My Dad Is a Popular Villain in a Comic Book - Chapter 13

When Albin woke up, he found himself in a strange room, his head still feeling slightly dizzy.

He blinked, blankly trying to recall what had happened before he passed out. It seemed that someone from the Temple of the Wine God had used a sleep spell on him. But… why? They had paid the entry fee properly when they arrived in the city; surely they hadn’t broken any laws?

Having encountered such inexplicable situations before, Albin calmed down quickly after a moment of confusion. He suppressed his overwhelming bewilderment and began to examine his surroundings.

The room was chilly, feeling somewhat like a prison cell. The walls were made of stone, and one wall featured an iron door that prevented any view of the outside. There were no windows, and the room was lit only by a wall lamp and an oil lamp on a table. However, there were two single beds in the room much softer than those found in taverns or inns as well as a set of beautiful wooden furniture.

Would a prison really have such comfortable beds? It looked more like a guest room in a castle, just without a balcony.

Unable to see the sky, he didn’t know how long he had been asleep. He wondered how his father was doing and whether he was worried about him. Albin let out a sigh, tempering the anxiety rising in his heart, and looked toward the other bed.

Sitting there, knees hugged to her chest, was a little girl with reddish-brown twin tails. She looked even younger than him and appeared to have woken up earlier.

“Hello, my name is Albin. What’s your name? Were you captured and brought here too?”

The little girl looked up at him, but said nothing. She simply buried the lower half of her face in her knees, her body trembling slightly.

She’s scared, he thought.

Albin felt around in his pockets, but they were empty; he couldn’t pull out any snacks or toys. After pondering for a moment, he caught sight of the oil lamp and had a sudden idea.

He shifted the position of the oil lamp. The little girl didn’t know what he was doing, but she turned her gaze toward him when she heard the movement.

Albin placed his hands together behind the oil lamp. When the light hit his hands, it cast the silhouette of a small puppy onto the wall.

“Woof, woof—” The shadow puppy on the wall opened its mouth, jumping around playfully. “I’m ‘Whitey’ from the PAW Patrol. Hello there!”

The little girl stared at the puppy shadow, unblinking.

The puppy shadow changed direction, gradually drawing closer to her shadow. Even though there was some distance between them in reality, on the wall, it looked as if a real puppy had trotted right up to the girl.

Watching the shadow on the wall, the little girl couldn’t help but reach out. She watched her own finger shadow slowly approach the puppy.

The puppy shadow lowered its head at just the right moment, as if it were being petted by her. The little girl’s eyes lit up, and she whispered, “My name is Margot.”

The puppy shadow happily nuzzled against her hand shadow.

“Nice to meet you, Margot. Do you know why we are here?”

Margot nodded slowly. She held up her fingers, looking at the shadows of her fingers on the wall. Originally silent, she began to speak, almost as if she were performing a play:

(The finger representing a man in a black robe said:) “Her affinity for both water and fire elements is very high. This girl is the most talented one this year.”

(The finger representing a man in a white robe said:) “The Carnival is approaching; she will be our best choice. I hope the God of Wine will be satisfied with her.”

(The finger representing her mother said:) “But Margot is still so young… the previous candidates all…”

(The finger representing the village chief said:) “Being chosen as a candidate for the Saint or Saintess to be sacrificed to the God of Wine during the Carnival is Margot’s honor, and it is the honor of our village. We must be truly grateful to the God of Wine.”

(The chief’s finger leaned toward Margot’s little finger.)

Chief: “Margot, you must bravely endure this. Win the favor of the God of Wine and become the next Saintess. When your cup is filled with wine, you must express our piety to the God of Wine and pray for a bountiful harvest for us.”

Chief: “You stupid woman! Hurry up and get this lucky girl ready so the priests can take her away!”

(The fingers representing the village chief and the men in robes pulled away, and the finger representing her mother approached Margot.)

Mother (murmuring): “How could it come to this? It has been many years since a Saint or Saintess was chosen. They call it a ‘selection,’ but every year, the sacrificed children die, one after another… Margot, my Margot, my daughter… what am I supposed to do?”

Mother: “O Great Wine God, Master of Ten Thousand Favors, you are the incarnation of joy. Countless men and women believe in you, but why must you cruelly take my only daughter and leave me immersed in endless sorrow…”

Mother: “Margot! Margot! Let’s go! Right now! We will leave this place quietly. I absolutely cannot let my child become a skeleton drifting in a vat of wine. I will take you to the south! There are gardens of roses and mermaids there. I will take you to the west! There is a Holy City there, blessed by the sun…”

(The fingers of the village chief and the priests closed in, and the others stood up straight.)

Chief: “You ignorant widow! Do you want to anger the God of Wine and have people tear you apart while you’re still alive? Catch her! Catch her quickly!”

Chief: “Thank goodness, thank goodness! Hurry, drag this crazy woman away! Priests of the Temple of the Wine God, please take this girl away quickly. She can’t wait to pour wine for the God of Wine.”

At this point, all the fingers retreated.

Albin looked at Margot in shock. She had managed to recount everything everyone had said. But what shocked him even more was the content of the conversation.

The Temple of the Wine God appeared to be collecting children with high potential and sacrificing them to the God of Wine during the Carnival, using this process to “select” a Saint or Saintess. However, the mortality rate was so high that all the candidates from previous years had died.

Water and fire element affinity this seemed to be their selection criteria. Was that why he had been captured? Did the Temple of the Wine God plan to sacrifice him too? He thought back to the innkeeper’s son and the “regular customers” talking about “good things,” “good ability,” and “not making it through.” Was he, too, killed for this reason?

