Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Perfect Disguise

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In war, death lies just a breath away.
I recall nothing of the battle’s course, nothing of how the situation worsened or improved, nothing of how the fish tore into the prisoners, nor how the prisoners drove them away.
The fight lasted an eternity, and the prisoner—who called himself Abel—appeared not far off. He was gravely wounded, his armor shattered, blood soaking the sea, yet he did not suffocate. Had he learned to live without breathing? Or perhaps his blood purified the water?
The seabed, battered by their conflict, was left in ruins.
I thought he would kill me, and I had no strength to resist, but Abel said, “You are worth saving.” He took my hand and swam toward the distant surface.
Thus, I survived.
I awoke on the shore, and the first thing I saw was Lamia and the others, scattered across the sand. The coast was empty, no sign of demons, the night still deep, a dim, ambiguous moon hanging in the sky.
I drew a breath, the sea wind laced with the scent of blood. My left hand and eye had been restored—once more, the fish had bestowed their favor upon me, though I still could not fathom their desires. Did they follow me, dispensing destruction at whim? Or merely protect me out of some inscrutable instinct?
I checked on Lamia—she was only asleep. They were all alive, even Salvador and Betty.
Suddenly, dizziness overtook me and I collapsed.
I had done it, though I didn’t know how—somehow, I had done it!
I had saved them all, about to become the celebrated hero of Black Coffin! Wealth and power would soon pour over me, overwhelming me!
The waves crashed loudly, urging sleep. The Duchess was the first to regain her senses; her body jolted, she stood abruptly, seeing only the endless sea chasing itself, breaking against the rocks. Then she turned to me.
I, Longinus, nicknamed Fishbone, had vanquished her invincible foe. I stood smiling, eyes deep, silent, back turned to her, hands clasped behind me, gazing at the tides, the everlasting rise and fall of foam. This moment deserved a poem to glorify my heroism, but alas, I lack the skill.
Everything was said without words.
Vasilisa asked warily, “What happened? Where is Abel?”
Ah, she’s so muddled. Faced with this scene, can she not guess? Must I declare my glorious deeds aloud? If so, I would seem less mysterious, less reserved, less extraordinary, less indifferent to fame.
I said, “He... has gone.”
Vasilisa asked, “He spared us?”
I was anxious but still refused to speak plainly. I said, “He was forced.”
Vasilisa said, “So, he was seriously wounded in the explosion, or perhaps crippled by the nuclear blast?”
She could not see my face, unaware I was impatiently waiting for her to reach the conclusion I desired. I said, “No, in fact, he caught up with us, intending to kill us all, leaving none alive.”
Vasilisa said, “And then? Can’t you finish your story in one breath?”
I had no choice, unable to bear it, and declared loudly, “It was me! I stepped forward, drove Abel away, sent him fleeing. And it was I, through miraculous means, who brought you all here!”
Vasilisa was silent for a moment, then said, “This is not the time for jokes.”
I shouted angrily, “What joke? I only ever crack skulls—not jokes!”

