Edited by: bafflinghaze
In the late afternoon, the Eldest Young Master of the Odum Family was found in the main kitchen hall.
The staff stood on the side, watching in trepidation as the youth stood in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in his hand. He had his sleeves rolled up and a calm gaze as he tossed some yellow dandelions into a saucepan.
The sight was oddly… domestic.
A few of the younger maidservants couldn’t help but take a peek at the infamous Young Master Nazareth. He appeared oddly relaxed, despite the rumors saying otherwise.
In the far corner of the kitchen, the head chef could be seen standing with his back to the walls, his pallor a pasty white as he nervously rubbed his hands anxiously against each other.
The saucepan belonged to him.
Seeing it in the hands of their destructive Young Master, he was naturally apprehensive.
Would this be the day he would lose his beloved copper-enameled saucepan?
He only had this saucepan for a few decades—it was barely old enough to be considered a family heirloom after he won it from the hands of his arch-nemesis, the head chef of the Imperial Family.
It had helped him serve many fantastic meals over the years and he’d taken great care of it as if it were his own child.
Wuwuwuwu~ QAQ…
The Young Master brought the mixture to a boil and watched as it turned the color of amber. He tasted it, before adding more tree sap.
Once the syrup finally turned the consistency of honey, he carefully poured the contents of the saucepan into a clay pot.
“Young Master.”
A tall shadow suddenly loomed over him.
The youth turned and saw his personal servant standing only a few feet away, hands behind his back and a charming smile plastered to his face. His ‘gaze’ was turned in the direction of the clay pot.
The Young Master expressionlessly lifted the spoon he used to stir with and brought it close to Rainier’s face.
“Here. Try this.”
The servant obediently opened his mouth.
Something sweet fell on his tongue. It was sticky and syrupy in texture, but unusually fragrant.
The scent was strangely familiar…
Rainier’s brows furrowed. “This is…?”
“Dandelion syrup. Good?”
The servant’s smile remained. “It’s edible.”
—
They eventually left the kitchen.
Neo had wanted to help clean, seeing as he was the one who borrowed the kitchen utilities, but a maidservant snatched everything away and drove him out.
It took him a brief moment to remember his current status. The son of a duke should not be washing dishes in the kitchen, regardless if he were to make a mess.
His Pa would likely scoff at this archaic notion. Pa was the one in charge of the cooking. His Ma cleaned the dishes after every meal, and Neo helped when he could, especially when he visited them.
Gods, he missed them a great deal.
Every world and time period has its own rules and laws to live by. Here, he was served everywhere he went, either by Rainier or other servants. The son of a duke, bastard or not, did not have chores.
It wasn’t a bad way to live, per se.
He should be grateful the magic here allowed for functional toilets. It could have been worse. He could have traveled to another world with no running water or an irrigation system.
It was just…
Well, he was just feeling a little homesick.
Which was why he made dandelion syrup.
The season was right.
In his childhood memories with his Ma and Pa, dandelions were abundant in the garden. Every spring, the three of them would make dandelion syrup together. The jars would last them until late summer.
Neo held the clay pot to his chest as if it were more precious than gold.
He intended for the syrup to be used for tea. Aurelion seemed to like the spice-orchid extract he had leftover after he separated the spice from the flowers—he had only needed the flower petals.
Perhaps his brother might also enjoy something new.
As a matter of fact, the dandelion syrup also came from leftover parts he didn’t need. The roots and stems were what he wanted, so the yellow heads were made into something sweet for himself
The syrup was a combination of Everfree Birch sap and the dandelions he personally grew in his office. The taste was close to the ones he made every summer, but the sap gave it too strong of a fragrance.
Unfortunately, raw cane sugar was a rare import. All the sweets made in the ducal were usually from honey or sap. There were the occasional sugar beets if the season was right, but the processing from beet to sugar took longer time and effort, so sugar beets were saved for the winter.
It wasn’t like the modern world. Here, there were no supermarkets with an abundant amount of baking supplies.
Neo and Rainier arrived at Neo’s office.
Rainier waited by the door when they stepped inside.
The long table across the room, adjacent to the desk used solely for paperwork, was the workspace Neo set up for his personal research.
