The God of Death’s New Toy and a Killer’s Shadow

From the gravest international affairs to the latest tabloid gossip, Yodel devoured every piece of news he could find.

His sole objective in doing so was to gain the most comprehensive understanding possible of this异世界 (TL Note: A common term in Chinese web novels, referring to a different world or dimension).

The newspapers revealed that the nation he currently inhabited was known as the Three Isles Kingdom, an island realm entirely surrounded by the sea.

Across the vast expanse of water lay the Carolingian Republic, while further to the east of the Republic stretched the formidable Gryphon Empire, beyond which, in the far reaches of the east, was situated the Tsar Empire.

Moreover, in this world, the indigenous inhabitants of the New Continent were the elven race, who, centuries prior, had successfully repelled human colonizers and subsequently established the North Elven Council Nation.

“Magic-tech, the Orthodox Church, elven anti-colonial movements, orc strike protests… what a truly fascinating world,”

As Yodel immersed himself in his reading, utterly captivated, a peculiar object suddenly drifted into his line of sight.

It was a pristine white butterfly, alighting softly upon Yodel’s shoulder.

“You appear to be in good spirits,” an ethereal voice whispered in his ear, seeming to emanate directly from the delicate butterfly perched on his shoulder.

“You actually transformed into a butterfly! I genuinely thought you were jesting,”

Yodel gazed at the butterfly, utterly entranced, noticing that it wasn’t pure white at all; its wings were adorned with strange, exquisite silver patterns.

“Naturally. This God of Death always delivers on her promises. Tell me, has there been any progress on the task I assigned you?”

“Not yet, though I have begun to formulate some ideas. I intend to commence action once I’ve accumulated sufficient information. Is this the sole reason you sought me out, Boss?”

“Hmm, I merely dropped by to see how you were doing. Have I inconvenienced you?”

“Not at all! It is my distinct honor that you, Boss, show such concern for your subordinates,”

“Excellent. I’ve fashioned a new toy; I shall give it to you to play with,” the God of Death’s voice resonated with evident delight.

“A toy?”

Yodel remained bewildered, but in the blink of an eye, he found himself once more transported into the God of Death’s majestic hall.

The God of Death descended from her throne, her steps bringing her directly before Yodel.

She tilted her head back, her gaze fixed upon Yodel.

“You are too tall. Lower yourself a little,”

Obeying her command, Yodel bent his knees, sinking into a half-kneeling posture.

With one hand, the God of Death cradled Yodel’s cheek, while the other supported the back of his head, gently drawing his face nearer to hers.

Simultaneously, she leaned in, pressing herself closer to Yodel.

Yodel watched, wide-eyed and utterly flustered, as the God of Death’s dewy, crimson lips drew ever closer to his own.

‘Hey, hey, hey, why are you getting so close?’

‘And God of Death, why are you closing your eyes?’

‘Is this the unspoken rule of the workplace? My boss actually wants to take advantage of me.’

‘Alas, there’s no helping it. I suppose I’ll have to accept this humiliation, seeing as she’s my boss.’

Yodel closed his eyes, as if surrendering to an inevitable fate.

However, the scene he had anticipated with a mix of dread and morbid curiosity did not materialize.

Instead, the God of Death simply pressed her forehead against his own.

In that instant, Yodel felt his very soul intertwine with a vast, unknown entity. A mysterious, surging power coursed into his being, etching something indelible onto the fabric of his soul.

He could not ascertain how much time had passed before Yodel finally reoriented himself from the profound impact.

He saw that the God of Death had already opened her eyes, scrutinizing him at an intimate distance, her lips, rosy as flower petals, mere inches away, a faint, enigmatic smile playing upon her face.

A moment later, as if she had sated her curiosity, the God of Death straightened, returning to her throne and leaving a flustered Yodel, his face burning with heat, utterly bewildered.

“Your new toy has been activated. From this moment forth, you will be able to perceive three distinct numbers floating above the heads of others. These numbers represent, respectively, their kill count, their death count, and their assist count.

The kill count encompasses all higher beings; slaying elves, orcs, or even dragons will register as a kill.”

Yodel’s expression turned peculiar. “Kills, Deaths, Assists?”

“Hmph, you know, that’s quite an incisive summary,” the God of Death remarked, her gaze tinged with surprise. “Go on, try it out.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a try,” Yodel assented with a nod, then activated the ability of this “new toy.”