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Vasilisa said, “If it’s true, tell me the details.”
Unknowingly, I was drenched in sweat. The shore was unbearably hot, so hot I wished to leap into the sea.
The world is doomed, and will continue to be doomed, because they do not believe the wise, nor the truth; they endlessly trouble the great with awkward questions, and if they don’t get answers they understand, they twist facts and ignore reality.
I tried to smooth over my story, though it was hardly a lie. I said, “He shattered our elevator car. I seized the moment as the sea rushed in and pierced his heart again with the fishbone. That left him gravely wounded, forcing him to retreat.”
Vasilisa said, “Your speed is like a snail to him—how could you even hit him?”
I cleared my throat and said, “I’ve stabbed him before; this was the second time.”
Vasilisa asked, “Why didn’t the seawater cause us to suffocate?”
I said, “The elevator... suddenly resumed working, shot upward quickly, we... survived death’s door, and I carried each of you ashore. That’s the truth.”
Vasilisa said, “I think you’re lying.”
The unacknowledged merit of heroes is the tragedy of our age. I was the first to awaken, bearing the marks of bloody battle—wasn’t this proof enough? Why so many questions?
Vasilisa pondered for another half-minute, then said, “Let’s leave it at that.” She walked toward me, extending a delicate hand, a warm smile on her face. Hope rekindled in my heart: “At least she’s rational, able to discern right from wrong.”
I said, “You needn’t thank me excessively. It was my duty. When you return to the Sword and Shield Guild, just send me a letter of thanks—preferably no less than three thousand words—and a few small tokens of gratitude, like diamond jewelry or an Ivan’s Mirror, to prove our friendship. That would satisfy me.”
Vasilisa bit into my wrist vein and began to drink my blood.
My mind went blank, as if I’d blacked out from drink—pleasant, yet bewildering. She drank for about two minutes, wiped her mouth as if clearing wine stains.
She said, “Thank you for the hospitality.”
I felt half-paralyzed and cried out, “You... ungrateful little demon, you... you’ll pay for this.”
Vasilisa stripped off my outer coat and put it on herself. I was much taller than her, and the coat covered her upper body and thighs. She hoisted Milsay, somehow summoned Ivan’s Mirror, and used it to transport us back to the small house.
Vasilisa said, “Mr. Longinus, the Sword and Shield Guild will remember your deeds. You clearly fought for me, and regardless of the process, you defeated the foe that once terrified me. Whether his situation was dire or wounds severe, it was your courage and wisdom that ensured Milsay and I survived. You protected me, and for that, I am deeply grateful.”
I told her she should say this to the Governor of Black Coffin.
Vasilisa dripped a few drops of blood into my mouth, melting sweetly on my tongue. She said, “This is my gift to you—it will lengthen your life. Farewell, and please convey my sincere thanks to Commander Lamia. Soon, the Sword and Shield Guild will send an ambassador to Black Coffin to affirm our alliance.”
The news was excellent; once the alliance formed, my future in the skyscraper would be bright and smooth.
A numbness spread across my wrist, making me realize she could drain all my blood in a moment. Watching her carry Milsay, with blood slowly trickling down, I said, “Duchess, won’t you be tempted to drink Milsay’s blood?”
Vasilisa turned and said, “I can’t promise that. These honorable warriors have all vowed to live and die for me.”
I said, “You’d better assure me you won’t.”
Vasilisa’s gaze turned piercing, like the legendary Arctic wind. I endured her stare, feeling calm. After facing that prisoner, Vasilisa no longer seemed so terrifying.
She sighed and said, “Now, I almost believe you held Abel back. Very well, I promise.”

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She darted into the air and vanished into the thick forest.
I felt weak, but it was unsafe to linger here—demons appear and vanish unpredictably; who knows if they might suddenly show up.
As I picked up Lamia, I recalled that before she fainted, she seemed to say something to me. Did she confess her feelings? People often utter wild words on the brink of death, unaware of themselves; perhaps she knew escape was impossible and spoke her heart.
But at the very least, she expressed her love to me—she belonged to me now.
I am a cold and calculating man; love means little to me. I have long seen through this human weakness, believing that whoever conquers the illusion of love becomes the most formidable, unstoppable force.
Yes, I believe I have reached such a state.
Lamia’s tearful confession in desperate straits seemed insignificant and laughable to me. In this era of cruel sorrow, whoever can control their emotions and use others’ feelings will rise above, will surpass everyone. She has fallen for me, and so she is already defeated; no matter how skilled she is, she cannot escape my grasp, and will willingly become my stepping stone...
But why does she still not awaken? Is her injury too severe? Does she have any healing serum left?
I felt for her breath—nothing. Then felt for her pulse—no change.
Suddenly, I realized tears were slipping from my lips, my heart being shredded by piranhas, leaving only bare bones in an instant. I called her name in a trembling voice, pressed on her heart, kissed her cold forehead, prayed she would not leave me so.
When I found all efforts futile, I held her and wept in agony, repenting my impotence, that I had doomed those closest and dearest to me to a realm apart.
I thought of Dalia, thought of death.
The person in my arms suddenly laughed. My heart leapt; I saw her lift her face, beaming. I felt caught in a whirlpool of dreams and nightmares, half frozen with terror, half burning with fever.
Lamia burst out laughing and said, “Did you really think I was dead?”
I seemed unable to think and asked, “You... you were pretending?”
Lamia said, “So, do you think I’m alive or dead now?”
I could only answer, alive. Lamia laughed, “Exactly.”
I reached a hand to her nose; she snorted, blowing warm air. I felt her wrist—her pulse raced, her heart beating like an engine. Her cheeks were as red as dawn.
I could only say, “Just now, it clearly...”
Lamia said, “Forgot to tell you, my heart’s been modified—I can make it beat so faintly it fools slow-witted fools.”
I was deeply ashamed, mortified by the words I had spoken. I thought I had tricked her into love, yet she had lured me into confessing those unspeakable things.
Be careful, Fishbone—in this era of sorrow, the more you give, the worse your situation.
Lamia asked, “So, were those words you said sincere?”
Determined to regain my dignity, I replied, “Dear Commander, naturally they were false. I am far too clever and have seen through it all.”