It was littered with papers and pens and the occasional jars of herbal ingredients and plants. Neo had a bucket at the foot of the table with dirty bowls and mortars soaking in soapy water.
He cleared a space for himself and brought out a balance scale.
Once the balance scale was placed down, he pulled out all the painstakingly prepared ingredients, one after another, from his shelves and meticulously measured them on the balance, writing down the weight of each ingredient and putting them in a silver bowl.
When he finished, he lit a heating talisman under the bowl and poured a cup of water into it.
The room soon filled with the distinctive smell of herbal medicine—bitter and strange.
—
Rainier had no idea what the Young Master was doing—and frankly, he didn’t want to know.
The last time he found himself standing in a room smelling like an apothecary, he was given a tattoo on his face for shits and giggles.
The servant couldn’t help the clammy feeling on his hands.
The foulness coming from the Young Master’s workspace was nauseatingly familiar. He wanted to throw up after getting a whiff of the musky scent.
He had lived in a perpetual state of blindness for years, relearning to adapt to the darkness. He did the impossible, pretending to be the Capable Servant everyone seemed to perceive him as.
Sheer strips of black cloth inhibiting his vision, heavy black cotton, and spider silk—he allowed himself to serve as a blind man despite not being blind at all.
It was easier, in the end, to think he was truly blind.
He wouldn’t be confused by the complexity of his situation.
A man with cornflower eyes, covered for his own master’s amusement.
The cuts, the burns—a boy chanting unknown curses into his ears as he was held down and branded by something he couldn’t see.
The Young Master was cruel to the only dog willing to serve him, and in turn, the dog bared his teeth at the Young Master in secret, praying for the day he would be completely freed from his chains.
“Rainier.”
The Young Master called him.
The servant approached with hesitant steps until he stood in front of the table. “Young Master?”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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Something was sizzling, burning.
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“Jjc sbe mbwf mibrfg?”
Ktlr kjr la.
History was once again repeating itself.
—
Rfb ilxfv ab atlcx Ejlclfg kjr j wlcv gfjvfg, rbwfalwfr.
The man always seemed so prim and proper, the model Capable Servant that would make any noble house green with envy.
But Rainier was not truly any of these things.
Like master, like servant. They both liked to pretend.
Nazareth was a boy too broken and insecure, seeking solace in the dark recesses of his mind as he allowed himself to be reborn into a vengeful wraith.
On the other hand, Rainier was a jaded man—fractured and damaged to the point he now wore a hypocritical mask of what every servant strived to be.
A good and capable servant.
But it was a lie. A lie beneath the blindfolds and disarming smiles.
There were no perfect servants in this world and there were no perfect masters.
They were mere people who had nosedived willingly into chains of their own making.
All it took was one bad day…
Thus, eye for an eye, and all that.
Neo dipped a wet brush into ink made with dandelion roots and crushed Bleeding Hearts petals.
With the ink-stained brush, he began painting an intricate symbol onto a patch of silk.
A familiar-looking emblem was drawn, little by little as the ink soaked into the fabric.
Foreign words fell from his tongue. He spoke in a low voice, almost whispering the incantation into life.
A scalding heat rose from the lines he drew, soldering like an iron cattle brand.
Black smoke poured out of the silk, its tendrils catching to his hands before disappearing into the air. They stained his fingertips and dyed them a shade of purple and black.
Neo poured the mixture he brewed into the silk and dipped his finger within the dancing wisp of his creation. He allowed the acidic smoke to eat at his skin, providing his own flesh as the first bargain.
No affliction could be seen on his face as he let the curse mark take from him.
The poison and magic mixed with the lifeline offered by the youth, his strand of existence tangling with the slave emblem.
Magic was alive, regardless of its intentions. The laws of this world allowed for it to exist within the sight of its inhabitants.
It’d been nearly four decades, but Neo instinctively knew what to do.
The lifestrand was the very essence of existence in this world.
He found it fairly easy to manipulate his after so long, dragging it from his core and placing it at the forefront, letting its warmth dance beneath his skin. He tore a small bit of the lifestrand off before channeling the piece into the palm of his hand.
