Chapter 527: Chapter 40: The Master and the Pet
"Bologue! Why!"
Around noon, a shrill scream pierced through the door from the living room. Bologue leisurely glanced at the door, counting down mentally.
"One, two, three..."
On "three," the door was forcefully pushed open. Palmer, in his pajamas, looked at Bologue with a twisted expression.
Palmer loudly questioned, "Why didn’t you wake me up?"
"I did wake you, but you said you wanted to sleep a bit longer," Bologue retorted bluntly, "An excellent field staff should strictly adhere to time."
Palmer opened his mouth slightly, pointing at Bologue. He wanted to say more to criticize Bologue, but this was indeed his fault, and Bologue was someone he couldn’t out-argue or outfight.
A fit of frustration surged within his chest. Coupled with the fatigue and alcohol aftermath of playing board games with Serey until dawn, Palmer felt dizzy and nearly collapsed.
"Palmer, you need to improve your lifestyle schedule; otherwise, I might have the privilege of witnessing the first sudden death of a Condenser."
This period of shared living made Bologue acutely aware of how terrible Palmer’s personal life was. Despite his glamorous exterior, he was rotten inside. Every time Bologue pushed open Palmer’s door, he could always smell a scent reminiscent of the Great Rift.
A mix of all sorts of messy stuff fermented in the dark, gloomy environment...
Luckily, Palmer had a strong sense of territory and wreaked havoc only in his bedroom. The living room was still unscathed, but... it was just a matter of time.
Palmer’s books, records, and videotapes filled the shelves, with some even piled on the floor. Bologue felt like a babysitter.
"If you can finish tidying up within half an hour, we can still make it."
Bologue raised his hand, revealing his watch, gesturing to Palmer.
Palmer took several deep breaths, refrained from saying anything extra, turned around, and started busying himself. The living room was filled with noise, with no idea what Palmer was doing.
Bologue leisurely sat in a chair, leafing through a novel. Bologue was almost done with "Night Hunter," but "Night Hunter" was a series with many sequels.
Thinking about this, Bologue hesitated for a moment but then opened his laptop, packed a few "Night Hunter" books into the bag, and placed the bag on the suitcase by the bed.
After going through so many events, Bologue finally took a break and planned to travel, returning home with Palmer.
Bologue believed work required seriousness, and travel required complete relaxation. Thinking about the distance between Wind Source Highlands and Oubos, Bologue felt he had enough free time to read and pass the time.
About half an hour later, Bologue picked up the bag and, dragging the suitcase, walked out of the bedroom. Outside, Palmer was ready, although half an hour was a bit too short for him. He looked exhausted.
"So formal?"
Bologue scrutinized Palmer. It had only been half an hour, yet Palmer seemed like a different person.
Palmer had meticulously cleaned himself, groomed his hair, and put on an outfit Bologue had never seen him wear.
Bologue, a supporter of pragmatism, knew little about extravagant fashion, but even so, he could instinctively sense the expense of Palmer’s new clothes.
A black sleeveless coat with dark gold patterns outlining the collar, a tailcoat at the back, then a dark green cape... This didn’t look like modern attire but rather clothing from a hundred years ago that should appear in an oil painting.
"Is this the ’traditional attire’ of your Extraordinary Clans and Secret Societies?"
Bologue took a few seconds to recall related knowledge. When receiving the uniform from Geoffrey, Geoffrey mentioned these to him.
"Pretty much, just some old families still have these traditions, like the Clarks," Palmer, feeling awkward, hadn’t worn this for a long time, "This is the outfit I wore when I first joined the Order Bureau."
Palmer spread his arms, stretching a bit, "How do I look?"
"Not bad, at least now you look like an heir rather than a hangover-stricken drunk."
After changing into this vintage outfit, Palmer surprisingly appeared much more formal, possessing a touch of noble aura—a mere flash in the pan.
Palmer was no longer that noble heir. In the brief time at the Order Bureau, he had utterly succumbed to being a drunk, playing board games with mirth.
Bologue, pulling the suitcase to the door, asked, "Are you nervous?"
"Of course, this is my first time returning home since starting work," Palmer said, "Or maybe I just haven’t sobered up yet."
Thinking of this, Palmer rummaged through his suitcase, took out a potion, and directly injected it into his neck.
"Is that... a Concentration Potion?"
Bologue’s expression turned complex. This potion was distributed by the Order Bureau to debtors, used to remain alert during episodes of Bulimia Nervosa.
