being able to go home was certainly better than going to a shelter. His family must have been looking for him for a long time, which was why they were in such a rush to pick him up. Albin was sincerely happy for him.

Zeman looked at Albin’s sparkling eyes in the candlelight and asked abruptly, “If one day I were to leave…”

Albin suddenly gripped Zeman’s clothes tightly, as if he were already afraid that he might leave. Zeman paused and added, “I mean, after we reach the Rose Kingdom, when we part ways would you be happy?”

This question caught Albin off guard. Although he had known from the start that they were only “father and son for a limited time,” he had never actually thought about what would happen after they separated, as if not thinking about it meant it would never come. When the question was posed, he felt a moment of blankness, followed by the same fear and helplessness he had felt in the cave. In truth, he knew without needing to think: given Zeman’s reliability, once he reached the Rose Kingdom, he would surely be placed in a good environment, perhaps an affectionate adoptive family. But no matter how good a future family might be, to him, they would only be a group of strangers.

Albin shrunk into his quilt, half his face covered. He mumbled, “How could I possibly be happy?” He truly regarded Zeman as his father; he was the person he trusted most in this world. Wouldn’t that be the same as severing their father-son relationship?

“Is that so…” Zeman lowered his eyes, appearing to be deep in thought.

Albin suddenly grabbed Zeman’s hanging hand, seemingly sensing something, and said seriously, one word at a time, “Father is absolutely not allowed to leave without saying goodbye, just like Uncle Edward and Gold did!”

“I’ll be angry! I’ll be super, super angry!” He emphasized repeatedly, though it still didn’t feel like enough. “I’m going to become a mage even more powerful than you, and then I’ll…” He stalled, unable to think of a way to retaliate, so he just said, “I’ll go bully you!”

Zeman stared at him, and suddenly, the corners of his lips curved upward. Albin froze.

“Father, you smiled?” Albin’s eyes widened to confirm, but the faint arc he’d seen just a moment ago seemed like an illusion; Zeman said nothing.

Wait a minute! Albin thought intensely. Did I say something funny? Wasn’t I warning him? Was there anything worth laughing about? Could it be… that part about becoming a mage?

“What’s so funny! I’ll definitely become a mage more powerful than Father what’s there to laugh about!” He puffed out his cheeks, questioning him with fire in his eyes. His father was just a frail, foolish beauty who would stupidly run out into the rain. While he knew a bit of magic theory, he had only managed to fire a blank with a healing spell earlier; his magical ability didn’t seem strong at all. Surpassing a father like this certainly shouldn’t be difficult.

“It’s nothing.” The strongest human, Zeman, silently turned away.

“You’re not allowed to laugh!” Albin “whooshed” the quilt off, pouncing on Zeman angrily. He clung to his back like a sugar glider, not caring that Zeman was still wearing wet clothes. Zeman quickly peeled the little octopus off, wrapped him back up in the quilt until he looked like an octopus ball with only his head showing.

“Sleep,” the adult commanded ruthlessly.

Damn it! Albin was deeply dissatisfied, rolling around. How can such a frail father have so much strength? Is this the power gap between an adult and a child? He grumbled himself to sleep, and the air suddenly grew quiet. Yet, in his semi-conscious state, he mumbled vaguely, “Can’t you… just be my father forever…”

Zeman, who was in the middle of changing out of his wet clothes, froze. He turned to find that Albin was merely talking in his sleep.

The next day, they continued their journey with the merchant caravan, eating some of the dry rations they had bought at the post station. Looking at the food, which clearly didn’t look delicious, Albin thought of Gold.

He poked at a piece of crusty bread that would require an axe to split and asked, “If there is magic, why can’t it conjure up delicious food?”

Zeman replied, “Magic is only used for religious miracles and combat.”

Albin didn’t understand. “But Uncle Edward once made roses grow out of thin air on the grass. Why can’t it make enough wheat grow in the fields so everyone can eat their fill?” He could understand using magic for combat to defend the home and country that was indeed important but he didn’t quite grasp the religious applications. Isn’t eating the most important thing of all? If magic can make everyone eat their fill, isn’t that a miracle?