It was a simple price to pay in the making of the Slave Emblem, whose very intentions are to create a permanent chain to hold one’s will captive.
Human trafficking had never been easier in Neo’s previous life, and he, who was the creator of the foul thing, was to be blamed for all those innocent souls who fell into a hellish existence.
Setting aside the piece of silk, the youth unbuttoned his shirt.
He grabbed two bottles from a drawer, one labeled Mulberry Stinger Serum and another labeled Snow Elderflower Nectar.
He took a dropper and added a few drops of the Mulberry serum to the silk and rubbed some Elderflower nectar into the skin below his left collarbone with a cotton pad.
A few seconds later, when everything was prepared, Neo took a deep breath.
Carefully, he pressed the silk against the skin below the collarbone, damp with nectar, and gritted his teeth.
The silk burned into his skin.
The Mulberry Stinger Serum and the Snow Elderflower Nectar collided upon making contact.
One was meant to cause immense pain and irritation to the point of suicide while another was intended to soothe all discomforts in the body. They, along with the other forty-eight different ingredients in the making of the Slave Emblem, were elements on two opposing sides.
None were designed for such an unnatural existence, to aid the Slave Emblem in bearing fruit, but Neo—Nazareth—had forced them into synchronization.
Poison and Antidote.
There was a fine line between the two. Too much of one could tip the balance for these two components.
Neo should know.
He had played both roles within two lifetimes—the poisoner and the herbalist.
The Slave Emblem was like this: it both gave pain and soothed. To know one was a victim of its curse, but be lulled into a sense of security once the orders given by the emblem’s caster took hold in their minds.
In another life, when Nazareth began designing his most complex creation, he wanted to add his personal touches to the Emblem.
It was to show how life, where the body was warm, could also mean living in misery, while death, though cold once the heart stopped pumping, was quite forgiving when the living fell into its embrace.
Contrast.
The simplest of truths in humanity’s efforts to understand the meaning of happiness and life—and misery and grief and pain and suffering…
He had, thus, reevaluated his feelings on those beliefs, though there were days when he would stare at his reflection and wonder if there was any meaning to all the lifetimes he’d experienced.
The side of himself who was too cowardly, too selfish, and unable to withstand the responsibilities on his shoulders had habitually emerged to fight for control of the body.
Unfortunately, it was something he had to live with if he wanted to do better.
“Rainier,” Neo called for the servant to come closer. “Can you give me your hand?”
Rainier did not give his hand but remained standing in front of him.
Neo sighed. “I just need to hold your hand,” he promised.
“What are you trying to do?” The other finally spoke, his voice lacking the nonexistent trust he pretended to have for him.
“… It will help you.”
The assurance did nothing to ease the other of his doubts, but Rainier didn’t fight him when he took his hand.
The space between them grew remarkably awkward, but neither cared to notice.
Rainier’s hands were surprisingly bigger than his own, was what Neo first noted upon contact.
They were dry and littered with little scars from knives, daggers, and burns. The skin was rough from years of working—callouses laid prominent on his fingertips and stretched to his palms. The back of his hand had veins, long and thin, forming intricate patterns underneath the skin. The fingers were slender and elegant, perfect for nimble movement. The bird-like bones of his knuckles were like smooth dark mountains, a cascade of fluid perfection. The nails, too, were trimmed and neat, without a speck of dirt despite the manual labor required of a servant.
Neo had to admit, Rainier had really nice hands.
“Young Master?”
“Hm?”
Neo suddenly realized he had been awkwardly playing with Rainier’s hand far longer than it was deemed appropriate. He smoothed his thumb over the back of the other’s hand one last time before glancing up.
“I was distracted,” he admitted with little shame.
A few seconds later, once Neo made sure the silk hadn’t moved from where he placed it under his collarbone, he laced his fingers with Rainier’s and held their palms together.
The gesture was almost intimate but Neo thought little of it as he began.
He willed the lifestrand within his core to the hand holding Rainier’s. He encouraged the thread to call for the other. It took several seconds before it answered.
This could be considered dabbling in the art of soul-bonding if it weren’t for the Slave Emblem.
The lifestrand was the source of magic in this world. It was warm and lovely, residing within each and every person.