1054958751…../0/0

Yodel stared blankly at the staggering sequence of numbers hovering above the God of Death’s head, utterly engulfed in profound shock.

The God of Death, mimicking Yodel’s action, glanced upwards at her own head, then offered him a benign, amiable smile.

Instantly abandoning any attempt to count the bewildering number of digits, Yodel shifted his gaze to the numbers above his own head.

0/1/0

Still a negative record…

Yodel could only manage a wry, helpless smile; he was likely the sole living person in the world to boast a negative record.

While this ability was merely a plaything for the God of Death, for Yodel, it proved to be extraordinarily practical.

He imagined simply standing on the street, and any criminal or cultist with blood on their hands would be instantly exposed, with nowhere to hide.

“So, how is it? Is it amusing?”

“It’s incredibly useful! Truly, beyond useful!”

“Useful? What exactly do you mean by that?” the God of Death inquired, tilting her head. It was clear she genuinely perceived this powerful ability as nothing more than a simple toy.

****

The narrative now shifts to Joel, the laborer, who had risen exceptionally early this morning.

Although Yodel’s assistance had temporarily relieved him of his immediate financial burdens, Joel understood that idleness would swiftly deplete his resources, and thus resolved to begin his search for new employment at once.

No sooner had he stepped outside than he spotted a newsboy vigorously waving newspapers, loudly hawking his wares.

“Situation on the Arangan Peninsula Escalates! Commentators Call It a Powder Keg!”

“Magic Fan Collapses at Meva Hotel! Prominent Merchant Mr. Moras Dies Instantly!”

Joel’s pupils constricted sharply.

Mr. Moras, his former employer?

He promptly halted the newsboy, purchased a paper, and after devouring its contents, found himself unable to regain his composure for a considerable time.

Logically, the demise of his black-hearted former boss should have brought him satisfaction, yet an unsettling wave of panic now washed over him.

Something felt profoundly amiss.

He swiftly pinpointed the origin of his gnawing unease.

It was the individual who had provided him with money—Yodel.

He distinctly recalled their first encounter: Yodel had been dressed like a vagrant, and then had departed in the company of that mysterious lady.

Yet, during their second meeting, Yodel had appeared in respectable attire and had inquired about the location of the Meva Hotel.

At their third meeting, Yodel had returned from the Meva Hotel, casually producing an enormous sum of money from his pocket.

Could this possibly be rational? Where had such wealth originated?

Joel lowered his gaze, re-reading the newspaper to confirm the incident’s details: twelve o’clock, Meva Hotel.

Yodel had asked for directions around eleven o’clock, and had returned to deliver the money sometime in the afternoon.

Could it truly be such a profound coincidence? Was this, in fact, a murder cunningly disguised as an accident?

The subtle ripple of unease he had felt suddenly erupted into a full-blown torrent, and Joel realized with a jolt that he had stumbled upon something truly extraordinary.

An improbable thought began to coalesce in his mind: ‘Did he kill Mr. Moras because of me? Like those wandering heroes in novels who right wrongs wherever they go.’

Yet, Joel swiftly dismissed this notion. More likely, Yodel had harbored a long-standing desire to eliminate Mr. Moras, and he himself was merely a fortunate beneficiary, having inadvertently garnered the killer’s fleeting compassion.

But how, in Landon City, the kingdom’s vast and populous capital, had Yodel managed to locate Mr. Moras?

Suddenly, another memory jolted Joel, and a single sentence reverberated in his mind like a clap of thunder:

“The Meva Hotel? Of course I know it. My damned boss adores that place; he goes there every Sunday at noon.”

‘Holy hell, it seems I was the one who told him.’

A cold sweat instantly drenched Joel, and he swallowed hard, the money in his pocket suddenly feeling exceptionally hot to the touch.

****

On the other side of the bustling city, Yodel lay soundly asleep in his bed, utterly oblivious to the fact that he had been vividly imagined as a cold-blooded killer.

The bedroom door creaked open softly, and Yali cautiously poked out half her face, peering into the room.

Upon confirming that her brother remained asleep in bed, Yali nodded, a wave of relief washing over her.

Gently closing the door, she leaned her back against the cool wood, her head bowed in contemplation:

‘No, that’s not right. If it were my real brother, he would surely have been up earlier than me.’

‘Mr. Finn, after all, isn’t my brother, even though pretending he is… it makes me feel a little better.’

‘But is it truly right to do so?’

Caught in a painful dilemma, Yali clutched her head in anguish.