Endless Debt

After taking a few glances at Bologue, everyone shifted their gaze away, as Bologue wasn’t quite normal either.

"Emotions, it feels like from the start there’s no normal development. No matter who it is, they all have to endure storms," Palmer analyzed.

Just as the group was engrossed in endless discussions, passionately debating about those love-hate feelings, a low, dull sound of footsteps came from the stairwell.

Everyone turned their gaze towards the staircase, only to see a drunken, extremely disheveled figure crawling out.

His golden long hair fell messily, drenched with alcohol, sticking to his wet body. His eyes bloodshot, as though sleepless for several nights.

Now Serey appeared too downcast; although he was somewhat mentally unstable, even when pole dancing, he maintained a sense of dignity.

But now he resembled a genuine vagabond, wearing nothing but underpants.

With a glance at everyone, Serey turned around and slipped behind the bar, opened a bottle cap, and started gulping down directly.

The alcohol poured continuously down his throat, accumulating in his stomach, and with a violent churn, he spewed it all out in one go.

Listening to that vivid sound of vomit, everyone couldn’t help but frown.

"What’s wrong with him?"

Bologue sensed something amiss about Serey’s state and whispered to Wei’Er.

"He’s been like this for a while, probably haunted by guilty dreams, unable to eat or sleep, using alcohol to numb himself."

Regarding Serey’s past, Wei’Er evidently knew a lot.

"Guilty conscience? What could he possibly be guilty of? Does he really care about guilt?" Palmer whispered.

In everyone’s eyes, Serey was always the carefree one, with seemingly no worries in his life, just one party after another waiting for him to attend.

Serey climbed out of the vomit, opened another bottle, and continued to chug as if drowning himself or washing his face with the alcohol. Tossing the bottle aside, he collapsed semi-conscious onto the bar, barely lifting his head.

"What were you just talking about?"

Palmer thought to himself, "Oh no, he heard."

"What about marriage?"

Serey’s next words dispelled Palmer’s worries.

"Is someone getting married?"

Serey stood up straight, leaned against the wall, his gaze sweeping over each face, skipping past Bologue, for Serey didn’t think Bologue could ever have anything like marriage, let alone he being an undead like himself.

"Hmm... that’s not a good thing."

Mumbling to himself, Serey stepped out from behind the bar, "You’ll no longer be free, your fate will be bound to another, sharing everything. Even if the other perishes, the shackles won’t fade until it accompanies you to death."

"It sounds like you think marriage is some kind of curse," Bologue said.

"Precisely, it’s a kind of blessing."

Serey flashed a playful smile at Bologue, "Whatever you gain, you lose equally."

"Then you must have gained a lot, and lost a lot too," Bologue added, "after all, you’ve had so many wives."

Serey replied, "Not too bad."

"Indeed," nodded Bologue affirmatively, "after all, they were just nominal marriages; you didn’t love them."

Since Olivia’s incident, the relationship between Bologue and Serey had become strained. Bologue hoped this Night Race Lord would stand up to make amends for the mistakes made years ago, to take responsibility, but Serey only wished to rot away in the Undying Club, uninterested in anything.

"You can’t say so absolutely, Bologue," Serey wasn’t angry, instead explaining, "there was one whom I was truly sincere with."

"And then?"

"Then she betrayed me, chose to walk into the sunlight, turned into a pile of ashes, leaving me to enjoy eternal solitude alone."

Rarely did Serey reveal his emotions, perhaps the alcohol truly numbed his senses, or maybe his sanity was genuinely precarious.

Bologue coldly appraised, "Quite the revenge, for you."

Serey still wasn’t angry, nodding with a laugh, answering himself, "Indeed, after doing so many vile things, expecting good karma would be foolish."

"Which one!"

Serey suddenly exclaimed loudly.

After a moment of hesitation, Church slowly raised his hand, pulling Palmer up with him.

Serey raised a glass towards the two, "Congratulations to you both!"

"Did he misunderstand?"

"I guess not."

Church and Palmer whispered to each other, while Bologue moved towards the bar, sitting beside the inebriated Serey.

"What’s up? Bologue, here to mock me again? You know it’s useless," Serey lay on the bar, speaking without lifting his head.

"I naturally know; words are useless to someone like you who lacks a sense of shame," Bologue sat upright, a stark contrast to the slumped Serey, "I just wanted to tell you, I’m preparing to advance as a Defender."

"Oh? Not bad."

"Then I’ll enter the battlefield, to deal with the Night Race matters, dragging them out of the shadows, expose them to the sun, and burn them all to ashes." Bologue said expressionlessly.

"Mhm mhm, preferably execute them at noon, the noonday sun is the hottest. Some low-blood Night Races will be reduced to ashes in seconds." On the matter of executing the Night Race, Serey was an expert.