All who lived here would know how the lifestrand worked. It was no secret, for not even Nobles could keep magic away from the common people. Magic was alive, and magic would not be restricted by the laws of humans.
Everyone knew how to channel their lifestrand, but it was only rarely that a person would have the patience to study what was considered “true magic”.
Talismaking, magic engineering, and alchemy—career options that would take too long and were too boring, testing the patience of many, were reasons why magicians and alchemists were so scarce.
—Another was the lack of talent. There was a reason why the Magic Tower, the Healing Institute, the Alchemy Tower, etc. gave so few invitations.
Neo felt Rainier go stiff.
“Young Master—”
Neo didn’t let go.
Something happened a moment later.
They could both feel it. The connection of their cores met for a second time.
Two lifestrands intertwined into a braid, like two dragons weaving together in a dance.
Like two hands clasped together in a way they shouldn’t.
The lines broke apart, but the one belonging to Rainier didn’t forget to leave a small piece of itself. The piece darted toward the direction opposing its core and Neo felt the foreign lifestrand slip its way into his body, through his arm, and into the area where the mark would form.
Once it situated itself within the magic of the Slave Emblem, the lifestrand twisted.
Neo made a face and Rainier did the same.
When the magic died down, the servant ripped his hand out of his grip and clutched it in confusion.
Neo ignored him momentarily as he suddenly found it hard to breathe.
A part of Rainier’s being settled within the mark now firmly branded into his chest.
Fuck.
This hurt worse than being stabbed.
His new mark was scorching.
Neo grunted.
He didn’t realize the Slave Emblem could be so painful.
“Hah…”
He tried to regain his breath. His chest hurt a lot.
He felt like a branded cattle.
Rainier stood there in shock.
Thankfully, Neo thought, since the other already had the brand, he shouldn’t feel a thing.
—
The Young Master sounded like he was going to keel over.
Rainier could hear his heavy breathing from their current close proximity.
“What did you do?” he whispered, once his body no longer felt strange from whatever the other did to him.
Rainier had felt no pain from holding the other’s hand. There was only a slight discomfort in his core, but nothing was out of the ordinary.
His question was answered by another grunt.
The Young Master was not fine at all.
Rainier abruptly found himself gripping the other’s shoulders. The urge to shake him back and forth until he was given an answer almost won over his reasoning.
“What did you do?!” he demanded, louder than before.
The Young Master suddenly hissed in pain.
Frightened by this response, Rainier immediately let go of the other and quickly guided him to a chair. He knelt down on one knee in front of his charge and tore off the fucking blindfold from his eyes so he could see the damage that’d been done.
Cornflower eyes flashed as they noticed the familiar black symbols beneath the youth’s collarbone.
Rainier unconsciously reached up and touched the same mark on his eyes.
His Young Master smiled ruefully. “There is a… finished design for the cure currently, but I will not use it on you until I am sure it will work. This is…” He glanced at the mark. “It’s for testing.”
Rainier’s mind went blank.
The Young Master branded himself… to find a cure?
But Rainier had the mark.
Why couldn’t he just use him—
Then, it occurred to Rainier.
His complexion turned ugly as a tight feeling emerged. He ruthlessly pushed it down, in fear of what other emotions might come after.
He couldn’t hope… not anymore.
Not after everything.
The Emblem…
When Rainier was first given the emblem—the blindfold and the chanting and the carving against his skin—he hadn’t known what the mark would do to him.
It was clearly made from the union of magic and alchemy.
The Young Master never activated it after branding him, but he assumed it was for something important.
For years, Rainier had his suspicions, but each theory would leave him cold with dread.
Surely—he once thought, late into the night as he stared listlessly at his ceiling in the Servant Academy dormitory—the Young Master would not be so cruel.
“Young Master…”
“Sorry.” The Young Master tried to get a better look at the emblem on his skin. “I should have warned you. The mark… the Slave Emblem was originally meant to control you. Now you also control it. Like a shared guugle document.”
What did that even mean?!
Confusion swirled in Rainier’s head, making his mind go dizzy. He didn’t know what any of it meant and how he should feel by the blatant revelation.
The bond was set and Rainier was given no warning to prepare himself.