The actions of the Temple of the Wine God… weren’t they just a full-blown cult? Why would anyone think this was an “honor” or a “good thing”?

“That’s too much…”

Thinking of the innkeeper and her son, and of Margot and her mother, Albin trembled all over. His heart felt like it was suffering from an earthquake; the sense of sorrow engulfed him like a tsunami, almost overflowing from his chest.

He wanted to say something to Margot, but his throat was tight; he couldn’t get the words out. Just thinking about the lively Carnival outside being accompanied by the sacrifice of a child made his skin crawl. He didn’t know if the tourists were aware, but it was clear that some of the locals knew exactly what the sacrifice entailed and were intentionally hiding it from outsiders.

This time, it was different from the situation with the homeless man. He had been able to help the homeless man easily, but this was different. He was merely a magic beginner who couldn’t even cast a decent spell. He had no status, didn’t know where he was, and his father wasn’t by his side. The culprits he had to face were the Temple of the Wine God which possessed numerous powerful mages countless followers with twisted values, and an entire nation caught up in the frenzy of the Wine God’s rituals.

He felt suffocated and powerless. It was unbearable, yet impossible to escape. What made him feel even worse was not just that Margot might die, but that even if Margot died, countless other children like her would follow. Margot was not the first, and she likely wouldn’t be the last.

The fire in Albin’s eyes burned brighter than the oil lamp. He whispered, “That is wrong. The village chief who gave you up is wrong, and the Temple of the Wine God that makes you a sacrifice is also wrong… If this is the will of the Wine God, then the Wine God is also wrong and needs to be stopped and corrected.”

“I will definitely find a way to protect you!”

Margot looked at him in surprise. She had lived in a circle of Wine God worship her whole life, and even now, she had never thought to question the deity. However, she wasn’t a true zealot; she didn’t scream or argue like the fanatics, but this was her first time encountering a viewpoint contrary to the environment she had known, and she found it quite novel.

Albin frowned, racking his brain to think of what he could actually do. He ran to the iron door and peered out, but he couldn’t see anything, making it difficult to plan an escape route. The Carnival lasted for four days; he didn’t know which day the sacrifice began, but it was already the first day. He didn’t have much time left.

As he was thinking, he noticed something moving in front of him. He looked up and saw the taciturn Margot imitating his hand gestures in front of the light. Glancing at the wall, a puppy shadow was circling his own, as if comforting him in its own way.

Albin froze. “Thank you,” he smiled, replying with the puppy shadow.

Suddenly, footsteps came from outside the door. Albin turned around immediately, spreading his arms to shield Margot behind him, looking toward the door with vigilance. The iron door opened, and two people dressed as guards stood there.

Was the sacrifice about to begin?

Albin’s heart rose into his throat, and Margot, behind him, nervously grabbed his arm.

The guard looked at them and said, “The High Priest wishes to see you.”

The two children, having no power to resist, were forced to follow the guards. Albin used his peripheral vision to map the route, but he didn’t see a single window or exit along the way, only the pervasive scent of wine.

They were brought to a place resembling a prayer hall. The layout was T-shaped, still without windows, and on both sides of the path were pools filled with wine. The smell of alcohol was strongest here. The ceiling was three or four stories high, with grapevines crawling over the stone walls and glowing crystals embedded in them for light. From a distance, they looked like glistening grapes, or perhaps a magnificent green starry sky.

At the center of the top of the “T,” a massive statue of the God of Wine stood. The deity held a tilted golden goblet, from which poured a stream of mellow, fine wine.

In front of the statue, a man with disheveled, wine-red hair and an aura of wickedness reclined on a stone couch. He examined the two children as they walked toward him, though his gaze remained fixed on Albin the entire time; he seemed to have no interest in Margot.

Albin stood still before him, still shielding Margot. Without waiting for the man to speak, Albin asked bluntly, “Why are you sacrificing so many children?”

His red pupils stared fixedly at the man, flames seeming to burn within them.

The priest he questioned paused, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you would be scared and ask me why I had you brought here.”

Even so, he replied to Albin with good humor: “It isn’t a sacrifice; it’s just the selection for the next Saint or Saintess of the Temple of the Wine God. It’s just that those children weren’t chosen by the Wine God.”

“The process is indeed painful, but there’s no need to be so afraid. This is a good thing,” he said, his tone languid and slightly slurred, as if he hadn’t yet sobered up. “Once you become the God-chosen Saint or Saintess, when I die, you will be able to take my place as the High Priest of the Temple of the Wine God. It is an honor that allows you to ascend to the heavens in a single step.”

“Is that how you came to be?” Albin asked.

The priest seemed to think he had asked a silly question and chuckled. “Of course. Every priest has gone through this.”

“Let me introduce myself. I am Latu, the High Priest of the Temple of the Wine God. Perhaps I will be the predecessor, mentor, or even adoptive father of one of you in the future,” he said, his tone as kind as a mentor’s. “Feel free to ask any questions you have.”

Albin looked at him, feeling deeply puzzled. Since this man had also been a victim, why was he now forcing other children to do the same thing?

“If you become the High Priest… can you change this method of selection?”

Latu studied the white-haired child before him with great interest. The series of questions allowed him to see right through Albin’s naive confusion.

He burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. His flamboyant hair shook with his mirth, and his eyes cleared up slightly.

“Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. Who knows? In any case, I haven’t heard of anyone who tried. Are you wondering why I haven’t tried to change the selection method?”

Albin nodded.

“Because…” Latu’s wine-red eyes simmered with madness, and his smile contained malice that threatened to overflow as he retorted, “Why should the people who come after me get to avoid the things I had to experience?”