Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 35: Vulnerability and Filth
When Marlon finally laid eyes on Ester, a sharp breath escaped his lips, cold and involuntary. Only then did he fully comprehend what the Claw Druid Master had meant by “he looks dull, foolish, and not quite right.”
It was not just “not quite right.” It was terrifyingly, heartbreakingly wrong.
For in the young minotaur’s vacant eyes—once lively and full of humor—Marlon now saw only two things: bewilderment and despair.
“Ester… don’t scare me like this!”
He hurried forward until he stood directly before the boy, then lifted his hand and waved it twice in front of Ester’s eyes.
There was no response. Not even a blink. The boy’s gaze was utterly void, empty of the fire that had once warmed Marlon’s heart.
Desperation mounting, Marlon tried every method he could think of. He spoke to him, teased him, even raised his voice. But all his efforts bounced off that silence like stones tossed into a bottomless abyss.
At last, having exhausted every possible approach, Marlon could only remain there, face-to-face with the mute, hollow shell of the minotaur boy. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before Marlon finally sighed, heavy with sorrow, and left the room.
“Old Kang, what has happened to Ester? What’s wrong with him?”
Marlon strode straight out and went in search of the Claw Druid Master. His heart could not accept it—not when just one month ago, the same boy had been laughing, playing tricks, and warming his spirit with innocent mischief.
The druid’s usually steady voice was softer this time, almost reluctant. “This poor child… he has shut the door of his soul, locked it tightly.” The old man’s eyes darkened with sorrow. “Tell me, Marlon… what horrors must he have witnessed the night before last, horrors so unbearable that his spirit simply refused to accept them?”
Because he could not accept, he had chosen instead to close himself off—cutting away all connection with the outside world, sealing his fragile heart inside a prison of loneliness, darkness, and despair.
Marlon’s chest ached with guilt. He knew all too well that his influence had played no small part in pushing the young minotaur toward this pitiful state.
“Old Kang… what can I do? How can I bring him back?”
The druid, for once, let out a weary sigh. He placed a hand on Marlon’s not-so-broad shoulder, the gesture both comforting and heavy.
“Find someone to care for him, patiently, tenderly. And you—speak to him every day, no matter if he answers or not. Perhaps…” the druid’s eyes grew distant, thoughtful, “…perhaps discover if he harbors affection for someone. Only a spring breeze carried from another soul can dispel the icy winter of a wounded heart.”
For the world of the mortal soul is beyond even the full control of the gods. Some mortal hearts are so resilient they can withstand even divine blessings. And Conchita-Balboin—he was but a druid, nothing more.
After a pause, the druid added, “Your talent as a soul-warlock may aid you. It might help heal the wounds buried in that poor child’s spirit.”
“I understand. Thank you, Old Kang.” Marlon bowed his head, gratitude mingling with determination.
The druid waved him off with a grunt. “If you truly want to thank me, then recite everything recorded in the The Book of Aery.”
Marlon’s eyes widened. “Old Kang, that’s not something I can recount all at once! The Book of Aery contains far more than just the Classic of Mountains and Seas. There are dozens of other sections!”
He began counting on his fingers like a nervous scholar. “There are historical chronicles—Spring and Autumn Annals, Records of the Grand Historian, Book of Han, Book of Later Han, Records of the Three Kingdoms—more than twenty volumes altogether! Then there are the novels, built upon the lives of famous figures: Investiture of the Gods, Journey to the West, Romance of the Tang’s Fall, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Complete Biography of Yue Fei, Water Margin, The Plum in the Golden Vase… At least another twenty or thirty books! If translated into the Loring script, the total word count would reach seventy, eighty million words—or perhaps even hundreds of millions!”
He spread his hands helplessly. “Even if I worked my hardest, there’s no way I could recite them all in a short time.”
The druid stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not lying to me?”
“I swear by the gods of Quinn themselves,” Marlon declared with a straight face, “I can recount ten thousand words a day. If time allows, even fifteen thousand. But… I’m also busy raising funds for the film city. For now, I may only manage ten thousand daily.”
The druid fell silent, mouth hanging open, speechless. Nearly a full minute passed in heavy silence—until suddenly, the old man leapt to his feet with startling energy.
“Marlon, my friend! Here, take this!” He shoved a bulging space-pouch into Marlon’s arms. The weight of it was unmistakable—ten thousand gold coins at least. “Whether you count it as a loan or as your so-called ‘original stock,’ it matters not! Pay me back when you wish, or never at all! My only demand is that you recite twenty thousand words every day!”
What could Marlon do but accept? With a resigned smile, he took the pouch and agreed.
After their discussion, Marlon promised to begin that very afternoon, then went to find Musa Mein.
The druid’s explanation still echoed in his ears: Ester must have witnessed something unbearable, enough to shatter his heart. If so, then the only way to uncover the truth was through the crystal orb that Musa Mein had reshaped into a “fragment of planar projection.”
But when Marlon pushed open the door of the old paladin’s quarters—now occupied by Musa Mein—he was met with a sight that froze him in shock.
The orb lay in ruins on the floor, shattered into dozens of glittering shards. Musa Mein stood over it, face twisted with regret.
“What happened here?” Marlon demanded.
“I don’t know!” Musa Mein frowned deeply, pointing at the crystal’s sturdy holder. “It just fell—suddenly, without warning. Almost as if… an invisible hand struck it down!”
Marlon’s eyes darted between the broken fragments and the intact holder. The conclusion leapt at him instantly: evidence destroyed.
Anger flared, but quickly cooled into grim relief. At least it was only evidence that had been destroyed… not lives.
After a long silence, he finally said, voice low, “Musa, see if you can repair it. If not… then let it go.”
And with that, he left to find Inspector Bernard.
The recent slave uprising had left Bernard overwhelmed. The slums had suffered heavily during that chaotic night, and now the Inspector was buried beneath endless reports, tallying losses and damages. He hardly had time to eat, much less rebuild his own villa—burned to ashes during the riots.
And in truth, that villa had burned in part because Marlon, the comet-like rising star, had been living there under Bernard’s roof.
So when Marlon arrived at the police station with the little fox-girl Amy in tow, his very first words were: “Uncle Bernard, I want to build a new big house beside the orphanage.”
“What do you mean?” Bernard’s bloodshot eyes widened suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to move out!”
“Of course not!” Marlon quickly waved his hands. “I mean—our old house on White Oak Street is gone. And with more and more people joining our family, even rebuilding it as a small villa won’t be enough. So I thought… why not build a bigger one, from the ground up, right next to the orphanage?”
Bernard snorted but his expression softened. At last, he clapped a big hand in final approval. “Very well. The house is your responsibility.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Bernard. I’ll see it done!” Marlon promised eagerly.
Just as he was about to leave, tugging Amy along, Bernard called him back. After making sure no one was listening, the Inspector leaned close and lowered his voice.
“Listen, boy. Do you know? That old goblin publisher, Gavi-Riley… he’s dead. Assassinated with Soul Rend—a forbidden spell! This time, not even resurrection magic can bring him back.”
Bernard’s eyes burned with warning. “So listen carefully. Spend your time studying those Van Helsing mind-scrolls, or keep writing your ridiculous novels if you must. But stay away from politics! These are dirty games you’re not ready to play.”