Apparently, Palmer used it to sober up.
"You can’t blame me entirely. Last night, it was Wei’Er who insisted we play a few more rounds."
Palmer’s expression twitched, his eyes rolled back as he pulled out the needle, shivering, and instantly becoming much more alert.
"How do I look now?"
"You look like you’re going to drop dead any second..."
Going downstairs, getting in the car, driving onto the crowded streets.
"Ah, going home this time... I wonder what the old folks back home will say about me," Palmer grumbled, holding the steering wheel.
Palmer’s life in Oubos initially wasn’t as downbeat as it is now. As the heir to the Clarks, the first to embark on the Perfect Path: Wind Fury Way, and the Order Bureau’s Employee of the Year, Palmer was once very glamorous.
According to Palmer’s own expectations, with his background and work capabilities, his career path should have been bright, with promotions and raises just around the corner. However, fate dealt him a severe blow, turning Palmer into a debtor, after which his life took a sharp downward turn.
The experiences between life and death drastically changed Palmer’s disposition, from loving work to his current lazy and laid-back attitude, only thinking about enjoying life’s pleasures and retiring as soon as possible.
The Clarks cut off Palmer’s living expenses, but Palmer didn’t care. He relied on his meager salary, living a minimal life.
Bologue glanced at Palmer, who was driving, feeling he might have worsened Palmer’s decline. With him, an immortal partner, he relieved a lot of work pressure for Palmer, which led to co-housing and free drinks at the Undying Club.
After living together, Bologue found out Palmer spent a big chunk of his salary on alcohol. Ever since they started freeloading at the Undying Club, that money got saved and turned into a pile of videotapes, records, and books filling the living room...
Bologue muttered, "Oh well, as long as he’s happy."
This is Bologue’s current attitude towards Palmer, that one should not die and be happy.
This idea roots back to before the time-axis disorder incident, back then in the Undying Club, Bologue saw Serey’s thick photo album and his countless wives.
Spurred by curiosity, Bologue asked Serey, "With your wives... what kind of mindset do you approach those relationships with?"
"No matter how beautiful they are, they will age eventually, and no matter how profound your love, it will ultimately perish with death."
Serey was facing a party that would inevitably end while he would remain, welcoming the beginning of the next act alone.
Serey replied sincerely, without any pretense, candidly saying, "We’re merely nominally married."
"And in reality?"
"In reality, it’s more like master and pet."
"Is that... some kind of fetish of yours?"
Serey frowned, "Hold on, I’m being serious here, alright."
He continued to explain, "Just like humans who keep pets, we indeed love our pets, willing to invest enough time and affection, and tolerate some of their foolishness.
Humans live far longer than cats and dogs, confident in caring for them their whole lives without needing them to grow up or learn to hunt and survive because we are here. In our eyes, they can forever remain as cubs, even if to them, they are already old and grey."
Bologue asked, "Do you feel your wives are like these ’pets’ to you?"
"More or less, I am an Undead, once a Night Race Lord, holding endless wealth. I do love them, caring for them all their lives until death parts us."
Serey hesitated for a moment, then smiled and added, "But sometimes, I feel that this love isn’t that ’true love’, but more like the love between a master and a pet, an unequal, self-satisfying kind of love.
I give them what they want, and they accompany me through the long years."
"And then there’s what I told you before, I’ve grown tired of these separations, coming here to find my kind," Serey thought it over, as if defending himself, "As for the sincerity of love... I think people don’t need to live so lucidly."
Bologue wasn’t like Serey. Bologue believed his relationships with everyone were equal; he did not look down on others high and mighty, and he also chose to maintain enough patience and tolerance.
Serey felt it was merely mutual benefit, a fair and straightforward transaction. Bologue believed he was more of a guardian, hoping his friends could live a good life under his watchful eyes.
"Just like watching over a terminally ill patient..."
Bologue suddenly burst into laughter.
Palmer was very annoyed by Bologue’s hysterical laughter, "What’s so funny?"
"I just think of how you’ll be dead in a hundred or two hundred years, and then all those stupid things you’ve done seem tolerable," Bologue’s eyes reflected pity, his tone deliberately somber, "You’re going to die, Palmer, that’s so pitiful, do more happy things before you die."
"You’re insane!"
Palmer slapped the steering wheel hard, the ear-piercing sound of the horn blaring continuously.