This time, Zeman remained silent for a long time before answering.

“There are two reasons. First, magical effects are not generated out of thin air; they are converted from mana. Even the gods cannot make every field in the world produce grain. Second, those capable of casting magic are either priests in the temple or mages recruited by nobles. They possess unique social status and duties, and they obey the orders of the temple or the noble lords… This involves many other aspects as well.”

Albin nodded, half-understanding. The world of adults is so complicated.

They traveled with the caravan for several days, crossing plains of black soil, and finally arrived at the capital of the Lye-Grass Kingdom. The cargo carts had a different route for entering the city. They said goodbye to the caravan, found the guards to pay the entrance tax, and underwent questioning and inspection. After receiving permission to pass, they walked through the grand city gate; Albin felt as if he had walked into a lively amusement park.

Especially in the central square, huge colorful flags fluttered in the wind, colorful fabric strips and vibrant flowers decorated every street, and the air was filled with the fragrance of grapes and the scent of wine; people’s enthusiasm could even resist the cold weather.

Today was the first day of the Carnival, though it was said that the spectacular events would only begin at night. The father and son first looked for a place to stay, but apparently, they had arrived too late; the tourists who had come for the Carnival had long since booked the rooms, and after asking at several places, none had any vacancies. Entering yet another inn that provided accommodation, Albin clambered onto the counter, looking longingly at the innkeeper.

“Hello, Auntie, is there still a room available? My father and I just arrived today.”

“No—” The innkeeper, who was wiping a wine glass, was about to refuse with a cold face, but when she met Albin’s watery eyes, the words died in her throat.

“Is there really nothing left?” Albin hung his head in disappointment and looked up at Zeman. Are we really going to sleep on the street tonight?

The innkeeper stared at Albin, as if looking at someone else through him, her eyes filled with nostalgia and sadness. She suddenly changed her tune: “There’s only a small room left. It needs tidying up, but it’s still sleepable. Can you accept that?”

Albin nodded repeatedly. Zeman asked for the price and paid for the room, which included meals. The innkeeper told them to wait while she went up to tidy the room.

“Great! We have a place to sleep tonight!” Albin cheered, and then began peeking at the dishes in front of other people. This kind of small tavern didn’t have a menu; everyone was served the same set meal. But fortunately, this was the prosperous capital during a major annual festival; the hot stew contained meat, and the side dishes included roast meat, cheese, and pickles. The bread paired with olive oil looked as if it had been baked in a bakery that very day.

A regular customer drinking beer at the side looked at the child and laughed: “No wonder the landlady decided to scrape up a room for you two.”

Albin looked over curiously.

The regular said: “If the landlady’s son were still alive, he would be about your age.”

“Did something happen to Auntie’s son?”

When asked this, the people around looked at each other, their eyes flickering.

“It’s a good thing.”

“It shows the child had great talent.”

“It’s a pity he didn’t make it.”

Albin was left confused, but they clearly didn’t intend to continue talking. After a while, the landlady returned and handed them the room key. The father and son ordered two set meals and went upstairs first to see the room. The room was indeed small, but it would do for sleeping. Zeman unpacked his luggage; he had bought quite a lot of things for Albin along the way, and the luggage was getting heavier.

Albin observed the room and then ran downstairs to fetch their dinner. The hall smelled too strongly of alcohol, and they had eaten in their room back at the post station as well. He was walking on the narrow stairs when he saw a few people in cloaks heading up. He stepped aside to let them pass, curiously sizing them up. They seemed to be wearing a type of uniform robe under their cloaks, the fabric different from ordinary people’s, with a golden cup emblem they seemed to be some very powerful people.

Golden cup… He had seen quite a few on the street before; it seemed to be the emblem of the Temple of Wine. Are these people from the Temple of Wine? They seem to be muttering something.

Watching these people walk past, Albin continued down the stairs, but suddenly heard a voice from behind him.

“『Somnus (Sleep)』”

Everything suddenly turned black, and he slumped over, dizzy and unconscious.