Was that what the emblem was for? To enslave its victims to the bidding of a master?
The admittance did nothing to diminish the bitterness in his chest.
Rather, he felt more perplexed by the current circumstances before panic set in.
What was he supposed to tell the Duke?! Or Master Aurelion?!
A good Capable Servant would report this incident as soon as he could, but…
It would be his job (and perhaps even his life) on the line if he said anything.
Rarely did Rainier find himself stuck between a rock and a hard place, yet once again, life-changing situations always happened when he was with his Young Master.
He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.
What did he do to deserve this?!
The two of them faced one another, but neither could express what they were thinking.
“I…” The Young Master paused. He pursed his lips and Rainier could see the way he was trying to arrange the words in his head.
He awaited whatever excuse the other intended to conjure up, but none came.
“I need a knife to finish the rest.”
Rainier wordlessly drew out his dagger, feeling oddly disappointed by the blatant deflection.
All servants in the manor were armed to the teeth, although very discreetly.
Any responsible man might hesitate to give a knife to a boy who just gave himself a curse mark, but Rainier wasn’t as responsible as he liked to portray himself to be.
He gave his dagger to the Young Master without a word.
The youth took the dagger and began to carve some thin, bloody lines across the marks beneath his collarbone. Red soon mixed with the black symbols. Rainier watched in revulsion as black foggy coils rose from the symbols and devoured the offered “treat”.
They left behind open wounds still dripping since the boy cut too deep.
He returned Rainier’s dagger, and stiltedly said, “Thank you.”
Rainier didn’t respond. He pulled out a first aid kit from under the table and began dressing the wound.
The youth made no move to stop him, so the servant mercilessly poured the antiseptic into the cuts.
The silence between them drew to a close when the atmosphere turned awkward.
“I created the Slave Emblem a few years ago and you were its first victim. Then I sold it. I don’t know who holds ownership of its manufacturing, but there is currently no way to remove it.”
Rainier didn’t say a word, allowing his Young Master to elaborate further—or not.
This was a very unprecedented situation they found themselves in. The servant had no experience dealing with the other’s self-mutilation. Sometimes, it was better to not say a word.
“In a few weeks, I will be testing a cure for the emblem.”
Rainier pulled out a healing ointment from the first aid kit.
Seeing his lack of response, the other grabbed his hand, the one holding the ointment, and lowered it.
Their gazes met, vermillion red against cornflower blue.
The air grew suffocating between them.
Rainier stopped pretending. He was just as expressionless as the other, too tired to stretch his lips into the well-trained smile everyone in the Odum House was familiar with.
He had broken several protocols already. What was one more? Most servants would have been punished for less, but his Young Master was different from most.
For one, he was never quite right in the head.
He punished him when he was bored, but when busy, he could care less even if Rainier sat down and drank from his cup.
It was both a blessing and a curse when the person he served was a Scummy Troublemaking maniac.
That was why Rainier found himself out of his depth.
There was something wrong with Young Master Nazareth.
He had known this for weeks.
When had the changes begun? Was it the day he woke up and asked to see his eyes?
Why so suddenly?
“Rainier…”
The plea pulled him from his thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?”
He scanned the pale face, which seemed even paler in the dimly lit office. Through the open window, the sun was slowly making its descent down the horizon, casting long shadows in the room.
Rainier ignored the question, not because he had no words to say but because he was spiteful.
How could you do this?
How could you do this again?!
Just what the hell are you doing?!
They now wore identical marks on their skin, with identical scars carved into them, and held the leashes to each other’s chains and had to trust one another to not abuse the power they were now bound to.
What a shitty day…
You can’t just hurt yourself to make up for what happened, he wanted to say.
It didn’t ease the pain…
It just added more to the frustration and catastrophe that was considered their life!
But the Young Master was damaged, just like himself.
They didn’t know how to function without making themselves crazy in the face of society’s expectations.
So they pretended.
They pretended like everything was okay—that it was perfectly normal to have a crazy bastard son of a duke within Noble Society and a blindfolded Capable Servant to serve him.
People would look at the servant in pity while avoiding the master’s gaze.
But Nazareth was clearly done with pretenses. Had been for a long time.
Unfortunately, Rainier wasn’t ready to stop pretending.
He glanced at his Young Master, whose glassy eyes were staring into nothing.
Between the two of them, it was almost like he was the one blind to the world around him.
The Young Master was changing. Rainier could feel it in his bones. Whether he liked the change or not wouldn’t affect the outcome.
At the end of the day, he was a mere servant to the master whom he betrayed.
When the wounds were finally dressed, he helped his Young Master button up his shirt.
A few minutes later, a maidservant came by to call them down for dinner.
—
Step 17. Give you and your servant a matching tattoo.
The author has something to say:
These two… they are very awkward individuals when they’re not pretending.
Neo: 👁️👁️
Rainier: 👁️👁️
Maidservant who just wanted to call them for dinner: ???
Can I pls just assume Rainer is our ML?!!! Fck I love this pairing!
ikrrrrrrrrrrrr I’m shipping them so much too!!! Don’t wanna fall too deep in it if its not real though
Yo. This is very different from the original. I like it! More development on their master servant relationship.
I want moarrrrr!!!!! I love this!!!!!!
Please update faster author-sama….
I want moar..
I kinda have the feeling that Neo would also give himself the same emblem.
And this is way different than the first version and I’m loving it ♡(>ω<)ω<♡
Thanks for the chapter!
And oh boy they really are super awkward.
thanks for the chapter! ♡
Thanks for the chapter! Painful! I hate pain!
wow, i mean- THX 4 THE CHAPTER
Oh wow, Neo…. was that smart???
I was just thinking about this story the other day. I’m happy I got to read an update 🙂
Just caught up, and AAHHH!!! It’s too good! So much spicy drama and contrasting characters. And I love how Neo is still partially that same insane villain deep within, while at the same time only in protection of those around him now. Agh, all of it, I just love it. All his relationships growing and developing into close bonds, I especially love the brothers’.
Well that was a bit awkward 😅
Thank you for the chapter ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I love it 😍
“They wear identical marks on their skin, with identical scars carved into them.
They are slaves to one another, yet free from the purpose of the enchantment.
‘They hold the leashes to each other’s chains and must trust one another to not abuse the power they’re now bound to.”
SCREAMS AAAHH I’m honestly loving the development between these two, im really invested in how it will further grow TvT Thank you so much for the chapter!!
pls make rainier the ml aaaaa
Besties have matching tattoos how sweet (￣▽￣)
Thank you for the chapter!!!
Currently screaming in my room(≧▽≦)(≧▽≦)(≧▽≦)
Thank you for the chapter!!
I have been waiting for this update! Thank you!! I love their progress
I rly rly like this work of yours! The sophisticate writings and intricate design of characters. Gosh, it’s lovely and bittersweet, but also astringent and gritty. The contradicting revelations and awkward distances. Then cheering for things to end up well for Neo, and his redemption sprouts to blossom… Ty for the chapter!
Thank you for the chapter, I can’t wait for the next one.
thanks for the chapter <3
omghad what if Tybalt is the ML?? WTFFFFFFF
This chapter was…. tense, exciting, mesmerizing….. anyway, I’m speechless for such a realistic and sincere writing. DEFINITELY the chapter that touched me the most so far. I’m in shock.
… I wonder if tattoo parlours are a thing thsre. From what we know, Neo was quite a tattoo and piercings guy back on Earth. Gosh, I kinda wanna see him with full sleeves. An aristocrat with tattoos. People wild do double takes whenever they see h walking down the streets in short sleeves 😂
P.S I binged. It’s so late now and I have work tomorrow but no regrets!
Somehow it would be fitting if the ending of this story would be Neo sacrificing his life and the people, especially his family, would finally see just how broken of a soul he is. And when they thought he’s dead, in turns out he’s alive but he just forgets everything. Like the only thing he remembers would be memories from his mother and his other life. Idk I guess I just want them to feel the pain Neo felt all his life even if he already experienced a happy life in the other world.
Same.. I feel like no one truly understands how broken he is.
I hope kinda hope Rainier is the ml..
*kinda hope
Please, not my pan…the saucepan of success…nooooooo…be gentle! Sob…